this is halloween. this is halloween.

Well, it's Halloween. 

Which means I am currently either A) in a candy coma 

or B) about to be in a candy coma 

or C) already in a candy coma, but so out of it I don't realize I am in said candy coma.

Man, being a kid. It's so cool, yet not-so-cool. When you're a kid you can actually go trick-or-treating without being judged. You get lots of candy, but you have parents and adults telling you you can only have 4 pieces of candy or else you'll get a tummy ache! Boo, tummy aches, amiright? Then you grow up and you are the adult and HA! You can eat all the candy you want. Best part of life ever! Except your metabolism is not what it was when you were 5 and only eating 4 pieces of candy. Now you are 25 and eating 44 pieces of candy and tummy aches and weight gain and all that good stuff comes with Halloween (so that's why adults just have parties and drink on Halloween...)

So, Happy Halloween!

May your candy selection be so good that you don't even care about metabolism and other silly things.

I know I don't care.

^^I ate my third mini Milky Way bar of the morning as I typed that up there. 

In honor of this candylicious holiday, I will now take you back for many a Flashback Fridays: Halloween edition.

A painted pumpkin before Pinterest made it cool. It's like my parents invented Pinterest or something.

Forget about Emily the Bunny in this one. Let's talk about how punny it is that my brother, Joseph, was Joseph and the Coat of Many Colors. Ha! Bible humor, the best. I don't think Emily the Bunny came from a Bible story...

Looks like this was a year Young Em needed to eat some more candy in order to fit in her Belle costume.

The year was 1993. The costume was Snow White. But my mother made me be a Snow White with a white turtleneck. Do you remember seeing Snow White wear a turtleneck under her dress in the movie? No, you didn't. Because it would have ruined her outfit and then the Prince might have never fallen in love with her and then the dwarves would have never found her after she bit the apple and life as we know it would have never happened. But, that Snow White in that picture. She had to wear a turtleneck so she didn't get sick from the cold. I classify this in the why my life was hard as a young child file.

This Madeline didn't need red hair to be a sassy. Brown hair, don't care. Pooh-Pooh to you, Mr. Tiger in the zoo.

There you have it. The Golden Years, when surviving off of a sugar high was just another day in the books. Childhood, you were good to me. Candy, be good to me today.

Happy Halloween!
Linking up with Karli!

on levels of pumpkin carving

There are a lot of things I can do well.

There are also a lot things I can not do well. 

The older I get the more I realize just how black and white that list of can and can't's really is. 

I can teach ballet.

I can't dance ballet anywhere near the level at which I used to dance.

I can wash the clothes.

I can't remember to get said clothes out of the dryer.

I can eat an endless amount of chocolate.

I can't eat an endless amount of green beans. 

I can cook.

I can't find the want (or need, really) to cook. Thanks for the sushi rolls, Harris Teeter.

I can mop the floors.

I can't get off Instagram in order to have the time to mop the floors.

And so on and so forth. You get the picture. I added a new can(not) to my list as of last weekend. Are you ready for it?

I can carve a pumpkin.

I can't carve it any better than a small child would carve it. 

But wait, don't even look at Jack the Jack-O-Latern's baby face. Look behind Jackie at Rick's face. His focused, determined, don't-mess-with-me face. The face I see anytime he works on a puzzle. Or cooks a new recipe. Or, at my demands, tries to get the Wii to work. 

That is the face of a dude who can do a whole heck of a lot of stuff. Like finish puzzles, and produce delicious dinner creations, and make a Wii work.

Oh yeah, and carve (etch? with a wand?) a mighty sweet lookin' pumpkin. 

Pumpkins of the Lowcountry, I promise I'll try to do better next Halloween.

People of the Lowcountry, enjoy coming to our doorstep and, based off of the pumpkins, assuming a father and his young child live there.

