by Kelsey Rexroat

Some guy just told me I'm too pretty to fight off zombies. Thanks buddy, but if that were true, then I'd have been dead two outbreaks ago.

Probably won't survive much longer, since my multiple advanced degrees taught me zero weaponry skills.

I'm never sure whether the sounds of fists at my door are enthusiastic fans or rabid reanimated corpses. 

I'll never get used to seeing my name on the cover of the books I'm now burning for warmth.

Turns out these Oscar statuettes are surprisingly good for bludgeoning.

Upside of famine: I'm now wearing the same size I wore in high school!

The economy may have collapsed and bullets are the only currency, but at least my 18th-century antiques collection makes great door barricades. 

It's hilarious how many guys think I'll give them a chance now that the world's population has been dramatically reduced by plague, war, and famine.

Justin Timberlake wants to do lunch. Ninety percent sure he just wants some of my food rations.

Note to self: Louboutins are not the best choice of shoes when running from bloodthirsty packs of cannibal-scavengers.

Wish I had stocked more variety in my reinforced underground bunker. Getting so sick of canned caviar!

My whole family got eaten by cannibals, but I was passed up for being too thin.

Picked for an elite squad of humans to escape earth and repopulate the human race. Tripped on the way up the stairs to the spaceship.

Kelsey Rexroat is a writer and editor in New York. She has previously written for McSweeney's, The Atlantic, and The Hairpin.