BLONDE LOGIC

One Mile Radius

 

 

My mother, my sister and I spent the day after Thanksgiving in the Prospect Park Zoo. We went vintage shopping then we went to the zoo. That was our itinerary. Most girls go shopping and then go for a  drink or get a bite to eat, we hit the closest city zoo.

 

I had never been to the Zoo in Prospect Park and I will admit, I kinda poo poo’d the idea. I was picturing mangy old animals that weren’t all that interesting throwing McDonalds cups and other litterbug trash at each other while clinically depressed zoo keepers sat around staring at brochures of better zoos, dreaming their lives away. Much to my surprise, the Prospect Park Zoo has over 400 animals of 80 different species. It’s a fucking ZOO. There is a Zoo one mile from my home where I have lived for over 5 years. For five years I have lived less than a mile away from hundreds of wild animals in captivity and never heard a peep. Not one noise to make me think “What the hell? Was that a wild animal?” Nothing. That scares the shit out of me.

 

We took pictures. We fed farm animals. We saw red Koala Bears, Baboons, Lamas, Porcupines, Bats, Seals and Golden Tamarins. And lots of small humans. Parents had strange reactions when we, three adults with no toddlers in tow,  approached their children to ooo and ahh over them. I could see their baby snatcher profiling minds at work. I was tempted to start saying things like “Oh she looks just like the one from the Zoo in Little Rock, remember her Mom? The one with the soft skin and silky hair”  or even better “ Your husband told me you couldn’t have kids. Where is he? That lying sack of shit. Get your fuckin kid out of my way or BigDick Junior will be taking his first swim in the shark tank. Move it fatty”   

 

We didn’t make any friends at the Zoo but we did learn that Porcupines spend most of their time in trees, staying out of the way of predators. We also learned very few animals will attack a Porcupine. So Porcupines spend most of their time hiding in trees to avoid their VERY few attackers?  Paranoid life avoiders.  

 I think I’m gonna start using that line when my mother calls

“ Soooooooooooo what are you up to  today?”

“Staying out of the way of predators, Mom”

“That’s good, honey, did you eat? ”

 

We also learned when a female Baboon has a red swollen rump, she is ready to mate.

It looked like all the females had red swollen rumps. My kinda girls.

Male baboons often groom females before mating with them. It must suck to be so horny that a whole body part becomes inflamed, then your knight in shining armor arrives and he’s like

“Before we get started, how about a makeover? Mani/pedi, a blow out …..”

 

“Did you see my ASS?  It’s SWOLLEN? Can we go to the salon AFTER?”

 

She offers him her big red ass and he thinks he can do better.

Applicable for any species.

 

 

Kisses-

Kendra

Kendra is a stand up comic living in Brooklyn where she owns a super comfortable bed. She spends most of her time wondering where the hell her sugar daddy is and hoping he didn’t settle.

www.kendracunningham.com                   

www.blondelogicblog.com

Thanksgiving Slop

 

Thanksgiving has always been my favorite holiday. It’s the compulsive eaters day to come out of the closet and be “normal”.  We can eat until our bodies shut down in front of the people who love us with no cause for concern. Even today when I’m sitting at a big holiday dinner, I have to stop myself from saying “ SO, this is holiday eating for you huh? Not for me. This is what I do every day. Every day is a holiday for this girl, can you pass the butter? And the mashed potatoes? Fuck it, just push it all my way will ya”   I never understood why we had to wait to take the desert out. Why can’t everything be on the table at once? I’m very visual. I want to see EVERYTHING. If the pecan pie looks particularly glazed, I might just skip another hot buttered roll.

What? I said MIGHT.

Since my sister and I moved to New York, my mother comes to us and we go out to dinner. Our all -you -can -eat holiday spreads are put on hold until we head back to Boston for Christmas. Thanksgiving pictures for the last few years are just the three of us posing with glasses of red wine at a funky restaurant.  We can only tell what year it is based on visual clues like hair color or emotional state, sometimes it’s a combination of both “ Was that 2006? It must be. Remember you were crying because none of your clothes fit you? Look – you’re in a Red Sox sweatshirt with your hair in a French twist.”  

 “ That’s gotta be 2009, remember  you tried to color your hair red and people kept asking if it was wig? You were so mad. Look at you. ” . 

Mad at Thanksgiving caught on film.

As a kid I got in trouble at the Thanksgiving table for mushing all my food together like a big turkey pot pie without the crust. Turkey, mashed potatoes, gravy, stuffing, cranberry sauce, cole slaw, green bean casserole, all mashed up in an ugly epicurean delight. My father would get mad. He  thought I was doing it for the “that’s gross” attention but I honestly liked it. Mostly because I could never decide what to eat first.  I was too anxious to have a bite of turkey chew it and swallow it BEFORE I went on to taste the green bean casserole. It was all too exciting. Putting it together in a big plate of slop was the best solution I could think of. It wasn’t until later in life that I learned about Shepherd’s Pie, goulash and entire meals that were prepared in one big pot.  I wasn’t so strange after all. There were actual recipes for the shit I was into.

 One year my father brought a recovering alcoholic to Thanksgiving dinner. Nobody had ever met this man before and quite frankly, the only person buying the fact that he was in “recovery” was my father who did not drink at all and never had. The rest of us suspected the stranger was pretty lit up when he arrived. He also appeared homeless and come to find out, very hungry. I watched him piling more than one serving on his plate, a portion I would have gotten in trouble for but he’s the guest of honor soooooooooo. He then started mixing things together. I looked at my father who was suggesting we say grace despite the fact he hadn’t been to church since my confirmation when he stood in the back of the church chewing gum feverishly with a disapproving look on his face. When dinner was over, I pointed out his friend’s affinity for mixing his rations into one. He said “Kendra, he probably learned that in prison”

I’m not allowed to play with my food but he’s allowed to bring ex cons to Thanksgiving dinner.

Happy Thanksgiving from the Cunningham Household

Stop by and watch Kendra and a real live ex con turn a Thanksgiving spread into prison slop in 3 minutes or less.

Kisses-

Kendra

Kendra is a stand up comic living in Brooklyn where she owns a super comfortable bed. She spends most of her time wondering where the hell her sugar daddy is and hoping he didn’t settle.

www.kendracunningham.com                   

www.blondelogicblog.com