The Truth About Short Hair

Bye hair!

Some of you may remember that last year I had an internal and then external debate over whether or not to cut my hair short.  In the end I decided to risk it (YOLO!) and go short.

Of course prior to making that decision I did tons of research. I read quite a few blogs and articles about things to know and what the experience would be like. Since I’ve now had short hair for almost a year, and consider myself a fount of knowledge for life in general, I decided the nice thing to do would share my personal revelations on the experience.

Brace yourselves.

Short hair!

I was leaning towards a pro/con list, but have decided on a different approach. We shall go through various life events, compare the long hair to short hair experience, and pick the winner for that category.

Let’s start with the obvious one…

MAINTENANCE

Long Hair Experience – for me, long hair was super easy. I could wash it at night, braid it for bed, and go a few days (assuming I didn’t jazzercise) before I had to wash it again. Bad hair days could be hidden with a ponytail or a twist. I could skip haircuts with no drawbacks except maybe some split ends, which I sometimes fixed myself.

Short Hair Experience - I find maintaining my short hair much more effort. I can skip a haircut but it’s going to do interesting things. If I run out of product I’m screwed. If I buy the wrong product I’m screwed sideways. If I don’t wash it, or at least get it wet every day, I look like an unkempt boy.

WINNER: I think it’s pretty obvious that LHE is the winner here.

COLOR

Short Hair Experience – I almost dyed of shock (dyed… get it?? HAHAHA) when I could get away with one box of hair dye. I don’t have to pay extra at the salon anymore. It doesn’t take hours to wash the dye out. It’s glorious!! Hell, I should dye my hair more. What am I doing this weekend…

Long Hair Experience – egad I don’t even want to get into it! Years of my life are gone trying to get dye through my ridiculously thick hair. YEARS. AND MONEY. SO MUCH MONEY.

Winner: SHE, for realz.

REACTIONS

Long Hair Experience – people loved my hair long. To a somewhat unsettling level. They also seemed to feel like they had a weird right to touch my hair. Strangers would come up and stroke it. True story. It’s weird.

Short Hair Experience – some people love my hair short, but there are also very emphatic others that can’t stop saying “I liked your hair long better.” In fact, people seem to feel like they have a weird right to remark on my hair choice now that it’s short. It’s not uncommon for strangers to helpfully suggest “but you’d be so much prettier if your hair was long,” or “guys would like you better with long hair.” They don’t touch it though, so that’s nice.

Winner: I’m going to call this one a tie.

EXERCISE

Long Hair Experience – fuck the world if you forget a hair tie before working out. Seriously, it’s the worst.

Short Hair Experience – there are some layers near my face that get in my eyes and are obnoxious, but otherwise it’s ridiculously easy to work out and to wash my hair afterwards.

Winner: SHE is the obvious leader here.

DANCING

Short Hair Experience – it is kind of nice to not have a bunch of heavy, sweaty hair on my neck.

Long Hair Experience – however, there’s nothing quite like tossing your hair every which way. I actually miss my long hair the most when I’m dancing.

Winner: LHE, oddly enough.

BED

Long Hair Experience – I actually slept with my hair in a braid at night, because otherwise I woke up tangled in my own hair. While this is a little annoying, on the other hand there is something incredibly sensual about getting ready for bed with long hair. That moment when you take off your clothes and your hair brushes your bare back… amazing.

Short Hair Experience – um, there’s really not much to say. I go to bed. I wake up. My hair is disheveled and not as adorable but it’s not a life ruiner. In fact, it’s quite nice overall.

Winner: SHE, but there are definitely things about the LHE I miss a bit.

“BED” (otherwise known as SEX)

Long Hair Experience – I just said that the mere act of sleeping tangled my hair. Now imagine sex. Imagine trying to unravel those knots the next day (because who goes “time out! I need to do something about my hair!” I mean I have, but it definitely dampens the mood). No really, imagine it. Imagine every time you lean over and there’s a cloud of hair in your face. Imagine trying to cuddle and it getting stuck to another sweaty body. Are you horrified yet?

Short Hair Experience – much, MUCH better than long hair, to say the least.

Winner: Seriously like it could be anything other than SHE.

So if we count them up… long hair has two wins, short hair has four, and we have one tie. This probably explains why I’ve been in no hurry to grow my hair back.

