Things Not to Say to a Pregnant Lady

Hey, this is Brian.

Yup, the husband-of-a-pregnant-blogger-Melissa Brian.

I’m here to school all the partners of pregnant ladies so that they get through the experience relatively unscathed.

Can you believe Melissa actually let me on here to write my very own post?

Yeah, neither can I…because this is Melissa, and I am writing this from Brian’s point of view with his general oversight and mild approval.  Learn from these tales, my friends.

 Brunch-tastic

I decided to wait to eat breakfast on this lovely Sunday morning, opting for brunch instead.  Of course, Melissa wolfed down two bowls of cereal and about ten lemon poppyseed muffins before I even got out of bed, so I figured she’d be good for a while.

I walk into the room with my beautifully prepared brunch and I see that she’s on her computer.  I sit down next to her.  She looks up expectantly.  “What’s that?”

I paused, realizing my mistake too late.  Could I still get away?  Maybe I could pretend that I didn’t hear her.

I faced my fate head-on: “Uh…it’s a sandwich.  Made with this delicious bagel, pesto, lettuce…and from diseased deli meat and unpasteurized cheese.”

At Melissa’s rageful silence, I got up and backed away slowly, and once I was a safe distance away, I threw another muffin at her for good measure.

 The Hangry Plan

Pregnant ladies have gold medals in being hangry, so Melissa and I have learned to try and plan for the worst when we go out shopping or to run some errands.  We bring water and snacks, and we also conjure up contingency plans, especially since she’ll be less able to run and defend herself in the event of a zombie apocalypse breaking out mid-outing.

For this particular outing, I wanted to go clothes shopping, and I gave Melissa the option of staying home, but she insisted on getting out of the apartment.

Melissa: “If I get hangry, just drop me at Cinnabon.”

Me: “You mean when you get hangry.”

Pregnant glare.

Me: “And we may have to think of somewhere else, because they went out of business.”

Wide-eyed, panicked Melissa: “What?!”

Me, making sure I was more than an arm’s length away: “Ha, just kidding.  You totally believed me!”

Melissa: “You are dead to me.”

 

The Sperm Whale

We’re at the doctor’s office, and Melissa has some fetal heart monitors strapped to her belly to check some things out.  Everything was awesome, and when they took the monitors off, they had made two round impressions on her very pregnant belly.

As Melissa was getting dressed, I giggled.

Melissa: “What?”

Me: “Nothing, it’s just that you reminded me of a sperm whale.”

Melissa, her tone of voice flat-lining: “…a whatnow?”

Me, as I point to her belly: “You know, the sperm whale surfaces and the squid has been attacking it, and you can see where the squid’s suction cups were stuck to the whale.”

Melissa: “And that makes me a sperm whale?”

Me: “…a small, cute one!”

Melissa: “You know what else sperm whales can do?”

And without waiting for an answer, she sat on me.

 

The Jungle Cat

It’s 6 in the morning, and Melissa got up with me because she couldn’t sleep, so she was naturally hungry again.  But also because she loves me madly and couldn’t bear to miss seeing me off to work.  As you recall from previous blog posts, it’s my responsibility to feed the meowing, howling cat at this time of day.

After spending a few minutes in the bathroom doing disgusting boy things, I entered the kitchen and threw some kibble in the cat’s bowl.  The howling stopped, replaced by sounds of frantic gulping as she turned all of her attention to her food bowl.  I looked up and realized that my cat and pregnant wife mirrored each other – each were hunched over their food in intense focus, like jungle cats tearing their fresh prey apart.  Melissa even had on adorable cheetah print skivvies.

Foolishly, I reached over and patted Melissa’s bum.  “You’re like a cheetah!” I told her. And then I growled for good measure.

Melissa looked up from her peanut butter and jelly topped onion bagel.  “Huh?!” she said with her mouth full.

I pointed at her underwear and growled again.

She looked down and then quickly looked back up.  “Yeah, I can’t see what underwear I am wearing from this angle.  Thanks.”

“Well…it looks fabulous!”

And then I threw another muffin and ran away.

