It's my day

Happy birthday to ME

Uncertainty

Am I running FOR my life, or FROM my life?

Situational awareness

As I stand here outside in total darkness save the bright screen of my cell phone, I am suddenly struck with the awareness that zombies could be sneaking up on me. I am more fixated on my phone, not paying any attention to my surroundings and totally night blind, while advertising my location with the only spark of light. Hmm, not smart, Elle. Not smart at all.

Survival

Survival rule number seventeen... Watch where you're going, not what's chasing you.

The Truth About Vampires

I heard the most intriguing theory today on the origins of the vampire “myth.”

In yonder times, often a person would grow ill and die of mysterious circumstances, keeping in mind that to these people, any illness that didn’t originate from the pointy end of a knife could be labeled “mysterious.” (Don’t believe me? Sneeze in a crowded room some time and count the “Bless you”s. That’s just a lingering superstition from the days when people believed that the common cold was a symptom of demonic possession.)  In the days or weeks following their death, other family members would also experience unexplained weakness and eventually succumb as well. (Can you say “contagion?”)

Even to their vastly inferior lack of medical knowledge (I’m pretty sure that WebMD.com hadn’t been invented yet), these events appeared to be connected. But instead of realizing that whatever killed the initial person had in fact spread to the people they were in close contact with, they jumped to the conclusion that s/he was actually reaching beyond the grave to sicken and kill their family.

Can we just stop one second and ponder the morbosity of that? Ok, second’s over.

The remaining townspeople, fearing that their lives were in danger, didn’t reach for the nearest bottle of hand sanitizer. Instead, they grabbed their torches and shovels and headed for the local cemetery. They dug up Typhoid Bob and cracked open his casket.

Guess what they found?

The corpse, which hadn’t been preserved by the modern cocktail of embalming fluids, was bloated as if it had recently gorged on a heavy meal. Dear Bob was now a pale shade of whitish gray he’d never had in life, with skin stretched thinly over dead blood vessels which stood out in sharp contrast. The casket, and sometimes the exposed skin of the dearly departed was speckled with spots or streaks of wet, viscous fluids that looked like blood. Sometimes the corpse would make moaning noises or even move, all of which can be readily explained by trapped gases. Believing that this engorged, twitching body was a vampyre, the townspeople would stake it – releasing the gasses and causing the corpse to groan and writhe as it collapsed in on itself.

Anyone who was born after 1965 or so has seen this plenty of times – on CSI. But to our bygone ancestors, this was proof positive that they’d just slain a vampire. And as with most self-fulfilling prophesies, the proof was in the …. ok I was going to say “pudding” but after that last paragraph, even I am feeling a teensy bit nauseous. And yet, if people in their village continued to sicken and die, all they had to do was dig up the another recent corpse or three and repeat the procedure, thus proving that there was an entire Nest of vamps living (or rather “unliving”) in their midst.

It makes an eerie kind of sense. It’s the same kind of logic that tells you the scratching sounds you hear at your window late at night are just from tree branches, and that the monster in your closet is just the water heater kicking on. It gives your right brain something to cling to when you’re home alone in the dark.  

You know what I think? I think it sounds like exactly the sort of malarkey that a vampire would spread so that people would stop believing in their existence – and therefore leave their crucifixes and sharped stakes at home!

Elementary math

You can't give one hundred percent to two different things. Not with two jobs or two relationships or two lives. I just don't have two hundred percent to give anymore. It's time to make some tough decisions.

Wise words

As a wise man once told me, "Elle, my girl, once you scream, it's already too late."

Shaken, not stirred

Really? Just an earthquake? I thought it was another apocolypse!

Chicken/Egg

Without monsters, there are no heros. Without heros, would there be no monsters?

Wrong

We think we're safe.

Safe behind deadbolts. Alarms. Nightlights. Security guards. Door men. Police.

We couldn't be more wrong.

More time

I've always said there's not enough time in the day to juggle a day job, monster hunting and manage a social life, but after getting caught in a Snagle's time vortex, I've changed my mind. What day is it now? For that matter, what year is it?

Sunset sail

I have heard that the sunset dinner cruises around Manhattan are supposed to be romantic. I guess they would be if mermaids didn't eat the captain!

Meltdown

Current temperature: 105 with a chance of spontaneous combustion

Heat wave

If it gets any warmer, the dragon eggs in my closet are going to hatch

Rules are for suckers .... and people who can't afford traffic tickets

I got pulled over today. As the cop took my information and carefully examined my registration and proof of insurance, I was sweating bullets. It was all current and correct, I'm good about that. And a casual "My boyfriend's on the Job" is usually good for getting out of tickets, but that wasn't what was bothering me. There just isn't a get-out-of-jail-free card for someone with blood-soaked sleeves, a dozen unregistered handguns in the trunk (one loaded with silver bullets), and a dead Orange Wulderbeast poorly concealed under a ratty blanket on the backseat.

As the officer asked his routine questions, I could hear the drip-splash-drip of blood oozing from the Wulderbeast's wounds and landing on my floor mats. That would be the second set of floor mats I would need to replace this year. The cop was prattling on, and I did my best to answer him, but the drip-splash-drip was so loud I could hardly think. It was louder than the ticking of my engine as it cooled, louder than my pounding heart, louder than the static on the radio mounted to the cop's shoulder.

