Player Ready?

MISSION: Friday
MISSION TYPE: Survival
OBJECTIVE: Withstand workday assault
DIFFICULTY LEVEL: High! - Player begins mission with reduced Stamina and Morale.
DURATION: 8 hours
MISSION REWARDS: [WEEKEND] - Includes “End-of-Workday” Mission Rewards: [Rest] and [Relaxation].
[WEEKEND] grants player bonus points to [Rest] and [Relaxation].
[Weekend] also grants player increased chance of earning high-level rewards:  [Alcohol] and [Doing Something Fun].
[Weekend] also grants player the chance to receive Rare-Classed loot: [Sleep].

Begin?

When You...

That moment...

Smells Like Monkeys In Here.

As I mentioned the other day, I was sick. I'm mostly better now (not factoring-in the residual mucus.. Sorry). I also mentioned something about hipster monkeys in that post too (I don't know... I think my brain was overheating or something).

No, wait! There was a point to the monkeys! The monkeys had meaning. They were a symbol to represent my writing (I submit my entire blogging history as "Exhibit A") or, at least, my return to writing. See? Makes more sense now, right?

Know what? Forget the monkeys! You can't expect to understand what's going on when there are monkeys in the room. That just never works out. What I mean by all this is, I think getting sick made me figure out why I haven't felt motivated to write these days.

You know when people say "life happened" and I couldn't keep up with this or that anymore? That's exactly right! And it's not always because you're so busy. That can happen but that wasn't the case for me. For me, I got stuck in a rut. Between bills, night school, boring office job, etc. I subconsciously began to wall myself off so as not to feel overwhelmed by what felt like the sheer meaningless in my existence. The problem with that was I made myself literally numb to everything going on around me. It's really hard to be creative when you go about your everyday routine just letting everything bounce off you and letting nothing stick. Know what I mean?

Now that I realized that, I think I can keep myself from falling into that trap again. Or not. I get distracted easily.

Speaking of distracted, I got my sense of smell back!

(Yeah, complete and abrupt change of topic. No warning. No clever segueing. Nothing! Blame the monkeys.)

While the cold helped me regain my sense of blogginess (I think), I lost my sense of smell. That was new. I've never had anything like that happen over a cold - or any other reason - before. At first, I was a little worried that it was going to be permanent (and possibly the lamest superhero origin story ever) but Dr. Google assured me it would be alright. Actually, it seemed this wasn't not all that uncommon when you got a cold so I just had to wait it out. Sure, everything I ate tasted bland without a functioning olfactory sense but, on the plus side, I kind of liked being able to walk through the city and not be suddenly have my nose bombarded with scent human waste (sorry again) - usually strategically scattered throughout the city by members of our homeless community.

That being said, I am now of the opinion that the tongue is woefully undeserving of its position as the representative of taste. All that guy can basically do is tell what's sweet, sour, bitter and salty. Without your olfactory sense, you might as well just give up on life enjoying your food.

At first, my sense of smell came back in bits and pieces. The first time I noticed anything had a scent was one day, when I was returning from lunch about two days into it. A coworker was waiting to get on the elevator and the scent of her coffee hit my olfactory senses hard. The best way I can describe it was like being colorblind and suddenly seeing a woman in a red dress move across the room. And the fact that it was coffee that ended up being the first thing I could smell in two days turned that woman in a red dress into a curvy bikini model in a skimpy, red two-piece.

Of course I meant a Japanese bikini model!

I really love coffee.

After that, it was gone again until something else got through. Fortunately, none of it was poop. After about five or six days, I'm happy to report that things are back to normal and coffee tastes great once again.

Carnival Weekend Burn.

Carnival here in T&T recently happened. It was on February 16th and 17th to be exact. Like most years, I ignored it. Except for that one year while working at The Paper, I have had no reason to go out on Carnival Monday and Tuesday. I'm lucky I'm not one of those who look forward to this every year because, this year, would have totally sucked for me since I was forced to spend the entire long weekend laid up with a second-degree burn injury.

Actually, yeah, that still pretty much sucked.

It all started the Friday before the long weekend, or "Fantastic Friday" as it's come to be known. Mrs C and I were getting ready for work and, as I do every year, I was looking forward to getting a long weekend of rest and relaxation while most everyone else would parading through the streets in feathers and sequined bikinis. As an added bonus, because most people couldn't wait to get the partying, a lot of workplaces - my own included - were shutting it down early that day.