 

Running from Zombies

I hate running.

I hate it with the fire of a thousand suns.

In high school, when we had to start running on the regular for gym class, I wondered what I had done wrong to deserve such punishment.  Surely they couldn’t make us do this?!  And then I looked around, and I found that some of my friends actually liked it. They were competitive.   They were fast.  They were nuts.

I will never understand those people.

Fast forward to now, where for the past 2-3 years, I have actually started working out with some regularity, not counting getting into yoga after my cancer surgery in 2003.  I started doing yoga a few weeks after surgery when it was a struggle to get up from a sitting position, and now I’d say I am at least at an intermediate level.  I’m pretty proud about some of the kickass poses I can do.

So, 2-3 years ago I added in some elliptical stuff.  Basically, I re-watch episodes of 30 Rock while I fake run on a very loud machine in my tiny apartment complex exercise room.  Now that my calves are pretty buff, I wanted to switch things up a little bit and try some…running.

Now, I’ve actually tried to run in the past, but it basically turns into what I like to call a walkjog.  I just don’t have the physical stamina for any sustained motion that propels me forward with any speed.  Also, being the true artist that I am, what’s my motivation for this torture?  It’s almost like I’d need something chasing me.

And with that, enter Brian, my husband-to-be, who is always motivating me to better myself and always has my well-being in mind (and only chases me in the romantic sense):

B: What are you going to do when the zombies get here?

Me: Well, if they are slow zombies, I’ll sprint past them and jam the close ones through the eye socket.

B: First, you can’t handle bodily fluids.  How will you manage to ‘jam the close ones’ accurately enough and with enough force?  Second, what if they are 28 Days Later zombies?

Me: First, you’re right.  Bloody noses make me gag, and forget about mucous.  I will use my samurai swords and just decapitate ‘em like Michonne, because she’s badass and had the right idea from the start.  Second, fuuuuuuck.

B: Exactly.  Let’s start running.

——

But I can’t just run, and I certainly can’t just run with Brian.  We’ve tried this before, where he’s motivating me by saying all these sweet things as we’re running side by side, but all it does it make me giggle, and I have a bad habit of giggling when I run…and then I can’t stop giggling, which means I have to stop running.  That’s right ladies and gentlemen, I am a 5 year old.  And if I ever have children, I don’t know how I’ll be able to keep them alive (especially since kids bleed out so fast), but that’s another blog post altogether.

The answer was clear:  the app called Zombies, Run!

It sounded perfect.  You’re a runner, a gopher in this post-apocalyptic world where people with British accents tell you when to run to evade a zombie mob.  If you’re lucky enough to survive the mission, you pick up stuff along the way and bring it back to base.

This was it.  This was my motivation.  Plus, I could never disobey someone with a British accent.

Last Thursday, Brian and I gave this app a try.  We keyed up the first mission and started power walking down the street.  It was still a bit light out, but the sun would go down soon.  British man and lady were describing our surroundings and I was told I found and picked up some water.  And then – I could hear them.  The Brits could see the mob closing in on me and told me to run…I looked at Brian and he nodded to me as I felt an adrenaline surge and picked up the pace.  They were 50 meters away, their breathing heavy, low moaning.  Then 20 meters away.  Fuck, this was scary!  I swear I could feel their ragged breath on the back of my neck.  And then -

Zombie mob evaded.  Good job Runner 5!

Sweetness!  This was actually kinda fun!

B: Jesus, Lady!  I’ve never seen you take off like that!

Me: Well, they were going to GET ME!

And so on the mission went…we had to pass the old hospital, hoping to find supplies and rejoin Runner 7.  In real life, we had turned between two ag fields and were running between two rows of olive trees…it was much darker now.

Suddenly, the Brits could see Runner 7!  She was running to catch up with us…only she was different.  Oh shit, she’s a zombie and there’s more behind her, RUN!

So we do it again.  Remember when I said I lack stamina?  I was already pretty wiped at this point, but I gave it my all.  Seriously, I ran even after I didn’t think I could run anymore.  And this time, I was seriously freaked out because Brian had run ahead, I couldn’t see him anymore, and I could hear and feel these monsters getting closer and closer…

And I became Zombie Runner 7’s nighttime snack.  I was so pissed I nearly collapsed in the dirt.

