What my kids were talking about last week – Acceptance.

We had a full house this weekend. Most of our activities centered around no activity and just talking with each other. Most of it was fun, but some of it wasn’t.

My brother Andrew is here with his two cats. The orange cat Nimrod and a new teeny tiny black kitten he calls Josephine are tearing around my house with my two cats. Of course my calico Gloria is none too pleased about it.

It was nice to have everyone here to share the fun and relax together. It was a good way to end the holidays and start off 2015.

My eldest Garrett (a freshman) left last night to return to college. Winter quarter starts today.

We talk almost every single day and text but he is still 400 miles away. Somehow I fool myself into believing it isn’t that far since we’re still in the same state.

Once again the subject of suicide and acceptance came up. That includes just fitting in. Both of the kids (18 and 15) brought it up a lot.

The death of transgender 17-year-old Leelah Alcorn was tragic. All of the teens are talking about it. They’re comparing her experience with that of teens they know who are “different.” Those “different” kids include some of teens in our life.

Our local community is still mourning the loss of a 12-year-old boy in Folsom, CA. He was bullied by classmates for not being masculine enough. His parents changed his school and the bullies followed. They eventually pulled him out of school but the bullies followed him online and into his outside activities and other parts of his life. Why did he have to leave the school? Shouldn’t the bullies be the ones to have to go away. Shouldn’t their parents be the ones to have to scramble around and find a place for their children? They were the ones who failed, not the parents of the sweet boy who liked cheer leading.

Their crime was being different. Their crime was not hiding who they were.

Many people can’t understand the level of pain and despair these young people were feeling. I wish someone had been there to convince both of them that things would get better. I wish they could have known that success would have been their best revenge. But when you’re young your world is small. Your parents and school are your entire world for the most part. If that world turns into Hell sometimes it seems there is no choice except to get out anyway possible. It is a pain that is unimaginable.

I know that feeling. I’ve been there. It wasn’t for the same reasons as the young people I mentioned here. It passed without any physical scars, but the brand of being different always burns.

I have a post written about a girl Garrett met in his dorms who was different. She was alone and sort of lost. She was defiant and didn’t trust anyone. He reached out to her. I don’t know if it will help her but time will tell. He just let her know she wasn’t alone. But I’ll save that for later.

The cruelty of intolerance is an evil I can not understand or explain. As I’ve grown older and my world has grown larger I have become more tolerant and more understanding. I embrace difference more not than I mistrust it. If I don’t know about something I try to find out about it. I’m not perfect. Yes, there are people and beliefs and lifestyles I don’t approve of, but as long as they are happy and not hurting anyone I’ll let it go. I would never push someone towards death because their beliefs and lifestyle don’t match mine.

Because of this I’ve always been open with my kids about everything. In return our discussions have even changed my mind on some subjects. They are skeptical about bull shit but open and accepting of others. I never want them, or their friends, to feel like like is hopeless and that their lives don’t matter. I will never let anyone make them feel that way.

I can’t protect them from everything but I can always let them know that I am here for them, no matter what.

We have friends who are transgender and gay. We don’t love them any less. We don’t try to change them. Why would we?

We know straight boys who are called gay and girls who are called dykes because they don’t fit into the mold. They express themselves in happy healthy ways but some asshole always has to say something.  What matters is our hearts. What matters is that we can laugh together and share our stories and our lives. It matters that we love. I don’t give a crap how you dress or what is under that dress. OK, I want you to wear a stylish dress, or pants, or shirt or hat… but that is another post.

~ Juliette aka Vampire Maman

I’ll have more Modern Vampire stuff and bad poetry later this week. And remember all of you parents out there PLEASE talk with your kids and really listen to them. Don’t just judge. And fight for your kids. FIGHT for them. Know your kids. Love your kids. Listen to them.

This is Oscar. He is my cat. He is really cute.

This is Oscar. He is my cat. He is really cute.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Another note: I write about what I hear teens talking about. I write about what they tell me. I lost several WP followers the day I posted this. I don’t know if it was this article, the fact that I post a lot, or my bad poetry (see previous post.)  I could just be my bad editing (I don’t edit.) I just hope it isn’t because my defense of people who are different. Many of those I love are considered “different.” They’re happy. That makes me happy. I have also had suicides in my family. It was for other reasons but still… it is never a good thing. Bullying is never a good thing – not for ANY reason.
I mean, not that it matters that someone stopped following my odd and silly blog. I unfollow blogs too for various reasons. Sometimes I think the writer is an asshole. Sometimes I’m just not that interested and can’t keep track of it all. But I’ve unsubscribed to a few blogs and gone back then wondered why I unsubscribed.
I just hope if you unfollow it is because you think my stories and my Vampire viewpoint are stupid, not because my opinions on social issues make you uncomfortable.
If you feel you’ve landed in the wrong place just look around this blog and explore before you unsubscribe. You might find stuff you hate but you might find more that you like. You might even laugh out loud. Do the same with every blog you read. You might be surprised. And if you end up unsubscribing that is ok too. xoxox Juliette

In the Darkest of Places

I am dead tired. No pun intended here.

