vampire for a day

I tend to joke about my ghostly complexion, comparing myself to a vampire, but I'm not really a vampire. I don't sleep in a coffin, drink blood, or burn when exposed to the sun. I mean...wait...I do burn when exposed to the sun. In fact, I burn a  lot when exposed to the sun...even when slathered in my SPF 100, vampire protection level sunscreen.

Yesterday, I was tasked to take my daughter to downtown Atlanta, ironically enough, to be an extra on the Vampire Diaries, TV show. So, after I dropped her off at one in the afternoon, I decided to go visit with some old friends/family while I was in town.

But this is me we're talking about. Things can never be that easy. Just about everyone was either working, sick, or on the other side of town. So after a quick lunch and a shopping trip with my niece--including a heart racing scavenger hunt to find my purse after I left it somewhere in the store--I fled the sunshine for a darkened movie theater.

My daughter expected to finish shooting around nine that night, so as soon as the movie let out, I made my way back through the nighttime traffic into the belly of Atlanta.

There's something totally different about driving in a big city at night than driving in the day. I got lost. Waayyy lost. Several wrong turns, multiple detours, and too many panic attacks later, I found myself in the scariest neighborhood I've ever been in. At. Night.  

Thanks to a GPS app that was obviously designed by the writers of The Hangover, I'd wandered into an alternate reality...a gritty crime drama movie where the stereotypes were running rampant all around me. But trust me when I say, I wasn't laughing. I was too busy controlling my breathing and making up new swear words. I locked my doors, and ran every stop sign...terrified I was going to get carjacked if I as much as slowed down...all the while, cursing the voice on my GPS for guiding me to this part of town.

I couldn't read the screen without my glasses, but I can't drive with them on, so I was doomed to listen to the disembodied voice and her wild goose chase. I was suddenly surrounded by what looked like extras in an episode of The Walking Dead.   

The GPS continued shouting out directions, constantly redirecting me when I refused to drive down dark, secluded street after street, until finally, I'd reached my destination.  I'd never been more delighted to see scary men in Kevlar vests in my whole life. The security team for the Vampire Diaries shoot kept me company in the dark parking lot for the next two hours while I waited for my daughter to finish filming.

By two am, just as my bladder reached critical mass and I was trying to figure out how I was going to maneuver the empty McDonald's cup into position so I could pee into it, I got the phone call telling me she was done. Hurray! Now we just had to escape the city and tackle the two hour drive home. With one last detour--a clean bathroom.

But hey, it's all in a day's work, right? 

Until the next time...I'll be catching up on my sleep.

is it just me, or have zombies taken over the world?

Let me get this part out of the way first...I like zombies...maybe even love them (in a non-sexual sort of way.) They're scary, and cool, and maybe with the exception of R in Warm Bodies, there is zero attraction, but they have a certain charm. They're already dead, so you can't kill them. They're attracted more to your brains than your body. And damn it they aren't chic, in a retro sort of way. There's just something about a slick, sauntering, rapidly decaying zombie that makes my heart race.

Enter this new Brad Pitt movie, World War Z. Now, my son would probably say this movie is an abomination because it strayed from book, but since I didn't actually read the book, I have the luxury of basing my opinion strictly on the screen version. And let me tell you, this movie had my heart beating so fast I was contemplating a trip to the emergency room.  

The zombies in World War Z weren't the lazy, shufflers we're accustomed to in modern cinema. No, these zombies were runners. And fast moving runners at that. They changed less than thirty seconds after being bitten, and operated like machines hell bent on destroying the human race. The movie was a fast-paced, rollercoaster ride from beginning to end.  

But I'm not a film critic. And I don't do reviews. But if you like zombies, and you have all your heart medications at the ready, I would totally recommend this one.   

Oh, and for the record. Not a one of them sang a lick of karaoke during the entire movie. And I still liked it. Consider that my highest recommendation. 

Until the next time...I'll be chasing zombies out of my dreams. 

sing me a song, zombie piano man

After making a passing comment in my blog last night about being a karaoke singing zombie, I was bombarded with comments on Twitter (ok, it was one) about how no self-respecting zombie would be caught dead doing karaoke (ironic choice of words, if you ask me). And besides that, according to this source, they lack vocal cords necessary for singing.

