"Sometimes I Like to Lick Dead People" and Other Questionable Truths

Don't worry, I actually don't like to lick dead people. Although...I've never tried it before. I've always thought that licking the deceased was not only really socially unacceptable and probably against the law, but also just plain gross. But there must be someone out there who has licked a dead person. Right? The world is populated by roughly 7 billion people, someone must have licked a dead person at some point or another. Maybe it was a the 'in thing' to do back in the day. And people everywhere would just casually lick dead people at parties and what not.*

These are the thoughts I have at 4 in the morning. 

That little bit of sleep I was oh so blessed with was disturbed by a putrid nightmare. A zombie apocalypse nightmare. 

And because you all asked ever so nicely, I will tell you all about my bad dream:

It all started with myself, my mother, and my aunt at an Adele concert (dream Adele was fantastic by the way). My cousin is 5 years old going on 6, and she was there too but all upset because we weren't going to let her come to our seats with us unless she finished her chips. So she compromised like the little muffin-cake that she is and put the chips into her backpack. Then she came and enjoyed the Adele concert with us when all of a sudden....A ZOMBIE BROKE LOOSE AND ATE ADELE'S HAND OFF!!!! It was madness. My aunt placed my cousin into my arms told me to run. I obliged, and this is where things get a little foggy. I remember either my aunt and/or mother trying to escape with us but I also remember them fending of zombies to save their baby girls. 

Little Cousin and I ran off and got into my car. But we needed gas (Lesson one: always make sure your tank is filled up when a zombie apocalypse strikes). We headed to the gas station, I've got cousin buckled up in her car seat and both of us are ever so slightly freaking out. She's crying in the back about how we have to go get 'momma' and I'm crying in the front about how I completely agree. Not only because we love and care about the ladies that gave birth to us but also because I can not raise a child on my own. It's a good day when I have food in the apartment or can actually get out of bed. I feel like adding a child into that mix would make my excuses for forgetting to buy groceries seem extremely frivolous. So as you can see, this is where my nightmare begins (buh dunshh)**. 

We get to the gas station. All is well but I realize I've forgotten my gas card at home. What is a gas card you ask? Well it is not a card in which gives you methane that is then released out of your anus, but it is a card in which you can obtain fossil fuels to make your car go vroom-vroom. Lucky for me though, a nice police man helps us out. He was a younger cop and I think if my dream was a movie then we would be each others loved interests. Nice police man guy helps us out with some gas and is about to fill up our tank when all of a sudden.....ZOMBIES COME OUT OF NOWHERE AND BITE OUT A RANDOM GUY'S JUGULAR (oh no!!! ahhh!!! the horror!!!)***.

Put on your imagination caps guys and close you eyes, or don't close you eyes because then you wouldn't be able to read this plethora of imagery I'm about to lay down for you. Are you ready?

Imagine, people running and screaming in all directions. Zombies everywhere, but they are the slow walking zombies not the weirdly fast new-age ones. You see the girl and the cop look around, wide eyed and filled with terror, the little girl cousin trembling and screaming for our narrator to save her. So she runs. She runs and reaches the car seat, unbuckles the little girl and runs like that really fast sprinter guy to the cop's car (for some reason the cop is driving and Audi and not an actual cop car). Our protagonist gets into the car and starts it. The cop is fending off Zombies and when she reverses into the hoard of Zombie/Dead-Zombie pile up, the cop shouts at her to leave. He says "save yourselves!". So they speed off. They drive away. They are driving towards the ocean on their little island. Towards the ferry that will take them to the mainland where hopefully they can find a safe place. The girl hears her cousin mumbling in the back about how they are going to just go get mommas overnight things so she'll have stuff for the morning. You can physically feel the protagonists heart breaking, and feel the tension in her shoulders as she tries to keep it together. 

They are driving along the road and everything is silent. You can here moaning and banging coming barricaded houses. 

They are walking now towards to the ocean. But there is not ferry, so they steal a sail boat and begin to sail off in hopes of answers and safety. 

This is where things get dark, at least this is where things get heavy for me. If you would like to end on a semi-happy note then I would stop here. But after this point its not going to be sunshine and roses****. 

They are on a boat now, and the girl notices a bite mark on her cousins leg. She see's how her cheeks have hollowed out, and her eyes are showing signs of decaying. The girl's heart just drops. She can't believe that this is happening. The cousin looks up to her and looks scared, intensely scared. She doesn't know what to do now. 

This story had multiple endings, there is the first one where after she turns, I throw my cousin into the ocean, alive and let her drown and/or turn into a zombie-fish hybrid. The second one is where I kill her when she turns first, and then throw her into the ocean. The third ending is where I keep her tied up and hope that there is a cure on the mainland, but she attacks me in the middle of the night and I end up killing her. The fourth and final ending is where we run into other sailors and they kill her when she turns and then take me with them to the mainland. 