How could he not hear the drone of dripping, splashing blood? It grew even louder and sped up to match my frantic heartbeat. The sun was setting and I was running out of time. Suddenly I realized that the cop was staring at me intently. He'd asked me something, I was certain of it, but I hadn't heard him over the roar of blood in the backseat.  "Um, could you repeat the question?" I asked, with my most innocent smile, the one that said I didn't have a brain cell in my head.

"Do you know why I pulled you over?"

I shook my head, mutely and he muttered, "Stay right here," before returning to his car to run my information. I suppose I was speeding. I usually do, and this time I had an excuse. But what was I supposed to say? "Sorry, Officer but I have to bury the dead Wulderbeast in hallowed ground before the moon rises or it will come back to life and try to kill me?" I didn't think that would fly.

I didn't used to speed. Once upon a time, I was a very conscientious driver. I obeyed every sign, even the No U-Turn ones. I remember one time, driving with my father. I couldn't have been more than sixteen and the ink wasn't even dry on my license yet. I was doing 55 miles per hour in the fast lane. My father told me to move over to one of the slow lanes, but I refused. "55's the limit here," I told him. "I'm doing everyone a favor by making sure that they follow the speed limit." It wasn't working, of course. They were just passing me on the right, blowing their horns and giving me the finger as they sped around me.

"Mark my words, kitten, you're not helping anyone. No one likes someone forcing them to follow the rules."

"But..." I began, even as I flipped on my blinker and eased into the slow lane.  Before I could finish my argument, he stopped me cold. "I'm your father. It's my job to make sure you follow the rules."

I suppose I remember the moment so clearly because I'd been showing off, trying to impress him. Trying to prove that I could be responsible. Instead, he used it as an opportunity to lecture me in human behavior. But what I really got out it was that only suckers followed the rules. From that day on, I vowed to only follow the rules that suited me. Unfortunately, today was the day I got caught breaking them, and I really couldn't afford to wait around any longer. Either the cop would finally notice the blood, or the Wulderbeast would awaken in a murderous rage.

The cop had my license and I was driving the world's least inconspicuous car, my 1965 Mustang. If I took off, I wouldn't go half a mile before half of the New Jersey State Troopers surrounded me. If I stayed, I'd be mauled by something that looked like it belonged on Sesame Street. While Wulderbeasts aren't especially dangerous, they have an annoying tendancy to get awful cranky when you kill them.

Right as I made up my mind to make a run for it, the officer returned. He gave me a warning and told me to slow down. Still breathing heavily, I thanked him and as soon as he was gone, took off for the cemetery. By the time I got there, the gates were closed and the sun was nearly gone. Ignoring the No Trespassing signs, I grabbed my shovel and the Orange Wulderbeast and climbed over the fence. I had him in a shallow grave and was tossing in the first shovel-full of dirt as the moon crested the horizon, and he didn't wake up - to my immense relief.

I guess a better person would have learned a lesson from all this - to follow the rules. But the only thing I took away from the day was don't get caught. Well, that, and if you're going to be replacing your floor mats every six months you might as well buy the cheap kind.

Stakeout

Do you know what makes a stakeout less boring?

Absolutely freaking NOTHING!

Pets

I love Elvis - my iguana, not the dead singer, although he's pretty groovy, too. But Elvis is really fantastic as iguanas go. He keeps me company but doesn't demand too much of me. He's almost always waiting for me when I get home and a couple of crickets or a rub behind his earholes and he's happy. I can leave him alone for a day or two without worrying about him. He makes almost no noise at all. No muss, no fuss.

The perfect pet.

I just don't want a boyfriend that reminds me of my iguana. I don't need another pet - I already have Elvis. Don't get me wrong - I don't need any more drama in my life, but a little bit of excitement wouldn't kill me. Well, maybe it would. I'm not saying that my boyfriend isn't terrific, but ... there's just no spark. I think that's what's missing. That little bit of flash and electricity. I'm probably going to regret even thinking this, but I need a little electricity to spice things up. I just hope I don't end up sticking my finger in a light socket to get it!

Encounter

I was crossing Washington Square Park between classes when it hit me.

A troll.

It freaking barreled right into me, knocking me on my keister. I did what any self-respecting monster hunter would do. I fought back. Took a minute before I realized I was kicking the stuffing out of a clumsy street performer in a gorilla costume.

Okay, so trolls can't come out in the sunlight and they don't wear rubber masks. Duh! I knew that.

At least I know my reflexes are as good (or as bad?) as ever.

The daily donut

I can't cook, and I'm always on the run, so I survive on fast food and coffee. So how,do I stay in shape, you ask. Easy! Running after, fighting, and burying monsters is great cardio.

Not to mention that my life, or continuation of it, is at best uncertain. My death expectancy is high, by virtue of living in Manhattan. Chasing monsters doesn't exactly improve my odds. Why skimp on the donuts if I could be corpsified before lunch?

When it rains, it pours

My sincerest apologies for all the folks taking advantage of this beautiful weekend to head out to some sun & boardwalk at Coney Island.

I really had NO idea that killing a Sniken would result in green rain. Someone should really update the archives about that! Although, our friends the Guardians probably knew that already... would it kill them to share information every once in a while?

So again, sorry to rain on your parade, figuratively speaking. I'm told that the green slime will eventually come out if you pre-treat your clothes and wash your hair a couple dozen times. But hey, a slight green tint sure beats a Sniken eating your toenails, right?