Tag Archives: zombies

Staying “Inspiralized” After the Apocalypse

So I wrote this on NYE AM after drinking half a bottle of prosecco by like 9 AM while texing Austin a bunch. He said I should make pictures but I didn’t. Here you go. This is mainly for Antoine:

If you’re reading this for instructional purposes, CONGRATULATIONS(?), YOU SURVIVED THE APOCALYPSE. AND, the Apocalypse has either left the Internet intact (guessing zombie-style) or you (intelligently) printed this post out in advance of the Apocalypse because let’s be fucking honest, we all saw it coming (I’d go with some sorta nuclear war sitch in this case).

Anyway, here you are, reading this post, thinking “What now? Everything and everyone I love is dead and gone and I think I’m supposed to rebuild society or whatever but honestly I couldn’t even back before those zombies/bombs/aliens/noroviruses came around and fucked it ALL up.” I have two words for you — spiralized squash. Or like, seaweed if that’s all that survived after that comet hit the North Pole that was already melted and caused that Tsunami to hit every major city in the world. Seriously, cookbook author, blog owner and lifestyle guru (totally guessing, but like, probably, right?) Ali Maffucci has got you in this time of desperate need and possibly having resort to cannibalism to survive because SPIRALIZING SHIT. I’m sure she also survived the raging fires that consumed the entire Northern Hemisphere just because people won’t recycle their damn bottles because the the level of craftiness it takes to realize you can turn a broccoli stem into an al dente noodle mean you can totes defend yourself against the mole people who have now become society’s overlords.

At this point, you probably have some questions about the helpfulness of this post, like —

  • Why are you ranting about a diet blog instead of telling me how to bury the contagious corpses littered around this shack I built out of old Amazon boxes?
  • All of the spiralizers melted when the self-driving cars were hacked and simultaneously drove into nuclear reactors so how in the world am I supposed to turn this obviously toxic and possibly deadly zucchini into a delicious substitute for angel hair pasta?

I will address the second question only, because the first is dumb, obviously spiralizing is the answer to the world accepting Bitcoin as its only form of currency and then one person hacking it, stealing all the Bitcoin, downloading it onto a USB drive which then got trashed when he accidentally unplugged it from his laptop without dragging the USB drive icon into the trashcan icon so all the Bitcoin disappeared and the world was forced to return to a bartering economy but the only skill anyone has is Bitcoin mining so like duh you need to develop this skill because you will be the first person with a skill. The fun thing about spiralizing, along with the creativity you can bring to your everyday dinners without even *feeling* like you’re dieting because sweet potato noodles definitely taste just as good in pad thai as regular rice noodles, is that pretty much any set of sharpened items shoved into a circular surface can be used to turn a seemingly bland, boring vegetable into a delicious substitute for starches.

Added bonus: whatever your apocalypse scenario is, I bet you have the tools to make a spiralizer. Whether or not you have the resources to actually spiralize is a different question, but spiralizers make your options almost limitless! In an attempt to imagine your specific apocalypse scenario and what resources you could use to create your post-apocalyptic spiralizer, I’ve come up with a couple plausible scenarios with some recommendations —

Scenario 1: It turns out that Kylie™ lipstain contains a dormant zombie virus that becomes activated when it comes in contact with the Starbucks Special Edition Unicorn Frappuccino so every #basicbitch turned into a zombie and that shit spread mad fast. There was a brief hope that applying some Fenty Mattemoiselle in Midnight Wasabi lipstick was the cure, but alas, even millennial Jesus (Rihanna) couldn’t save the world from the millenial antichrists (Kardashians) and so the #basics destroyed everyone with the exception of those who never attended Bikram, dabbled in a vegan and/or gluten-free lifestyle, or justified a purchase by calling it “cruelty-free”

Spiralizer solution 1: Your post-apocalyptic world is littered with the tubes of a lipstain that was once sold out almost immediately upon its release. You’re wandering around in a fog, asking yourself the Big questions like, “was Kylie ever pregnant? Was it Tyga’s?” and “what even IS lip stain?” but what you should really be doing is picking up ALL 👏🏻 THOSE 👏🏻 FUCKING 👏🏻 LIP 👏🏻 STAIN 👏🏻 TUBES 👏🏻 because once you remove the stain brush, you’ve got some perfect little plastic tubes you can sharpen into tiny spikes so you can turn some onions into the best oven-baked cajun fry substitute you’ve ever had. It’s like 15 calories. So good. What is that you say? The spiralizers are still around because in this apocalypse scenario nothing was destroyed except for a bunch of Starbucks and Forever 21s? Ok, fine, just go find a real spiralizer, but, like, I helped a little bit OK?