We were tired. We had not been getting to bed as early as we should have for the past few days and, as a result of that, Mrs C lost control of a pot of boiling-hot and spilled some of it on me.

I know! Ouch doesn't even come close.

Not to brag but I'm normally the "just walk it off" kind of guy when it comes to pain. I owe that to the years of training I received at Masochists' Gym. But this one hurt. I knew it was bad because it was the type of pain I couldn't ignore. Still I handled it pretty well...

You should have seen me! I knew it was bad and I still handled it like a boss. I went into the bedroom to check it out in the mirror. The hot water went right through the fabric of what I was wearing and burned what looked like about two inches of skin off (I found out later it was closer to six inches when the rest of the damage started to show).

Sorry if that's too TMI.

Did I cry? No! Did I panic? Nuh-uh! Instead I was the one who stopped and consoled Mrs C, who started crying after she realized what she'd done. Dammit, I even finished getting dressed and went off to work after applying some basic first aid. ON MYSELF! I was so cool.

There was only one thing... ONE THING that took away from my absolute awesomeness in this story. You see, what actually happened was that Mrs C had, in fact spilled the boiling-hot water... on my ass.

Yeah...

"Only you could find a joke in all this." Mrs C said when I mentioned her failure to choose a more convenient location to injure me.

It's funny how it's not as much fun to lie around and do next to nothing on a long weekend when you're actually forced to do it. I spent the entire four-day weekend lying on my stomach and the first half of that time I had to be (literally) butt-naked until the-um-wound was healed properly. If I could have done that without the benefit of getting burned that might have probably been my idea of a perfect weekend.

On a side note, while I'm not one of those guys who believes that women are evil mean and secretly reveling in the pain and suffering of their male oppressors, I could not help but notice the marked increase of Mrs C's uncontrollable urge to slap me on the behind during my recovery. Maybe someone could explain that one for me.

We Own A House... Now What?

Twenty days in and this is only my first post for the new year. Good thing I didn't go and make a resolution about blogging more consistently for 2015... heh... heh... (*scratches "blog more consistently" off New Year's resolution list*). In my defense, it's mostly because we don't have internet set up at the new place yet. That and we're now so far away from civilization even our data coverage is close to non-existent most of the day.

So, yes, as you may have picked up, we have moved and have now officially joined the ranks of "homeowners". Now we just have to clear off that mortgage over the next thirty years or so and it's all ours. Just in time for the kids to kick us out into a retirement home and start fighting over it.

Can't wait.

As cool as it is to finally become a homeowner, in the end you still have to go through the whole process of moving and that's always fun. Isn't it? (NOTE: By "fun" I actually mean a huge barrel of suck... You probably already knew that.) You have your packing, heavy lifting, unpacking, exhaustion, aches, pains and stuff that gets broken. Yeah... fuuuuunn! (See earlier note.) We did that over the Christmas weekend which means we were too busy doing all that stuff I mentioned earlier and too broke to really celebrate Christmas (alcohol was consumed, though).

When the dust settled and we finally got some sleep (about a week after we moved in), we then had time to sit and take it all in.

Homeowners...

Us!

The novelty wears off soon enough though. Right around the time when you realize the last ounce of dependency you had on others is gone. Before, if you lived with your parents or, as in our case, you were a renter, you knew there would be certain things beyond your control. Leaky roof? call the landlord! Faulty plumbing? Get that landlord on the phone! Pest infestation? Better get the landlord to call in an exterminator.

Now we're on our own, when it comes to taking care of our house and all of its needs. If you stop to think about it too long it can be a little daunting. Needless to say, I'm trying not to think about it too much (seems like a viable strategy...)

Speaking of which, that leaking (READ AS: "gushing") shower faucet issue I mentioned the last time, yeah, we're trying to sort that out. Surprisingly, the agency responsible for the houses is actually saying they'll arrange to have the contractors come in and sort it out. Now we just have to see how long that takes to happen.

In other news: Kawaii's adjusting well after the move. She did get really sick the first night and we were more than a little worried but she eventually pulled through and, a few days later, she was back to her old self (cue the obligatory cute puppy pic). 

"I know you trimmed around my eyes like half an hour ago but... it grew back."

Unlike at the old place, where she spent all her time indoors due to our former neighbors', not-so-friendly (or clean) dogs that already occupied the yard, here she gets to go out every day (on a leash until we put a fence up). I've even started taking her for walks around the block (I feel so suburban now you would not believe), which she loves.