Before I address the inaccuracies in that statement, I’d like to say I never actually thought I was a zombie. I was being funny (or perhaps not as funny as I thought if someone thought I was serious.) Oh, sure…I have a few of the characteristics. Especially as I get closer and closer to that age where stuff just doesn’t work like it used to. I’ve been known to groan as I shuffle across the floor in the morning, growling at anything that approaches me before I’ve had my morning muffin…brain food, as you know. My hair may or may not be sticking up in all directions, and my sickly pallor just might draw the occasional double take. But, I can assure you I’m still relatively alive. And my vocal chords have been known to function quite nicely in a karaoke atmosphere.

And about that…zombies do, in fact, have vocal cords.  I mean, they had them when they were alive, so surely they haven’t rapidly disintegrated merely to prevent karaoke amongst their kind. Now, making distinguishable sounds from those vocal cords is another story. And for that, perhaps we should look to history, and the zombie evolution.

According to my friend and fellow author, Stephen Kozeniewski, we need to, “analyze this question scientifically. The answer naturally depends on the zombie mythos involved.”

So with that in mind, Stephen says…

1. Vodun – (That’s voodoo for anyone beside me who went, huh?) Yes, if ordered to do so by the bokor.

2. Romero mythos – (Original Night of the Living Dead director…but I knew that.) Categorically "no" with a possible exception for Bub IF he continues to evolve.

3. Russo mythos – (Return of the Living Dead director…I pretended to know that) Categorically "Yes."

4. Braineater Jones – (Stephen’s upcoming zombie novel, coming this fall!) Theoretically, "yes." However the silent orchestra technology to do so would not yet have been invented in the early '30s.

Now that Stephen has had his say, I’m tossing in Warm Bodies, my new favorite zombie movie. I’m pretty sure R would have kicked ass at karaoke!

Oh, and while I’m at it, I think I’ll add Thriller. Those were some serious karaoke singing zombies!

Until the next time…I’ll leave you with Michael Jackson and his zombie crew

can zombies do karaoke?

Today was jam packed with action. Well, compared to the average day spent in my pajamas talking chickens out of perching on my laptop, or convincing pigs not to eat me.​ Today...I went on a day trip. Today...I drove to civilization.

Ok, so I don't live so far off the beaten path that you could refer to "here" as non-civilized. But if you define civilization as being within a ten mile radius of a shopping mall. Or a five mile radius of at least three McDonald's and a Starbucks, then I most definitely don't ​live in civilization.​ In fact, most horror movies are set in what looks  suspiciously like my backyard.

Anyway...my plan involved an almost two hour drive, after getting less than six hours of sleep. ​My mission...lunch with my mother. My mother doesn't live in civilization either. But since we live in separate wildernesses, we decided to meet in the middle. Or more accurately, near my sister's house. ​

​So, off I went.

Never order salad at a restaurant known for their hamburgers. That's like ordering a pizza at a Chinese restaurant. You just never know what you're going to get. After lunch, we stopped off at a real ​clothing store (not a discount store or a high priced tourist spot like in my neck of the woods) where I could buy real ​jeans (not the plain Jane off the rack denim that never seem to fit right through the ass) and picked up three pairs (pre-distressed) and two shirts (courtesy of Mom). Things were working out better than I'd planned.

Then I swung by the bank where I used to work and signed a few copies of my book (very exciting, just saying) for the people who inspired the quirky characters within the pages. All in all, I managed to sell four books before I've had a single signing event! Not bad for a day's work. My treat for the evening...karaoke!

Fast forward to the evening's entertainment. My eyes were drooping from lack of sleep (and three hours spend in the car under the hot sun). I skipped the liquor because my doctor switched my medication the other day, and apparently, it turns me into a zombie (though, some will find this side effect to be a plus.)​ So, I sang two songs (remarkably well for someone suffering from zombieitis (possible word of the day) and went home, where I'll be sleeping off my meds to the sound of thunder and lightning. In the grand scheme of things, not a bad day at all.

