Just call me Flemmily…

Because the Z-words just keep on coming!

It didn’t help that I saw the Zombie Babies twice more before I had all pieces of my costume together.

It also didn’t help that the Halloween party I attended was also attended by a Z-word Abraham Lincoln and a Z-word John Wilkes Booth.

But, I went to listen to NPR’s “Wait, Wait, Don’t tell me,” and their “Not My Job” guest was George Romero…talking about Zs!

Sorry, but that’s just too far.

NPR is supposed to be a safe place.

I have a pathological fear, and lately, it’s becoming more and more of a problem.

I’m only going to use the word once. Afterwords, we’re calling them “Zs”. Got it? Good.

Zombies.

Now, it’s not as though I believe in them. I do not believe that Zs are real.

But they scare the crap out of me.

I’m pretty sure the damage was done when I was pretty young. I still remember watching a few minutes of “Night of the Living Dead” with my parents when I was WAY too little to be okay with that. I vividly recall every scene I saw. A Dad with a gun pointed at his daughter, because she’d become a Z, but he didn’t want to kill her. A gas station blowing up, and Zs eating the charred flesh…(Sorry. I can’t even finish that sentence.)

In typical Flemmily fashion, though, I remember asking some very academic questions that may have led my parents to believe I wasn’t afraid. Questions such as:

“Why is he pointing the gun at her?”

“Why are they eating the people who just got burned up?”

“Why are they walking that way?”

“What’s wrong with their eyes?”

I’m sure my parents thought I was moderately curious, and left it at that. I’m positive I left shortly thereafter.

I’m also positive they had no idea I was scarred for life.

Now, my Z-word phobia didn’t really rear its head until college, and I think that’s for a pretty simple reason.

Zs weren’t in. Seriously—-how many Z movies/costumes/books did you hear about in the mid to late 90’s?

Oh, but in the 2000’s? All about the Zs.

Granted there were some appearances, but it was mostly contained to horror flicks, which I avoid anyway. I get nightmares. Don’t even get me started on “The Ring.” **Shudder** So, I escaped relatively unscathed for a decade or so.

Until Zs came back, in force.

It started with a public safety officer, who liked to walk like a Z. Vacant eyes, arms outstretched, moaning slightly. The first time he did that to me, I curled up in the fetal position and started crying.

I might as well have said, “Game on!”

It became a favorite prank among college friends, to Z attack me in force. It happened at RA camp, at retreats, any given Tuesday in the hallway. No one seemed to notice that it really wasn’t funny to me. My heart would start POUNDING, and I usually cried. I often curled up or crumpled into corners.

Even the spoofs got to me. At an RA retreat, we wound up watching “Shaun of the Dead” in a little out of the way cabin.

I had a full on panic attack. A co-RA had to take me outside and give me a hug.

And then there was a Z walk incident. I went to school in Seattle, and Z walks were common enough in October. And a friend of mine was devious enough to put me downtown at a breakfast joint right by the windows when one came by.

Nice friends have I.

Essentially, a group of fans dress up like Zs and attack pre-chosen victims every block.

And I still don’t understand. People think this is fun?

It upset me so that I cannot even speak of it. It was like all my worst nightmares had come true. Safe to say, however, that this person and I are no longer friends. I’m also pretty sure I’m not welcome back in that restaurant.

The problem I’m having now is that Zs are popping up all over the place. They’re in, big time. They’re even taking over my safe places–places like bookstores. Pride and Prejudice and Zs? Totally unneccesary. And the worst part is, I think they’re gaining power. I suspect there will be more and more books I avoid in the coming years.

Apparently the majority of the population thinks Zs are cool.

Well, I do not.

And if they could get the Z Babies out of the Spirit Halloween stores, I’d be greatful.

Seriously. Who thought that was a good idea? I’d post a picture, but then I’d never be able to check my blog again.

For the record, I have found:

My glucose monitor (Yay!)

My netflix discs (Yay!)

And a pair of shoes I’ve never worn because I lost them within a week of buying them. (Yay!)

Not too bad.

Speaking of things that have gone missing,

My monitor is not the only thing.

In the last few months I have also lost…

1. My camera charger (so I’ve been camera free for a while now–they’re not as helpful when they’re dead.)
2. My “Go Cats” bracelet. I know I lost it the Friday before homecoming. I just haven’t the foggiest idea where.
3. An audio book belonging to the public library (luckily that turned up in a rental car. They are spendy to replace.)
4. Two Netflix discs (Clue and The Curious Case of Benjamin Button), and….
5. My sanity. But I’m thinking that might not have been such a big loss…specific amount I possessed was always questionable.

If you happen upon any of the above, please let me know.

Lifestyle change.

Those are not my favorite words. Seriously…can you find any associations that you think of as positive?

When people encourage you to make a lifestyle change, it really means one thing.

You’re doing something wrong.

And that something is your life.

Depressing, no?

