Vlad’s Vampire Diary: My Undead Life

Kissed by a Vampire

Kissed by a Vampire

 

Dear Diary,

Today I had the shock of my undead life.

My good friend Randolpho invited me over for an evening of wine, blood, and maybe cards. Ranolpho also mentioned something about a horror movie he wanted me to see. I told him that horror movies bore me. He assured me that this one would not.

When I arrived at his home I knocked upon the door. Randolpho did not answer. I waited, then went inside. Most of the lights were off but I could hear the sound of a man’s voice. The voice was coming from the radio.

I stood listening to the broadcast, unable to believe what I was hearing. Creatures from another planet had attacked the Earth. Then it all came back. I was the Vampire King. I would now step out of retirement and lead my forces.

“Randolpho,” I called out to my friend. “We must gather the Vampires and lead the way against the aliens.”

Randolpho came out of the kitchen with a bottle of wine and two glasses.

“What are you talk about? Oh. THAT.” Then the bastard started to laugh. “That is War of the Worlds. I play it every year at this time. Oh my God. I can’t believe you thought it was real.”

Fooled again. “Do not laugh at my expense Randolpho, it will to end well,” I told him.

Then he told me the story of a radio broadcast eighty years ago that was based on a slightly older story written by a man called H.G. Wells.

Halloween season is going to kill me, and I am a Vampire. I do not understand any of it.

Later we watched a movie called, “Nightmare Before Christmas.”

I could, what do they call it, relate? I could relate to Jack.

~ Vlad

 

Dear Diary,

Today I purchased pumpkins. Tomorrow the children will go out into the streets to ask for candy. The pumpkins are signals that they will find what they seek.

With a knife I hollowed out the pumpkins, then carved frightful faces. I laughed at my efforts. One looked like a ghoul with broken teeth. Another like a cat. A third was the face of a beautiful woman who would have eyes that blazed with the light of candles.

After I carved the pumpkins, with nothing to do since my dreams of regrouping a Vampire army fell through, I looked up the name Orson Wells.

He was the man who created the radio play War of the Worlds. Intrigued, I poured a glass of blood and watched the movie Citizen Kane. 

After it was over I sat in the dark for an hour and contemplated Rosebud. Maybe I have my own Rosebud that haunts me. I have an entire rose bush. Make that an entire rose garden.

Now I am even more confused. After three hundred years locked in a crypt nothing prepared me for Orson Wells. I am 675 years old and nothing prepared me for this.

~ Vlad.

 

Dear Diary,

Today is Halloween. It is the Day of the Dead.

As I was putting out my Jack-o-lantern pumpkins my neighbor was dragging her garbage can out to the street. It looked as though she had filled it with sand and gravel. I went over and helped her. It was nothing for me to take it out. Vampires are like that. She thanked me and said she liked my pumpkins.

“Those are pretty scary pumpkins Vlad,” she said to me.

“Do you think the are too scary for small children to see,” I asked.

“No, you can never be too scary. As long as they’re not pornographic they’ll be fine.”

I was not quite sure what she meant by “pornographic” and I did not ask.

When night fell children dressed as all manner of beings came to the door. I gave them all candy. They were very cute.

I could hear the mothers standing, waiting by the curb saying, “This is Vlad’s house. Oh my god, he is sooooooo cute. The man is hot.”

They did not know I could hear them, after all I am a Vampire so my hearing is exceptional. They smiled and waved. I smiled and waved back. Then they would giggle.

Cute. Small children in unicorn costumes are cute. How can I be cute? I am not a small child, or wearing sparkling costumes. I do not understand.

What I do understand is that they find me attractive. That is a good thing, even on Halloween.

After all of the tiny monsters had come to visit my door my love Gillian said, “Now it is time for us to go out. I have costumes.”

“I want to be Orson Wells,” I said, making a joke. Gillian did not laugh.

Gillian brought out clothes, now considered old fashioned.

“This is high fashion from the 1880’s. We’re going to be Vampires,” she said.