Until the next time...I'll probably be having weird dreams that I'll blog about tomorrow.​

attack of the zombie cat

I think my cat may be a zombie. ​

He still looks like a cat. Sorta smells like a cat. Makes cat noises. But he caught a mouse last night and only ate the brains. This is the epitome of zombie behavior...eating brains. Therefore...and I feel as if making this leap is the next logical step...my cat IS a zombie.

So, now what? Do I lay awake a night waiting for him to come after me? Nibbling on my brains one lick at a time? Do I at least give him time to rid my house of the mouse population before putting an end to his rein of terror? ​

I have no idea what to think. ​

On one hand, I'm jumping up and down, delighted to know I'm down at least one mouse today. But on the other, I'm sort of worried my cat will begin to deteriorate until I'm fighting him off with a can of tuna and a shovel. ​

Why can't life be simple? What happened to the good old days when zombies only showed up in grave yards and over-populated shopping malls? I guess the zombie apocalypse is upon us.​

Either that or I'm not feeding my cat enough.​

Until the next time...I'll be picking up cat food (and dead mice)​

ain't that a kick in the head

Ok, this whole being sick thing is getting old. It’s been days. Tomorrow is my karaoke Halloween party, and I not only want to sing, but I want to dress up too…as something other than a zombie, thank you very much. But as far as that goes, my voice is shot, and the rest of me looks a little too much like the walking dead. I guess if I’m looking at the up side, at least I’ll save money on a costume.

But all this talk of zombies sort of freaks me out. Especially after Mike watched that documentary on the zombie apocalypse the other day. I wasn’t watching, but it was hard to tune out. I didn’t want to see the screen, but I couldn’t look away. Sort of like that part in the movie Wild Things when Kevin Bacon steps out of the shower and you can totally see everything. Are you paying attention? He flashed EVERYTHING. Right…I sheltered my eyes that time too.  Sure I did. 

But this time, there was no naked Bacon in a shower.  This time I was transfixed by a world filled with flesh eating zombies.  A world where no one was safe from the madness. Dogs devoured dogs. Husbands devoured wives (and not in a good way either.) 

Somebody make it stop!

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again…we need to prepare. 

Well, I’m not much for preparation, but I’ll happily oversee.  My son is the zombie warrior and my husband is the one who prepares for the apocalypse.  I basically stay out of the way for fear of breaking something. 

But I don’t want the world to disappear.  I don’t want to be eaten by zombies.  I don’t want to be a zombie. I don’t find brains the least bit appetizing. Not cow brains. Not monkey brains. And sure as hell, not people brains. First of all, they’re really messy, and everyone knows I hate getting my hands dirty when I eat. I would need a whole lot of napkins…just saying. And while it’s true, I like my steak on the rare side…ok, I like it practically mooing…I’m still not up for munching on raw neighbors. No. I want to turn back the clock to a simpler time.  A time when Frank, Dean and Sammy were the coolest cats on Earth. 

Come to think of it, I’m certain the Rat Pack would have been the coolest zombies in the world, but the coolest zombie hunters on the planet.  Sinatra would never run from a zombie.  He would walk right up to one (singing Witchcraft, of course) tip his hat with a grin, then Dean would take him out with a swift kick in the head.

I think a zombie apocalypse would be almost fun if Frank, Sammy and Dean were out front, killing zombies in the desert and driving around in a baby blue convertible, stopping off to do a show along the way.  Of course, the old Sand’s hotel would be their base of operations, and they would report directly to President Kennedy. 

I don’t know about you…but I’d totally buy tickets to that show.

Until the next time…I’ll be watching the original Ocean’s Eleven while I get ready for zombie karaoke.

a rant against zombies

Welcome to the Weekly Guest Spotlight

Lisa Magoch JohnsonThis week’s guest is writer/blogger Lisa Magoch Johnson. For more about Lisa, click here for her blog.

This morning I read an article about a huge tantrum.  A woman in Prescott, Arizona attacked police officers by punching, scratching, and biting at their ankles. It earned her a mention in the local paper, but didn’t get even a blip of the nationwide coverage of those in Florida who decided they wanted to munch on other people’s faces.  Those people were probably zombies. This woman? Deranged.

Apparently, the deciding factor of who is and isn’t a zombie is based on what you bite.  

Ankles – Deranged or thinks they’re a chihuahua.

Face— Zombie.