She's also taken an interest in the of local wildlife (READ AS: "bugs") which our new area has in copious amounts. And, since they often find their way inside the house, she has plenty of opportunities to examine them... after she chases them down, swats them to death with her paws and - of they're big enough - tears to shreds with her teeth.

Wait! Is that a cricket?

She's a curious girl.

Speaking of wildlife, we also have birds in the area. Lots of birds. Birds that are mostly quiet in the day but then there are these others that let out loud, eerie "squawks" throughout the night. We don't go outside much at night. As luck would have it, among the various species we also have my arch nemeses, Grackles.

Look at 'em! Just strutting around my backyard like they own the place... Send help.

At some point I really started to wonder if someone was just f*cking with me.

Anyway, their mating season is still a few months away so they don't have a reason to start attacking people yet. So there's that.

On the plus side, at the outer end the street leading into the community there are horses.

Those are cool.

One of the biggest adjustments, though, is that this an entirely new community. We were among the first two hundred plus people to get keys and everyone's new here and only moved in weeks apart from each other. That means none of us got treated to one of those scenes you see in the movies where the local community group forms a welcoming committee to bring you baked goods to mask their real objective of scoping out your stuff.

I want a blueberry muffin, dammit!

Instead, we all just get to watch silently as we observe another moving truck roll up the street and hope the whoever-it-is isn't planning on starting a meth lab in his/her kitchen or blasting Jamaican Dancehall music every night until 3AM (it's popular here).

The adventure begins.

A Little 'O This & A Little 'O That.

It would seem, for all intents and purposes, I'm back. I passed on my sport assignment to my lecturer and, until he provides me with feedback, I'm a free man again.

During my time away, there have been a few things that have been going on. Nothing too major. Just the usual crazy stuff to which I normally end up baring witness. Two, in particular, stood out and, instead of trying to figure out how to stretch each of them into individual posts, I decided smush them all together and hopefully come up with something worth our time together.

Ahem! I shall begin...

********

The newest addition to the C Household, our puppy, Kawaii, is a growing girl. She recently got the hang of jumping onto and off of the living room furniture all on her own (“yaaaay” he said with no real excitement whatsoever). I was there for her first successful jump. She was so excited, she had to jump off and on again four or five times to make sure it wasn't a fluke.

Now she’s got her sights trained on our bed. Of course, she’s not allowed on the bed and, added to that, it’s a bit higher than the living room couch. But she’s determined. The other day she figured she’d have better luck if she took a running start (EDITOR'S NOTE: she’s a little too smart for her own good). She had the right idea but because of the limited space in the bedroom, she had to run in from another room at a parallel angle to the bed.

As you can see, essentially she was trying to pull off one of those high jumps you often see done in track and field events.

source

Unfortunately, despite her planning and effort, it was obvious that she lacked natural grace and skill necessary to perform such a feat and she completely fell short of her goal. Both height and direction were a bit off.

I was there for that one too, just lying in bed, minding my own business when I heard feet thumping on the wooden floors as she came running up. Then, I saw the brown blur that was the top of her head. Our gaze met for a moment as she passed by and then... she was gone. Soon after came the sound of her sliding on said floor and crashing into the wardrobe.

It was as a result of that one act that I knew she was indeed a worthy member of this family.

********

You know those moments when you question whether mankind is really worth saving? I had another one of those recently.

It was morning. An average day, like any other. I was walking through the city, on my way to work. My headphones were on, the music just loud enough to drown out the world around me. That was normal. I was late but this was also normal. Indeed, it was just an average day, just like any other day.

That's when I happened to notice the guy in front of me had his boxers sticking out of his sagging jeans. Not that this is anything new. You know how I feel about trends but this one in particular has been going strong for decades. Personally, I think it's stupid but my complaining about it won’t change it. Instead, I try not to pay attention to it.

I probably would have dismissed him too except I happened to notice he wasn't just letting his boxers stick out of his jeans. His boxers were actually sticking out of another pair of boxers that were sticking out of his jeans. I could tell! They were different colors!

Is this the new "thing"? Is this what all the kids are doing now? I can't keep up anymore.

The icing on this double-boxer cake was that this guy was actually making an effort to show it off – as evident by him having tucked the back of his t-shirt into the upper boxer. Also, he was strutting. He was actually proud!

I briefly considered turning around and going home because, at that point, I had had enough of outside for the day.