I can (and did) choose a pretty rad husband.
I can't ever get on my husband's (or his pumpkin's) level.

p.s.- I also watched Hocus Pocus for the first time ever this past weekend (like, no way! Shut up! Jaws on the floor) and all I have to say is Ehhhhhhhhhh. All I know is that if 6 year old Emily had watched that PG movie I would have been asking a lot of questions about virgins...

Over and out. 

advice on driving

You know lately I had been thinking Life, what should I blog about?

There's only so many episodes of Heros I can watch in one night and there's only so many ballet terms you'll try to read before getting bored. That wasn't leaving me with a lot of content to use in blogging.

Today, friends, I taught a great petite jete combination! Nothing like some entrechat quatres to get a Thursday going!

On last night's episode of Heros...hashtag: 9 years late to the Heros game.

Last Friday Life stepped in to help me and man, I am so thankful for that. You see, last Friday I was on the way to teach my second class of the day when Life put a bug on my dashboard. A bug! Yuck! I mean, I know my car is dirty and I know that ants crawl on the outside, but an inside car bug? No. So I went to smash it. Obviously. 

Instead I smashed into a curb. And gashed my tire. And lost my hub cap. And slowly chugga-chugged along into the nearest parking lot. And then ran back across the road to pick up my hub cap. Ain't nobody got time to be buying new hub caps. A kind woman in the parking lot informed me that my tire was flat.

Freaking fuh-lat. Yeah, kinda figured that when I Jackie Chan'd my car up onto a curb.

Luckily (remember now, there are two kinds of luck) there was a tire shop half a mile away. 15 minutes of driving 2MPH, 10 honks from other cars, 8 major freak outs to Freddie on the phone, and 1 traffic build-up on Mt. Pleasant's busiest highway later, I made it to Tire Kingdom. And yes, it was a beacon of glorious kingdom-ly hope in my darkest flat tire time.

The Tire Kingdom men joked about those darn curbs coming up outta nowhere and how they were going to talk to DOT for me to get them to stop putting curbs up in the middle of the road, yadda yadda yadda, basically I love the Tire Kingdom men for joking with me otherwise I probably would have cried and hidden in our apartment all weekend in fear that someone would recognize that idiot car that backed up Highway 17 on Friday.

But now I've got a new tire and fancy fixed alignment so recognize the idiot car all you want, people. I don't care. I've learned my lesson and I will not be killing anymore teeny tiny bugs on my dashboard.

...because hopefully the bugs have learned their lesson and will stay out of my car, thankyaverymuch.

When Life gives you a flat tire and embarrassing experiences make blog posts. Because laughing is more fun than crying and hiding.

I didn't manage to get any pictures of the experience. I know, pathetic. Pretty sure Life gave me this experience so that I would take pictures for your viewing pleasure. But instead picture this:

this is what my tire looked like:

for realsies. size and everything. 

and this is what my overall demeanor looked like:

and this is what makes me feel better about running across the street for my hub cap:

and this is what the men at Tire Kingdom wanted to look like:

and this is how I felt like the traffic looked like behind my slow-like-molasses car:

There. The End.

heart full of hope, belly full of candy

I haven't written my obligatory OMGFALL post yet and thought today would be an excellent time to do so.

Because oh my goodness gracious heavens alive, fall! Am I right? There's something so magical and mystical and beautiful and wonderful about fall. I tried for a long time yesterday to find the right words to describe what fall does to me and my emotions. After hours of word searching all I could come up with was that it makes me feel hopeful. 

Gag me. 

But don't gag me because that would mess up this full of hope thing I've got going on over here. 

Fall is when I want to give Freds all the squeezelicious hugs.

Fall is when I want to constantly tell my family and friends how I mega love the crap ton outta them.

Fall is when it's okay if things don't go as planned because it's fall, for crying out loud, and things not going as planned just isn't as big of a deal as last week when it didn't feel like fall.

Fall is when I can write a blog post and use the word fall 11 times and no one cares. 