Scenario 2(highly likely): Everyone Googles themselves to death. This goes one of two ways for every member of society — the first have such a common name that they can’t even find any entries about them on page one of the results and they realize their meaninglessness, the second have such unique names that they find every negative reaction to everything they’ve ever done on the Internet (which is a lot), and the thumbs down to their Yelp! reviews, negative votes to the Quora answers, This Is Unhelpful count of their Amazon product ratings and general trolling of the YouTube video they posted of their pet ferret (mainly fat-shaming the ferret, but also some fat-shaming of the owner) plunge them into a similar feeling of meaninglessness. Both parties choose death by spiralizer BECAUSE YOU GUYS YOU CAN SERIOUSLY SPIRALIZE ANYTHING.

Spiralizer solution 2: OK in this scenario you def don’t want to use those spiralizers. That said, the Amazon headquarters probably have a shitton of unused ones and given that no actual disaster occurred you can probably just walk into any of their warehouses and find one. Good luck finding it with your internet-less, “keeps you off the grid”, flip phone, you fucking nerd.

Scenario 3: Beyoncé dies.

Spiralizer solution 3: Nope. Starve to death. What’s the point?

Blogs are supposed to have a sign-off. Whatever,

BWCE

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My Fear of Gangrene is NOT Irrational

I love when I discover a new humor blog. My four favorites (Hyperbole, 27b/6, FIIMT, The Oatmeal) post pretty infrequently… Probably because they’re all famous, so I guess you can do that shit. So when I find a funny blogger who posts on a regular basis, I am insta-hooked. Last week, I discovered Mooselicker. Dude is funny as shit, I can’t wait to have time to actually read all of his posts, but the one I linked to above on bees is awesome.

Basically he talks about how he hates bees and he spent his childhood taking great joy in finding violent ways to end the lives of bees. I appreciate his past efforts, because as a child I was TERRIFIED of bees. When I say child I mean up until like, 11th grade. I once almost ran off of a cliff on a family trip to some canyon because I saw a bee. My dad grabbed my arm and was like “GET IT TOGETHER, MAN.” He was super pissed that my irrational fear almost led to my death, but I think now he thinks it’s a cool story he gets to tell about saving my life.

Another time, in 9th grade I spent about an hour trying to get into my house through the front door, but every time I’d get up the courage to get near the door the carpenter bees that had made their homes in our bay windows would buzz around me. I ended up getting in through the basement door and when my parents got home they found me locked in our basement and sobbing/hyperventilating. I was trying to unhook the latch we had to “secure” the basement, so they thought I was a burglar. I was sobbing from bee trauma but also because I was convinced a murderer lived in the crawlspace in the basement and I made a huge effort to never be down there alone.

Once my parents realized I was not trying to burgle them and instead was their very terrified, incredibly weird child, they hugged me and my mom was like, “You know carpenter bees don’t have stingers… Right?”

The saddest part is that I actually DID know that.

Remembering this story led me to thinking about all of the fears I’ve had, both past and present. I’ll start with those I’ve actually outgrown and in a future post talk about the ones I still have.

Bees! I am not scared of your tiny, tiny stingers anymore, bees. Hornets, however, are another story. Motherfuckers are terrifying.

Rabies! My mom grew up in Iowa, so I’m privy to a lot of what I like to call “farm knowledge.” Because you teach your kids what you grew up learning, a lot of shit I learned was along the lines of, “Don’t skinny dip in quarries. I know they look like fun, but they are so cold that your heart will momentarily stop beating and you will drown. That’s how Diane De Keizer died.” It was a Dutch town in Iowa. All of the kids had weird names like that.

So naturally, as my mom needed to impart all farm knowledge on me, she taught me about rabies.

Because I loved (and still love) all animals so much, learning about rabies was almost as traumatic as learning that Santa Claus didn’t exist but at least that wasn’t until in 5th grade when I’d learned that binge eating was a fantastic coping mechanism. All four-year-old Tiffany wanted was to hug a squirrel. Learning that if a squirrel actually did come up to me it was probably rabid and going to eat my face off and then I’d be rabid and I might eat my mom’s face off was so confusing and terrifying. I have since learned that rabies doesn’t really work like this, but one time I had to run outside to grab something out of our mini van and upon getting outside I realized it was dark, I was alone and there were DEFINITELY some rabid owls out at that time. Rabies is kinda like zombie animals.