“We are already Vampires my love,” I said kissing her beautiful cold cheek.”Let’s stay in tonight.”

“Seriously Vlad, this is the one day of the year we can go out and show our fangs. Our REAL fangs. And I love the clothes. You’ll look so handsome.”

“I am already handsome. Ask anyone. I am also cute.” Another joke. She smiled.

“Come on, get changed.”

So we went out. Gillian in a purple and orange velvet dress with a large bustle, and I in a fine suit, with a purple vest, and a large top hat. Randolpho wears hats like that even now. He looks ridiculous, but that is another story.

We had a grand time out, with fangs out. It was a wonderful evening, scary, cute, and quite charming.

Yet, as we walked the streets where the nightlife was active and full of people in costumes I could not help but look at the night sky…to see if anyone, or anything was watching.

~ Vlad

Big Hat

Randolpho and his tall hat.

 

Wow, this is the 42nd posting of Vlad’s Vampire Diary. CLICK HERE to find all of the cuteness and general Vampire weirdness.

~ Juliette aka Vampire Maman

 

 

Death is in my garbage can

I see ghosts. Of course I do, because I’m a Vampire.

That said, I have never seen the ghost of a wild animal or at least that of a wild creature who met death in my yard.

Yesterday my lovely delicate little light as air calico cat grabbed a squirrel by the neck, almost decorated it, then at out the heart, lungs, liver, and whatever else was above the intestines.

I found the bloodied squirrel spread eagle, gutted, with tiny white ribs exposed to the sunlight. Not a drop of blood was on the cat.

I only mention this because whenever I have found a dead animal in my yard I feel unease. I don’t know what to do with them so I put them in the garbage can. Then every single time I have to go out to the garbage can in the side yard I know a body is in the bottom of it.

The largest animal was a huge male turkey who was dead on the ground underneath a broken tree branch in my front yard. A female turkey walked around him feeding on whatever she could find in my flower beds. Think of the largest Thanksgiving turkey and add about ten pounds to it. That was the dead turkey in my yard.

It died on garbage day. For a week two turkey feet stuck up almost to the top of the garbage can, a reminder to me every time I took something out to the trash that life is a frail thing indeed.

Another time I found a beautiful dead little squirrel in my front yard, still warm from a fall. I scooped it up and wrapped it carefully in a bag and put it in the garbage can.

Birds, snakes, squirrels, and turkeys all go in the can. My house is built upon rocks so digging is out of the question. And if I did bury an animal in my yard by the next morning another animal would have dug it up, no matter how many rocks I put over the hole.

Anyway, there is something uneasy about having the body of an animal, not food, but just an animal who visited my home come to a violent death and end up spending a week with me (or until the next garbage day.)

I do not see their ghosts. I do not hear tiny animal banshee voices in the wind. All that is left is fur and feathers.

This is an unreasonable discomfort of mine, but anyway… it is what it is.

You’d think as a Vampire I wouldn’t care, but finding a tiny warm squirrel in my yard, with no life in it’s tiny body is just so sad. A rat, not sad at all. A turkey – not that is just weird because they are so darned big. With smaller birds all that I ever find left are feathers and maybe a random foot. You can ask my cat about that. Luckily it has been years since I’ve had to deal with dead possums or skunks. I don’t know what I’d do if I found a coyote, a raccoon, or heaven forbid a bobcat or a mountain lion dead in my yard.

Garbage day won’t come soon enough. It is Friday and death is in my garbage can.

~ Juliette aka Vampire Maman

 

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Drinking Games and Raking Fall Leaves

Against my better judgement I had the radio on all day today. I learned that most of the old fart senators in Washington don’t know, or pretend not to know about drinking games, that teenage boys think farts or funny, or anything about beer. All of these “Good Christian Men” forget about their college years when they were sleeping with everything without a penis, drinking beer until they puked and passed out, and lighting farts on fire. They also like to hear themselves talk (even when it is through somebody else) so they ask a woman about a traumatic event she experienced at age fifteen and wonders why she didn’t tell anyone. Guess what? Teenage girls don’t share stuff like that because they know nobody will listen.