—–

Fast forward to the day after, and I could barely walk.  Seriously, my legs would painfully cramp up if I transferred any weight to my toes.  Had this really been the zombie apocalypse, I would have died on Day 2.  Or Brian would have carried me, because that’s what husbands-to-be do in dystopias.

So I won’t give up; I plan to run more missions, because damn, it’s motivating!

Why don’t I ever see them stop to stretch on The Walking Dead?!

…and I feel fine

This is it, you guys.

And I am sooo ready.

My car is packed (and not just because I am heading to my folks’ for the holidays….that is, if they ever end up taking place).  I filled up my gas tank this morning.  And I totally have my Katniss boots on.

I sincerely hope minimal amounts of blood find its way to my boots, or there will be hell to pay.  Pun intended.

I sincerely hope minimal amounts of blood find its way to my boots, or there will be hell to pay. Pun intended.

I am prepared to do whatever it takes to survive this thing.  Even if I have to dump half-decomposed zombie guts on myself and do the undead shuffle.  Even if I have to sock Lucifer himself in the mouth.  Smite that, motherfucker.

It’s like my whole life has been preparing me for this day.

Maybe I should put on my wedding dress (which means I FOUND ONE!  Squee!) so that I’m guaranteed it’ll at least get a few hours worth of wear.

Good luck out there, everyone.  Only our wits and stockpiles of Twinkies will save us now.

Warm Bodies

I wanted to share two very unrelated things I stumbled across on the interwebs today.

Thing Number One

Dancing.  Singing.  Amazingly sexy accents.  Death.  Love.  More death.  And zombies!!

Could life get any better?

…maybe with some mint chocolate chip, actually.  That would make it better.

Thing Number Two

The Oatmeal always comes through for me, and this time he wrote a comic that beautifully captures what a lot of us bloggers go through and are aiming to do.

Enjoy and be inspired!

A Blogyear Timesuck

As of today, I have been blogging for a whole year.  365 days. Twelve months.  A dozen menstrual cycles, phases of the moon, psychotic breaks with reality.  Ok, so there were actually a baker’s dozen psychotic episodes…mmm, baked goods…

This blogyear has probably been one of the best years of my life, and I owe it all to blogging.  Didn’t you know that typing meaningless stories and feelings and bodily fluids bring great things?  I think Oprah said that one time.

I’d like to recap all the amazing things that have happened and were made legitimate by the fact that I wrote about them and then broadcasted them for hoards of perfect strangers to like and comment on:

Brian earned his master’s degree and I ceased to be the suffering partner of a grad student!

I turned 29 for the first time!

I blogged publicly about having cancer that one time, and I celebrated being cancer-free for 9 fucktastic years!  Plus, I get all the joke-rights to having only one ladyball.  Half the ball, twice the crazy.

I learned how to shoot a gun and no one got hurt except Ben Affleck’s left ear.

I passed two (count em: one and two) Marriage and Family Therapist licensing exams after having studied for them procrastinated by reading other people’s blogs.  Surprisingly, some very important people in the state of California think I can actually help people.  My goal is to prove them right.

I hadn’t even taken a deep breath or a post-licensing-exam-nap before I GOT ENGAGED THIS YEAR to the boyman of my dreams!!!

As if I hadn’t had enough joy this year, I also got a promotion at work managing our therapy department.  So many amazing changes, that I summoned the Trololo Guy to help me celebrate.

In July, Brian and I took an awesome Pre-weddingmoon trip to Puerto Rico and returned barely alive.  But that’s ok, because what doesn’t kill me makes me stronger and more equipped to survive The End Times.

For the remainder of the blogyear, I’ve basically been planning a wedding, blogging about planning a wedding, and eating potato chips.

Not a bad year if I do say so myself.