Ear – An ex boxer trying to make a comeback.

It’s 2012 and “zombie apocalypse” has joined the list of overused catchphrases.  I hate zombies! There. I said it. Vampires I can deal with. All you have to do with a classic vampire is wait until sunrise, throw holy water on him, stake him through the heart, and set him out in the sunlight for good measure. Unless he’s one of those weirdo vampires, who has discovered glittering Tinkerbell sunblock. 

Werewolves?  Throw him a steak.  Make a bullet out of silver. It depends on if you want to keep him as a pet or not.

Mummy?  Hold your nose and unwrap his bandages.

Meanwhile, zombies. They’re slow,  have no personality, and they stink. You have to wonder why anyone gets killed in a zombie movie.  If everyone armed themselves with baseball bats and walked in a zig zag pattern, the movie would be over within ten minutes.

So, why do we want to assume every drug user who becomes a maniacal biter is a potential zombie?  I have heard of meth users who displayed superhuman strength.  Never once did anyone wonder if we had a potential super hero/villain running around. 

Just because I hate zombies and don’t believe in them, doesn’t mean I’m not ready.  What I have done is to join a medieval reenactment group called the SCA (Society for Creative Anachronism) .  They are a group of people who wear funny clothes and dance around hitting each other with sticks.  They will tell you they are doing this for sport or educational purposes, but what better way to practice zig zagging and practicing your zombie shot?  You never know. Weirder things have happened.

Thanks Lisa! But just FYI, I love zombies. I mean, not love love, cuz that’s really gross. But I love to hate them, and that’s kinda love, right? I mean, I’ve vowed to only run when chased by zombies, so that gives them a certain kind of importance in my life. But let’s not delve too far into my love life, shall we?

Until the next time…I’ll be having zombie nightmares!

the zombie mailbag

Welcome to the Weekly Guest Spotlight

Dan DeWittTonight’s guest is writer Dan DeWitt. For more about Dan, click on his photo to visit his website.

My fellow zurvivors: 

Another St. Patrick’s Day is almost upon us, and I think that it’s important to honor a great man for his epic accomplishment of single-handedly saving the Emerald Isle from aggressive beasts. Now, legend would have you believe that the beasts were snakes but, as the zoological record indicates that Ireland has never had snakes, legend is wrong. This is most likely not a result of intentional misinformation borne of malice, but of the caretakers of such knowledge being afraid to pass on the truth for fear of nationwide panic.

I think it’s finally time to tell that truth.

I’ve been in possession of a handful of St. Patrick’s letters; I will never reveal how I obtained them.

There may or may not have been sex involved.* 

“St. Patrick getting ready to open up a big ol’ can of whoopass.”St. Patrick was, in fact, the world’s foremost dispatcher of the undead.

With that in mind, I want to pay tribute to St. Patrick for everything from his hard-earned knowledge (which has literally kept me alive this long) to his indirect involvement in the creation of the Shamrock Shake. The best way I know to do this is to help you out as best I can. Many of you have managed to get messages to me in one way or another, so here are some answers. (Paul in Louisville, the carrier pigeon was missing a leg when I found him. Scout’s honor.)

From Jen Lyn: “Would animal meat distract as well as human? Should I sacrifice the neighbor’s dog or the neighbor?”

Jen, it’s important to note that sacrificing only works in chess and the occasional pagan ceremony. Zombies will only eat what they or one of their kind has recently killed. They can sense the difference between a fresh kill and plain old dead flesh. Having said that, unless your neighbor is exceedingly skilled at something, spare the dog. Dogs are a great early-warning system. Also, I’m glad I’m not your neighbor. 

From Erica: “Can the zombie virus be transmitted through kissing?”

Sounds like a helluva party. Anyway, there’s no scientific or anecdotal evidence that I’m aware of to suggest that a person who hasn’t yet been reanimated can pass on the virus through saliva or other bodily fluids. On the other hand, if someone’s kissing an actual zombie, well … they’re really not going to have much time to worry about it.

Laurence asks: “My zombified wife is chained up in the basement, and her incessant moaning is keeping me and my new girlfriend awake. Any soundproofing tips?”