All of this just makes me think of drinking games. Take a drink for every time someone asked Kavanaugh if he liked beer or drank beer or every time Kavanaugh said he said the word “beer”. I was driving when I heard the whole beer episode. I thought I was in some sort of world that had turned into the cross between a Salvador Dali painting and a Carrie Nation Rally. By the way, if you didn’t know this already, Carrie Nation was six feet tall. I kid you not. But back to the hearing…I almost pulled over to the side of the road. I wouldn’t have been surprised to have seen Rod Serling hitch hiking with an alien.

We’ve also suggested that the TV shows “Hawaii Five-O” and “Longmire” be made into drinking games. Whenever someone gets shot you take a drink. It they die in a more unusual way you take a drink. If someone gets kidnapped you take a drink. If someone who is a main character gets kidnapped or shot you take a drink. By the end of the show, well you never see the end of the show because you’ll be passed out by then.

When I arrived home I decided to not listen to anymore noise. Alas, my plan to just listen to the purring of my cats and maybe some music turned into my usual Thursday headache. And it is also the Friday morning headache. That is LEAF BLOWERS.

About half of my neighbors have yard services and that means leaf blowers.

Vampires, due to our naturally gentle and quiet nature, hate leaf blowers.

I HATE LEAF BLOWERS. 

And half the time I see the guys blowing leaves they’re just blowing dirt. They’re blowing NOTHING. I want to yell at my neighbor after the three hour bout of blowing leaves that he needs to move to the desert if he hates a single leaf in his back yard.

Jesus, Joseph, and Mary, and everything I hold near and dear, I swear that I HATE LEAF BLOWERS. The loud noise makes my head feel like it is going to explode. Kids can’t study. Babies can’t sleep. I can’t work. I can’t do fucking anything.

I told my daughter that next Thursday when the leaf blowers start blowing I’m getting out my trumpet, and YES I do own a trumpet, and blowing it off of my deck until they all think Gabriel himself has come down to earth to do whatever it is that arc angels do. And then when there is a strange silence I shall put down my trumpet, show my fangs and whisper, “vengeance is mine.”

So I take a deep breath. 

I like raking leaves. To be honest, I don’t rake leaves, I sweep them. I sweep them off of the walkways, out of the gutters, and off of the driveway. Along with the leaves are hundreds, and maybe thousands of acorns.

Where are the squirrels when I need them? They’re in the trees barking at me and my cats.

Back to sweeping leaves. There is something so satisfying about sweeping my leaves up. It is quiet. Sweeping is prime time to get my ideas and creativity in order. It is a time to think. I love the way I make little and big piles. I love the smell. I love the mix of leaves and the random flower blossoms and bark that mixes with the leaves.

Right now there isn’t much in my wild back yard except trees so I let the leaves fall on the bare ground to make a soft carpet and get scattered by the dog and the wild turkeys. I don’t need perfection. I don’t need the noise of leaf blowers.

I need the quiet and the celebration of nature in my somewhat ordered world. To be honest with you there is little order in my world, but leaf sweeping, and any yard work in my tiny botanical garden under the oaks brings solace.

So wishing you all peace in this change of seasons. Turn off the radio and TV. Have a beer that nobody will question you about, and count your blessings.

And then hug your cats, talk to your kids, and be a good Vampire. Fall is here.

Remember…Halloween is just around the corner.

~ Juliette aka Vampire Maman

juliette kings _ Marla Todd

No Leaf Blowers Allowed in My Yard

 

 

Weirder Tales

Weirder Tales – Now Available on Amazon and other fine online bookstores. Proceeds to to MS Research.

 

 

 

 

Parenting in the Land of Monsters

As parents we all have those moments that we can’t get out of our minds. Now that my children are in college I’m cautiously walking down the memory lane of their childhood.

