Why I Hate Vampires

My niece has been bugging me and bugging me (she's 14, so she's really good at bugging) to read the Twilight series. And I've been putting her off with various reasons. I have a stack of books to be read teetering on my night stand. I've been really busy at work and don't have time. There's too much on TV I need to catch up on ... she has accepted all those reasons but her patience (remember, she's 14) is running out. The problem is, I can't tell her the truth. The very pathetic truth. Are you ready for it? (because here is another moment of self-destructiveness in which I confess something I should probably just keep to myself) ... 

I'm terrified of vampires. 

Truly. Terrified. 

I'm 27 and people with pointy teeth make me uneasy. Which is why I can't read Twilight or any others by Stephanie Myer. I don't care how "romantic" Edward is or how lovely poor, poor Bella is. I don't care that their love has 14 year old girls, 18 year old girls, 62 year old girls around the world swooning. Because EDWARD IS A VAMPIRE AND HE SCARES ME. 

But there's a reason for this. I swear. I blame it on the guy in the video store when I was in first grade. 

See, one Halloween twenty years ago, my mother was at her wits end. We have just moved from North Carolina to Detroit and among the many differences we discovered between the rural south and the big city north was that it SNOWED on Halloween! Snow! On Halloween! Who would have guessed? Not us little southern girls, I can tell you that. So anyway, my little brother had gotten a really bad cold and my dad was out of town on business so instead of going trick or treating in the snow, Mom took us to the video store to get some "scary" movies for Halloween. I think she was thinking this:

I would have enjoyed Charlie Brown and his Great Pumpkin. 

Instead, the punk kid at the video store recommended something much, much worse. Punk Kid recommended one of the most popular movies of 1987. Cory. Cory. Keifer. And Vampires. 

Punk Kid recommended The Lost Boys to a mother with two small girls. Punk Kid ruined Keifer for me for a very long time. At the age of 7, I watched Lost Boys and now I am terrified of vampires. Stupid Punk Kid. What kind of IDIOT would think that a 7 year old and 5 year old would love it when the scary vampire dude was killed in a bath tub of holy water? (am I remembering that right? Because that was the first and last time I ever watched that movie). What kind of idiot thinks little girls would love the part when the head vampire's dogs try to rip people apart? What kind of idiot ... OK, that's enough. I persist in thinking that idiot still works at the video store. 

So tell me, how am I suppose to tell my niece, age 14, that I hate vampires because I'm scared of them? I asked her if she has ever seen The Lost Boys and she gave me the blank teenager stare. I decided to leave it at that. I mean, why ruin Edward for her as Keifer was ruined for me? Besides which, there's always this:

And I don't know about you but Charlie kicks a vampire's blood-sucking ass any day. 

Random Acts of Karma

Today I went with some friends to lunch. TGI Fridays is a usual place for us, so there was nothing unusual about lunch. It was afterwards that I tempted the Karma gods and now walk about in fear. Unfortunately I don't feel the need to repent. At least not yet. Right now, I'm still laughing.

Leaving the parking lot of Fridays, I pulled up to the stoplight. To get back to work, I have to cross a major road, some 6 lanes wide. The stoplight is very short so at any given time, only two or three cars are guaranteed a way across this road. It makes for an interesting game of chicken since most people know how finicky the light is and try to race
across before it turns red. So, I swing around into the straight lane and rejoice for no one is in front of me and I know I will make it through the light when it turns. Except ... there is someone there.

A kid.

On a dirt bike.

In the middle of the lane waiting at the light.

Okkkkay. I mean, it's not like it's an adult on a racing bike. No, this kid looks like your typical skater punk and definitely not old enough to be riding his bike around town when he should be in school. Possibly high school. I'm going to say 15, tops. Anyway.

I pull up behind him and his head swivels. He looks concerned, like he hadn't expected anyone to pull up behind him. I look at my friend and we both kind of shrug.

"I'll give you a buck if you tap his back wheel."

I contemplate this. Kiddingly, of course. "Buck fifty."

She sniffs. "I had a soda a lunch. I'm broke. No fun for us."

We both return to looking at the kid, wondering what he'll do. At this point, there is no traffic in either direction for a good distance. So I think maybe he'll attempt to at least cross to the median. Meanwhile, cars are piling up behind me and the guy in my rear view mirror is starting to look anxious. I understand his feeling. I hate being the second car leaving the lot. If the first car is the slightest bit slow, chances are, you're going to get screwed.

"Don't you think he would go?" my friend asks and points to the left and right. No one.

"No idea," I mumble. My foot may have slipped off the brake a little and I creep forward, just as a gentle prodding. He doesn't take the hint.

Then the left turn arrow turns green. The cars next to us go. The car across from us go. He can start to peddle across now. Really, it's only polite.

"Go," I urge and creep a little farther up.

Not only does he ignore me, he WHIPS OUT HIS CELL PHONE AND BEGINS TEXTING.

"He cannot be serious!" my friend shrieks.

