Saturday, April 12, 2014

Tampons in the Zombie Apocolypse

Let the record show that the only reason I'm writing this is because my brother David says I can't legitimately open up my bottle of fancy champagne until I write something worth celebrating. And homegirl needs some wine stat. I actually meant to write this weeks ago and just never got around to it. Like I never get around to most things... So here goes.

This blog is dedicated to that bottle of champagne,
which I will be drinking shortly
to celebrate my return to blogging.
Don't ask about the bananas and bare chest.
Long story.
Anyone else here tired of zombies? I know that I am. They're gross and boring, despite the few movies and television series that attempt to prove otherwise. (Warm Bodies is the exception. And the Shit.) In any case, zombies are a good demonstration of the philosophy that you just never know. And that it doesn't hurt to be prepared.

So freaking adorable. Though I would not tap that.

I started thinking about zombies a few weeks ago after LA was plagued by a rash of earthquakes. I was sitting at home by myself, when I felt a single jolt. My first conclusion? Some drunk ass ran their car into the building (much like I did when I was 16 and was backing out of the driveway by myself for the first time. True story. Though alcohol wasn't involved). But being too exhausted to investigate, I let it go. Maybe 45 minutes later, I felt The Big One. (At least the Biggest One I've Ever Felt. Tee hee, that's what she said...). I jumped out of my comfy chair and stood in a doorway. I was ok in the moment, but as soon as it was over, I instinctually called my mommy. When the call wouldn't connect, presumably because the circuits were jammed and you're not supposed to use your cell after an emergency, I started having a panic attack. I full on hyperventilated, even after reaching my half-asleep mother. As the on-site representative of the property management, I probably should have ventured forth to check on the welfare of my residents. But… rum happened instead. I would have been no good to them anyway with my nerves frazzled to hell.

Pictured: My worst nightmare

Lots of people on Facebook were making fun of those of us who collectively lost our shit, even though nothing really of consquence happened. While I am a native Californian and this was not my first rodeo, earthquakes are my biggest fear. Really, all natural disasters. But earthquakes specifically because of my geographical context and the complete and utter lack of warning. Chances are, if a zombie apocolypse hits, there's gonna be some kind of notice sent out.

The next 24 hours after the Big One, I felt 5 aftershocks. The earth refused to sit still and let me walk all over it. By the last one, I ceased to be panicked and breathless, and started being annoyed. The best way for me to deal with my anxiety over feeling helpless is to switch into project mode. I decided to finally put together my earthquake/tsunami/zombie apocolypse kit that I promised my dad I would make when I first moved down to Southern California in August of 2005.

Girl Scouts Prepare
Me: Before, Me: After. Pigtails and everything.

It's weird to think about what kind of things may come in handy in an emergency situation. Of course, I packed the usual: first aid supplies, bottled water, the combination flashlight/radio/phone charger/siren I bought on a whim during an ill-advised late night Walmart excursion. Then I started looking around at the random stuff I have around my apartment that I ended up stuffing in the ugly, hand-sewn tote bag I made as part of a mother-daughter Mormon activity night.

Yep. I made that bag. With my own two 12 year old hands.
And you never know when you're gonna need a bullhorn.
1. A floral hammer with Russian doll nesting screwdrivers in the handle. An unironic gift from my amazing, late grandmother. I know that she would want me to be prepared in case things get primitive and I have to construct myself some kind of shelter. And still be fabulous at the same time.



2. Playing cards, because I assume waiting for help to arrive will get pretty boring without electricity.

3. Garfunkel & Oates lighters, which I got an inexplicably large amount of after a concert at Upright Citizens Brigade. I don't smoke, but I don't like to throw away potentially useful things. Plus, Garfunkel & Oates would be amazing survival buddies.

What's your zombie apocalypse book?
Chances are it's a hell of a lot different than your desert island book.

4. "God Bless You Mr. Rosewater" by Kurt Vonnegut. I've never read it, but I bought it at a library book sale for a quarter a few years ago and never got around to it. (Notice a pattern here?) I think Vonnegut is a good choice for zombie apocolypse literature though.

5. A change of clothes: old athletic pants that probably no longer fit, my bright yellow 'P' t-shirt from high school (Go Hillmen!), socks, and some granny panties. Because no one is gonna care what kind of underwear you're wearing at the end of the world. But they do care about school spirit.

Sadly, I couldn't find a picture of the legendary P shirt.
Do they even still make them?
6. Non-perishable food items: all I had was ramen, Costco tuna, and a can of nonfat refried beans for which I purchased a cheap can opener.

7. Toilet paper.

8. Notebook and pens. In case I get the urge to pen the great Post-Apocalyptic American novel.

Fun fact, in the original screenplay, Julia Roberts was supposed to be snorting crack, not flossing.
But that would have made a less peppy survival tip.
9. Various personal hygiene accoutrements. Because as Julia Roberts tells us in Pretty Woman, "You shouldn't neglect your gums." Not even after a major disaster. Seriously, dentists may be in short supply.

Guts & Glitter
I found a happy face made out of tampons. My life is now complete.

10. Tampons. Because your period may not be able to wait for FEMA.

After I was done with my kit, I felt an enormous sense of accomplishment. I took control over my destiny. And the universe will get no pleasure from fucking with me now that I'm prepared. And my dad couldn't be prouder. Unless I had fashioned the whole kit from duct tape.

PS. I think my kit needs a kazoo. And I just so happen to have a Garfunkel & Oates kazoo. Everyone is gonna wanna be my survival buddy now!

No comments:

Post a Comment