I’ve found two main benefits to blogging during this past year.  One of them is getting to meet and read about so many interesting, eloquent, and funny people out there!  If I have ever liked or commented on your blog, then I include you in the above description.  And if you have ever read, liked, commented, followed, or given me an award on my blog – thank you.  Thank you for trading jokes, thank you for your encouragement, thank you for the community – because that’s what I was looking for when I started this whole thing.

The second benefit is that I’ve been able to discover who I am as a writer and who I might like to become as a writer.  This blog is basically one big experiment and I basically feel like I’ve been winging it this whole time, but when I look back on my posts I am sometimes surprised to find myself thinking that I actually churned out some stuff that I am proud of.  Who knew that I am funny?!  Who knew that I have shit to say that people might actually care about?!  Who knew that I had so much to say about zombies?!

Don’t worry- I’m not even close to being done blogging about zombies.

Here’s to another year that’s simply blogtastic!

Wedding Whimsy

Wedding planning is coming along, and I am starting to get really freaking excited.
Brian and I have found the perfect venue (bird’s eye view in this post) that matches the vibe and feel of what I described – and it’s also full of whimsy (to be explained).

The venue is a working ranch and small winery with acres of vinyards, lavendar fields, and almond trees.  (This means we’ll get drunk, but still smell nice, and we’ll have a good source of protein nearby in case the zombie apocalypse breaks out during the festivities.  We really do plan for everything.)  The ceremony will take place on a grassy hilltop that has panoramic views of the surrounding golden brown hills (so we’ll see the zombies coming way before they’re within biting distance).  The reception will take place in a converted barn that has three levels of seating and is decorated with kitschy, cute antiques.  There is bocce ball (possible weapons), a pond (possible place of safety), and joy (zombies despise this).

This place is different, and by different, I mean whimsical.  On the garden walk from the parking lot to the barn, there are little scenes set up with knick-knacks and stuff.  One scene displays Dorothy’s ruby slippers and the witch’s rusted-over old bike.  There’s a display with a stove, dishes, and a rusty metal bloke named Julio dressed in an apron and chef’s hat.

This is why I don’t cook.

The bathrooms across from the barn look like they were decorated by the people who work in those restaurants where you have to wear flair on your vest in order to fit in.  Hats, gloves, feathers, and an old-timey chair reupholstered in lime green kept me company while I emptied my bladder.  I look forward to emptying my bladder in that same room with my best friends holding up yards of white fabric beside me!  Squee!

Once we found a venue, Brian and I got ourselves a wedding planner, and omigod, if you can fit this into your budget, I highly, highly recommend it.  In fact, a good wedding planner will pay for him/herself in both time and money.  I hate doing research, but I come from a thrifty family where we hate paying more for things than we should – so this is where a good, skilled wedding planner comes into play.

Our wedding planner Stephanie gives us lists of vendors to look through, and she can recommend them in groups of different price ranges.  She’s worked with these vendors before, so she knows the quality of their services, and she’s quite honest about what we’ll get for our money.  She’s open to working with vendors that Brian and I have found who aren’t on her lists.  She schedules meetings with vendors we like and attends these meetings with us.  She also helps us through the contracts to make sure we know what we’re getting into – huzzah!

Basically, she’s a godsend.  Brian and I don’t know what the hell we’re doing, and we’re also super shy around new people, and we’re really good at being awkward.  If we met vendors by ourselves, we’d probably end up hiding under the table and only coming up to shout things like I LIKE FLOWERS! and PLEASE MAKE ME PRETTY! before ducking back down.  Stephanie is cool because she asks all the questions we forget to ask like, “Do you accept M&Ms as payment for your services?  My clients have agreed to pick out all the brown ones if you’d like.”

Stephanie is like a cross between our therapist and our Jedi Master of weddings.  She is strong with the force.  But she’s prettier than Yoda.  And less hairy.

Plan a wedding for you I will.

So far, Brian and I have chosen a photographer and a DJ.  We have a meeting with a florist this week and I go shopping for a dress this weekend!!!

My ovary is doing flips just thinking about it.

The stalks, they have ears

This past weekend, Brian and I followed tradition and hiked our way through (what was in 2007) the largest corn maze in the world!