A word to the wise though. If you are talking to me, or really to any person that recently cut their hair short, do not, for the love of anything you hold holy, DO NOT ask me if I’m “ever going to grow my hair long hair again??” I consider this the world’s stupidest question. Assuming I don’t actually die at 30, I have many, many years of life ahead of me. How can I even possibly know what I’ll want to do with my hair five years from now? Ten years from now? Fifteen? You see where I’m going with this, so save us both the trouble and don’t ask stupid questions.

A Lament for the Mocha Cookie Crumble

There are three key things to note before reading this post that will help it make more sense:

1.     I love chocolate

2.     I’m a Taurus and thus resistant to change

3.     I have mad issues about my birthday

Back in 2012 Starbucks revealed one of their new seasonal drinks: the Mocha Cookie Crumble Frappuccino. At the end of the summer the drink was discontinued, to the dismay of many. Chocolate lovers rejoiced when it came back the next year just in time for Frappuccino happy hour!! When the same rigmarole happened for the third time in 2014 I made the silly mistake of assuming that the Mocha Cookie Crumble Frappuccino would always return in early May.

But this year, Starbucks decided to ruin my world and debut a new Frappuccino instead.

To be fair, I haven’t yet tried the new S’mores Frappuccino. Friends have sung its praises but I’ve been slow to convert. I like S’mores, so in theory it should be good, but I suspect it will never replace the Mocha Cookie Crumble in my heart.

Before you write me off as simply being stubborn, let’s talk about the role the Mocha Cookie Crumble has played in my life. This all goes back to my thing about my birthday.

I do not like my birthday. Deep inside of me is a Lily Aldrin wanting to make it a grand holiday to be recognized and respected by all my friends, but the years have convinced me that instead I’m more Penny of Happy Endings, and that my birthday is cursed. I tried celebrating with small groups of friends, I tried vacations, I tried escaping all people I know… it doesn’t really matter what I do. The birthday curse will find a way to ruin the day.

When the Mocha Cookie Crumble appeared in 2012, I had recently moved to a new city and had no one in the area that actually knew it was my birthday. On the eve of, I drank a lot at a book club happy hour, and then woke up feeling not exactly wonderful early in the morning to fly to Houston for work. Work that day involved my least favorite meeting possible. My flight back got delayed because of thunderstorms, so I ended up coming home very late, very tired, and overall done with the day.

But in general I believe in finding the bright side of life, and that day, it was the Mocha Cookie Crumble. I got one the minute I left the airport in Houston, and you know what? It was amazing. It was chocolatey and delicious, and it helped me make it through an otherwise awful meeting.

That was 2012. In 2013, I decided ahead of time to take work off on my birthday so I wasn’t facing the same situation. My birthday that year was a Friday, and it just so happened I was spending that week in the middle of nowhere New Mexico for work. That was possibly one of the worst work trips of my life. I flew in Monday night, got in late since my flight was delayed, again, then drove 2-3 hours to get to where I needed to be. I was feeling worse and worse during the drive, so as soon as I got to my (not very nice) hotel, I went to sleep. I woke up a few hours later and spent the rest of the night horribly ill.

I sucked it up the next day and went to my onsite, feeling weak and dizzy. This was the first of three days of a cranky, obnoxious group of people that complained that I was too pale (I was sick, also I don’t understand why that’s relevant) and my voice sounded bad (again, sick, but this is a large part of why I now have a complex about my voice) and that also blamed me for the fact that the room we were in had no A/C (seriously, how the f*ck was that my fault?!).

Thursday night I drove back to the airport but it was too late for a flight, so I was spending my birthday, my day off, waking up ungodly early to fly back home. All week though, I looked forward to that flight, because I had a layover in Dallas and while there, I got my first Mocha Cookie Crumble of the year and it was AMAZING, as always. The end of the day ended up much better than I expected.

Even last year, despite suffering through the worst of my knee problems at that point and putting up with idiots who think the best way to celebrate your birthday is to be the designated driver (yes guys, I’m still bitter), I had not one but several Mocha Cookie Crumbles that week, and they kept me sane and happy, and also helped me resist the Diet Pepsi temptation a bit longer.

