Sunday, January 13, 2008

Ever Hooked-Up with a Vampire?

"I'm more into the jock type than any other."

Really? Ugh, jocks annoy me so much. I like the artsy type. They're so mysterious."

"Yeah, and GAY."

"You know what really turns
me on?"

The girl who had entered our conversation appeared out of nowhere. I had seen her around. Rumor was she jumped the border but doesn't know a word of Spanish. Fact was she had a black mullet and was 4 foot eight.


"Vampires? Like, Dracula?"

"Please, Dracula is SUCH a phony. I'm talking about real vampires. Like, teenage vamps. They are SO hot."

"Teenage vamps?"

"They make me so horny."


"Like, I hooked up with this one vamp one time, and he was all like, "Let me suck you" and I was all like "No I can't be a vamp yet, I need to finish high school first" and he was all like "Just a little bit" and I was like "Okay" 'cause he was just so hot and wow talk about a MAJOR hickey."

"Can we see it?"


"There's nothing there. Well, there's a big mole but..."

"I KNOW! Isn't it cool how vampire wounds heal immediately? There's this guy that goes here, and I'm almost certain he's a vampire."

"How do you know?"

"You know like how Spiderman has "spidey-sense?" Well, I have this like, "vampy-sense" where I can tell when someone's a vampire. It's because I've let so many vampires worship my body."


"I thought vampires couldn't be out in the sunlight?"

"He wears sunglasses."

"Ahhh. Of course. Sunglasses."

"And a beanie."

"Can't forget the beanie."

"And a trench coat that trails behind him."

"Trails behind him? Like a dress?"

"And rubber boots."

"I think I would have noticed this guy if---"

"I'm gonna nail him."

"Vulgar language..."

"I'm getting horny just thinking about it."


"What if I ran up to him and rubbed garlic all up in his nose? What would happen?"


"I have a couple cloves in my locker."


"No. Ugh! I just remembered I ate them for lunch yesterday."

"You wouldn't say such things if you had ever hooked up with the undead."

"Do people in coffins count? Because I've heard of people who---"

"NO. That is TOTALLY different."

"Oh darn."

"You really should try it sometime. There's nothing more exhilarating than a vampy in your crotchy."


When I was little I had a major obsession with vampires. I watched every vampire movie that existed, and then I had this little book of facts about vampires that I had dreams of one day publishing. (It never got published.) For my seventh birthday, I asked my grandparents for a cross necklace, and when I opened it up I pressed it to every member in my family's forehead just to make sure it didn't burn them. Can't have the undead sleeping in the next room, you know? (It didn't burn any of them, though secretly I was hoping it would.) But none of that compares with the sixteen-year-old girl claiming she got sucked by a vampy.

"Natasha, you remind me of a vampire."

Oh God.

"It's SO cool."



Sad to think that the first non-family member to throw their arms around my neck and tell me they loved me was the wannabe-vampire who jumped the border and had business in the front and a party in the back.

Saturday, January 5, 2008

Slits for Eyes

Oompa loompas scare the shit outta me. Seriously. Nothing terrifies me more than a midget with jaundice and a green afro with his overalls on backwards. There has only been ONE thing that frightened me more, and that was my Kindergarten teacher, Mrs. Craft. The woman was a scrunchie-wearing monster. I didn't even know scrunchies came in that many colors. She was mean with obnoxiously squinty eyes, so squinty that when she looked into the sun it looked as if she didn't even HAVE eyes. Just slits. Slits for eyes is a terrifying image for a 5-year-old. As a Kindergartner, I went through a phase where I took a really, really long time to finish my assignments. It's not that I was dumb, (coloring sheets don't really require many brain cells), I just liked to take my time, that's all. Call me a perfectionist.

"Natasha, why does it take you SO long to finish ONE assignment?"

"I want it to look really extra pretty for you, Mrs. Craft."

"You can tell me the REAL reason tomorrow. Go sit down."

"Yes, bitch. I mean, Mrs. Craft."
(That's not what I said, it's what I SHOULD have said.)

So I sat across from the exact same boy everyday. Assigned seats, of course. And everyday, not only would he sit there and continuously pick his nose, he would pick his nose and EAT whatever appeared on the tip of his disgusting little finger. (or fingerS, he did at least have the courtesy to alternate) So one day, I decided enough was enough.

"Mrs. Craft?"

"Yes, Natasha?"

"Billy picks his nose and eats it."

"Well that's really gross. Why don't you do your work instead of stare at Billy? Then maybe you'd get something done for a change."

"Can I change seats?"



