Zombie Apocalypse Preparation Day

The Shreveport Zombie Walk was on Saturday.  I got dressed for the occasion as a zombie hunter since the league had been invited to come be "Zombie Crowd Control" on skates for the event.  I figured that you need somebody with a gun to keep zombies in line, right?  Well, that, and I hate fake blood.

My outfit consisted of: A black T-shirt, cut up a bit over a red tank top, a black "dance" skirt (short), black shorts (short), and fishnets over dance tights, with a bit of dramatic eye makeup and teal blue "war paint" lines under my eyes.  I finished it off with my belt buckle made of .30-06 shells, a toy rifle, and my awesome STOMPEH! Doc Martens, and headed out the door.  I tossed my gear in my car and decided to move the gas can that I'd left on the front walk back to the carport it should live in.

I live in the country.  It's very "in the sticks" (no highspeed internet OR pizza delivery), and for the most part I'm surrounded by older people and a few young families.  We have a neighborhood but everybody is spread out a bit, with their homes on 2-4 acre lots.  In my section, neither neighbor on either side has a fence, so we've got a pretty big sprawl of pawn between us... and as I walked over to deposit my big red gas can (and get gas all over my hands because I can't do anything without making a mess) I noticed a trio of 2 men and a woman walking in my general direction, coming across the neighbor's yard.  They were still there when I went back around, so I walked towards them and offered a "Can I help ya'll?"  One of the gentlemen stepped forward and explained that he was a realtor showing the property across the street, and his clients wanted to look around the neighborhood and get a feel for things.  I cheerfully told them that it was a great neighborhood that was really quiet and full of great people, and headed back to my car.  As far as I can tell, those folks vaporized on the spot- I didn't even see them as I left, tears rolling down my cheeks and smearing my war paint because they probably got the impression that the neighborhood houses backwood militants who do their yardwork in fishnets and warpaint.  I got myself under control quickly, but then my dad called me to let me know that I needed to turn around, because he just realized that I'd forgotten my pants (britches, actually)... and I had to pull over to get my giggles under control.

Just for fun- here's a picture of me with Jesus.

My shirt read "The first thing we do, let's kill all the lawyers" until I corrected it with a Sharpie to say "zombies." The creation of that shirt was a comedy of errors, but I didn't burn my house down in the process, so I called it a victory.

And...

Found him!