It wasn’t just birthdays either. Every time I had to drive back and forth to Houston for work stuff that killed my spirit, I made sure to at least plan out where exactly on the drive I was getting my Mocha Cookie Crumble. It got me through the random weeks when I wasn’t sleeping. It made the times where I was working two roles with not enough hours in the day bearable.

So when I started stressing out about my birthday and other things even earlier than usual this year, I kept consoling myself that at least the Mocha Cookie Crumble was coming soon. I asked several Starbucks employees when it was officially coming. No one would answer. Well, this week I figured out why when I stopped at Starbucks for iced tea, saw a sign announcing Frappuccino happy hour to start on Friday, and saw NO MENTION of the Mocha Cookie Crumble. Quick internet research proved that the S’mores had replaced it for the year.

I suppose it’s stupid to care so much about something like a particular coffee drink. Sometimes though I need to care about something stupid, so I can downplay the real problems of the moment. I’m not going to lie – after learning there was no Mocha Cookie Crumble this year I spent all week indulging myself with as much Diet Pepsi as I wanted.

But maybe, just maybe, the S’mores Frappuccino is even better. Maybe I’ll try it and it’ll be angels in my mouth. And maybe it won’t, but it won’t matter because something else random will come along and lift my spirits. I like to believe in the possibilities.   

My Dreams Are Trying to Kill Me

…and it’s rude.

Seriously, I am completely sick and tired (pun!) of all the ways in which my dreams cheat and attempt to give me more nightmares. It’s bad enough that I have bad dreams several times during the week. This conspiracy to turn them into nightmares is worse.

Oh, what’s that? You didn’t know there was a difference between a bad dream and a nightmare? You probably don’t even have nightmares, do you? Freaking lucky SOB.

The difference between a bad dream and a nightmare is normally defined by whether or not the dream forces you to wake up. Since I wake up randomly throughout the night regardless it’s a little hard for me to define the difference between what was “natural” and what was in the middle of a REM cycle, so I apply my own definition. If I wake up screaming or crying or with my heart racing and still very afraid, I consider it a nightmare. If I wake up calm, even if bad things were happening in the dream, I just consider it bad.

I don’t particularly like either type of dream because the worst thing is, I have the very unfortunate habit of falling back into the same dream when I go back to sleep. If this happens, it’s also very common for it to go from a bad dream to a nightmare because my dreams F*CKING CHEAT.

If I woke up calm because I had managed to hide from whatever was attempting to kill me, you can guarantee that when I fall back asleep my hiding place is discovered. If I had the situation under control because I had a weapon, it no longer works or changes into something else. I remember one zombie dream that infuriated me later because I had a gun, I had a safe area in sight, but all of the zombies had STEEL PLATES IN THEIR HEAD AND COULDN’T BE SHOT. WTF!?! HOW IS THAT FAIR!?!

Last night I had a total of 5 bad dreams/nightmares. 5. **5**. This is excessive. I even stayed awake from around 3 am to 5 because I absolutely knew I was going to be trapped in the same zombie dream and I didn’t want that to happen. Finally, I fell asleep and had another nightmare about being trapped in my car after it flipped. Woke up panicked, forgot to try and think about non-zombie things to trick my mind, fell back asleep, and sure enough had more zombie issues.

Logically bad dreams shouldn’t be a big deal. Keep in mind though that it is possible to die in your dreams, and I’m one of those “lucky” individuals that dies quite often. I mean sure, that doesn’t really kill me, but neither is it pleasant. And again, I have the habit of continuously falling back into the same dream. So I get to be murdered not once, but sometimes multiple times.

Let’s just say too that I decide to stay awake. This is the obvious answer to win the game when your dreams cheat. Good plan, except I’m also blessed with a constitution that responds to things like not sleeping enough with violent nausea. I know, I know, being me is such a joy.

The good news is I have stumbled upon a possible solution. You see, I’ve finally realized that I have the most nightmares on the nights when I take my contacts out (and that just adds to the bundle of fun, because now I get to wake up screaming and be completely unable to see, yay!!!). Most likely it’s because I have a deep fear that if I’m ever attacked, it will be while I’m somewhat blind and more vulnerable. Years of watching Scooby Doo as a child have warped my brain. I try to leave in my contacts as much as possible to help with this, but I decided a month or two ago that maybe this should be the year I actually get eye surgery.  Then I reconsidered, because I feel like they don’t let you drive yourself home from eye surgery and I hate cabs, but after my doozy of a night I’m leaning towards it once more.

