Is it just me or...? (A defense of vampires)

Do vampires have a really bad rap? (Yes, I know they're not real, but bear with me.)

I mean, I was talking to some very dear and sweet people from my church tonight--they'll remain unnamed for protection purposes--and they asked me what I wanted to do after college (the most hated question of all time). I mentioned that I was working on a novel, and would like to be able to support myself that way. The conversation went a little like this:

Them: Oh! What kind of book is it?
Me: Erm. Well, it's about a Japanese vampire... who works as a detective. Sorta. And it's about his coming to terms with his own humanity.

Them: Hm. 

Me: Eh... and you know, it'll be sorta philosophical.

Them: A vampire.

Me: Ahh.... yeah.

Them: Oh did you hear about --totally unrelated subject--

And while I understand that most people imagine anything vampire as either Twilight, True Blood, and Blade/Underworld/Dracula 2000, I still don't understand why people get stuck at the word vampire. I mean, sure, they're somewhat malevolent creatures, usually painted as hyper-sexualized nymphos (which I don't understand the physicalities of, seeing as a dude needs blood to... you know...), and they tend to stalk their objects of affection...

Okay, never mind, I see why people are weirded out by them. I mean, I love the idea of a vampire, but I don't really care for most of the modern vampire fiction/movies, except for maybe Daywalkers. That was a good movie. 

Here's my point: vampires are like super-people. They're written the way people (in general) would be if they had immense strength, insatiable thirst for life itself, and didn't have anything that could stop them (kinda like if Andre the Giant took steroids). But they're sensual/spiritual, not sexual, in my opinion. 

Why? Okay, let's think back a bit. In legend people believed that blood held special properties, that the blood was tied to the soul, that a balance of humors would lead to health, etc, etc, etc. Basically, blood was life, life was blood. Vampires were thought to be soulless creatures of pure evil, that wanted nothing more than to drink blood. Hang with me for a moment, this next bit is a doozy.

There is nothing more sensual and spiritual than sharing your blood (life) with another creature to keep them alive. (You could argue this as sexual, I suppose, since it's an exchange of liquids, penetration, etc, but honestly, there is no work of literature that you can't interpret as either sexual or a Jesus story or both. Go read the poem Goblin Market, you'll see what I mean). HOWEVER: the fact remains that there is an exchange of life, either stolen or freely given, either of which being very sensual. 

So. If humans were to strive to be Godlike (or morally correct, or whatever), and vampires existed, willingly giving a vampire your blood to keep them alive would be akin to God giving Adam and Eve the Garden of Eden, and a vampire stealing blood would be like Lulu (Sorry, that's my nickname for Satan) doing all that bad stuff to Job to try and take Job's spiritual side away from him. And that is why I like vampires. You can't do much better than  giving your own life for someone else.

In conclusion: This is why people should donate blood. It's sort of like vampirism, but with less germs. Vampires don't brush their teeth, you know. 

(I need to not write blog posts when I'm tired. I get weird. Also, there was supposed to be a really cool, spiritual point in here somewhere... Hm.)

Cool story brah... (possible TMI--yeah, like that'll stop ya)

You know those bras that clip in front?

Yeah, they're super-comfy and all, great as a work out bra for not-well-endowed women. I love mine, and it's great to wear during yoga, when I have to contort in weird positions. You know, until the effing bra comes undone in the middle of a reverse-prayer-twist-of-doom.

Yeah, that's right. Hello world.

I kept that position for a moment (imagine a knees-together squat, with your hands in a prayer-like position, with your torso twisted so your left elbow is on your right knee) and tried to figure out what to do. Sure, I was in the back of the yoga class, but we only take up half the gym. The other half was filled with guys playing basketball.

I had a sudden flash of insight: the first day of yoga, I bumped my nose during child's pose, and out fountained a stream of blood--weak nose vessels. I grabbed my nose with both hands, elbows firmly keeping the you-know-whats pressed into my chest. And then, pretending like my nose was trying to gush blood, head tilted back (yes, I know that's the wrong thing to do for a nosebleed, unless you want to drink your own blood from your nasal cavities, but that's the stereotypical nosebleed pose), I stumbled across the gym, up the stairs, and to the bathroom.