Since I can't find the words to describe my euphoria (eufallria? eh? eh?), I'll just leave you with pretty fall pictures and we'll call it a day. 

The scenery.

The trees.

The colors of the...leaves.

Betcha thought I was going to quote Pocahontas and say wind, huh?

As a kid, jumping into a pile of leaves was almost as fun as getting to jump on hotel beds. Although, the leaves thing was a lot prettier and more colorful. 

The bottomless amount of Halloween candy.

I realize Halloween candy does hit a bottom and it's called two days after Halloween (because one day after it all the half off candy, holla!), however my stomach feels like a bottomless pit made for candy around this time of year. 

Spoiler alert (laced with sarcasm): I look sooo good in a leotard during these fall candy months. 

The reminder that Christmas and all good things are just around the corner.

Yes, I do realize Hobby Lobby has been reminding us of this point since June, but shhh. That kind of just makes me love Hobs Lobs even more...

The crafts

Apparently something in the fall air makes Ricky craft with me because TimeHop is throwing up all sorts of Ricky craft time pictures from fall's past. Can't say I hate having a handy and handsome husband. I also could never say that I abhor alliteration. 

My jams.

These two albums are kinda all that my ears and sweet lil' fall soul need right now. They go on repeat and I go in jammin' mode. 

Don't hate. Just jam.

I also love the carmel-y apple way my living room smells right now (thanks, FeBreeze), and the snuggly family goodness time I know is coming up, and food that Freds makes (but I love that during 'erry season), and I even love the cooler temps (even though I complain about being cold for 23 hours out of the day).

Hey, fall. I sure do hope you plan on sticking around. 

Why do you love fall?

And don't tell me you don't or your blogging privileges get taken away. 

Linking up with Amanda and Karli!

a west nile virus tale

Sugar and spice, and everything nice, that's what little girls are made of. 

Ever heard that saying before? Of course you have. Because you too are made out of sugar and spice and everything nice.

I used to think I was made out of those things. Those were the good 'ole days. But after this weekend I found out the horrible truth...

dun dun dun

This is my new saying:

Sugar and heat, and everything mosquitoes want to eat, that's what Emily is made of. 

I've known for a long time that mosquitoes love me. And not in the this-is-a-healthy-kind-of-love relationship, but more in the obsessive-I-want-to-eat-you-alive kind of relationship.

Let me set a scene for you. It's Saturday in Charleston, SC. High 70s, sun is shining, and Freddie and Emily decide to hit up the Francis Marion National Forest for some fall time hiking. Camera? Check. Comfy clothes? Check. Plethora of soda water to prevent having to drink lowly plain water (yuck)? Check. Bug spray? Not check, not check, warning warning. Warning!

There are more mosquitoes than trees in this picture. Mind blown.

We lasted exactly 2 minutes on the trails. 2 whole minutes! Where's my award?
5 seconds in and I noticed 1 mosquito on my arm. No biggie! Happens every time I step outside.
30 seconds in I noticed a village of mosquitoes taking resident on Freddie's shirt.
45 seconds in and Freddie noticed they are starting to swarm me.
1 minute in and Freddie insisted we turn around. He's swatting and batting and hitting and I'm just like Sure! Whatevs, Husband! Laugh laugh, giggle, giggle. Saturday Funday, eh eh?!
1.5 minutes in and he told me they are all over my butt and back.
2 minutes in, back in the parking lot, we ran for cover (the car), locked the doors (mosquitoes can open unlocked car doors, fyi), and got the heck outta there.

And boy, did we laugh! Because I mean, being attacked by thousands of killer mosquitoes is funny. So we laughed and laughed and yadda yadda we were dumb.

I noticed an itch on my neck that night. Followed by an itch by my eye before going to bed.
Sunday morning? My face looked like a leper and my body looked the Michelin Man minus the rolls plus the bug bumps.