Plus I suppose the bright side of having nightmares more often than not is that it gives me writing fuel. If I wrote happy, sappy, love stories good dreams would probably be more effective, but as it is I like to write things where I need to tap into feelings of terror or hopelessness. Done and done.

How to Handle Going (Semi) Viral

Step 1: Make Sure This Is Really Happening

I was thinking today about how slackerish I’ve been on my writing. I logged into Blogger just to see what my last post was even about, since I couldn’t remember. Then I had several minutes where I thought my dyslexia had reached epic proportions of awful because I couldn’t figure out why the graph of recent views had 100+ on what looked to be a LOW visit day.

Turns out, I went (semi) viral.

Step 2: Figure Out WTF Happened

Detailed research soon revealed that a random post from last year (31 Signs You May Have a Jazzercise Problem) was the cause of about 96% of the views. I couldn’t get anymore information except that the bulk of the views were coming from a Facebook link.

So I turned to Google.

Extensive Googling revealed that SEVERAL Jazzercise locations had shared this blog post! Oddly enough my Jazzercise had not posted the blog link, which is why I didn’t know this was happening.

Step 3: Tell People

Obviously it’s not real unless you immediately text or run over and squeal at friends/family to tell them all about it. I figured while I was at it, I should probably write a blog post about my success.

I also realized as I was telling people that it was the perfect time to remind them of all the other facts this reveals. I can now prove that I’m ridiculously clever, have an amazing sense of humor, and am potentially the most amazing person they know. I’m also crazy humble and down to earth about my success!

Step 4: Do a Victory Dance

Maybe even more than one if you’re feeling really excited. I did. I decided it was a baking night so I could have celebratory dancing all night long. This ended when the oatmeal cookies refused to cooperate, but there was plenty of dancing squeezed in before that.

You don't get a picture of the victory dance. Deal with it.

 

Step 5: While You’re At It, Have a Celebratory Meal…

 

(actual dinner pictured on left)

 

…Or Drink

(actual mini champagne on right)

 

You know, or do both. Why not? I’m semi-viral. I totally earned it.

Step 6: Calm Down

Of course a short time later I’ve completely forgotten about it because I’m busy swearing at f***ing oatmeal cookies. It’s important to keep things in perspective. I may be a Master Blogger (also known as Dumb Lucky since this is more a Jazzercise promotion thing than an actual example of my writing prowess), but clearly I have yet to perfect baking. F***ing cookies are ruiners.

It’s All About Finding the Right Stripper

In the course of events over lunch, I was talking about movies and said something like “a lot of my favorite movies have strippers in them.” This statement stayed in my head during the day. The more I thought about it, the more I realized it was true. I’m not entirely sure what that means. Does this say something about me as a person? Let’s pretend it doesn’t.

But I thought it would only be fair to share with you some of these fabulous movies. I was going to rank them but had a really tough time doing so. They’re all good for various reasons. Then as I thought about it, I realized that’s the best part! Even looking at just my 4 favorite stripper movies, you have a movie to cover EVERY POSSIBLE MOTIVE FOR WATCHING A MOVIE!!

Okay, that’s an exaggeration, clearly, as some of you have all sorts of different motives and moods than me, but there’s still a nice range available. Again, that’s counting only my favorite stripper movies. I’m not even including more famous and obvious ones like Showgirls, Flashdance, or The Full Monty. So here follows a few sample moods for watching a movie, and the appropriate stripper movie for that moment.

Mood 1: “Seriously I need to non-stop laugh.” -> We’re The Millers

This movie is more mainstream than some of the others so you probably heard of it before, maybe even watched it before. And why not, it’s fantastic! The cast includes Jennifer Aniston, Jason Sudeikis, Emma Roberts, and Nick Offerman just to name a few.

The stripper in this movie is Jennifer Aniston. The fact that I actively dislike Jennifer Aniston and still love this movies speaks to both its comedy, and how well she does feisty stripper Rose.

Best scene: the full first kiss scene, without a doubt.