I was driving down the freeway this morning and saw some interesting things. The first was that Stormy Daniels is going to be performing at a local strip club. This is one of those large “Gentlemen’s Clubs” that is in an industrial area far away from homes or schools. I hear the place is popular with a certain groups in the local high tech companies but that is another blog post. That has nothing to do with this post except I thought it was interesting. Read on.

I also passed the sign to the Curragh Downs subdivision in Fair Oaks, California. This is one of the wealthiest neighborhoods in my neck of the woods. The houses are large and often with a view. The community is exclusive and gated. But I pass no judgement. A lot of nice people live there.

Yes, this has to do with parenting and children.

In November 2016 ago my daughter and I volunteered to be Election Clerks for Sacramento County. The polling place was at the Curragh Downs club house. Everything went well with the polling, as it always does. Other than the crazy old guy with dementia who always yells at the poll workers, it was a positive day.

But at the end of the night, later at night after the polls had closed, when we were counting ballots, and putting away equipment, the woman who was responsible for the club house came by to lock up. As we, the six poll workers finished our work this woman started to spew her opinions.

She gladly spewed out racial slurs and political opinions. Most of the comments were racial. All of us poll workers were clearly uncomfortable but as poll workers we could not express our opinions. For about twenty minutes this woman reveled in her personal stand-up act of self congratulatory bigotry. She was white. Then she said what she was saying was ok because her husband was Asian. WTF?

I don’t have to words to describe how upset I was. This was one time I was with my child and I could not be my best Vampire Mom. At the car I was livid. My lovely child told me that the woman was wrong and a bad person but that I should have been so upset. But I was upset. I was extremely upset.

That woman was a monster in the body of a smug middle aged woman. I don’t care that our political opinions did not match. It was the fact that she gleefully was able to share her open hate and blind ignorance.

No parent wants a positive experience about how our society works to be tarnished by some flaming asshole jerk-off entitled nasty ignorant hateful bitch. That is why I’m calling her out here and now. I don’t know her name, but I can still tell my story.

There are other childhood stories in my folder today. There was time when another mom called me to say she thought my 8th grader was cutting herself (cat scratches.) There were a few girls I thought were Satan’s spawn. Yes, there are children who act that badly (and so do their parents.) There were other things so bizarre that I wasn’t sure what to think. I’ve posted a lot of those here. Do a search – you’ll find them.

My children have returned to college. One is far away. One is still at home. They are excited about life. They are excited about being part of the big wide world.

Their father and I have taught them that there is no room for hate, racism, or other bigotry in our world. They have learned to accept those who are different. They’ve also learned, in a lot of cases, to celebrate and appreciate those differences.

Like I’ve always told them, “The world would be a boring place if we were all the same.”

You can’t protect your children from everything, but you can talk to them about it. You can support them. You can teach them to stand up for their opinions and rights. You can teach them to defend those who cannot defend themselves.

I just wanted to call out that bitch.

That’s all.

Hug your kids. Talk with them. Love them. And if they’re 18 or older make sure they vote.

~ Juliette aka Vampire Maman

 

Transitions

When I started this blog I was working full time for an organization outside of my home. My brain and the rest of my time was filled with Middle School and High School activities. I spent more time with my brothers. The canine love of my life was in her prime.

I couldn’t imagine having grown children.

Now everyone is in college. We discuss school but I’m not that involved, except to be a cheerleader, a therapist when needed, an entertaining distraction, and the one who pays for everything. Jasmine the white sled dog has gone over the rainbow bridge – her ashes sit in a box among old photographs. My cats are still here. A new dog Alice, a large goofy GSD is now in my life. I work alone at home. I rarely see anyone, except ghosts, and my ancient family members who welcome my visits, which need to be more frequent.

The sports and the activities have trickled off to almost nothing. I don’t have to drive anyone anywhere. I am alone here with a house full of books and animals.

Then again new activities call me. There is the art museum. There is my art. There are books in the works. There are walls to be painted. There are funny stories to tell.