********

To end things off, here are some blog posts I considered writing but decided against it when I realized the titles were only mildly more interesting than the actual posts themselves:

Of Mouse & Man - One man’s harrowing battle to blog and surf the internet while being hampered by a defective peripheral device.

My Application Letter to The X-Men - After getting caught in the rain four times in five days with not so much as a sniffle, I become convinced that I possess some sort of superhuman power.

My Application Letter to The Avengers - In case the X-Men aren’t hiring right now.

The Great Flood of 2014 - The time when Mrs C broke a pipe in the bathroom and all the hardware stores were closed for the evening.

A Little 'O This & A Little 'O That - Where I regale you with- Oh, wait, I wrote that one...

If We Were Friends.

Dealing.

(EDITOR'S NOTE: I burn up my quota of swear words for the next few months in this one.)

DAMMIT! I HATE THIS!!! IHATEITIHATEITIHATEITIHATEIT!!!

GAAAAH!!!

That’s how I feel right now. Like some fucking spoiled brat, throwing a tantrum. A very foul-mouthed brat. Why? Because I get depressed sometimes, that’s why? And I hate it.

I mentioned it before, but some of you may not know/remember. I was in banking about four years ago. I was a loans officer and, mostly and I fucking hated it. Then I lost that job – mostly because of my own screw-ups – and had been bouncing around from one place to another, never able to hold down a job for more than six months. The economy was in a slump, banks weren't hiring and it took months to finally find a temporary clerical gig in a small office that paid less than half the income I was making before. That’s how the next three years would go for me. Brief stints of employment here and there, followed my months of unemployment.

As a result of this – maybe even before it (HELL! I don’t know!) – I realized I would go into these “funks” from time-to-time. The worst of it was right after I lost my job at the bank. Back then it was full-on, curl-in-the-fetal-position-under-the-covers-day-after-day depression.

Should I keep calling it that? I've never been officially diagnosed. "Real" therapy's expensive, you know. All I know is it was like a hole had opened up inside me. I felt like something was missing. Like there were things that should be there that just weren't. I remembered, even before things ended with the bank, I questioned whether the road I was on was really the one I should be taking.

As time went on I learned to deal. Or, at least, to look like I was dealing.

Eventually, I started blogging and that seemed to help a lot.

But that hole never went away. When problems started to pile up, there it was, shrouding me and swallowing me up again. True, it wasn't as bad as before. I’d lose interest in things and stop being productive to the point where every task felt burdensome. I literally have to force myself to “function”.

But things are different now. Right? I mean I've been employed since last February. First, with TinyCo – the company that seemed destined to fold at any minute but didn't – and now with the government. My income now isn't anywhere close to what I made in banking but it’s the best it’s been in years. There’s just no reason those old feelings of emptiness to be bother me anymore.

So where the hell did the last week of my life go?

That’s what I fucking hate the most about my “thing”. It’s a creeper. It's a bitch-assed, sneaky kind of gloominess and I never know when it's going to hit or even that I’m going through it. That is, until it comes to a head (or the shit hits the fan). I go into force-function mode and my sporadic bursts of energy during that time allow me to make it through each day with just enough effort to even fool myself and keep drifting along.

I don't know how I got to this state. Sure, life isn't perfect now that my job worries have eased up. I've still been taking a hit or two as a result of our finances going into disarray when I was unemployed. But... Shit, I don’t know!

I know what some of you are thinking. I should talk to someone. I think that's part of the problem. Aside from my wife, there aren't that many people I can talk to. I love her, but there are some things I'm not comfortable talking to her about. Let's not even get into family. I'm a Christian (maybe not the best example of one, but I am), as I may have mentioned and most of my family are as well. But if I have to deal with the cookie-cutter "Go deeper into prayer" answers, I may end up saying some very un-Christian things to them (Don't believe I can? Go back and read some of what I wrote in this post alone.)

The fog is lifting for now, though. I'm just really, REALLY pissed it happened again. Sorry to just spring this on you all. I just needed to vent and since I can't afford therapy and I'm too much of a loner to have "real life" friends to bitch to, the blog is the only place I can pour all this out.

I'l try to be funny next time.

END. RANT.

Social Interaction - A Sign Of The Times.

Based on the way I usually feel at the end of the week, I'm seriously considering having this made and posted on the inside of my front door so I can see it every time I'm about to turn that knob:

Don't get me wrong. Believe it or not, I'm okay with (most) of the people at work. This is prompted by those perilous minutes I actually have to be out in the streets, trying to get from point A to point B.