Even Vampires get the blues.

After a whirl wind couple of months with work, kids, school, the husband, elders, family, friends…and I’m in the middle, the key to it all – suddenly it all stops.

There is nothing to do. Nobody needs me. Not for the next few days.

Of course I have a thousand things I need to do and WANT to do, but I feel nothing for it. I feel frozen up with nothing.

I haven’t been here due to being on the road, but my muse has also abandoned me. I have deadlines that I’m missing because I can’t come up with a story or write on the work that I’ve already done. It is good work that I don’t want to screw up with my melancholia.

I think of writers and artists who write when they’re suffering for their art. Oh please, I don’t do that.

The dog needs me. She always does. We’ll paint our nails. I’ll organize my office. I’ll give her a bath.

I’ll go out to a seedy neighborhood bar and find the neck of a roughly handsome guy who smells of pot and beer and fresh mowed grass. He’ll never know the girl in the short sun dress is a Vampire mom who lives in a neighborhood he’d never live in. He’ll be a nice guy with maybe some nice ink and I’ll chat and give him sweet dreams leaving him less a couple pints of blood. I’ve played that one out before when I’m alone and feeling at a loss of everything. Thank God for neighborhood bars.

I’ll walk home through the dark, hit the parkways with the oak forests and bats who will follow me. I’ll see the deer run through the dark night and the eyes of coyotes and raccoons. Possums will watch along with bobcats. No human will see me, the girl in the sundress who is really a 154 year old Vampire mom.

I’ll watch a movie on TV or read. Maybe I’ll call a friend. Maybe not. Or just watch the sunrise and wonder where my ghost has gone. Even my ghost isn’t around.

My brother Val calls this brain fever when I get like this. I say it sucks (there again, no puns intended.)

I just looked up and hope to see a faint outline of a ghost out the window. No such luck. But a cat just came up and rubbed against my leg. It’s a start. He meows and says “Life is good when I’m around because I have a small brain and I’m cute.”

So I shall try to muse without a muse and shake myself out of my own shadow.

~ Juliette aka Vampire Maman

 

 

Wrong Number

This isn’t a tall tale or something from the mysterious paranormal or gothic side of life.

It is just a story of something sort of sad.

It isn’t even my story. It is the story of someone who is alone. We think this person is alone. We don’t know for sure. It is a mystery.

It is a story of missed connections.

I didn’t make this up.

Smart phones don’t always reflect the situation of the people who are calling them. When we get a new phone number more likely than not somebody else had that number before we did. Or our number is close to another more popular number. When I first go my cell phone number about 12 years ago I kept getting calls from people speaking Spanish and Chinese. I got calls for a bakery. I got calls for a tire store.

My daughter has been getting calls from a local mental hospital. They are looking for a man named Thomas. He needs to pick up a patient who is only called by a number. No name. Just a number. This has been going on for two weeks.

If we were in a movie or a novel Clara, Garrett her 17-year-old brother and their friend Randy would go to the mental hospital and get the mysterious patient only known by a number. Then they’d have a strange and wild adventure and it would all wrap up after a lot of violence and car chases. But this isn’t a movie or a book.

Unfortunately the mystery isn’t unfolding. It is just a sad situation. Somebody is at a mental hospital for teens and adults. Someone is alone. So alone. They need a ride and the only number the hospital has is the wrong number which belongs to the phone of a 14-year-old girl. Nobody seems interested in finding the correct number or perhaps a different contact. Isn’t anyone talking to the patient only known by a number? Clara has spoken to people at the hospital explaining the situation but she keeps getting calls for asking for the mysterious Thomas.

This mysterious phone number (with the prefix of 666) also receives calls for a young woman I’ll call M. These are also sad and weird. M missed a court date. The parole officer is pissed off to no end. M deals drugs.  M owes everyone money. M is a go between for drug deals. M has an ex-boyfriend who is looking for her. M is a train wreck. M gets a lot of phone calls. I’ve heard these phone messages too. It is not a life I’d want to be part of or want my children to be part of. I don’t even want M to be part of it. It is an unfortunate life full of bad choices that nobody should be part of.

It is strange and sad that by accident we have seen into sad lives of people we will never meet. We don’t know anyone like M. We don’t know who Thomas is. We don’t know who the person is who needs to be picked up. We never will know. Clara has told the callers that they have called the wrong number. That is all she can do.

I was going to write about Vampires and darker subjects today, but these calls are pretty dark.

 

~ Juliette aka Vampire Maman