Mood 2: “I really just want to watch people pulverize the crap out of each other in a completely unrealistic fashion.”   -> Bitch Slap

You probably wouldn’t recognize any of the main cast, but this move (a steal from the $5 bin) includes cameos from Kevin Sorbo, Lucy Lawless, and Renee O’Connor. It also would work for the “let’s watch a lot of hot women show off their body and have everyone be a lesbian” viewing crowd, if such a crowd exists.

The stripper for this one is named Trixie, and played by Julia Voth. By the end of the movie she is my favorite character there!

Best scene: hmm, it’s a toss between the very end, and the church confession scene.

Mood 3: “Right now I need a romance movie that doesn’t make me hate everyone with its unrealistic perfection and ridiculous glamorized kissing and sex scenes.” -> My Awkward Sexual Adventure

If you haven’t seen this before it’s currently on Netflix. I randomly discovered it a few weeks ago. None of the actors were particularly noteworthy to me except that Emily Hampshire was in another Netflix find from the fall: The Returned.

Julia may be my favorite stripper so far in life. It’s a very close tie with our final stripper. Emily Hampshire is so different from the only other role I’ve seen her in that I have to commend the performance. Okay yes, that’s a really narrow data set to make a judgment on, but screw you. It’s amazing. And awkward. And amazing. This movie also prompted a very long conversation around corsets (which we all know I love).

Best scene: The fruit. I think it’s cantaloupe? I don’t really know fruit. I know what is both amusing and kinda sexy though. *cue growl and claw swipe motion*

Mood 4: “Please warm the cockles of my heart. Also have strippers. And Hugh Jackman.” -> Butter

 I saved the best for last! I love this movie. I love this movie in ways you cannot even imagine. A ridiculous number of stars are in it, but clearly Hugh Jackman is the one that matters. It’s heartwarming, and funny, and raunchy, and ridiculous all at the same time. Why am I not watching this right now!? What am I doing with my life!?? Ooo, now I know what I’m doing tomorrow…

Olivia Wilde plays stripper Brooke, as I said above potentially my favorite stripper ever. Every time she opens her mouth she says something that makes me cackle. My personal favorite, “So you want a cookie ‘cause you’re going to get pregnant? I get pregnant, like, once a month!!”

Best scene: wow, I am having an incredibly hard time picking one! I keep second-guessing myself because IT’S ALL SO GOOD.  Okay, okay, twist my arm, and I’d probably say… when the contestants all explain their sculptures. Oh the LOLz. 

So those are my favorite stripper movies! Definitely share if you have other favorites, or if you also agree with these picks!

Idiot Cook Struggles

For 2015 I did not come up with any rules or resolutions or anything like that, but I have been using the new year as a time to start fresh with cooking more at home and less eating out. Since my family has also started our weight loss competition again, I’m trying to pair that with more low calorie recipes. It helps that I found the best website ever. Everything I’ve made so far has been delicious, and I already lost a bunch of the extra weight and slight pudge put on over the holidays.

I promise this is not a post where I’m going to crow about how skinny and fabulous I am while you’re not. Actually, this is a post where I’m going to share some of my secret life struggles that will probably make you feel better about yourself as a person.

I’m nice like that.

Here’s the conflict in this happy little story: I am not good at cooking. I do not like cooking. I never really properly learned the basics of cooking.

My mother is an amazing cook. My brother is an amazing cook. A cook to me is someone who can throw random ass ingredients together and wind up with something tasty. In order to cook almost anything I need a recipe to follow, and even then I wind up with difficulties.

Now all my attempts this year have turned out pretty well, but it’s been quite a challenge. So in an effort to prove that ANYBODY can cook (with a recipe, don’t even talk to me about culinary geniuses like my friend Jenn that whip up random food at the drop of a hat. They’re ruining the curve), I decided to list some of my issues the past two week that normal cooks take for granted. Let’s call them the Idiot Cook Struggles.

Idiot Cook Struggle #1 – Where the hell do I find that??

I was immensely proud of myself because instead of wandering the grocery store and grabbing what looked good (and probably fattening), I made an exact list of what was needed for each recipe and then planned the time to go shopping. I felt empowered, I felt invigorated.

Then I got to the store.

