Z is for Zombies

I am the first to admit that I cannot and should not watch horror movies. Or movies that might be scary in any sense of the word. Or movies that might hint at something scary. I especially should not watch ANYTHING to do with zombies.

But I do. I break this scared and most cardinal rule all the time now.

Back in 2004, Scott and I decided to watch the recently released remake of Dawn of the Dead on DVD. We snuggled down on the couch in our tiny apartment and before the title even appeared on the screen my heart was already pounding and I gripped Scott’s hand.

“If you can’t handle this,” he said. “Let’s just turn it off. I’ll watch it later.”

“No. No.” I insisted. “I’m fine.”

Two hours of jumping and twitching and squeaking and closing my eyes, the movie finally ended.

“I loved it!” I told Scott.

He raised his eyebrow at me.

“No. Really!” I exclaimed. “I really did.”

“Your eyes were closed for most of it.” he said as he stood up. He grabbed my hand and pulled me up. “Come on, bed.” He pushed me into the bedroom.

I was just a bit unsure about the whole going to sleep thing, but I gamely changed into my jimmies and crawled under the sheets. Scott gave me a kiss and turned out the light. As my eyes adjusted to the dark, I started hearing things moving around outside.

“I’m glad we’re on the second floor.” I whispered in the dark. “All we’d have to do is break the staircases.”

“They’re made of concrete.” Scott sighed. “We don’t have a sledgehammer.”

“We need one.”

“Go to sleep.” He growled.

I fell asleep a few minutes later. I’m not sure how long I slept for but when I woke, it was still dark. Light from a street light filtered in through the blinds casting a yellow streaks on the wall. As I often do, I rolled over to snuggle Scott for a minute before I fell back asleep. Scott lifted his head off the pillow as I slid my arm around his waist and growled low in his throat. His eyes were dead and I could see in the dimness part of his face was missing. He was a zombie! I screamed and threw a punch right at his face then scrambled from the bed. He grabbed at me and I froze for a split second before I started flailing my arms and legs.

“Ow! Shit!” Scott yelled. “Heather! You punched me in the face!”

I screamed again and Scott clamped his hands down on my shoulders as I flailed about under the sheets.

“WAKE UP!” Scott yelled again and shook me.

My eyes popped fully open and I looked up at Scott.

“You were a zombie!” I cried tears streaming down my cheeks.

“You punched me!” Scott shook his head. “How would that have helped if I was a zombie?” He let got of my shoulders and turned on the light.

“I was trying to get away.” I said trying to calm down.

“It’s a good thing you don’t know how to actually throw a punch.” He chuckled, just a bit, because he was clearly still upset. “You are NEVER watching another zombie movie again!

A few years later, I started added a minor addendum to the story. I didn’t just punch him because he was a zombie. I cured him! Also, this is the reason why I am not allowed to have anything more dangerous than a piñata stick on my bedside table.

Guilty Pleasures: Doomsday Prepping

It started innocently enough with a minor obsession: The Zombie Apocalypse. I’ve never been much of a horror person so it was surprising just how much zombie literature and movies became a beloved genre of mine. Once I was thoroughly entrenched, I started thinking about survival. Would I be one of the ones to survive the initial outbreaks or would I find myself quickly zombiefied and looking for fresh brains?

I started justifying survival to myself. At first, it was simple things like, “Living on the second floor gives me an advantage…I can destroy the stairs. Bam! Survive!”

Then it morphed into, “How much Jell-O Pudding and butter can I stockpile. Clearly, that will give me an advantage.”

Somewhere along the line though, it became more real. I invested in survival manuals and how-to guides. I researched escape routes and the best places to lay in a cache of gear.

A few years ago, right around the time of the economic collapse the History Channel and its companion channel H2 started ramping up their shows about all the varied ways the world could end; shows about prophecies and viral outbreaks, about super volcanoes and death from the skies. And suddenly, zombies didn’t worry me so much.

