Vampire Diary: Hot Mess

Dear Diary,

Today I walked to the end of the street to pick up my mail. My cats and Jane the coyote pup followed me.

A group of teenage girls sat on the front porch of the house nearest the mail box. They waved to me.

“Oh my God, Vlad you’re so cute with your cats and the pup,” said one of them.

I smiled minus my fangs. The girls giggled. They find me attractive but I do not know what is cute about a man with board shoulders and almost six feet of height. Cats are cute. Puppies are cute. I have yet to understand what this cute word means. They also call me sexy, but not to my face. They do not call cats or coyotes sexy. That makes more sense to me. My lover Gillian told me not to think about it and to stop being silly. I am not silly.

As I looked through my mail, mostly letters from other vampires, I could hear the girls talk. One said a friend of hers was a hot mess. Hot mess?

So I said, “I could not help but overhear your conversation. What do you mean by hot mess.”

They all laughed out loud. Some laughed with high pitched voices. One had a laugh that was low and rough, but not unpleasing. One laughed like a woman ready to seduce and rule the world.

I repeated myself. “Sweet ladies, you know I am not from here. Please, what is a hot mess? Is it something you eat?”

They laughed again. Then one girl, the one with the low and rough laugh answered. “A hot mess is when someone tries to look good and ends up looking like a disaster. They’re just a hot mess.”

“I see. That is amusing,” I said. “Am I hot mess?”

They giggled. Then one said, “You’re just hot.”

Then they giggled some more and didn’t stop.

They then talked among themselves and I heard one say no sheets Sherlock. I wondered what was meant by that. I did not ask. I told the girls goodbye and winked at them. They giggled some more, and as my pets and I walked away I could hear them talk about me, but not in an unflattering way.

That night I asked my lover Gillian about Sherlock. “Darling, who is Sherlock and why does he not have sheets? Does he sleep on the ground or in a hammock? Why would young girls be speaking of such a person?”

Gillian smiled and kissed me. “I love you Vlad but…”

“Gillian dear, I was sealed in a crypt for three hundred years. I am still learning the strange language and customs of modern life,” I said to her.

“Vlad, Sherlock Holmes is a fictional detective. The first story about him came out in 1887. You were still locked in the crypt. Sherlock’s adventures became extremely popular, and his character, and versions of the character are still popular. The term is No Shit Sherlock.

“Does he not poop like most people?”

“Yes, he poops. I assume he poops. It isn’t covered in the stories. The term No Shit Sherlock is used when somebody says something incredibly obvious.”

“Like I say being locked in a crypt is a bad thing. Then you say No Shit Sherlock.”

“Exactly Vlad.”

“Do not say I am not learning anything.”

Then she kissed me again. And again. And again.

~ Vlad

 

Dear Diary,

Tonight I went to a pub where I am known and liked. I do this so that I can get blood with ease. I am not one of those vampires who likes to crawl through windows. I would rather have a glass of wine and talk with my dinner companions a bit.

The bartender is a woman named Cassie. We talked for a while then she noticed my satchel.

“Oh my goodness. You brought your cat tonight. Bring her out,” said Cassie.

I took the purring cat out of the bag. Cassie said we were cute. Always cute. My world is nothing but cute. Yet, I am happy when Cassie and my cat are happy. After many women and men came over to pet the cat and call it cute, the cat crawled back into the bag and fell asleep. I visited with Cassie more. She told me about her graduate studies. She is brilliant.

Then a man sits down next to me. “Vlad. You are Vlad.”

I look at him. He is tall and thin, with dark wavy hair pulled back into a tail like the teenage girls who live on my street. His brown eyes are hidden behind large black framed glasses. The teenage girls might find him attractive. I find him to be what they call a hot mess.

“Yes,” I say. “My name is Vlad. What is your name, and how do you know mine?”

He grins, a wide grin with perfect straight white teeth. “I know you’re a vampire Vlad.”

“Cute maybe,” I say. “A vampire, I do not think so.”

“I was told on good authority that you know where the high counsel of the vampires meet. I hear you used to be their king.”

“You are mad,” I told him.

I walked out to the street. He followed me and called out after me. “Vlad, I’m not a vampire hunter. I’m a scientist. I’m a journalist. I want to know the truth.”

I turned around to face him. “You seek the truth do you Kyle Gunner? That is your name. Yes, you seek parlor tricks so I just gave you one. You are excited and thrilled that I have stopped. Let me answer your question. There is no high council of vampires. That is, what do they call it, a plot device, a fictional bit of grandness to try to explain things you do not understand.”

He looked disappointed and puzzled. I continued to speak.

“Be a scientist Kyle Gunner and get the facts, if that is facts that you seek. Not alternate facts, but real facts.” He stood transformed so I continued to speak. “The facts are that if you speak out people will believe you to be insane. I advise you not go that route. Do not make memes of me either. No memes. I know you are recording this on your tiny magic telephone.” I held up my hand. “Now you are not recording me and it has all been deleted. I will tell you another thing Kyle Gunner. The reason we do not always show up in photographs is because we do not want to. It is the same reason paint flakes off of canvas and ink drawn to the likeness of a vampire fades on paper. It is because we do not want to be seen. Good night Kyle Gunner. Be thankful I was generous and charitable to you tonight. I may not be next time. One more word of advice. You are a hot mess. You need to do something about that.”