This corn maze is grown and perfected every October, and if you’re ever in the vicinity of smalltown Dixon, California, I highly suggest you check it out.

This year it took us about an hour to get through, but that’s because there was pretty extensive wind damage and we were rerouted, bypassing a good chunk of maize maze…in years past, it’s taken us the better part of 2 hours to get through, and this is with a map, a compass, and water.

Did she say a map?

Why yes, that’s how crazy this maze is.  I seriously doubt you’d be able to make it through without the map.  Goodness knows I barely manage with the map.

each square is worth a few steps’ distance. yikes!

This year, we went through during the day, but the real fun is to go through after dark.  The corn is so high that any surrounding light from civilization is pretty well blocked out, and you need to bring your own light (red-filtered headlamps for us, because we’re badass like that).  The best part about night-mazing it up is to be able to sneak ahead of your group, hide in the corn, and then scare the living crapnuggets out of them.  Beware about scaring me, though, because I am always ready to impale zombies through their glazed eye sockets.

descending into the maze…

consulting the map cuz we be lost…

the corn goes as far as the eye can see!

the maze at night…pee-your-pants, zombie-eat-your-brains scary.

This year, we emerged triumphant, relatively unscathed, and picked out pumpkins to go home and carve.

we think this is our subconscious surfacing to say that marriage is terrifying.

To top off the weekend, Brian and I reprised our costumes as Queen of Hearts and Mad Hatter at my company Halloween party and we won second place!

yup, that’s fake blood on the mirror.

Happy Halloween, everyone!!

Walking Dead takes over my braaaaaains!

So last night was the season 3 premiere of The Walking Dead.

It was long awaited.  Highly anticipated.

It did not disappoint…..for the most point.

In therapy, I often remind my clients that we need to pay attention when people show us who they are, and then accept them for being who they are and not any more or less (and not trying to fix them, change them, or expect them to be any different).

I have had to work very hard reminding myself, each and every episode, that these characters have shown themselves to be immature, impulsive, stupid, and incredibly lucky to still be alive in their world of increasing numbers of brain-hungry walkers.

That being said, if the characters did everything I shouted at them to do, then the series wouldn’t be very exciting because they’d be happy, healthy, and safe.  So I continue to yell and they continue to defy me.

Unfortunately, the agony/excitement doesn’t stop there, as these pesky walkers pranced on into my nightmares last night not once, but twice.

My first nightmare had me jolt awake at about 2:30am.  I don’t remember too much about the dream, but I do know that I was in a group, my partner was included, and we were at a point where we were cornered, desperate, and fighting for our lives…and it was getting pretty gory, too.  I am thankful that I woke up at that point, because I usually don’t.

Of course, I had to pee, but there was no way in hell I was gonna get up and face almost certain death and dismemberment with only the cat to protect me.  I turned towards Brian and considered waking him up.  He was out like a small child purposefully given too much benedryl by his parents, and I just couldn’t do it.  So I rolled over and punished my too-small pee sack by ignoring it.

Brian gets up considerably earlier than I do, and his alarm woke me up this morning.  By that time, my bladder was backed up to halfway through my left kidney, and so I followed Brian to the bathroom so he could protect me while I peed.

Wouldn’t you know, I had yet another zombie dream in the sleep I got between Brian’s alarm and my own.  In this one, my mom and I had to go to the dentist in the middle of the zombie apocalypse (what can I say, dental hygiene is very important) so we went together for moral support and protection.  When it was time to leave the dentist’s office, we noticed a lot of people cowering in the waiting room, and we looked through the blinds to see that we were pretty surrounded by the undead.  Being the faithful Girl Scout that I am (our motto is “be prepared”), I reached into my purse and grabbed a giant hammer and handed it to my mom, and then I took a small axe for myself.  I asked my mom if she was ready and then we started chopping and bashing our way to the car.

What a stressful way to wake up…but if that’s what I get for watching this show, then it’s all worth it.