And if I muse into melancholy madness Nigel the ghost will show up and kick my ass so I’d better move on.

We all change and evolve. That is part of being on this strange, horrible, and wonderful planet. We are trapped here so we need to be fluid. We need to keep evolving no matter how old or young we are. Growth never ends.

I find myself telling my kids not to judge others for what they do or the choices they make. Not all young people have it as good as they do. They don’t have someone helping them pay for school and everything else. They don’t have someone who is there 24/7 to listen. They don’t have someone who doesn’t judge them or question their every move. They have a safety net. Not everyone has that so their choices can’t be judged. I urge everyone to understand the choices of others.

There is no clear path. Five year plans are wonderful until a tornado hits your house, or someone you love dies, or you get sick, or the economy crashes, or your heart gets broken. So you take another road, or climb out of another window, or up another tree, or make where you are a better place. You add more books to your shelves and make an effort to call your friends, and your mom.

Parenting adults is tricky because they don’t want to listen, they need you to listen more than anything in the world, and they start to parent their own parents.

Yes, they do all of that.

It is scary. More scary that a pack of zombies banging at your back door. You can deal with zombies. You don’t love them. They just make a mess. But dealing with your kids, no matter how easy and wonderful they are, is always a challenge.

Dealing with Zombies: Shot gun. Flame thrower. Pissed off Vampires.

Dealing with Adult Children: Listening. Worrying. Loving. Worrying. Listening. Loving. Laughing. Learning to let them be adults. Learning not to be afraid.

Don’t be afraid.

Everything will be alright.

With your kids, and with you.

~ Juliette aka Vampire Maman

Vampire Maman

 

 

Vlad’s Vampire Diary: Bodice Ripping Fight Night

Kissed by a Vampire

Kissed by a Vampire

Dear Diary,

Today is hot. It is one hundred and ten degrees fahrenheit. I am in Hell. Never before now have I been in such heat. I miss my cold castle. Even today I would deal with rats and damp stone walls rather than feeling I am being strapped to a stake and burned to a a pile of ashes with only my blue eyes looking out of my blackened skull in search of my charred heart.

~ Vlad

 

Dear Diary,

It is still hot.

Tonight my friend Randolpho and I went in search for warm blood and cool dark rooms.

In the middle of the city we walked the streets and went into bars with mists of water spraying down upon pretty young women who sat outside in short skirts as they drank cold drinks and talked among each other.

Inside these places it was cold and filled with loud music. People sat and talked. Nobody was dancing. It was too hot.

As Randolpho and I walked among the mortals I could see their eyes upon us. I could hear the women whisper to each other as I walked by he is so cute, he is gorgeous, I would take him home.

I would glance their way and smile. Maybe I would fulfill their desires and go home with them. I could taste their blood in my mouth already. I could feel their warm skin on my cool Vampire body. I started to turn their way.

Then Randolpho grabbem my arm and said, “Come this way.”

Down a hot ugly alley between old brick building we walked, then down narrow stairs into a dark doorway.

I could hear men shouting and cheering. Then I saw there was a fight.

Two men kicked and punched each other in a chain link cage. A final kick brought one down in a bloody heap upon the floor. I could smell his blood. My mouth watered.

Then all eyes turned upon Randolpho and I.

“You got a pretty face. It would be too bad to ruin it,” yelled one of the men in my direction. I looked him in the eyes and his face contorted in pain at my will.

Several other men shouted at us using crass childish profanities.

We do not belong here I thought, but it might be fun. Randolpho was thinking the same thing.

Many of these men were large. They were well over six feet tall with shoulders the size of oxen, and muscles like those of Hercules. We are not built like oxen but more like one would imagine Apollo or Hermes, or more even like those men on the covers of book that  women call Bodice Rippers. Yes, Randolpho and I are Bodice Rippers.