At least half of the ingredients I needed I have never purchased before in my life. I spent at least 20 minutes lost in the produce department, trying to find things like chives and debating whether the red pepper was supposed to be in that weird shape, or if that meant it was bad.

It didn’t get any better when I left produce. I walked up and down aisle after aisle with no understanding of where one would find breadcrumbs (I felt like it should be with the bread. It was not). I am morally opposed to asking people for help, so despite the fact that I walked into the store knowing exactly what I was going to buy, it took me almost 2 hours. 2 HOURS

Idiot Cook Struggle #2 – What’s in a name?

I wrote down EXACTLY what the recipes said for each ingredient, thinking that would make it easier.

Wrong again.

Apparently many items of food go by multiple names. And one is just supposed to know that. Eventually I started making assumptions. Most likely “baby bellas” are the same as “sliced baby portabella mushrooms.” That seems logical. Whether or not skim milk and fat free milk were the same thing did throw me for a temporary loop. And let’s not even talk about things like chickpeas which can randomly be called garbanzo beans on various cans.

This happens with the proportions of a recipe too. For the life of me I couldn’t figure out whether a “stalk of celery” meant an actual stalk, or the whole thing of celery. Google wasn’t helpful either as I found examples leaning both ways, and the overall decision was “use your judgment of what makes sense for the recipe.”

Damnit people, if I knew what made sense I wouldn’t be following a recipe!

Idiot Cook Struggle #3 – Chop, Chop

One of the main reasons I hate cooking is that I royally suck at chopping things. I refuse to chop when anyone is watching because you can literally hear the intake of breath as they become convinced I’m about to lose one of my fingers.

Which I still have all 10, thank you very much.

I find chopping instructions to be nonsensical. What is this “diced” versus “minced” you speak of, and how do I accomplish that? When you say “small slice” what is that small in comparison to? If the recipe calls for “cubes” are somewhat rectangular shapes okay?

Then to my astonishment, as I was looking through the knife section (all my knives are dull, and I’m not even sure how one goes about sharpening them or if I have the necessary tools for that) I saw a set that marked one knife for veggies, one for fruit, and one for tomatoes. Are you really supposed to be using different knives for different types of chopping?? I have one knife I use to chop, some paring knives I use if it’s dirty, a bread knife, and some big cleaver-ish type knife I generally ignore but my friend Jenn has used. Actually I think I have a few other knives but I ignore them too as I don’t understand their purpose.

So it’s possible I’m doing it even more wrong than I thought.

But despite these struggles I impressed myself this weekend with some AMAZING chicken pot pie soup, and broccoli mac & cheese. Last weekend I was pretty happy with petite turkey meatloaf and a loaded cauliflower mash thingy. Next weekend? Who knows.

What’s the moral of the story? Any idiot can (kinda) learn to cook (things based on a recipe) and have it turn out pretty good (but probably totally different from when a real chef makes it, and that’s okay).

Shuttup and Do It

I’m pretty sure anyone that’s ever actually given birth will kill me for this, but I kind of think of NaNoWriMo like labor.

Last year, I successfully completed NaNoWriMo for the first time. If you’re not up on the lingo, basically a bunch of insane people (including me) attempt to write a novel of at least 50,000 words, the catch being they need to both start and finish it in the month of November. Thus November is NAtional NOvel WRIting MOnth.

I talked a little last year about my reasons for doing NaNoWriMo. I checked in almost halfway through the month with an update on my story. I never really talked about the experience afterward.

Why do I think it’s the same as giving birth?

When I finished last November 30^th, I was immensely proud of what I had done, and I promised myself immediately I would never do it again.

A few weeks later, I looked back and was even more proud of my accomplishment, and started thinking maybe in a few more years I’d be ready to do it again.

By this October, I convinced myself it wasn’t that bad and I could totally do it again. In fact, it’d probably be easier since I would go in more prepared than the first time. Oh, the sweet little lies we tell ourselves.

This NaNoWriMo I actually did a little more prep than last year, but I’m not sure how much it’s helping me. My entire timeline changed with pretty much the first chapter. Weird things I wasn’t expecting keep happening, like my main character pissing accidentally herself and having some sort of hair dye fetish. I’ve already killed off three people, and I certainly wasn’t planning on that.