So there was another phase I went through. I give the credit of this peculiar phase to all the PG-13 and R-rated movies I was allowed to watch as a child. This was the phase of the Horny Kindergartner. I had a crush on this boy, see? And in movies, when two people like each other, they kiss, right? So I got into the habit of getting up from my seat, running across the room to where he sat, and kissing him, then running back to my seat. This happened sporadically throughout the day. I was able to continue this process of the kiss-and-run because not only was I extremely fast, but I was also extremely sly, making sure to plant a wet on on ol' Wilson when Mrs. Craft was not looking. He didn't mind, he would just say, "Hey guys! Did you see THAT?" to whoever was near. Another thing I noticed in movies was that all the pretty girls wore bras. So, of course, I asked my mom to buy me a bra. I started wearing it to school, which was totally appropriate since really the "bra" she had bought me was merely a piece of cloth with straps, and I decided one day that I would show Wilson my lacy lingerie. (It was time to take our relationship to the next level.) I made sure to sit by him when we did our weekly "sit Indian style and sing the alphabet" routine, and while all those other suckers were humming the letter 'D', I saw this as my golden opportunity.

"Pssssst! Wilson! LOOK!"

I pulled down the front of my shirt and showed him the upmost part of the brassiere where cleavage is usually bared, but what person who wears sneakers that light up when you step and has to climb to get on the toilet seat has cleavage? Wilson smiled, eagerly replying:


And Wilson also took the courtesy to pull down the front of HIS shirt, revealing a chest where chest HAIR is usually bared, but what person who has their name written on their underwear and refers to the men's room as the "Winkie Room" has chest hair? But it was nice of him to return the favor. And after our singing was done and we all scurried back to our seats and to our glitter glue, Mrs. Craft calls my name. She's sitting at her desk, hands folded together, and she was glaring at me, letting off the whole 'slits for eyes' image once again. Terrifying. I approach the slits and the woman behind them, and she says:

"What do you do to Wilson?"

"I don't do anything to him, Mrs. Craft."

"I saw you, Natasha."

"I was just showing him my new bra that my mommy bought me. But he showed me his, too! He just didn't have anything there."


"It's cool!"

"That's not what I was talking about. I saw you kiss Wilson."

"Oh, that? I do that all the time! That's what you do to someone you want to marry."

"You shouldn't be wearing a...a uhhh...I'm going to call your mother."

"Okay, Mrs. Craft."

"And stop harassing Wilson or I'm telling the principal."

"Okay, Mrs. Craft."

"Now go sit down and for the love of God keep your shirt on."

"Yes, Mrs. Craft. I'm sorry."

...sorry you're such a bitch.

Friday, January 4, 2008

Life in a Stalkee's Shoes

Ever had a stalker? I have. He was a 2-ton flaming homosexual in 7th grade who went by the name of Julio. I don't remember how I met Julio, or when the stalking officially began. My first memory of living the life as a stalkee would be when the pale boy with the glasses and the mutated front tooth that went over his bottom lip even when his mouth was closed ran up to me and my friend Nancy, arms flailing every which way, and said, "I'm going to kiss this girl I like, and you're the only girl who can give me advice." Okay, I thought, One, you're gay so you do not like girls, Two, why am I the one giving the advice here, and Three, if your tooth is always going to be jutting out like that the least you can do is brush it.
"Well, what kind of advice do you need?"

"I've never kissed a girl before!"

"Just go for it, Julio."

"OH MY GOD! NO WAY! I need to practice first!"

"Well I don't really want to be around you when you make out with an apple."

"OH MY GOD! I can't kiss an apple! I need to practice on a

"You're gonna need a REALLY generous friend for that to happen, buddy."

"I know! YOU!"

You've GOT to be kidding.

"No no, Julio. That is NOT happening."

"Pllleeeaaassseeeeee! I HAVE to!"

"That is INSANE! NO."

"Just one little peck..."

"Julio. NO."

Closer and closer he came...

"Julio! I SAID NO!"

Two tons of lard were heading straight for my lips. I knew I wouldn't be able to push him off...


In a wild state of panic, I grabbed Nancy by the wenis and thrusted her towards Julio, who had his eyes closed and his lips puckered.


I just hope that one day Nancy will be able to forgive me.

Even after that, Julio kept showing up. He knew all of my classes, in order, and he knew who my friends were, so no matter where I went, he would stop at nothing until he tracked me down. Since I was Captain (that's right, with a capital C) of the cheerleading squad, Julio even went to the liberty of writing me cheers.


Sadly we never got to put it to use. Eventually Julio got put into Anger Management, and then the principal had actually noticed he was stalking me and told him to leave me alone. Julio thought I had told on him and threatened to stop being my friend for forever and ever, but then started crying and told me he was sorry, reapplying pink lipsgloss as he did, and after that we never spoke again.