Throughout Sunday the official bug bite count went somewhere from 7 to 22. 22. Freaking. Mosquito. Bites. 5 of which were on my face. 7 of which were on my gluteus maximus. All of which were very unsightly and massively scratch worthy. Dear Freddie, please don't stop sleeping with me. Love, Your Bug Bitten, Redneck-Lookin' Wife. 

Freddie's official count? 1.
One.
Uno.
Single.
Solo.

Sugar and heat, and everything mosquitoes want to eat, that's what Emily is made of.
Snaps and snails, and everything to make mosquitoes bail, that's what Freddie is made of.

And that, my friends, is the story of how I picked up every weird disease in the world. The End.

1 mom + 1 decorated apartment

My mom came into town last week to help sort through this phase of life some call "moving and growing up." Gross. Yes, I am thrilled to be in a new place. No, I am not thrilled about anything cardboard and/or box shaped. But, man. Moms! The best. My mom came in, kicked butt, took names, and got a lot of our stuff done. 

So since it is Friday and all the alliteration link-ups are today (Friday Five! Friday Favs! Eff, yeah!), I thought this Friday deserved a 5 (of the 5 million) reasons Moms are the best. More importantly/to be exact/for your information, my mom. 

one. She talks you into the deer head over which you've been going gaga ever since Hob Lob put it out. Months of stalking it,  questioning my need for it, and sending pictures to Freddie saying things like, yes? She said get it and so I did. 

Welcome to the family, Buck Weiss. You be looking so good with your gold accents. 

two. She helps you find a gorgeous matted frame for your Ray La quote and then asks the employee if they can cut the 5x7 mat to be an 8x10 mat. Um, taking care of business and I don't have to deal with stranger danger?! Another point for the mom win.

I mean, come on. Who knew it was so easy to just snip snip and voila! New mat size! (everyone probably knew that). 

three. She irons the special ordered 21-inch bedskirt you got for the guest room. No explanation needed for this mom-is-the-best reason. Ironing is ick. Ironing a bedskirt? I think that gets a triple-ick and a big oh-no-no. 

But she did it with grace. And only one or two See how much I love you's?!

four. She gets you out of the house to actually buy the items you need in order to do that craft you've been wanting to do for weeks.

She glittered. I wrote in fake calligraphy. Teamwork at its finest. 

five. She puts everything together. I mean this in the literal she put my apartment together way, but also in the she put my life back together way. Anxiety-ridden home girl over here just really needed some mom answers about my life. And I got 'em.

But instead of showing you pictures of the difference in my worry wrinkles and level of stress after some mom talks, I will show you pictures of my apartment that she put together.

Operation Get Family to Move Closer to Charleston Commences...Now 1.5 years ago.
Linking up with Karli and Amanda! 

a first grade fail

Librarians. I mean, amiright? Need I say more? And all that jazz. 

One Word. Four Syllables. An eternity of fear.

Let me explain. Kindergarten was the year when big things started to happen to me. Kindergarten was when I realized that if I behaved my clothespin could stay on the green light. Kindergarten was when I became so crazy about keeping my pin on green that I never misbehaved. Or misspoke. Or really did anything. Kindergarten was when I became deathly afraid of... breaking the rules.

Dun dun dun. A fear that is still 100% ingrained in me today, 20 years later. If only adulthood was as simple as moving one's clothespin up the traffic light... hashtag: life's deep thoughts.

Velvet green pants to symbolize my green light lifestyle. #thuglife. 

Now at the end of one's Kindergarten year getting moved up to first grade is tres exciting. As in even more exciting than an ice cream truck driving down your street. Or than your pin staying on green for the entire school year (which yes, my pin did stay on green the entire year. 5-year old hair flip). First grade was a big deal. A new building. Hallways with the big bad second and third graders. Shucks! First grade was life and 5-almost-6 year old Emily was so ready for that life.