While I’m actually on target with my word count (which is a minor miracle, since I was 10,000 words behind Saturday morning), I also want to finish ahead of time this year since I’ll be spending time with my brother the last few days of the month. At this point it’s equally likely that I say screw it and stop writing, or somehow pull 10,000 more words out of my @ss to finish.

But since this has been more or less taking over the last month of my life, and thus preventing me from update, I decided to share with you, my dear friends, the first chapter of the story!!

Keep in mind there will be typos. There’s really no looking back with NaNoWriMo, just moving forward. Someday if I finish and decide not to forget this whole mess ever happened I made go back and fix things, but that day is not today.

So here it is, the first chapter of my insane zombie story!

Above Reproach

Chapter 1

I’ve never really understood why we’re so rigid about the rope rules. Who exactly do they think is going to climb the ladder if we leave for a few minutes? The grounders? The day zombies get smart enough to climb we’re going to have a fuckton more problems than worrying about the ropes.

            No one ever listens to me though. They listen to me talk. They love to hear my stories. The minute I turn somewhat serious they close their ears and hum, which is why I’m standing under the lookout whistling the magic tune to get somebody to drop down the rope ladder and let me up. Never mind the fact that they can clearly see me. Allegedly the whistling proves that I haven’t been infected in the ten minutes I’ve been on the ground, and I’m safe to climb up and take over duties.

            It might be me, but these days I have to stop myself from rolling my eyes every time the Three make a new rule.

            The ladder drops and I start to climb. It’s not exactly a ladder in that the rungs are randomly spaced out, and you still have sections of pure rope that require a little bit more concentration to make it up. I can never decide if wearing my gloves makes it harder to navigate those sections or if I’m lucky to have them protect my hands.

You can tell who frequently has lookout duty based on the calluses on their hands. It beats the rope burn at least. There are other ways to tell of course, like who has freaking amazing upper torsos. If we still had a government and leaders and all that, they’d be ecstatic that we’ve beat the obesity epidemic. I can’t decide if people are more motivated to stay in shape because they have a better chance of outrunning a mob of grounders, or if it’s because of the shitty food. Maybe you like a second helping of burned squirrel stew and gummy rice, but I’m good, thanks.

            I’m not entirely surprised when someone reaches down and pulls me up the last bit of rope. I’m going to say that it was a subconscious decision to pick this lookout, but that’s a lie. Pierce always takes this tree. I know this. I’d like to pretend I was unaware that he was out on duty and probably here, but I can admit to myself at least that I wanted to see him.

            “Hey Mink,” he says with a smile. I haven’t figured out yet how he manages to look like a wet dream and somebody I want to punch at the same time. It might be the hair. Given the lack of barbers it tends to erratically hang in his eyes. In another lifetime, like five years ago, I probably would have called him emo and laughed in his face, assuming he had the same hair. More likely he had some super cool douchebag cut that emphasized his strong jawline and let the world see those baby blues. Not that I’ve memorized his face or anything. This thought is purely prompted by the fact that he’s staring at me at the moment. Right.

            Of course that might be because I have yet to respond. I manage a cool nod. We’ve been talking too much recently when we’re both at the lodge. I wouldn’t want him to think we’re becoming friends. I don’t need friends and all the shit that comes with them anymore.

            I give the lookout a quick lookover, but nothing’s changed since I was here last week. Of course Pierce the perfect would have everything in order.

            “How’s the ground movement?” I ask as I set my bag down in the corner. Since we don’t keep any of the food supplies in the lookouts it’s a good excuse to lug my bag around with me. One of these days someone’s going to open it up and find my stash of goods. I’m not the only lookout hoarding junk from the towns, but I don’t kid myself. I’m more likely to be searched at some point. The current Three only trust me so far.

            “Nothing on this end,” Pierce says, and his voice sounds too close. I look up to see he’s followed me to the corner. “They’re losing their juice though, we’re going to need a replace mission soon.”

            I toss my hair, which forces him to back up a step. “We’re going to need a supply mission soon too. The lodge is running low on meds and some of the kids have a fever.” I can’t help it, I feel myself start to grin at him. “I’ll radio in that you should go for supplies if you tell them to send me on replacement duty.”