Snowball.

I knock on the Divisional Director’s door and walk in...

Me: Good morning. You have a minute?

Divisional Director (DD): Sure, Vinny, have a seat. What’s up?

Me: It’s about those reports you assigned me to update for my department. There’s a slight problem.

DD: Problem?

Me: Well, I was about to fill in my part of one of the shared files, sheet 15, when I realized it hasn't been filled in by any of the other departments. Since the data’s supposed to be in order I can’t add my part yet.

DD: Hmm... Sheet 15? But that’s supposed to be one of the most active files! It shouldn't be blank.

I show her a photocopy I had with me.

DD: It hasn't been filled in since November! Sigh! You see what I have to deal with, Vinny?

Me: ...

DD: Who fills in the other sets of data?

Me: *shrugs* I asked Strategic Analyst Girl.

She really is pretty kickass at preparing flowcharts, though.

All she did was sigh, shake her head and mutter something about them not being the “best fit”.

DD: We should ask the IT Manager who she has working on this.

Just then, the IT Manager appears outside the Director’s door.

I’m not kidding.

IT Manager (ITM): Excuse me, DD, you busy? I need to find out about that company phone the ex-employee has…

DD: Vinny already did the letter to the phone company. Come on in! There’s something we need to ask you too.

ITM: Was the letter sent?

DD: No. We need some info Strategic Analyst Boy is working on. That reminds me, Vinny. We need to set up another meeting for the project. I’ll let you assemble the team and make all the arrangements.

Me: Okay… But weren't Strategic Analyst Girl and Strategic Analyst Boy working on something for that?

DD: Oh, that’s right! Follow up with them after we’re done here and see when we can schedule it then.

Our talk was over soon after that. DD had suggested I take over ALL the data input for that file for ALL the departments to prevent another tie-up.

I was not pleased.

Anyway, as instructed, I went over to the Hall of Strategy. I asked Strategic Analyst Girl when she thought she and Strategic Analyst Boy would be ready with their presentation. She assured me they would be done by the end of the week.

Strategic Analyst Girl: By the way, about that thing you asked me earlier…

I think we should consult a higher power.

Me: You don’t mean..?

Strategic Analyst Girl: Yes. Let’s ask my boss, the Senior Strategist.

Me: Um... You know what? That quite alrig-

Strategic Analyst Girl: *knocks on door* Greetings, master. *enters and prostrates*

Senior Strategist: WHO DARES!?!

Strategic Analyst Girl: Forgive me, M'lord. The one called Vinny C desires an audience.

Me: Actually, I'm fine. I think I got it handled...

Senior Strategist: Ah, Vinny. Come! Come!

Me: Hey... 'Sup?

To spare you the details, the Senior Strategist said it was probably best I take over the updating sheet 15 all by myself. Again, this did not please me. I leave his lair office and two seconds later...

Strategic Analyst Girl: Vinny! Vinny C! The Senior Strategist has summoned you once more!

I return and there, sitting at his desk, was the IT Manager. How the hell she appeared there was beyond me, since there’s only one way in and out of that department and we didn't pass each other when I was leaving.

Senior Strategist: Vinny, ITM tells me you prepared the letter to disconnect the ex-employee's company cell?

Me: Um... Yeeeeah?

Senior Strategist: Well, we need to put a hold on it until we get some more facts straight.

He summons his minions, Strategic Analyst Girl and Strategic Analyst Boy. They appear and prostrate themselves.

Senior Strategist: Strategic Analyst Boy, have you gathered the information I seek?!

Strategic Analyst Boy: Um... Well, M'lord... At first I sought to-

Strategic Analyst Girl: Answer the man, fool!

Strategic Analyst Boy blubbers and stutters for several more seconds before falling silent. Senior Strategist proceeds to tear him a new one, while I wonder why I ever got up from my desk in the first place.

Senior Strategist: Vinny, I know you’re busy, but could you do me a favor?

The Art of the Stick.

You know how sometimes you can put your foot in your mouth and say you're going to do something because, at the time, you totally thought you could do it and you didn't see the harm in saying it for other people to know that particular thing is what you intended to do only you ended up not doing it and felt kinda bad because you went and drew attention to yourself?