First of all, congrats on moving on. Your wife would want you to be happy. Possibly. Regarding soundproofing, I can’t help you. However, if you have electricity, I have a simple workaround: hook up a DVD player and set it to repeat. Even in undeath, female zombies still manage to sob uncontrollably during “The Notebook.” Slainte! 

D.C. (the person, not the district) wonders: “Will a zombie chew on its own arm if it gets bored enough?”

Hmmm. I had to think about this one for a while. Zombies don’t get bored like you or I do, because they are driven by the need for palatable flesh. But, I suppose if they ran across an insurance salesman or Joan Rivers they might start at their own fingernails and just keep chewing.

Question from Warren: “I found a misspelled note telling me that Lawry’s Seasoning Salt wards off zombies, and that I should cover myself in it and go out. Thoughts?”

That’s an obvious trap, Warren. The only substance on Earth that can mask the living from the undead, if only for a short time, is patchouli oil. If it can cover up decades of hippie stank, it can cover up anything.

Next question from Jeremy: “Our farmhouse is just about surrounded, and we’ll have to run soon. How do I identify the slowest person in the group, because I really only need to outrun them, right?”

Listen closely, Jeremy. I want you to look at all of the other people you’re with. Everyone has a role. Leader, Fixer, Cook, Wiseass, etc. So you want you to find the Slowest Bastard Among You? Everyone else does, too. If you haven’t figured out who that person is by now, I have some bad news. You are that slow bastard. If I were you, I’d start convincing everyone that it would be safer to stay and fight.

Dave asks: “Can a zombie infect you if they wear dentures, or does it have to be with their real teeth?”

Great question. The virus is transmitted via saliva through open wounds, so if the dentures are still capable of drawing blood, I think you’re screwed. Regardless, if we ever bounce all the way back, I’ll be heading up Poligrip’s new ad campaign.

Finally, a lament from Penny: “I understand that it’s difficult to find time to shave during the zombie apocalypse, but I hate that all of the men have Paul Bunyan beards.”

Preaching to the choir, Penny. My other neverending battle is the one against my own hirsuteness. Fun fact: The very first thing to truly die in the zompoc is metrosexuality.

Until the next time…good luck, and don’t be sorry for zombie rockin’.

* Not with him. You’re nasty.

I see undead people

I wonder if I haven’t spent too much time hanging out with vampires lately.  Not the flesh and blood kind, of course, but rather the sort that come to life inside that scary place I call my mind.  They may be figments of my overactive imagination, but they’re no less real to me.  Still, I usually know the difference between my imaginary vampires and the people I see on the street.  Not so much recently.  Now everywhere I go, I see undead people. 

It’s nothing out of the ordinary to run into flesh-eating zombies or bloodthirsty vampires while wandering through a Wal-Mart or Waffle House late at night.  I once even ran into a woman who looked suspiciously like a werewolf in mid-transition.  She was wearing short pants, exposing a thick pelt of dark fur on her legs, and almost as much on her upper lip.  But I used to take comfort in the fact that the scary percentage of the population keeps to the shadows.  They’re not supposed to aimlessly roam the streets like a pack of Girl Scouts selling cookies.

So where are they coming from?

Just today, at the salon, there was a guy who could have been auditioning for a part in Tales of the Daywalkers, the movie (I wish! Just saying…). He was channeling Sebastian. And he totally looked the part. 

He even seemed to be willing to bite me. 

I was tempted…I admit it.  But as drawn to the idea as I was, I figured I’d better not.  You just never know where his fangs have been.  You know what I mean?  Besides, my husband probably would have been really pissed off.  Guys don’t appreciate vampires biting their wives. 

Oh well…too bad.

I have vampires of my own anyway.  And if I really think about it, I might have to admit that it could just be my subconscious reminding me I need to stay home for the rest of the weekend and work on this week’s Daywalkers. I know a few people who might stalk me for real if I don’t get it done.

You know who you are! 

Until the next time…I’ll be buckling down to finish week 8!

that’s why the zombie’s a tramp

I was having a pretty good day.  It was beautiful outside, comfortably cool and sunny.  I had a nice lunch outing followed by a productive trip to the bookstore where I wrote several pages on my current work in progress.  My husband and I even watched a movie together (while multitasking on separate laptops). 