Then my cat put her head out of the bag and said, “Maaaaoooo.”

“That’s a cat. You have a cat in your man-bag,” said Kyle Gunner.

Then I said, “No shit Sherlock. Of course she is a cat. And this is a satchel, not a man-bag.” Then I snarled at him with my fangs and almost stopped his heart from fear.

I left him standing alone in the dark as other vampires watched, and waited from the shadows.

Then I heard one of the vampire women whisper to her friend, “Oh my God,  Vlad is sooooo cute.”

~ Vlad

 

Dear Diary,

I stand outside under the full moon watching the bats play at night. A large owl flies by. I hear a mocking bird call in the night. The wind blows gently and dances through my hair. Gillian comes behind me and puts her arms around me, then rests her head on the back of my shoulder.

For all of the confusion there are constants. I am in love, and I am cute. Those are two things which I am not sure I will ever understand.

~ Vlad

This is the 30th Vampire Diary Post. For more of Vlad’s Vampire Diary (from the beginning) CLICK HERE.

 

 

 

Vampire Diary: The Black Sock Mystery

Dear Diary,

What happened to my socks?

A Vampire must not smell like death and blood if he wishes to survive in this modern world. No longer with servants I used the machine in my home to clean my clothing. I am not an idiot. I followed directions. I put fabric softener in the correct cup. I used the correct amount of soap. I used the correct temperature. I used no bleach because all of my clothing is black. I used cold water so blood stains would not set in place forever on my shirts. I put the wet clothing in the drying machine. Now my clothing is soft with a clean fresh smell.

I should be happy, but I am baffled and angry at this new technology.

My socks are now all just a sock. The mate of each has vanished.

I do not understand.

Where are my socks?

~ Vlad

_____________

 

Dear Diary,

This evening as I walked to the mail box my cat followed me. Her two kittens followed behind. One is solid black. The other is black with white paws and a white face, as if she is wearing a mask.

The reason I even speak of the cat and her kittens is that because I’ve become fond of them. It is an emotion I rarely let myself feel. I have found homes for three of the kittens with Vampire friends. We do not believe in drowning kittens or leaving them in fields. We do not kill them, then stuff them and dress them, then pose them around tables as if they are having a tea party. We do not eat them. They are cats. Cats have value beyond being domesticated animals. Cats are their own beings.

At the mail box my neighbor was opening her mail box. She smiled at me. I smiled back, not showing fangs. She thinks I am cute.

I asked her if she needed a kitten.

She picked up the black and white kitten, cooing and talking precious baby talk to it. She touched her nose to the small felines. She hugged the tiny creature to her chest.

“No, I can’t take one right now,” she said.

Why did she hug and hold the tiny animal like that, as if it was a baby she dearly loved?

“Why not?” I asked her.

“I already have a dog.”

I looked at her and captured her eyes with mine. “You need this kitten. You love this kitten. Your dog will love this kitten. Your children will love you more if you bring this kitten home.”

She relaxed and smiled. “You’re right. I will take this kitten.”

Vampires do more than suck blood. We can convince people through our mental prowress to adopt kittens.

“You ought to get your cat fixed,” she told me.

“There is nothing wrong with my cat.”

“No, I mean fixed so that she won’t have anymore kittens.”

“That can be done?”

“Of course it can. Vlad, you’re cute but you’re so out of touch. I’ll give you the name of my Vet.”

She then thanked me for the kitten and took the small creature home with her.

I looked down at the remaining kitten and decided that it would live with me and his mother.

But if a kitten is cute then why did my neighbor call me cute?

I am nothing like the kittens. I do not understand.

~ Vlad

___________

 

Dear Diary,

As I got ready to go out I found I had no matching socks. All of the solid black socks were gone but one. The black patterned socks were missing their mates. Why do they call them mates? They do exactly the opposite of reproducing.

~ Vlad

 

__________________

 

Dear Diary,

My neighbor told me that she has named the kitten Socks.

Sigh.

~ Vlad

 

______________

 

Dear Diary,

I lay in my bed thinking about my existence. Gillian, my lover, was curled up next to me, her arm around my chest, her leg over my hip, her head on my shoulder. I could smell her perfume, a mix of roses and her own cool skin. I closed my eyes. She stirred and kissed my neck.

We made love on top of the sheets. The window was open, letting the cold breeze into the room. As I gently kissed her face, claws sank into my leg.

The kitten had used me for a scratching post. It jumped to the floor.

Gillian laughed, then she flipped over and looked down under the bed.

“I found you Mr. Kitten,” she said to the small black beast. Then she flipped back up to the bed with me. She laughed again and kissed me. “Vlad, my love, there must be twenty socks underneath your bed.”

I said nothing. It was easier just to take Gillian into my arms than to wonder about socks.

Sometimes I am unable to make sense of this world, but then again, sometimes, in those times without socks, in the arms of my love, it just doesn’t matter.

~ Vlad

 

 

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