You guys, this is a big deal even though it isn't.

So something funny is that Mary said I had a letter from BYU and as I opened it I said "psh probably just some MORE people saying I suck at life and writing" because RECENTLY the 2 big contests I entered essays into rejected me, and then I opened it and it said that I got 3rd in yet another contest I'd entered!! It is the least well known/prestigious and I entered my JOKE essay about ZOMBIES, but you guys it turns out that Zombies SELL better than little pieces of my soul, fun fact. And hey 3rd is pretty rad, and sources indicate it is better than nothing.

So um here is the essay for your 3rd place viewing pleasure:

Escape Plan

Sometimes I wonder if I’ve taken the zombie threat seriously enough. I mean, sure, I’ve got a cricket bat by my bed and plenty of escape routes devised. I can get out my window, jump to the carport roof, shimmy down from there. Or I could get out the other bedroom window (which used to be mine, that’s why I know and care), throw a towel over the power line, and slide down it like a zip line. Of course, the Zombie Survival Guide says that an upstairs location is ideal, so really escaping my room isn’t the best plan. His (the writer’s )suggestion is that you gather everything you can upstairs and then take an axe to them; the stairs, I mean, the idea being that then you’re completely isolated, since the typical zombie lacks the coordination to climb or really do anything but wander around bumping into things in the search for easily obtainable brains. Of course, if it’s a different kind of zombie then you’re screwed; for instance, the ‘rage infected’ dudes in 28 Days Later. Shoot. I don’t even bother planning for that, I just call it game over. Although I must admit, sometimes I think it would be worth having everything go to pot in a similar manner if you can manage to survive it because then in the end you get to live in a cottage in the Lake District with Cillian Murphy. But that’s just a personal issue.

When I think too much about zombie movies and attacks, I start to think about the nightmares I used to have where I would find myself invisibly following a small band of people on some kind of dangerous journey, like in some adventure or fantasy novel. It was like watching a movie, but more immediate—I was one of them, but I was invincible, just along for the ride. All in all it was a pretty cool dream for a fantasy nerd, except that once we finally reached the victorious end I would find myself back at the beginning, and I’d have to do it all over again by myself. It was horrible, because I’d already vicariously experienced all the stress and horror, but now I had to do it again, alone, with no guarantee it would work out the same way. All the lucky breaks that people in books get, the chance salvations and one--time tricks, none of them would work for me. I wonder if in real life that’s where all my zombie escape plans come in—I know it always works out somehow for the attractive main characters in movies, but for me to duplicate their success (assuming that life can turn into a nightmare or movie at any moment) I need to have a plan in place that doesn’t rely only on chance.

I wonder where I picked up that assumption that at any moment, life can turn into a nightmare or a movie or a book. Sometimes I wonder who I would be if I hadn’t grown up reading books and watching movies. Not only in the obvious ways—not an English major, for instance, and overall perhaps less knowledgeable about a bunch of random useless things that novel writers tend to toss in for historical accuracy and local color. But I mean, in what ways would I perceive the world differently? How many of the basic things I bring to the table would be different if I hadn’t been raised on fantasy and speculation and stories? Would I be so strongly pulled to take literal, practical steps against purely imaginary threats and eventualities?

A few years ago I took a basket weaving class (“No, not Underwater Basket Weaving, that’s 201, you need SCUBA certification.” That was the answer we, as a class, devised while sitting around the work tables while our reeds soaked). I was not really joking when I explained it to my friends as being training for when I was sucked back in time to a preindustrial society. You read enough of that kind of thing when you’re a kid, and for me at least what it translated into was some anxiety—what would I do if that happened to me? I need a plan. Well, now I have a prospective trade for medieval times. Phew. Of course, there’s the lingering problem of not knowing the entire process start to finish—I can make a bundle of split branches into a basket, but I can’t start from a tree and an ax. So really, it’s of limited usefulness. Bookbinding is even worse—to even get started I need paper, board, thread, glue, not to mention tools like knives, and if we’re getting fancy, presses and things.

I feel like if I knew how to weave, I’d be able to do it start to finish—I guess that’s why I’ve always wished I had some way to learn. Start with a sheep, end with a sweater. I think part of the fascination started when I was a little girl at the Scottish Games in Pleasanton, wandering around the big warehouses filled with vendors selling tins of shortbread and books and clothes—at one of the buy-your-clan-plaid tables, there was an old woman set up with a full on loom, weaving. I couldn’t understand how the thing worked. I still don’t know; I have had alarmingly few interactions with looms and the people operating them. But it’s a mystery I’ve always wanted to solve—how are the threads arranged? How does it all work? First of all, I just like understanding and being able to manage things, but honestly, if I’m going to need to either pass myself off as a typical medieval maiden or cloth myself and my family in a post-apocalyptic society, I need to know these things.

Of course, the need for that kind of knowledge comes into play much later, after I’ve successfully survived the chaotic apocalypse years.

