That's not a monkey

The zoo is a great place to see things. Like hippos and elephants. And awful parenting and fat people. Erika came to visit this weekend (which was fantastic!) and we observed all of these things at the National Zoo. I know this probably is not news, but America is obese. And you certainly get to see a slice of America on Labor Day weekend at a major tourist pull. If not for the fence separating them I might have had a hard time differentiating some of the zoo patrons from the elephants. On second thought maybe not, the elephants were more adorable and didn't walk around with a camera in front of their face the entire time. The range of bad parenting was vast. It included putting kids on leashes, letting kids run buck wild without any modicum of supervision, and telling children blatantly false information. Mr. Boucher, my high school biology teacher, would have pulled out all of his hair if he heard some of the ignorant answers that parents gave about elementary (or sometimes common-sense) parts of biology.

There were two redeeming familial interactions, however. The first was a child who, in a desperate attempt to gain the attention of a komodo dragon, started banging on the glass cage with all his might. His father pulled him back, away from the glass, and said sternly "Don't ever do that!" The kid was far more respectful after that. The second went something like this:
Brother 1: Look at the monkey!
Brother 2: That's not a monkey.
Brother 1: Sarah said it was a monkey.
Brother 2: Well, Sarah was wrong.
Way to go Brother 2. He wins my prize for showing no remorse in dispatching ignorance while slightly mocking his family. For the record they were looking at something along the lines of a gopher. Clearly not a monkey.

Parents who are bad at their job are a little more jarring than other people who are bad at theirs. Later that night we experienced a couple of waitresses and a bartender who were at best sub-par at the jobs. Literally tossing menus onto a table is not a way to endear yourself to your customers. Neither is having a bad attitude and clearly being on drugs. That would be Waitresses 1 and 2. With the bartender I may be being judgmental, but when you think peach sangria, you think...I don't know...something with fruit in it that tastes good. Apparently this bartender decided that peach sangria should consist mostly of juice and peach schnapps. Unfortunate. Good think it was not me who ordered or drank it. That was taken care of by Rachel, Rebecca, and Erika. This all occured at a restaurant one of my college professors recommended to me. I'm beginning to question her judgment and perhaps her teachings. I thought she was legit, but now I'm not so sure. But it's ok, we ended up at a bar that had decently priced nachos and played Alice In Chains. I couldn't complain about that.

The highlight of Sunday was this oatmeal that Erika and I had at brunch. Brunch isn't typically the largest meal, and I usually have a big boy appetite. But this oatmeal dominated me. It was came with raisins, pecans, cinammon milk, and caramelized bananas. Delicious, but I probably ate half of it and wanted to puke I was so full. At least I wasn't like Erika, who stuffed herself, same as me, and then ate a little more because that's always a good idea. Probably the first time I have ever been shown who is boss by oatmeal. With bloated stomachs we walked around Georgetown and then back home. Of course then we made dinner (burritos) and stuffed ourselves again. And what's better after a day of being uncomfortably full than going out and getting a brownie sundae for dessert? Ugh.

Mondays suck. Apparently going back to school on Monday is not the issue. I definitely have a case of the Mondays every week.