Gangrene! Along with farm knowledge, we also didn’t have cable when I was kid, so National Geographic specials were my jam. The day my little brother was born, I was watching one on giraffes, so upon meeting my infant brother I recommended that we name him Camouflage. Sadly, my parents were set on Patrick Claude, but I still think he would have made an awesome Camouflage. He likes to climb rocks and shit, so it’s fitting.

Anyway, one time we were watching this Nat Geo special on people climbing Mt. Everest or something like that. Had anyone ever successfully climbed Mt. Everest in like, 1992? Google is telling me that yes, and that happened in 1953 you dumbass, but whatever. I got confused… The 90’s were a different time. So at some point, one of the people got gangrene and they had to get their leg amputated and I was like HOLY SHIT SNOW CAN DO THAT TO YOU?

I used to get really bad charlie horses in the middle of the night, and I would sleepwalk/talk. I woke my mom up in the middle of the night, sobbing about how I had contracted gangrene and now I was going to have to get my leg amputated. Whenever my mom tells me that I was an easy kid to deal with I think of this moment and am like, really?

Oversleeping! This fear had possibly the shortest lifespan of any of my fears, which makes sense since it was the most rational. The Catholic school I attended for several years considered 7th grade the start of high school, so with that I was forced to experience an extra two years of final exams. This sounds terrible, but I actually preferred test taking to class because I could leave when I was done and I always finished with more than enough time. This isn’t so much a testament to my intelligence as it is the fact that I didn’t check my work and just wanted to go buy snacks from the school snack bar.

My first final exams experience left me scarred because I missed my alarm clock and woke up at 10:30 AM after completely missing my Portuguese final. I was inconsolable and although the teacher let me take the test later, I developed right then and there an obsessive fear that I was definitely going to oversleep and ruin everything always.

Because of the sleep walking/talking thing, I would often wake up in the middle of the night, look at my alarm clock and go running into my parents room. Once I’d get there I would be so upset that I wouldn’t think about how strange it was that my parents were sitting in their pajamas, relaxed and watching television.

“MomIdon’tknowwhathappenedIjustwenttosleepandthenextthingIknewitwas11!!!”

They’d always start laughing and my tears would turn to confusion.

“This isn’t funny?? Do you understand that I’ll never get into an Ivy if I keep missing class like this.”

“Tiffany, it is 11 PM. You’ve only been asleep for like, twenty minutes.”

I can’t remember when the fear went away, but I actually did oversleep through a final exam my first semester in college. Luckily, music school understands that its students are musicians who are often lazy, sleepy or disorganized and doesn’t really penalize it. Music college needs students too.

Being randomly slapped in the face! No, no, my parents didn’t beat me. Not even a little bit. In fact, the most violent thing to ever happen in my house is being “Tickled Tortured” by my older brother. Which actually was kinda torturous, but not exactly abusive.

I’m very scared of conflict (still) and I am regularly paranoid that my family/friends are mad at me for some undefined reason, so I guess when I was younger I decided that maybe one day they’d slap me in the face. Also, I was allowed to watch “Melrose Place” and they did that a lot to each other so it seemed within the realm of possibility.

For years I would be in conversations and suddenly have the overwhelming desire to run and hide lest someone up and slap me in the fast, but I guess learning about things like whiskey slaps and 50 shades of Grey made getting slapped seem not so bad.

Retinal detachment! This one sort of goes with a general hypochondria thing, but I have pretty much kicked it, unlike my fear of instantaneous cancer, which I am certain I have at least five forms of right now. Sometime around my senior year of college I noticed all of the floaters in my eyes and became obsessed with them as they are a sign that your retinas can detach. Because I am (still) scared of doctors, I put off going until I have so convinced myself that I have every disease ever and have spent countless nights laying awake in fear. Or in this case, countless hours just looking back and forth at a light bulb, watching the floaters and freaking out.

Even after the eye doctor told me I was ok, I still was pretty convinced he was wrong. He was old so I thought maybe he’d become senile or something. The way I finally overcame the fear was by naming every last floater. My favorite was Freckles, the one that sort of looked like a patch of freckles, obvi.

So, I think that’s all of them that I can think of right now. Next up, a list of stuff I’m STILL terrified of, which is basically a list of the different types of serial killers there are. What? There are different types of serial killers?

Oh yeah, you better believe it.

Peace, love and zombie woodland creatures,

BWCE

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