If a zombie came through my bedroom door right now I would vault over my bed, grab my cricket bat and go to town on it until I’d removed it’s head or destroyed its brain. Then I’d close the door while I got situated--I would put on shoes, grab my pocket knife, maybe this fork that’s sitting on a plate on my desk from breakfast a few days ago (never look a stabby device in the mouth, okay?) and anything else handy and useful to have. I’d check out the window, see if there were more of them milling about or if this looked like a more isolated incident. I’d cautiously open the door, use all the skills I learned watching Dad play Doom 2 on the Sega—I’d keep my back to the wall, and take the turn in the hallway wide so as to have full vision and range of motion. I wonder if the first zombie will be a roommate, or someone random from off the street? It could happen you know; when one or more of us is at home the front door is usually unlocked. I hope that, if it were a roommate zombie in the first place, the emotional trauma of having decapitated poor Mary or Anna was not incapacitating. I’m sorry you guys, you know I love you in your natural human forms, but I can’t afford to waste time being sentimental over your zombified corpses.

I wonder what I would do then. I’d clear the house, make sure there were no more (and deal with any that appeared). Then I go to work chopping up the stairs—thus pretty much blocking access to my upstairs apartment to any uncoordinated zombies. But in real life, I don’t know, probably I’d fall into the sucker category with most heroes of zombie movies. I’d check on the girls downstairs, see if they were okay and wanted to come upstairs. Before any of that crap I’d call my sister and either get her over here or make sure she was secure where she was.I’d call my roommates, get them off campus and home as soon as possible. Although shoot, who’s to say home is better than campus in case of a zombie attack? That’s a whole nother can of worms. I mean, home has the obvious benefits of having a lot of food and all your possessions and absolute familiarity with your surroundings. But then, this house is like a hundred years old and probably would fall down if enough undead stumbling beasts came and stumbled into it enough times. I don’t trust any of the doors or windows to lock properly—probably in some building on campus you could find doors that were secure, and just overall better structural integrity. But then, is there anywhere on campus that you really feel comfortable holing up for potentially days or weeks or even months? I mean, I don’t think we could even make it that long at home comfortably, and that is with a cabinet full of noodles and cous cous and cake mix (yes those are the true and full contents of my food cabinet, wanna stop judging me about it?) I mean even at home it’s gonna be pretty rough, especially when the water and power gets cut off, as you know it eventually will. Too bad my apartment has no bathtub—not like I’d really savor drinking water that had been standing in an apartment tub, yikes, but still, better than nothing. As it is, I guess we’re just filling every mixing bowl and Tupperware and garbage can while we can. Ugh, speaking of gross. I know what goes in those garbage cans. Yikes again.

You know who you REALLY want on your side in a zombie attack, is my friend Harrel.Harrel knows what is up. To use Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy parlance, she really knows where her towel is at. See, now that I’m thinking food preparation, I’m thinking, the gas stove will eventually be useless, yeah? And hello, this is crappy student housing in Provo, we’ve got no fireplace (and no supply of fuel even if we did have) so in a survival situation it would be nice to give Harrel 20 minutes warning, have her pack up her boatloads of RMYL major gear and her weaponry (no joke) (she’s got like knives and swords and a mini gun safe) and hole up together. Although there is the bitter truth that people who are as put together and well stocked as Harrel are people who are pragmatic and get things done, and people who are pragmatic and get things done probably are pragmatic to the point that when their friend is wounded and trailing, they leave them behind, because they know that the greater good (survival) requires some sacrifices (me.) So…you know. Yikes three.

I was in the grocery store the other day and a pack of boys came in, conversing loudly to the extent that it made a stranger like me feel like I could listen in without any breach of manners, and almost begged me to join in and fix their conversation for them. See, this one guy was loudly asking his friend why he liked zombie movies. What’s the big deal with zombies, he’s asking, why are they so great? They moved off to the soda aisle before I could hear the friend’s response, but whatever it was I’m sure I was doing better in my head. The thing about zombies, I silently soliloquized, is that they are utterly terrifying yet completely defeatable. It’s not like vampires or werewolves or raptors or whatever other kind of movie monster where your only chance is really just chance—that you happen to evade them or lock them in an industrial size freezer or happen to have your silver bullet-loaded revolver on hand. See cuz with zombies, all they have is numbers and a stolid, relentless single-mindedness. They’re slow, they’re weak, and they’re relatively easy to kill. The only way they can win is if they overwhelm you with sheer mass—which yes, is a terrifying image. But you’ve got a shot. Let’s be honest; no one should have gotten off the island in Jurassic Park. And there’s a reason the vast majority of vampire movies all boil down to repressed sexuality rather than human/vampire stand offs.There’s no real way for people to win against the monsters that they create, most of the time.But. Zombies are different. A dude stands a chance against a zombie.

I would like to thank the following fiz-ellas:

...couldn't have done it without you. Sniff.