Philthadelphia Zoo

West Philadelphia is like a rare gem in a sea of tarnished and tawdry baubles. An oasis in a desert of filth and grime. A 250 calorie buffalo chicken taquito lasciviously and majestically turning in its glass case at 7-11.

There is no better example of its majesty than the two hour free open bars at Bamboo bar. Sure the average person in attendance is more heavyset than fit, wearing red plastic payless heels, and has a fro that can only compete with mine. But to complain is throwing this generous gift back into the face of the bouncer who just wrestled the dreadlocked man to the ground for taking pictures of him.

On summer nights one can find a good portion of Drexel there, given the odds of knowing someone who has won an open bar. We combat the rest of the crowd, and bring up the literacy rate with every embittered engineer. It's not someplace one wants to go every weekend, but it's nice to get off campus for the alcoholic Disneyworld of ghetto's.

Saturday was no exception for Natty's bday, and it had been a while since I had ventured to the clusterfuck that is the spring garden subway stop. Per usual I stuck my heels in my purse because giving up is not only convenient but less physically painful. Brandon and I had been separated by the boys and girls lines, but he was still close enough to hear me yell "it's all yours" while rubbing my stomach in a circular motion. Either I've gained weight in the week since I've been back, the people in line had no sense of humor, or the extent of their public high school education had not prepared them for that moment. (I'm going to go with all three) He had to assure the people around us I was not actually pregnant and going to an open bar, and I took this free moment to change from flip flops to heels.

It was my first time having actually been legal in this glorious venue, and I was disappointed that we could no longer double fist our plastic cups but finish them one at a time. My drink of choice had also changed as well. No longer was I downing vodka cranberries or "cape coder's" as my mother likes to affectionately call them. However, I doubt the pretentious name applies to a couple shots of rubbing alcohol and generic cranberry juice picked up at Costco. I only touch vodka tonics now, because Manhattan hasn't broken my spirit but made me realize that life is too short for love handles. Or taste buds.

Per usual the crowd was less than stellar, but one particularly affectionate man had taken a liking to Natalie and spoke to Brandon about how to properly woo her. The man explained that he was a performing artist "going to make it big" and he even had the tattoo of a microphone with a dragon wrapped around the cord to prove it. Then he broke into song. Brandon told him that in order to have a real shot with Natalie, he had to discuss poignant topics with her, such as Pokemon. The gentleman was confused as to why Natalie avoided his approach and person at all costs.

We lost Brandon several minutes later, although it was only around 10:30. He woke up in his apartment the next morning with $50 more dollars than he went out with, an unaltered bank account, and a new baseball cap.

He was well and chipper enough the next morning to leave several voice messages on my phone screaming to get the fuck up because we had to go to the zoo. He and Alex then came over with a good supply of beer to drag myself and Danielle out of bed, who had still not fully recovered from the night before. We finished 3/4 of the beer, and then drank the rest of them on the walk to the Philadelphia zoo or in the zoo itself. Senior year didn't start for another couple of hours, and the weather was just too good to enjoy it sober.

The Philadelphia zoo was somewhat ghetto compared to the RI Roger Williams zoo, and the lack of elephants or rhino's was more than depressing. If I had known I was paying $18 to see a couple of fresh water penguins and overrated monkeys, I could have just stayed on campus. We were watching a bunch of tiny free range orange monkeys, when we inquired about the apparent loss of lemurs. The zookeeper replied that they had their own island because they were special. I argued that lemurs were in no way special. I knew their kind, they just demanded an island because they were high maintenance. Fucking lemurs.

The highlight was definitely the small mammal house, but then again I do get overexcited about small creatures that resemble the late Mr. Mittens. After a good four hours of trekking around in the heat and forever scarring small children, we decided the best way to end the last day before senior year was with a barbecue on our ghetto ass porch. Surprisingly nothing caught on fire and noone burned themselves too badly. It was purely a nice reminder that some things still haven't changed since freshman year. Especially when we took a stroll by the rape garden and saw a group of students playing guitars, fiddles, mandolin's, and a banjo to some 1970's pop song. Good to know Drexel accepts only the true winners.