Santa Clarita Diet Diary Entries
A series of diary entries in the headspace of Abby, the daughter of the protagonist in Netflix's Santa Clarita Diet.
I think, after nearly two weeks of watching my mother thaw out human remains of a Nazi, I’m finally okay with blood. Nazi blood. Not the blood of innocents, but the Nazi thing really helps me accept her dietary needs.
This morning in my rush to get to school, I grabbed the wrong smoothie cup. I nearly drank brain.
I wish this was an understatement, but my lips touched the rim of the glass. I was literal seconds away from a mouthful of human. I would’ve been a cannibal.
My life would have been forever changed.
Thank God for Dad.
He caught me just in time.
Brain went all over the floor. Mom let out a scream of utter heartbreak. My virtues remained intact.
I don’t know if I’ll ever look at a strawberry smoothie the same way again.
Aside for that, today was as boring as one can get for the daughter of a zombie-vampire-thing. Noah is taking the girl out from the grocery store, and no. I’m not jealous. I don’t even care. I don’t even know why I’m writing about it.
Maybe tomorrow I’ll accidentally confuse a piece of lung for steak. Wish me lucky,
I forget that normal families don’t have freezers full of dead people.
Some girls from school wanted to come over tonight for milkshakes. Halfway through confirming plans, I realized there wouldn’t be room for the ice cream.
Well, maybe, if we squeezed it between the Nazi’s left hand and right foot.
I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up. I know I’m rolling with the punches, but, dammit. I really need to focus on SATs right now, and other dumb teenager stuff.
I feel like my home is a ticking time bomb. My mother is almost always on the verge of going full monster-zombie, and my dad? He’s losing his mind, his grip on reality and even his lame sense of humor.
Noah tells me it’s cool. I’m living the dream, apparently.
The nerd just romanticizes this entire situation.
Why wouldn’t he? All outcomes are positive.
His asshole step-dad? Dead. His mom? Living her best bisexual life with a beautiful cop. Him? Taking part in the never-ending adventure of my mom’s ailment.
And, I think he’s getting laid.
Like, I’m ninety-five percent positive. His smile has been just a bit too wide lately.
Okay, this is getting gross.
Okay, so there is definitely a talking, decapitated head downstairs and my dad is definitely best friends with it. With him. With it?
Regardless, a head is down there, and it is animated with life.
How long has he been down there for?
Well, they are on season 6 of Castle, so… with confidence, I can say at least a month.
I realized, after a moment of staring at this decapitated head propped against our sofa, that it bares remarkable resemblance to the slime-ball real estate agent who tried getting into Mom’s pants.
So, she definitely killed him. There is no other explanation for his presence. Which means, Mom’s bite can turn others into zombies.
And, this confirms, at least, to a point, that their only weakness are their brains.
My life is turning into a joke.
My life is already a joke.
This is concerning, though. There is a head, in my basement, binge-watching on Netflix, using our internet.
What about dad and mom? What happens when they die? Do I inherit the head? Do I live my life with this dark secret, this tucked-away part of my life, in my own basement?
How do I shut it up? How does he eat? Does he eat?
With confusion and fear for the future,
Okay, so Noah’s girlfriend?
She’s definitely a vampire-thing, and she definitely wants to kill Noah.
Noah, poor and pure Noah, is blind to the bloodlust she hides thinly behind her sweet brown eyes.
Noah, who was once my ride or die, is now feeling the direct consequences of betraying his best friend. Do I think he deserves to be eaten?
Do I think he deserves to live with the fear that he may be eaten?
Definitely. It’s only fair.
Leaving your best friend while she’s in emotional turmoil equals knowing your significant other literally daydreams about murdering and consuming you.
While the fact that my life now has two vampires and a literal talking head, I am still grateful that Noah continues to come back to my side.
I know he always will come back.
Always there when he needs me,
Today I punched a teenage boy in the face and I’m still deciding how I feel.
For one, I am thriving.
There is nothing like punching a misogynistic pig.
And I mean, like, I punched this dude. I had to bandage my hand up.
It doesn’t help that the kid is the son of my parents’ worst enemies. Figures they would raise a true piece of shit.
I don’t want to say that he was asking for it, but he wouldn’t stop spewing slut-shaming slurs at my friend.
Nothing surprises me anymore. Nothing me makes me even hesitate. I’ve seen my mother murder a Nazi, put sriracha sauce on his disembodied foot and casually eat it during movie night.
Hopefully, my parents don’t learn about this little scuffle. But, knowing how much of a bitch fate is, they will probably know by morning.
This is weird. Month-ago Abby would have never raised her hand, especially not in school.
I literally looked the principal in the eyes and bragged about my fight. I was proud of it.
I am proud of it.
I feel like me punching him maybe… teaches him a lesson? Don’t slut-shame or face the consequences of my teenage angst, coupled with my zombie-trauma and anxiety.
What am I going to do next?
When am I going to do it?
I feel like I’m doing something worth it. Worth my time.
Ever since Mom got sick, everything has been so pointless in the scheme of things. The world is falling apart, zombies exist and my mother is one. But, at the same time, absolutely no one knows aside for me, and Noah, and my mom and my dad.
And that stupid head downstairs.
Sorry for being so emo,