*deep breath*

Well, that's what happened to me last year. You see, last year, blogger and artist extraordinaire, Mynx of Lizard Happy had her Art for Art giveaway. The idea was for you to submit a painting, drawing, photo, poem, or any other form of art. Heck! She even said a doodle on a napkin would be accepted. Then, she picks one randomly and that person wins one of her actual works of art. When I saw that, I foolishly commented on her post that I was tempted to give it a go... And I ended up chickening out and doing nothing. I mean, me? ART?! From... me? THE PRESSURE!!! All I have are my big-boobied stick-toons.

Anyway, this year she's having it again and again I said I'd probably... maybe... sorta consider submitting something (I know! I never learn). I guess part of the plan was to force myself to commit to doing it. Then time went by and again nothing happened.

Until today.

This time, only four days before the deadline to submit, I sucked it up, sat myself down, put mouse to mouse pad and got my tooning on. This year, my stick toons get artsy. BEHOLD!

Of  course Lacy's boobs in it! What were you expecting? Did you forget whose blog you stumbled onto?

For those of you who aren't acquainted with my stick minions history, old Steven up there is Diane's boyfriend and the first time I drew them (or any stick-toon, as a matter of fact) was when he had also gotten himself in trouble for paying too much attention Lacy's boobs (which is also why he now has to wear a mustache). Talk about never learning.

Wordless Wednesday: Battling With School Work.

My Brain Can't Ever Be Left Unsupervised.

Sunday morning I was lying in bed, trying to force myself to go back to sleep, I hate getting up too early on a weekend and since I had no intention of getting up before at least Monday I decided I’d just lie there until sleep came back.

That has to work sometimes right?

Anyway, I was lying there and I decided to let my brain go on ahead and do whatever it wanted without me in the hope that it would be too distracted to notice when sleep crept back in. I tried not to focus on any kind of actual thought so it would get all excited and start thinking. Brains are like that. They always want to think at inappropriate times like when you’re trying to go to sleep. But it was during this time of letting my brain get distracted with all kinds of random thoughts, that this thought in particular suddenly happened.

“I bet I could totally kill a chicken!”

Yeah...

With that, my brain had something to latch on to and all hopes of sleep were gone.

Before you start wondering, there was an actal train of thought that led me to this statement. It’s not like I lie awake, thinking of who or what I’d be able to kill.

Beat up, maybe, but not kill.

Of course, even I had to retrace my brain’s steps to figure out where this thought in particular came from, since I wasn’t really paying attention to what it was doing. When I was able to get to the original thought that set this train in motion, it all made perfect sense.

“It’s all the internet’s fault I don’t get enough sleep.”

See? That makes things a whole lot clearer now, doesn’t it? If you’re not following (and I don’t see how you couldn’t be) I’ll break it down for you. It’s like this:

To date, the internet as we all know, is one of the greatest advances in technology known to man. I dare say it ranks right up there with double-sided tape and the Japanese Butter Stick.

The internet is also the greatest distraction known to man. One of my lecturers even said that the internet is also guilty of diminishing the attention span of today’s society. At least, I think that’s what he said. The dude was going on and on and I was starting to get bored. He really needs to learn how to take his rants down to 140 characters or less.

Anyway, where was I? Oh, yeah. Chickens!

See, with the internet being the distraction it is, I more often than not, find myself choosing stay awake just a little bit longer so I can keep up with all the fun distractions the worldwide web has to offer. When I end up exhausted as a result, I sometimes wonder what the world would be like, not just without it, but without all the other newfangled doodads we have and the entire way of life to which we’ve grown accustomed.

I'd imagine there was some kind of apocalyptic event which would basically send us all back to the stone-age, technology wise. There’d be no more smartphones, or television, or any other of the modern conveniences and we didn’t have a choice but to actually “go outside” and “do things”. Of course, there’d be no fast food restaurants or convenience stores either, so finding food would require actually finding your own food... and possibly killing it and cooking it all on your own too.

This is where the chickens would come in. I figured at least a few of them would probably survive the apocalypse and unless there was some kind of radioactive mutation issue and chickens became vicious, man-eating beasts, I think  those would be easy enough to take on.

Or not...

Of course, I went on to formulating the proper technique for getting the job done with minimal blood spatter and creepy headless panicked bird running around. Then I thought about what the best way would be to get all the feathers off. I wasn’t sure, but figure I’d better look that up before the apocalypse took Google away.

That's how I came to the conclusion that I totally could do if I had to. I just need the circumstances to be just right for me to rise to the occassion.