Tag Archives: animals

Four-Cheeked Baboons and Dinosaur Birds: the Animals of the Simien Mountains

Look but not too closely at the four cheeked butt.

As promised I’m now going to talk about the animals that we witnessed in the heights of the Simien Mountains. This will conclude the whole me-talking-about-my-journey-to-Ethiopia thing for now because to be quite frank, the details are starting to get a little hazy and when that happens I just start making stuff up.

I’m typing this blog post on my grandma’s computer, who asked not to be mentioned in the blog, so I’m going to respect that and not talk about her or our discussion at the dinner table about the European meaning of shag.

Anyways, the animals of the Simien Mountains.

Eye contact makes everyone nervous.

High in the mystical mountains of Ethiopia lives the Gelada baboon, which spends its day sitting on its four butt cheeks and using its bizarrely dainty little hands to pull up grass and chomp on it before using those same dainty hands to scratch itself and groom its friends, lovers, and cousins.

According to Wikipedia and me, these baboons are awesome because a. they are only found in the “high grassland of the deep gorges of the central Ethiopian plateau”  b. they are the only primates that are primarily graminivores and grazers, and c. they sleep on the edges of cliffs.

I would also add that they have beady bronze eyes that lurk out from under a permanently furrowed brow so they always look pissed. One morning we were about to leave the campsite and a band of baboons came strolling along, like it was no big deal. We were freaking out and taking tons of pictures while our scout was probably thinking, “They’re just baboons….” It’s like when people take pictures of the squirrels in the states. Quick question: what if humans had four butt cheeks. On second thought, forget it.

Gander at those butt scratching horns.

Another awesome animal: the Ibex. First you’re probably thinking, these aren’t that cool. I have deer in my backyard too. Think again and take a look at the horns on that mother narker.

We stumbled upon an entire herd of these beauties near our campsite and were captivated by their grazing. This dude with the horns was clearly the king of the pack. As we came over a hill we saw him there, a magnificent creature, and as we looked upon him, he majestically tilted his head back and scratched his butthole every so gently with the tip of one his wondrous horns. It was breathtaking. We were sure that every Ibex in the bunch was jealous of his butt-scratching skills.

A raven, an oracle, or a god. Who can tell?

Finally, the thick-billed raven. Personally, I didn’t find this animal terribly interesting except for the fact that it could fly (what!) and that it had one of the most dinosaur-like calls that I’d ever heard.  I first heard it when one was taking off from a rock, and it sounded like a very heavy, very throaty door groaning open. It was probably the call that my grandpa would make if he were a bird, complaining about wanting to watch a different sports game.

On our last day, we woke up surrounded by an entire group of these ravens and boyfriend was really happy to finally be able to use the phrase “an unkindness of ravens.” We rejoiced in the fulfillment of linguistic possibilities and then left the mountains, maybe forever.

Coming up this week: bachelorette party, bridal shower, and food tour madness in Chicagoland.

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Cats Are Attacking My Mind

The keeper of the gate to hell.

I was going to write a blog post, but instead I spent three hours looking at pictures of cats licking their paws. For one hundred and eighty minutes I was spun through various levels of cat-lover-heaven, which is most other people’s hell, as I saw photo after photo of Patches delicately cleaning himself with all the poise and precision of the Mother Queen. It was terribly mesmerizing and I lost track of time and self.

But the saga doesn’t end there.

Hours later, I found myself waking up from some kind of stupor and realized that I was surrounded by horrible, bizarre, and altogether disturbing drawings of—what else?—cats licking their paws. It looked like a crazed zookeeper had escaped from a lifelong prison sentence and gone on a grotesque artistic binge.

The obvious, though terrifying, conclusion was that I had perpetrated these awful depictions, depictions that could only be used to cause human torment. I had been taken by cuteness-madness. What does this mean? Is my mind so fragile that something harmless like a few hours spent enjoying pictures of cats cleaning themselves could cause me to lose consciousness and perform acts of unspeakable horror?

Does this mean I’m unfit to live in this society? What if I’m walking through a park and see too many babies, puppies, or volleyball players and the madness takes me again? How will I explain my sickness to my family? How will I hide the monstrosity that is me?  I can only burn so many pictures before I start trying to sell them on the internet and then how will I explain myself? I certainly can’t blog about it.

Maybe I will find healing in twitter, and through tweeting the disfigured demons of my own creation to my small following I will be able to purge myself.

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Dating Tactics We Learned from Animals: The Spider

Two spiders are hanging in the corner of my ceiling right now. Yesterday, Tim was the only one. I have named the new spider Laptop, after my sister.

Tim and Laptop rarely move, yet the cobwebs never stop growing. Until I wake up one day and realize I’m dangling from the ceiling and that an army of spiders is about to turn my insides into goo and digest them, I will leave them to their spider ways and think about how their lifestyle is related to human dating.

Spiders are repulsively patient. To my knowledge, Tim only moved once in the past two months. A tiny bug had flown into his carefully yet poorly located trap and Tim was eagerly cocooning it in thread, rubbing his limbs together greedily and saying “oh boy oh boy oh boy oh boy!” Except for that five minute movement-bender, he usually sits in the corner and does nothing except for think spider thoughts, which are too vile to record here.