Blog awards, food stories, and zombies

Once upon a time, a much simpler, more stressful time…a darker time, even…I got nominated for another blogging award!!!  It made me happy, and I said thanks, but then I entered a whirlwind of hard work directly followed by immense joy and haven’t really surfaced since.

Now’s the time to properly give thanks where thanks is due.

Without further ado, a huge thank you to Food Stories for ve’s Illuminating Blogger Award!!

A comment on me being nominated for this blog:

I think it’s hilarious.  For several reasons.

1. Ve’s blog is called Food Stories.  I assume this refers to the making of food, which I loathe.  It takes too long, it’s messy, I am not that good at it, and it takes too long.  I’m hungry.  I do like telling stories about eating food, though, so I guess we’re good.  I’m also once of those people who takes pics of yummy food whilst on vacation (hint of future blog posts to come, perhaps?).

2. The blog award is for “illuminating, informative blog content,” and I was awarded it through a comment on my post about how I used my investigative journalistic skills to expose a 20 year old lie I had been told by ruining the ending of a movie for all those who are seriously behind in their movie watching.  How’s that for illuminating, informative content?!  Take that, Brian Williams!  Next, I plan on single-handedly getting my ass down to Cuba and closing Gitmo.  Full report and book deal to follow.

….apparently “several reasons” turned into just two, cuz I can’t remember any more.

——–

Now I must share one random thing about myself:

Since settling into a more sedentary lifestyle after college and grad school, I have made more deliberate attempts to stay active.  I have been doing yoga for 9 years now, and it has become close to a religion for me.  It’s how I take care of my mind and body.  I hate more rigorous types of exercise that are just exercising for the sake of exercising, most of all running.  It’s boring, it’s hard, and it brings back horrible, traumatic memories from middle school PE.  Running can go run right off a bridge.

Interestingly enough, exercising has suddenly taken on a whole new meaning now that I am engaged.  I’ve never, ever had a goal of wanting to lose weight and that won’t change now,  I just suddenly have more motivation to look even more awesome.

Brian is a great motivator for me, and we run to the gym once a week together.  When mental images of me looking kickass in a wedding dress are no longer doing the trick, you know what does?

Zombies.

I imagine having to run from fast moving zombies (think 28 Days Later) and it actually gets me to keep running and to run faster.

Not only am I gonna be The Hotness in my dress, but I’ll also be ready for The End Times.  Booyah.

——–

Now it’s time to nominate some fellow bloggers!!

My first pick is the best, most awesome blog in terms of actually being illuminating and informative:  Let Life in Practices  This is the kind of blog that I wish I had the time and patience to write.

I am also nominating the blogs that I look forward to reading the most, and that makes them illuminating to me:

Speaker7

Sweet Mother

The Waiting

Family Haikus

Raising My Rainbow

Please check out these amazing women’s blogs!!!!

 

Apocalypse 2012: I’ll bring the marshmallows

I happen to love disaster and post-apocalyptic themed media. I dunno, something about them make me feel alive at the thought of having to defend my life; my body prepares to fight for its life as I watch. Of course, I always know better than those dumbass characters on the screen. (how the hell do they end up surviving, anyway?) At least Zombieland got it right with all his rules at the beginning. To this day I always check the backseat of my car when I get in. That, and cardio.

I watch these programs with my partner, and we discuss how we’d do it differently, how we’d do it right. We have a meeting place in case all hell breaks loose and our cell network is jammed (cuz of course it would be). I already have his permission to wake him up in the middle of the night so he can watch my back when I need to go pee…but only after the Zompocalypse breaks, he reminded me angrily/groggily.

The past few years, Brian has encouraged me to go backpacking with him, and I have slowly started accumulating all the necessary gear: pack, boots, socks, freeze-dried food, super-light sleeping bag. A few days ago while catching up on season 1 of Walking Dead (I joined that party a little late), I got it.

“So, all those backpacking trips…all the gear I now have…you’ve been testing me, TRAINING me…for the coming apocalypse! It all makes sense now!

He just smiled and nodded. Well done, young grasshopper.

My first backpacking trip in 2009. I look fierce!