It was lovely.

Then as soon as the movie was over, my husband switched the television to a documentary about a post-apocalyptic world.  It was everything I had ever feared…and then some. 

I couldn’t watch, but I couldn’t look away, sort of like that part in the movie Wild Things when Kevin Bacon steps out of the shower and you can totally see “everything.”  Right…I closed my eyes that time.  Sure I did. 

But this time, there was no naked Bacon in a shower.  This time I was watching a world with no people.  A world where dogs devoured dogs…and rust ate away at skyscrapers and monuments. 

Somebody make it stop!

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again…we need to prepare. 

Well, I’m not much for preparation, but I’ll happily oversee.  My son is the zombie warrior and my husband is the one who prepares for the apocalypse.  I basically stay out of the way for fear of breaking something. 

But I don’t want the world to disappear.  I don’t want to be eaten by zombies.  I want to turn back the clock to a simpler time.  A time when Frank, Dean and Sammy were the coolest cats on Earth. 

I think the Rat Pack would have been the coolest zombie hunters in the world.   Sinatra would never run from a zombie.  He would walk right up to one (singing Witchcraft, of course) tip his hat with a grin, then Dean would take him out with a broken liquor bottle.

I think a zombie apocalypse would be almost fun if Frank, Sammy and Dean were out front, killing zombies in the desert and driving around in a baby blue convertible, stopping off to do a show along the way.  Of course, the old Sand’s hotel would be their base of operations, and they would report directly to President Kennedy. 

I don’t know about you…but I’d totally buy tickets to that show.

Until the next time…I’ll be watching the original Ocean’s Eleven!

just another day in my crazy life

I didn’t want to get up this morning.  I needed just a few more minutes of sleep to finish my dream. It wasn’t a good dream, but those are the ones you really need to finish.  You need to bring them to a satisfying conclusion or you’re stuck with that leftover dread all day long.  I didn’t want a day filled with leftover dread.  I had a fresh batch waiting for me as it was. 

I had promised the girls I would take them on a shopping trip to Little Five Points, one of Atlanta’s more colorful neighborhoods.  Little Five, as the girls call it, is a hippie, eccentric, funky, artsy little district full of bizarre and wonderful shops and restaurants.

It was way beyond my brand of weird.

My girls were interested in Junkman’s Daughter and Psycho Sister’s on this trip…two of the funkiest of the funky.  Junkman’s doesn’t allow photos taken inside, but Psycho Sister’s actually begged me to take pictures and blog about them.  I was only too happy to comply.  It was a cool little place and much of my husband’s hard earned money was spent there. 

As the girls wandered the shops holding up costumes that rivaled the best of Halloween though the past century, I ran around taking pictures and tried not to make eye contact with the man strutting down the sidewalk wearing a giant pair of fairy wings.

I sort of felt like I was in the first twenty minutes of what would morph into the scariest zombie movie ever made.

My son has spent countless hours schooling me on what I would need to do to survive a zombie invasion, so I know I can’t outrun a zombie.  I can’t outrun the gray in my hair, how would I ever have a chance of escaping a zombie?  In fact, I would be lucky to get more than a few steps away.  I have been known to trip over imaginary obstacles.  My total lack of coordination is legendary.  I once managed to get my heel caught in a sidewalk grate at the exact same time I got the buttons on the cuff of my coat sleeves caught in the straps of my purse.  I floundered around like a fish in a net until someone felt sorry enough for me to untangle me from my self-imposed trap.  My only hope for survival is to plan ahead.

So standing in the center of Little Five Points in the middle of another scorcher of a day, I was studying the crowd for signs of infection…of the zombie sort. 

As an experiment in people watching it was amazing.  Junkman’s Daughter was one of those places where you could pass right by someone and not realize they had gone off until they took a bite out of your shoulder.

The man modeling peacock feather earrings in Psycho Sisters was, by his own admission, only twenty-three days away from the zombie apocalypse.  Lucky for him, he had some pretty nice earrings…we had to buy a pair.   

While we ate pizza at an outdoor café a man approached the table beside us panhandling for a cigarette, and I was pretty sure he was just one bite away from the undead. Best pizza I have eaten in ages, but I ate with trepidation as I waited for someone to run up behind me and stick a straw into my skull to suck out my brains.  