I am not considered large these days. At one time I was taller than most men but now I am not always so tall. I stand at five feet and ten inches. Randolpho is not tiny but he is also not huge at five feet and six inches. People have become larger. I do not understand this trend. By the end of this century I will be the size of an eight year old child. None the less I knew Randolpho and I could take on these petty men who puff out their chests and call us cats.

“Why do they call us cats? Cats know how to fight.” I asked that of Randolpho.

“Vlad, they called us pussies,” said Randolpho.

“That is what I said,” I told Randolpho. I do not understand why I have to repeat myself so much with him.

Randolpho and I faced a dozen men. Not a problem. We are Vampires and I am cute. I find that when one if cute one can do anything. Take for example cats and babies. Cats and babies are cute. They get everything they desire. I looked over at Randolpho. If I were a girl I might consider him cute as well. Maybe. Maybe not.

The men shouted FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT.

I thought that as long as they did not cut of my head or rip out my heart I would be fine. It would be like taking candy from a baby, only I do not know why anyone would do that. None of these men were cute like babies or puppies or me. Yet, I would take from them whatever I could.

Randolpho tipped the ridiculous top hat he always wears, even in the 21st Century, and smiled.

“Gentlemen,” said Randolpho. “We will take up your challenge and top it. Two of us will take on all of you who wish to go home lesser men.”

Randolpho set his hat aside and went into the cage. I followed.

Ten minutes later a dozen large men sat crying like babies. These were not cute babies. They are large, bad smelling, hairy babies with mothers who would be ashamed of them. We received a prize of a great deal of money, then we left before the remaining men tried to kill us. HA! They could have tried but never would they have success. They are but spineless worms. They are lesser men.

There was not a scratch between Randolpho and me. Not one scratch. I brushed my golden hair back with my hand. I am not cat. I am a Vampire.

The sound of sirens of Police cars came close as we walked away. Nobody in the basement where the fight took place would remember the faces of the two young men who beat them senseless. They would only remember that we were cold to the touch and exceptionally good looking. I laughed at the idea of us being young. I am 675 years old and Randolpho is a scant year older than I.

I do not know how to make one of those little yellow faces with a smile. There is a number code. Little face with smile. There. I put it in italics so it is so. The Vampire King has spoken.

The women we had passed earlier did remember us. They got their wish. We got our blood. It was, what is the expression, a Win-Win situation.

~ Vlad

 

Dear Diary,

When one is imprisoned in a cold dark crypt for three hundred years one has time to think. Then one stops thinking. Then one wakes and starts to plan as if the night will come when the crypt will break open and you will escape.

Then one day you find yourself awakened with a shake of a shoulder and look into the face of friends. The world has changed into a place that even Jonathan Swift or Jules Verne, or Nostradamus (the hack) would never have imagined. It is a world world, I Vlad, the Vampire King, could never have imagined.

Yet things do not change. Men still fight. Women still turn their heads and smile when I walk by. Randolpho still wears his ridiculous hats.

~ Vlad

 

Dear Diary,

Ice. Whenever I want it. I love this century.

My Vampire love Gillian lay with me on my bed. We had turned on the thing called air conditioning that makes the summer air turn to winter inside of my home. It is like magic.

I kissed Gillian’s hand, then her shoulder, then her cheek, then her beautiful lips.

“Do you think I am more of a Greek God or a Bodice Ripper?” I asked her.

She gave me an odd look. “Vlad, I’m not even going to answer that.”

“But I am serious,” I said.

“So am I,” she said.

Gillian took her hand and pushed me down on the pillow and straddled me. I did not stop her.

“You’re a magnificent pagan beast,” she said.

“A pagan beast?” I asked, but even I had to laugh.

“Maybe not, but what you are is cute. You’re so cute,” then she pulled her shirt over her head, and kissed me, and I will say no more.

~ Vlad

 

Kissed by a Vampire

Kissed by a Vampire

 

This has been the 39th installment of Vlad’s Vampire Diary. For the entire series, including more Vlad cuteness CLICK HERE, or go to the sidebar for the Vampire Diary page.

~ Juliette aka Vampire Maman