I clamp down hard on the break and press the gas pedal a few times, revving up. He continues to text. The car behind me crawls forward. The turn arrow turns yellow, then red and our light turns green. The kid doesn't look up because HE IS STILL TEXTING

That's it, I think and lay on the horn. The kid's arms fly up in the air. His baseball cap slips a little on his head and he almost loses control of the bike and his stupid cell phone. I wish he dropped it. Instead he starts pedaling as fast as his short, scrawny legs can go. And yet, he is not even halfway through the intersection. I creep out behind him, my hand hovering over the horn. I really want to honk again but refrain. Beside me, my friend is laughing so hard tears are starting to come out. I make it through the intersection just as the light turns yellow. The kid is now beside me, head bent, afraid to look at me. He looks up, his feet slid off the pedals and the bike skids a little but he quickly regains his balance.

Through the intersection, my friend turns to me. "You just went up a level in my book of awesomeness."

I check out the kid in the rear view. His face is red. "Thanks," I say, "that means a lot."

And then we start laughing again and don't stop until I get to my desk to write this all down.

I should feel bad. I mean, he's just a kid. And he almost fell. But he was dumb. So I don't. And that's why Karma is out to get me. We all do stupid things and the rest of us should practice tolerance. But patience has never been my strongest character trait. Karma and car horns don't mix. I think I'm next. 

Big Red at Walgreens

I was in Walgreens today returning one of the packs of gel heel liners I bought (I’ve am over-buyer. You need 3? I buy 5. It’s a problem).First I went to the slightly intelligent looking kid in checkout #1. This was a mistake.

“Duuuur, errr… I think Betty can help you,” he stuttered, pointing to Betty.

Betty did not smile. Betty rolled her eyes. “Go to photo,” she barked. “And someone will be with you.”

I swear she muttered “maybe” under her breath but I’m probably just projecting. So I wander over to photo and Betty picks up the intercom and calls for the manager. At least, I think she calls for the manager. I can’t really understand her sixty year-old smoker’s voice. At photo the girl actually smiles at me.

“Manager will be right out,” Photo Girl said and returned to sorting photos.

I can’t help but wonder how often she comes across inappropriate photos. Every time I pick up one hour, I think about Birdie in Hope Floats and how the manager of the one hour photo booth had a special drawer where duplicates of dirty photos were kept. I bet Walgreens has a drawer like that. So there I am, just waiting around and thinking innocently of what kind of pictures are deemed worthy enough to put in that mythical drawer when a woman in her mid-thirties comes barreling up to the desk. Her hair is an unnatural shade of vivid red and sticking up in curly corkscrews all over her head. A row of silver and gold colored bracelets jangle on her wrists with a plastic-like clink

“Yes, ma’am?” Photo Girls asks, every so politely.

Red shoves a box at Photo Girl. “Is this considered a disposable camera? I’ve never seen one used before.”

I look at the box. Photo Girl looks at the box. Inside are two disposable cameras. Which the box clearly states.

“Yes, ma’am, they sure are.” Photo Girl smiles and tries not to look at me. I study the candy display in front of me intently.

Red waves the box around, jiggling the cameras inside. “How do I use ‘em?”

The Junior Mints box I’m looking at is getting blurry because I’m trying to focus too hard. If I look at Photo Girl, I’m going to laugh. I can’t resist a peek. Red is leaning over the desk now, eyes boring into Photo Girl. Photo Girl is trying to keep her eyes on Red’s face but Red’s tank top has stretched to the max and at any second her goodies are going to spill all over the counter.

Photo Girl scratches at her neck and focuses at a point over Red’s curls. “Just point and click.” 

“All right then.” Red eases off the counter, pushes back her bracelets and turns the box over in her hands. The strap on her tank slips off one shoulder. She ignores it. “And then what? There aren’t any directions.”

I’ve given up on the Junior Mints box completely and look at Red. She’s uber confused as she squints at the box.

Photo Girl, bless her patience, takes the cameras gently from Red. “You just bring them back here, camera and all after you’ve taken the pictures and we’ll develop them for you.”

“Huh.” Red finally snaps her tank top strap into place and reaches for the cameras which Photo Girls hands over, still studying the point over Red’s head. Meanwhile I am in near convulsions and my bladder is starting to hurt. My eyes are actually watering.

“It’s so simple,” Red marvels.

Photo Girl nods. Then she hesitates, as though she is not sure she should offer up this next bit of information. I’m all for hesitating. I don’t think Red can handle any more “simpleness”. Nor can I for that matter. But Photo Girl shrugs and plows on.  “When we develop them for you, we can put them on a CD so you can upload them to your computer.”

A line appears between Red’s eyes. “Wow. Really?”

“For $2.99.”

Red’s face wobbles a bit. “Oh. That’s not part of the development, huh?”

“No, ma’am.” Photo Girls shakes her head regretfully.

“That would be really cool. Darrell would love it. Darrell loves to take photos.” Red pushes out her lower lip and then brightens. “S’alright, I don’t have a computer anyway. Thanks!” And she walks away. Photo Girl and I stare after her. She bumps into a candy display and drops the cameras. “Shhhhhhhhh-it.”

Photo Girl looks at me. “I agree,” she mumbles and turns on heel for the backroom just as the manager approaches. He rings up my exchange without a smile or word. I’m ok with this. I think I’ve heard it all now anyway. And I wonder … what would Red think of a digital camera? I think she and Darrell would have a lot of fun with a digital camera. And I bet Photo Girl is going to get some interesting photos for that drawer.