Here's where it gets intense. The bra thing was easy to remedy: a quick snap into place and I was fine. But obviously my nose wasn't bleeding, and I was awkwardly standing in the bathroom, and my feet were getting cold, so I did the first stupid thing I could think of. I'd cut myself shaving earlier (yes, this was a great day), so I jabbed at the scab a little, grabbed a paper towel, and transferred a bit of my luscious red DNA to it.

I am nothing if not thorough in my deceptions.

I walked proudly out of that bathroom, delicately dabbing at my nose, checking for blood. And by golly, there was blood on that paper towel. No one has to know that it was ankle blood, not nose blood.

And you know what? I freaking got away with it. Victory!

Salute to Brenda

Possibly one of the weirdest things ever happened to me the other day.

I walked around the corner of a building by the university baseball field, and suddenly, everyone stood and turned to me. Then they placed their hands on their hearts, and seemed to be speaking in unison--probably some sort of "Hail Brenda." I pushed pause on my iPod, to better enjoy their praises. Turns out the baseball game was about to start, and the flag was right above me. It was the national anthem. 

Awkward.

In other news: I totally just made the most delicious brownies ever. Spray the pan with a non-stick spray, layer oreos two layers high, make brownie mix by using cream instead of water, pour, cook as directed, and enjoy.

It's totally low-cal too... if you only eat a bite... or a half bite.

Yeah. I'm gonna go eat some more... :)

Spam is good with eggs, but not with email.

It was like a scene from a bad chick flick. I'd sent my ex-boyfriend a link to a website for Viagra.

Rewind ten minutes: I stumbled into the living room, just out of bed on the morning of April 1st, and took up residence on my dad's recliner. My mom and I passed pleasantries for a few moments. Then she sighed. You know, that sigh that says "You are in it deep, and I am trying not to laugh."

"I've got a question," she began. "Were you up at 6:45 this morning sending out emails?"

"No," I intoned. "I'm pretty sure I was asleep. Why?"

"Well, I've got an email from 'you.' It has a link to website for Australian cricket." Here her lips pursed, and her eyes slid away from me. It was probably at this moment that my sleep-clouded mind began to assess the situation.

I was in it deep.

"Of course," she continued. "It's actually a link to a website for Viagra. You also sent it to Joe from church, your school email, your father, and a couple of other people I don't know."

I grabbed my Nook and flicked the screen till I got to my mail. There were no new messages in my sent box. I flicked over to my school email. Indeed, there was a message from myself. I checked the other emails it'd been sent to.

Joe from church... fixable.

A high school teacher... fixable.

My prudish ex-boyfriend that barely got to the kiss-on-the-cheek stage after 6 months... Oh dear.

I'm sure there are plenty of girls that would have loved to send their ex a searing love note as such. Considering my ex and I do not talk, and the only reason his email was still on my contacts was because I was too lazy to figure out how to remove it, this was not the case.

After imagining my ex's face, I laughed so hard that I cried, then flew into damage control mode. I sent out a short mass email, jokingly admitting that I had been hacked and/or trolled hard by life. I got a response... from my ex.

"Lol. No offense taken."

Moral of the story: Don't send out sexy spam unless your ex is no longer on your contact list.

Hello Interwebs!

Good morning/afternoon/evening to you all! This is my new blog. It's a pun, you know, since my last name is "Reed" so instead of "read 'em and weep" it's...

Okay, you get it. Sorry.

Basically, this will be an excuse for me to write everyday, and regale you, reader, with harrowing and dashing tales of my bravery and/or cowardice.

I suppose an introduction is in order, since this is my first time... posting, first time posting. Get your mind out of the gutter. My name is Brenda. I'm graduating college in a month and a half with a BA in Writing. Panic is setting in. This is a last ditch attempt to regain my sanity. I'm no good at journaling, so if people start to follow me, then I'll feel like I need to post something.

Let's hope this works. :)