Except...I wasn't. Kindergarteners didn't share hallways with the big kids, but they did get to do big kid things like check out library books. Hello! So official. Brush yo shoulders off official. In an attempt to start living my first grade/uber mature human being life,  I checked out a library book. No big deal, right? Wrong. So wrong because 5-almost-6 year old Emily lost the library book. Which also appears to be no big deal, BUT it is a very big deal to lose a school's library book. Very. Big. Deal.

Oh, dahhhhhh-ling. I probably left the book in my dressing room!

Anxious-please-don't-move-my-clothespin-to-yellow Emily was quite nervous to tell the librarian that the book had vanished. You can go to jail for such a crime! Kindergarten yellow light jail! But alas, Miss Librarian found out of my crime and gave me my punishment.

I would not be allowed to move up to first grade if I didn't find that book before the end of the school year.

The horror! The embarrassment! The pain! In 5 seconds I had gone from green light star to worst human being in all the Kindergarten land! I would be a repeat. A lost library book repeat with a yellow light status for the rest of my years. 

I came home in tears trying to explain to my mother the travesty that now was my little life. And what did my mother do? She laughed. She laughed because librarians have no control over who moves up to first grade. She laughed because it was a library book. But mostly I'm sure she was secretly laughing because her 5-almost-6 year old daughter was convinced that her life was over. 

Guess what? I didn't find the library book before the end of the school year. Guess what? I also didn't have to repeat Kindergarten. Guess what? My life clothespin is still on green.

First day of first grade? Check. Creepy don't mess with me librarian smile? Check.

Talk to the hand, Miss Librarian. Talk to the hand.

i never thought blogging would...

-make me click Publish on posts of me saying and doing crazy things that everyone can see.

When I say make me I do mean it in the I-had-no-choice kind of way. Blogging does that to you. It gives you no choice but to share embarrassing stories. It gives you no choice but to click that Publish button. It gives you no choice but to say HEY INTERNET WORLD, COME LOOK AT THIS CANDID PHOTO OF ME WHERE MY MOUTH IS OPEN AND THERE'S A DROOL STAIN ON MY SHIRT. Let me go ahead and ruin the fun by telling you no, I have never posted a picture of myself like that but yes, I am sure there are many pictures out there of me just like that. 

Like these, for instance. Oh wait, I just shared embarrassing photos of myself. Blogging made me do it. My B. 

-turn me into the kind of blogger that has the awesome yet strange social media based friendships with so many people.

I wrote a whole post here about how we live in a wildly weird blogging world. A Wonderland of Blogging, if you will. I know your name. I could pick your face outta a big 'ole crowd of people. I know you like chocolate chip banana bread, but hate eating regular bananas. I know you went apple picking this past weekend and even ate some of the apples for breakfast, lunch, and dinner every day. I know you got your haircut and I even know your every day make-up routine. 

But do I reeeeeally know you? 

Hashtag: Life's deep questions #567

Hashtag: I don't care because I still love you. And I still call you my friends instead of my bloggy friends. And it confuses everyone around me

-take over my mornings. And evenings. And every thing in between.

On an average day I...

Read my blogs. Feel behind if I don't get to all of them during some point of the day. Think about when I should next post. Think about something about which I could write. Go back and forth on recently thought-of topic. Ask Ricky or my mom or a friend if that sounds like a good idea. Mooch off of them for better ideas. Sit down to write. Get distracted reading other blogs. Go back to writing. Decide not to post for tomorrow. And finally...read some more blogs. 

All in a day's work, my friends, all in a freaking day's work. On some of those average days I manage to do some other things, as well. Like life and work and stuff. 

-turn me into a winner.

And no, I don't mean that it turned me into a winner at life (even though it did, obvi), but I mean a winner of giveaways. Winning is f-u-n. My best friend won a bike from Wendy's once and I mean if that's not making it in life then shucks, I don't know what is. But I have won a Home. T and a return address stamp so I'm making it somewhere in life, that's for sure.

-make me a millionaire. 
Spoiler alert: It hasn't. I never thought it would and I don't expect it to. The End.