Though I can’t say it’s a boring and meaningless life, I will say it’s not the life that I’ve chosen for myself. There are some, however, who follow the spider’s way when attempting to snare a potential mate, friend with benefits (e.g. baked goods), or mother.

The spider-mimicking-human, or SMH for short, expends only a minimal amount of effort when attempting to trap prey. Just like a real spider, the SMH is often truly interested in the prey, but he or she is simply unwilling to leave their wifi-outfitted cobweb corner. Instead, the SMH prefers to wait until the prey comes of its own accord.

For this reason, the spider method only works if the prey has sufficient reason, motivation, or desire to visit the SMH’s web more than once, sometimes as a result of mutual friends, free food, or cuddly pets. After the prey has visited a few times, and the SMH has “a special feeling,” it’s time to pounce. Without warning, the SMH completely wraps him in SMH silk, making his escape impossible.

The SMH then drags the prey to her room, where she will make him listen to songs that she likes on YouTube and discuss past relationships before she injects him with venom that turns his insides into goo and devours them noisily without using a utensil.

The spider method of dating is not pretty and usually ends in disappointment for both sides. On the one hand, the prey is eaten, and on the other, the SMH has a hollow corpse that must be eliminated. For these reasons, the spider method is not a recommended way to date someone.

It’s better to get their number and then do things together. Virtual relationships through gchat are also acceptable alternatives.

Join us next time on Dating Tactics We Learned from Animals for our discussion of cardinals and blue jays!

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The Moles Want Your Chocolate Chips

No mole snout will touch these.

They are here, you know. They burrow beneath us, their webbed paws ever clawing and their whiskers ever twitching their way in the earth’s darkness. They are the mole people, digging beneath the surface, squinting their eyes against the never ending dust, wearing tiny spectacles and yellow vests as commanded by their prophet-king.

Speaking with British accents to one another, they live only to dig tunnels and sacrifice chocolate chips to their strange mole gods. They grow tired of the incessant noise they hear from above.

The prophet-king tells them the gods have grown angry for forgetting the proper grammar of mole-speak and misplacing the chocolate chips meant for sacrifice, for offering the holy beings only mole skim milk instead of full cream.

The noise from above increases, the pounding, hammering, shrieking, and rumbling. The burrowers believe they feel the very pain of the earth. “We must do something,” declares their leader. “Do we sit in silence as our own folly threatens to destroy us? No. We will be smarter. We will go above and cleanse the earth of its ailments. We will find better and richer chocolate chips with which to appease our gods and we will then burrow beneath the surface once again, forever. But now we rise. To the top!”

The moles are coming. Hide your chocolate chips.

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Karen’s Unicorn: Gym Nuisance

this is after she was arrested and executed for manslaughter and then put on display as an artifact

So I saw Karen’s unicorn at the gym last night. She was benching about 250 in that belly shirt of hers, all her glittery unicorn flesh just hanging out for the entire gym to see and of course she was sporting those short shorts, prancing around the gym every chance she got. And that dumb swooshy tail of hers that she whips around nonstop, spraying toxic magic dust everywhere—-swoosh, swoosh, swoosh, like she’s the freaking queen of the dumbbells.

It’s pretty ridiculous if you ask me. And she never wipes the machines down. Never. So if you use one after her, you’re definitely going to get unicorn dust all over you and God knows what’s going to happen after that. I heard it can even be addictive, like you get some kind of unicorn buzz and colors are more vibrant and you feel alive, but then immediately afterwards you’re a wreck. Life loses its meaning and everything tastes like ash. People have died from this so I don’t think it’s too much to ask her to wipe down the freaking machines.

And just because she’s a unicorn, she thinks she’s so special, like she deserves to use the stationary bike for longer than 30 minutes. Well, I’ve got news for you, sugar, just because you’re a minxy tart of a shimmery, magical creature doesn’t give you the right to come into our gym, coat our machines with your poisonous dust, and then trot out of here on your pearly hooves like you own the place. What forest did you prance out of that you think this is okay? What does Karen have to say about this? Why are you using the treadmill anyways? Isn’t there some mystical wood that you can go romp around in with your other deviant friends? Can’t you just leave us non-magical folk in peace and not torment us with your sweet, sweet unicorn dust?

Do I even have to mention the experience of using the bathroom after her? It’s a nightmare. The stall is so heavily scented with cinnamon and vanilla I can hardly breathe. Literally I almost suffocated when I was changing clothes. If that wasn’t bad enough, my shoe touched one of her mane hairs left on the ground and the whole thing turned into a flock of yellow butterflies that just fluttered away.

Do you see my point here? My shoe flew away. This was my shoe, that I had purchased to wear for the purpose of engaging in athletic activity, and it flew away. This is simply unacceptable. Karen’s unicorn has got to go. I can’t stand the thought of seeing her again, doing squats with her majestic unicorn might, her belly button ring glinting in the  fluorescent lights. Do you know how distracting that is?

And I want her to buy me a pair of shoes and/or catch the flock of butterflies. Am I being unreasonable?

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