And then I woke up.

You can all have fun analyzing my dream and pointing what certain things mean. I think this nightmare really showed me how a Zombie apocalypse will go down for me. Not good. Clearly I need to make a Zombie Survival guide with a zombie survival kit to go along with it. You can never be too prepared right? 

I have many things about myself that can and should be considered "Questionable Truths" since I believe myself to be rather questionable. But I think that I have given you enough material today for you to clearly see my flaws and my crazy, so we'll save the questionable truth list for another time. 

Until next time you animals. 

*I realized after I wrote this that cultures where cannibalism is there...thing....that they would probably lick dead people all the time. So licking dead people to them is not all that weird. If you are reading this and are in/from a community that promotes cannibalism and licking dead people then please know that I mean no offence by this post and give you permission to lick my dead body when my time comes 

**that is supposed to represent the noise that a drummer would make when a joke was said to exemplify that it was a joke. Just in case you didn't get that but I'm pretty sure all four of you did. Hi Mom! 

*** Read this is a voice that mocks a person mocking a scared person. If you did that the first time then awesome, if you haven't done that yet then go back and do it now because it will make this story that much better. Do it. Just do it. 

****I didn't mean to imply here that my story was already filled with sunshine and roses. This was all sarcasm. C'mon guys. 

"Wookie Nookie"

Cute title, right?

I wish I could take credit for that lovely play on words, but unfortunately I cannot. That adorable little two word pun was something I read off of a T-shirt in a store this one time. There's a good story to go with me finding that T-shirt but that's for another place, and another time my sweet, sweet popsicle muffins. 

You will soon discover that most of my things- and by things I mean this word vomit that you're about to embark upon- will be cliche'd jokes, overused puns, and basically just a bunch of dad jokes rolled into one. My life is a dad joke. Maybe that's what I should of named this blog.

I'm going to take a moment now to put a little disclaimer here: I will be writing with brutal, unforgiving honesty. The stories about my life will not all be funny and happy ones. There will be things in some of my tales that may trigger those of you suffering from mental illness. Yee beware! 

Now, I wanted to treat this as an introduction of what you'll be getting yourself into. You poor, unfortunate souls (See what I did there? Look at us, starting off on an honest footing! High-fives all around!!)*. I'm not going to ramble on about my life story, but I will tell you why I started this blog.

 In all honestly, It's an outlet for me. 

This is a way for me to write about my experiences and remember them as they were or just a way for me to write it out and make sense of things. For some reason I have decided that my life is worthy enough to share this with the world.  

 I have been officially diagnosed with clinical depression, generalized anxiety disorder, and panic disorder. I used to be on medication for my depression but after a suicide attempt about a month ago I decided to lay off medication for a while and try to "work out" my crazy with cognitive behavioral therapy. This last year for me has been a big, giant, 'spit on my face and call me Nancy' kind of low point in my life. Me trying to off myself was when my family finally noticed how serious my depression was and their support made me finally want to change my lifestyle. I'm not 'better', and I don't plan to get 'better'. I don't believe that I need to necessarily get "better". I'm not saying that I am not sick, I know I'm sick. I know how harmful my depression has been to myself and to the people closest to me. But I don't plan on getting better. I plan on getting happy. Crazy happy. Like the happy that Jenny Lawson wrote about in her book, Furiously Happy. I want to become as happy as "Rory the raccoon". This blog is a way for me to give a big old 'fuck you' to all the assholes out there. It's a way for me to pull down my pants and moon the demons that lay within myself and everyone else's demons (you're welcome). You should all pull your pats down and moon your demons with me! We can start a club where we all get together and shake our asses to our demons, I think is the best idea I ever had. We can call our club " the mooners" or the "fanny exposers". 

Don't worry, these are working titles. 

Side note: My boyfriend just came home and I made him perogies. He wanted me to let you all know how the warm perogie bowl feels good on his...special area**.  I'm also not a hundred percent sure that is not how you spell perogies..

I got a little side tracked there so lets wrap this burrito of word vomit (that doesn't sound very appealing.. word purge? Is that any better? No? Maybe? Call 1-800-RAINBOW-FUN-TIME to give us your answer!) up and shake a tail. .or something else because most of you probably don't have tails. 

Ahhhh closing statements. I always heard that you should begin on a strong note and end on a well, strong note. So... uhh.. 

So to whoever is reading this still, I salute you. You made it through the rough patch. Mazel tov!


* I can't remember what this star was for. I should probably delete it, but I'm not going to. I'm sadistic like that.    
**"Special Area" is the not so secrect code word for balls. As in testicles. I was talking about testicles.