Linking up with Helene/Taylor and Karli!

so fresh, so clean

Fact: I can't dress myself.

Hey, don't roll your eyes. It's true! I could give you a lot of smaller facts like I wear a lot of grey (boring), I'm under the impression that earrings look dumb on me (blame my baby size ear lobes), and accessorizing is like cooking (read: something at which I suck), but I figured it'd be a lot less time consuming just to sum up all this with that there big 'ole fact. I, Emily, cannot dress myself.

This terrible disability has been in my blood for years, but it really manifested 3.5 years ago when I started my dance teaching job. The dance teaching job that requires me to be in leotard/tights and/or exercise clothes 5 or 6 days out of the week. Yoga pants and stretchy shirts?! Emily, that is so swooooon worthy. <<<what you're thinking right now. Tell that to the portion of my brain that used to create outfits so I looked like an acceptable member of society. Tell that to my legs as they've forgotten the jeans-on-skin feeling (but whose legs like jeans anyways?!).

Enter Klosets by Kelsey.

photo by OWN Boudoir photography

Kelsey and her husband, Jeff, entered our lives a few short months ago when a mutual Georgia Tech friend "hooked us up." Hmm, suggested we meet? Not sure how to word that without sounding majorly creep creepy over here. Anyways, I think the precious Lawd himself knew what he was doing (obvi) when he picked Charleston for the four of us to meet because Kelsey has popped up at a time in my life when I desperately needed a teacher friend in whom to confide my daily doubts and struggles.

Oh yeah, and when I desperately needed some major fashion help. Emphasis on the major. My life was spinning out of control. True story and not dramatic at all. I could not dress myself without sending several selfies to my sister with the desperate does this look okay???? are you sure???? caption.
See?

Enjoy this collection of 4 of the 400 pictures like this. Thanks, Ann-y Poo!

Kelsey started a personal styling business here in Charleston and as soon as we talked about her mission for starting up this business I knew I needed to hire her to refresh my wardrobe. You see, to Kelsey refreshing wardrobes means a lot more than just going through clothes. It means focusing on the client, pinpointing exactly what makes them feel beautiful and what makes them tick. Our session started with a consultation where Kelsey asked questions about my life, not just the clothes in my closet. She wanted to understand erry' little thing about me in order to let this crazy woman named Emily shine through my overall style!

The actual refreshing part began with a major closet clean-up.

Oh hey, wanna laugh? Freddie and I had moved 5 days before this Wardrobe Refresh took place and I had been patting myself on the back at the amount of clothes I had gotten rid of before moving. Um, joke's on me because Kelsey and I (mostly Kelsey) were able to weed out a very large tub full of clothes. Ahhh, purging never felt so good.

From there the styling began.

Outfits on outfits on outfits. Combinations I never ever ever thought to put together. Clothes I had never ever ever worn suddenly had new lives.

The whole time I was trying on clothes and squealing ohmigawdhowareyousomagical, Kelsey was reorganizing the layout of my closet. I feel like the Queen of England every time I enter it now. And yes, I am totally aware that Queen Elizabeth's closet is probably a little bit bigger than 5x6, but let me have my queen moment.

3 hours, 20+ outfits, and zero money spent later I was like a new less crazy and well-dressed woman. Kelsey, you are a wardrobe sorceress.

So I guess my point is...check her out! Hire her (she does e-styling, hint hint)! Then come to Chucktown to visit us and we'll all go out downtown looking really seski in our newfound and newly refreshed wardrobes.

Fact: I can now dress myself, all thanks to Klosets by Kelsey. 

5 reasons I would not survive the zombie apocalypse

I originally posted this 366 days ago. But since I am living in between and on top of and underneath boxes I figured I would leave you with this oldie. This oldie and a
Happy Friday!
Linking up with Karli!