Somehow we survived the day.  I never felt more than a fleeting urge to run and I made it home with daylight hours to spare…all thanks to the careful planning and foresight instilled in me by my son over the course of several years. 

Many months ago, as we drove past an ill-planned neighborhood of single story houses planted in an open field with no safe cover anywhere to be seen, my son said something to me that I will never forget as long as I live.  He said, “When the zombies attack…those people are totally screwed.” 

So…maybe we fit in down in Little Five Points better than I originally thought.

Until the next time…I’ll be barricading the doors!

do zombies like girl scout cookies?

I never seem to spend enough time with my kids.  They all have lives of their own now, and I don’t play that big a part on a day to day basis anymore.  Oh, I try.  I am very hip and cool for a Mom.  But they often give me the hint that perhaps I should make myself scarce.  The girls are a little more forgiving when I butt into their friendships, but then again, they still rely on me for rides, money and permission—and, yeah…I am just that cool!  My son on the other hand, is fairly self sufficient.  He still relies on me for some things, (a roof over his head, a stocked refrigerator, and free cable) but at twenty, he feels as if he is all the way grown up and does not need his mother joining in on his play dates—or his Facebook page, apparently—which is why I was so pleased to have spent some quality time with him stuck in traffic today. 

Our topic of conversation veered into the path of flesh eating zombies. 

My son is an expert on zombies.  He could write a book on surviving a zombie attack.  We have mapped out every escape route in our house, planned out the best places to survive, what supplies we will need to have on hand, and what weapons are best suited for self defense.  I have been well schooled on the zombie’s weak spots in the event I am forced to attack.  I have often said that I only run when chased by zombies, but according to my son, I wouldn’t get very far on foot, and should have a substantial vehicle to escape zombies. (It does more damage when you run them down.)   He has seen to it that we are ready for the imminent invasion!

But, we didn’t start the conversation talking about zombies.  We started talking about how stealthy he was.  I was somewhat skeptical—I am far too clumsy to be stealthy—and considering his gene pool, I was doubtful of his ability to be as sneaky as he claimed to be.  (He is over six feet two inches tall, and probably weighs close to two hundred and forty pounds.)

That was when he pulled out a yellow lollipop with a wide grin and announced that he had lifted it from my office.  Mind you, I was unaware that I even had a yellow lollipop in my office.  I was only aware of the two boxes of Girl Scout cookies (Samoas) that he hijacked from my desk this afternoon.  But there was nothing covert about that operation.  He just walked into my office, spotted the familiar purple boxes and announced that, “I’ve read your blog.  You don’t need any more cookies!”  He said this as he grabbed both boxes and spun on his heels to head out the way he came in.  I didn’t put up a fight.  I was at the bank—I didn’t want to alert anyone to the seriousness of my cookie addiction—plus I still had two boxes of Thin Mints, and two boxes of Do Si Dos that must have escaped his notice while he was lifting the yellow lollipop. 

He pulled the wrapper off the lollipop and went on to tell me he was as stealthy as a ninja.  To which I said, “ah…the ninja zombie hunter.” 

He immediately set out to clarify.  “Are you saying that I’m a ninja zombie, who hunts?  Or am I a hunter who hunts ninja zombies.  Those are very specific distinctions.”   

Of course they are.  I should have known.

I just stared ahead at the traffic.  I didn’t know which distinction was the right one.  I thought it would be sort of cool to have a lone zombie, roaming the Earth, dressed in a ninja suit…doing ninja things. 

“No, I would be the zombie hunting ninja!”  He corrected, as if he could hear my thoughts. 

“Ah.” 

I actually wonder sometimes where my kids get their quirkiness from.  And then I remember that I keep a spreadsheet documenting the frequency of wearing my underwear inside out.   (It is only for science, I promise!)

I’m really very lucky to have a twenty year old that is as bright as he is…and witty.  He gets the joke.  He knows that being a zombie encyclopedia is strange, but he doesn’t care.  He just likes zombies.  He will be the first one to poke fun at himself over the strangeness of it all. 

Sort of like his mother. 

Until the next time…I’ll be boarding up all the doors and windows!