I’m trying to embrace this, in light of a diabetes diagnosis that I’m still adapting to. Because, in some ways, I’m failing.

Perfect example: I’ve lost my glucose monitor. I’ve been finger-pricking-free for two weeks.

This is a bad thing. I still have a serious mess in my room to wade through before I confirm that my monitor is gone for good, but if I can’t find it soon, I’ll have to buck up and buy a new one.

But, if I’m being pretty honest, it’s not just the pricetag that’s keeping me from getting a new monitor. (Though the pricetag stinks…it’s over $100 bucks!)

It’s also that I just really really REALLY don’t want to be sick.

Ignoring it is not a solution. I need to get on track. I’m trying to get this through my head.

I realized today that it’s not the only lifestyle change I need to be making. I love writing, and I’m working on a YA novel. I’ve gotten some good feedback, esp. at the SCBWI conference I attended recently. I was told I have a great voice, great characters, and good sense of humor. I was told that I should change some plot elements, but I was also told by an awesome editor at an awesome house that she would like to see this, or anything else I write, once I’m done.

That’s pretty cool. Pretty freakin’ amazing, actually. It’s a lead I simply MUST follow up on.

Eventually.

You see, it’s also going to take a lot of work. Apart from replotting, I still have to write the darn thing! This will take a long time. I have lots of ideas, but I have to put them on paper, and revise and rewrite them. And revise them, and revise them, and revise them.

It’s going to take a LONG time. Writing is not easy, even if you love it.

But every day I don’t work on my story makes it harder for my dreams to come to fruition. No one but me will suffer for it, but it’s just another day where I don’t get to be doing what I feel as though I’m supposed to do.

And saying, “I’ll do better tomorrow,” doesn’t mean much when you start saying it every day.

The same thing is true with my diabetes. I need to work at it every day. And if I do, eventually I’ll get somewhere new. Somewhere I want to be.

I know this is a departure from my usual funny stuff, but sometimes even I need to be serious.

Because it’s my life.

And I don’t want to live it wrong.

I’m in update mode–adding links to the blogs I follow regularly and planning to write more regularly.

If I’ve added you as a link and you’d like to be removed, just let me know.

And check back soon! Seriously–I’ve been stockpiling horror stories to share.

Shouting out to another blog…who recently decided to post a Flemmily story!

(A particularly embarrassing one, but so be it.)

Head on over to www.growwings.blogspot.com , home of the FABULOUS Laini Taylor (and Jim and Clementine).

Check out her First Kiss contest winners….

…I’m #3.

Lately I’ve been spending lots of time in my home town with the fam.

And I really love being with them. I’m happier to get up in the morning (it doesn’t hurt that the coffee is always made), I have people to do things with, and there’s a big cat and a little puppy to play with.

But when I go back to MY home, I suddenly feel sad.

And kind of like I don’t have friends.

It’s not true–I have friends, but most of them are married and have their own lives going on OR they live REEEAAALLY far away, and I haven’t talked to them for a long time.

Queen Bee’s been booked (as have I) and we haven’t hung out much, N’s in California, Matthew’s in Seattle, C & C are busy building their house, L just moved, I haven’t had a date in over a year, and this guy I want to get to know just won’t call… it’s sad sometimes.

And on days like that, it’s tough to sit around at home.

***UPDATE!***

While writing this, my big sis called to chat about something that was bugging her.

Perfect timing. I feel better already.

And this is why, in the end, everything works out.

But I still wouldn’t mind if that boy called…

And how in the world do I keep missing him?

You can’t see it, but I’m pouting a little bit.

I went car shopping last weekend, but definitely without the intent to buy a new car. I figured I’d realize that I couldn’t afford anything I liked, and then I’d walk away with renewed intentions to save up for a down payment.

It was a poor decision.

It’s like going to the pound when you KNOW you don’t want another pet. But, you find something you love, something you must-Must-MUST have, and before you know it, you’re off shopping for a litter box.

Or, in this case, new car insurance.

Now the term “new” really means “new to me”. The car in question is an ‘05 Passat, so not all that new.

But it’s pretty.

It has leather seats, a sunroof, and considerably more space than the beloved Corolla. It has 59,000 miles, but it also has a brand new engine.

And did I mention that it’s pretty?

Trust me. It’s pretty.

But, less than 3 hours after I drove it off the lot, it had a few other things too…

First, an aggressive yellow ABS light, and then, shortly thereafter, a far more aggressive yellow flashing engine sign that (extremely maliciously) was accompanied by a sudden change in the motor sounds.

I know very little about cars, but I figured that this was a bad thing.

So, the same day I bought a new car, I wound up driving a different new car (‘09 Outback), and left my new, pretty Passat-with-yellow-lights-and-chug-chug-chugging-engine with the dealer to…well…deal with.

Luckily all was repaired quickly, but I’ll admit, I remained a bit skeptical.

Thanks for the extended, four-year bumper-to-bumper warranty, Mom.

Somehow that makes the car even prettier.