            Pierce laughs. “Trickster girl. You’re too slow, I already heard from Lookout 2 that we’re heading in for supplies. You’ll be earning no favors from me today.”

            There are so many comebacks dancing on my tongue, but I literally bite it to hold back. That’s the problem with being around Pierce. Even worse, I think he can tell what thoughts are running through my head. His face softens and he steps closer again.

            “Maybe I spoke too soon,” he says. His voice is dangerously low.

            I don’t believe in prayer anymore, but hearing the walkie crackle to life makes me think for a second that the universe might have been sympathetic to my inner turmoil. That would figure, that it cares about the little moments and ignores the problems that ruin your world. I step away from Pierce to answer the call.

            “Lookout 1 reporting, over.” My voice sounds steady. Points to me. Especially since Pierce clearly followed me over. I can feel warmth right behind me, but I’m smart enough not to turn my head. This was my fault. I should never have climbed up that ladder.

            “The Lodge wants all lookouts coming off duty to head to the carport. Send them immediately. Over and out.”

            I feel myself tense even as Pierce moves away to gather his gear. I don’t know who’s voice that was, but I burn with hatred for them.

            “There’s no reason for you all to take a car. All they said we needed was meds. You can carry that back easily.” I glare at Pierce as if it’s his fault that they’re making a simple trip more dangerous.

            “Down get your fur up, Mink, I’m sure the Three have their reasons.” This time Pierce is the one avoiding looking at me.

            I scowl. “All we need to do is call back in. They listen to you. Tell them it’s a bad idea. The grounders are going to be closer than usual.”

            “Maybe that’s why we’re taking a car, so we can outrun them if necessary.”

            “Please,” the word is so hesitant, I feel it shimmering in the air as if the next breath will blow away the memory that it was ever spoken. “Call back in and ask them to let you guys walk.”

            Pierce has already pulled on the straps of his bag and is standing at the rope, but he crosses back to my side of the lookout. I have a few seconds of hope before he gently touches my cheek.

           

            “Trust me, it will be fine. Be a good soldier, Mink.” Before I can decide how to react, what to do, he steps away and yells back, “Besides it’s my turn to drive.”

            He gives me a wink as he goes to start down the ladder. I force myself to say the right thing.

            “In that case it’s definitely not safe.” I unlock my wooden jaw to smile a little as I say it. If we joke around it’s okay. Nothing will happen.

            I wish I believed that still. I wish I could have said what I was really thinking. That we aren’t soldiers. That it might not be fine. And that the Three aren’t always right.

            I go to the window to watch Pierce head off to the carport. He never looks back, so being ready to wave seems pointless. I can’t make myself move away though. From this lookout I’m too far away to see the carport itself, but I can catch glimpses of whoever’s coming down from Lookout 2.

            It’s enough to free me. I don’t really want to know who’s coming down that ladder. I don’t want to spend the next ten hours worrying about anyone else on this supply trip. It would be fine if they were walking, or if we had replaced recently. The grounders get closer though when the scarecrows aren’t fresh, and they’re always attracted to the sound of engines. They might not be smart, but it’s like zombies have an instinct for being in the worse place possible for us. They’ve cut off the return from town before. It’s why lookout and scavenger duties are strictly volunteer work.

            There’s not really enough to do on lookout duty to distract yourself. Pierce kept the place tidy. Half the time I spend the first part of my shift cleaning up after whoever was before me. I make sure the guns are loaded. The walkie clearly is working, so I don’t need to check it. We’ll still do the midshift check-in, but that’s hours away. All I need to do at this point is watch out the windows and listen for the bells.

            My mother was the first to question if the lookouts were even remotely useful or not. As long as we keep the scarecrows fresh the grounders never wander this far in the woods. It’s been weeks since another survivor followed the lights here. I’ve suggested that it would be better to have lookouts stationed on the path to town, but that was shot down in a second. I can’t be the only one to notice that the lookouts, as they are right now, are crowded around the Three. They don’t even really block the Lodge from the town side of the forest. This side is naturally protected by the river, so why are most of the lookouts clustered here?

            These are the questions that plaque my shifts. I settle in at the window as I hear the broken sounds of a car driving too fast for our dirt path. As my eyes adjust to staring at an endless view of trees, I start my mantra. They will not stay grounded. They will return above.