I started paying attention to shows like Man vs. Wild and researching predicted rises in sea level - flooding is always a worry in Florida anyway. I tried to always have at least a months worth of food in the house. It might not have been food I wanted to eat…but it was there. Just in case. I read survival blogs like this one. I made plans for evacuation. I made a list of needed supplies for my bug out bag. I learned the steps needed to go off the grid. I developed a healthy fear of technology and made a list of all the old school skills I needed to develop in order to help my family survive.

When we moved into the new house Scott began encouraging my prep work. The girls got bows and arrows for Christmas and leaning how to shoot guns is on the horizon. Hunting, gardening, canning and raising livestock are all on our list of things to learn. I took over a section of the hall closet for food storage and have an easy time of it with all the fantastic BOGO deals at Publix. It isn’t much, but it is a start.

I consider myself relatively normal. I’m not a hoarder (unless it’s scrapbook supplies and then holy moly! do I need help!). I’ve always been an idealist – maybe that’s why I keep obsessing over survival: I want the human race to survive! Personally, I’d like to be one of the ones who do survive in a disaster. And living in Florida, disaster is a six month window every year. So I proactively prep. I’d rather have a plan in place and know what to do then all of a sudden have to react.

Zombie Haiku and Early Morning Ramblings

Zombie Haiku

Zombies are moaning
Outside of my locked window
Calling for my brains.

Why do I fear them?
Rotting away. Shambling.
Piles of grey flesh.

They will never stop
In their quest for squishy brains.
Mine must be tasty.

Lock all of the doors.
Board up the first floor windows.
Prepare for the worst.

Grey flesh sloughing off,
Organs and gore oozing out,
Black, soulless, empty.

Contingency plans
Should have contingency plans.
Plan A never works.

Scream all through the night,
No help will be there for you.
Stare into the night.

Alone in the house,
Bloody fingernails scratching,
Ripping at the door.

The dead are walking.
Humankind is at an end.
The dead will consume.

Two thousand and twelve
The Mayans knew what we don’t:
Dead will walk again.

Why worry about
The Nasdaq and the Dow Jones?
Zombies on Wall Street.

I really need to stop reading Zombie stories before I go to bed!

Early Morning Ramblings

If the Borg tried conversion rather than assimilation, I think people would be more willing to be Borg. Here’s why: we claim we want to be unique individuals, yet we exhibit our individuality by following all the latest trends and fads. One of our fears is not fitting in, not being “normal.” Think about it. The Borg allow all people to follow the same trends…that of the Hive Queen. All people fit in whether they are Human, Ferengi, or Klingon. Race doesn’t matter. Gender doesn’t matter. The Borg work together for a united front. Isn’t that what we all claim we want? Peace? The Borg want it too and actually work together to achieve it.

Teenagers are the worst form of humanity on the face of the planet. Hormonal, awkward and gangly, they look to fit in by being nasty and mean. I will accept the claim that all humans are selfish (even those that appear selfless) however, I would claim that teenagers are the epitome of this ideal. It is the teenager mind that wraps around itself and refuses to acknowledge the existence of anything else but themselves. It is a very rare occurrence that teenagers at selflessly. And yes, I realize that this is a huge generalization.

Arthur is really the best cartoon on television today. The new cartoons cater to trends and fads. They offer fluff and cotton. Arthur has substance. By no means am I making the claim that the cartoons I grew up with were any different. Fluff, cotton and catering to a mass market and consumerism, the cartoons I grew up with are no better that that of Dragon Ball Z, SpongeBob, and Mickey Mouse (the new adventures). It is just that Arthur is funny, moral, and real. Kids can relate to it. Hell, I can relate to it! Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m not knocking today’s cartoons. I’ve learned to like SpongeBob. I enjoy others as well – I can’t think of any right now, but I’m sure there are some out there.

What have I learned today through my early morning ramblings? Fear Zombies and Teenagers. The Borg aren’t all that bad. Arthur rocks!! And I probably shouldn’t philosophize first thing in the morning.