So, all this leads me to a critical piece of planning that, so far, I have neglected: what are my skillz? What would my post-apocalyptic job description be, realistically, for my survival group to want to keep me around? I need to be able to bring some serious ass-kicking skills to the table. I need to start developing my portfolio!

Skill #1 – I am highly trained in crisis intervention

I know how to keep people calm and rational in a crisis! What a deal you’d get with me!

“Whoa…whoa. Calm down, everyone. I know we’re faced with almost certain death, but let’s remember to breathe…and let’s stay focused, okay? We are bigger than this fear, stronger than this fear, and we have each other. Let’s hold hands and meditate before taking a vote on what to do next.” And that’s me just getting started.

What about the crazies who carry guns and are loud and can’t be reasoned with, you say? Simple, I say. To intervene on this particular crisis, I would quickly assess who be cray-cray and who be rational human beings with a will to survive as a group. Then, we find the largest, strongest normie, give that person a bat, and have the normie take out the crazie(s) and we’ll be on our merry way. If that won’t work, we can go the classic passive-aggressive route and leave in the dead of night when all the crazies are passed out after drinking all the booze we ‘accidentally’ combined with windex. Done and done.

Skill #2 – I can keep people sane for the long haul

You don’t want people in your group growing weary and suicidal after months and months of chronic chaos and trauma! Remember the pilot of Falling Skies where the lady was having the kids draw out their feelings? I can do that, and with a master’s degree to boot! We want the human race to prevail, right? In order for that to happen, we need healthy, happy kids to turn into healthy, happy, baby-producing adults. Art therapy to the rescue!

Skill #3 – I am very good at being quiet

I’ve noticed that people supposedly trying to survive on the teevee/movie screen make a lot of noise and don’t always pay the price for it. (“The price” being living flesh ripped from bodies or your group gets robbed by another more ruthless band of outlaws.) Worse example evar: we’re bored in this zompocalypse. I know, let’s go to an amusement park and turn everything on! Not dangerous enough? Let’s strap ourselves into the rides and let our slowly-moving, hungry enemies surround us from below…

You don’t want that to happen to you, do you? Sure, one last roller coaster ride might be nice, but is it worth getting your intestines ripped out of your abdomen and worn as a candy necklace to save for later? And I know what you’re thinking – you may be quiet yourself, but your group is only as safe and quiet as your loudest white trash idiot. Might I suggest you choose me as a safe, quiet addition to your survival group. As evidenced by this post, I am very comfortable with silence (and common sense, for that matter) and I am rather good at at. Especially when silence sits between me and the undead.

Skill #4 – I know how to pack for the apocalypse

Remember in Space Balls when Lone Starr told Princess Vespa to bring only what she needed to survive? I am actually capable of following those directions, unlike spoiled fake princesses with naturally unruly hair. I am actually prepared for survival on a regular basis and I ain’t even a mom yet. At any given moment my bag contains: paper, a pen, dental floss, gum, mints, a book, kleenex, phone, wallet, keys, water, granola bar and those are just the basics. Hell, I have my backpacking pack already partially packed just in case. And you know I wouldn’t be unpacking my shit all around camp with that false sense of security. No sir. Packed and ready, sleeping-with-my-shoes-on kind of ready. And my hair is naturally gorgeous, thankyouverymuch.

Skill #5 – I can pop a squat like a champ

I was in Girl Scouts for 11 years growing up. Being a Girl Scout taught me many things, for example: to be courteous, to be prepared, and to be of service to others. The most important skill I learned from being a Girl Scout wasn’t about tying knots or how to sell the most cookies – it was how to pee in the woods in record time without soaking my socks. Ladies and gentlemen, my thighs are mighty, my squats are steady, and my stream is swift and precise. You don’t want any female member of your group being a liability every time she needs to take a leak. Choose me for your group and you won’t even notice that I have an unusually small bladder. Choose me and choose safety.

In closing, I may not be a good cook, a great warrior, super strong or super fast, but I sure gots the skills needed to survive the zompocalypse and have fun while doing it.

So. Do you have what it takes to survive? What is your zompocalypse skill set?