****

This post is in honor of the start of the month of Halloween and my recent viewings of The Walking Dead. Which, by the way, was a show I was never interested in watching. (Even though it is filmed by my hometown! There's your Yippee! Fun Fact of the Day). But then I got married. Then watching shows on Netflix after work became the new married thing to do. Then we ran out of shows and whad'ya know, we started Walking Dead. Then I became enthralled in the OMG I do not want to watch another one of these sad and gross episodes ::clicks the play button while saying that:: kind of way. 

Following?

For the past week as we've plowed through an average of 4ish episodes an evening (embarrassing high five!), I have started to notice certain elements pertaining to living in the zombie time period that would just not mesh with my wants and needs. And yes, my nose was up in the air and my pinky was out and about as I typed that. La te da. 

one.

Nowadays the whole 'no poo' thing is trending and trending hard. I'm over here like no poo fo' you? That means mo' poo for moi, kapeesh? All these zombie killers and survivors on the show are letting their "dirty" manes flow free. Riiiiight, Andrea, cold water and washing your hair once in a blue moon make your curls bouncalicious. My McGreasey washed yesterday locks beg to differ. 

via

Although now that I think about it I guess the moral of the show is...

zombie blood is good for the hair?

That's what I've been getting from it anyways. 

two.

Speaking of blood, I don't do blood. Ya know, like some people don't do camping. Or some people don't do red meat. I don't do blood. I was all about being a doctor for one hot second when I was 3. That's the thing with being 3, you're young and crazy. Once I got older and passed out in blood related incidents (sound creepy much?), I realized the dance world was a much safer haven for my walk in life. I can do bruised toenails and achey feet. Leave the blood for Rick n' Hershel n' them.

 A delusional and young Emily. Good thing there are no zombie teddy bears. Yet. 

three. 

Smells. 

One time when I was a young lass, I would go watch my brother at his T-ball practices. One of the families there had a certain stench, or so I'm told. I was also told that it was is rude to make comments out loud about smelly things around smelly people so I took to making a point of pinching my nose and making a beeline for the other side of the bleachers. All inconspicuous like. There you have it. Rotting, uncleanly, and sweaty smells mean I could only survive by wearing a nose clip permanently. But at least the stench would make my hair look good, right, Andrea?

                                          The only thing I smell like is....manliness. Rawr.                                via

four.

There's a reason Walking Dead season 2 and 3 skipped right over the winter season in the show. Because, realistically, there's no way they would have survived it. I mean, I know it is set in Georgia and I know all of you northerners are like Ohh okay, Miz Hot Pants. Sure, Georgia gets so cold. Wink wink. But it does! I'm already getting cold and crying at the thought of not getting warm again until April! It rarely snows here, true, but it gets right near freezing temps and then just rains and rains and rains. Cold rain?! No. Just no. I need my socks, blanket, long sleeve t-shirt, sweatshirt, leggings, and maybe a pair of baggy sweatpants? Yes, definitely those. I need all of those before I can be set up in the cold. Pretty sure their non-existent zombie apocalypse pre-packed bags didn't come with any of those things. 

Wait, Mr. Zombie, I need to pull the other side of my mitten up so I can get warm so I can get the strength to kill you!

five. 

I love Chapstick. Have you seen those poor zombies' lips? Blood and guts just ain't cutting it as a luscious lip moisturizer. In fact, some of them don't even have lips! Know why? No Chapstick in that post-apocalyptic world. If I was stuck on a deserted island (or in the zombie apocalypse), you better believe I would have Costco size tubs of Chapstick. I have a tube in just about every accessible place. Purse, Dance bag, Car, Medicine cabinet, etc. Rick always wants to know what happens when the ammo is gone? Well I want to know what happens when all the Chapstick is gone??

Crazy fool said what?! No more Chapstick?!

That being said, if I had clean hair and perfume and no blood and hot and cold weather clothes and Chapstick you bet yer bottom dollar I would survive the crap outta the zombie apocalypse

...

Would you?