2000-12-01

The Vampire of Harvard Square

I'm so damn

You remember the story of the Bearded Lady? Well, thanks to my friend, who shall remain nameless, and his bizarre love life I have yet another cautionary tale for you! This one begins with romance via the Internet Between my friend an a seemingly nice, normal girl. They'd been corresponding for a couple of months and he gave her his phone number. They progressed to talking on the phone and eventually, since they both live near Boston, they decided to meet one fine evening at Harvard Square. Are you ready for it? She's a vampire. (That's right...his own girlfriend... a goddamn shit-sucking vampire! Boy, you wait 'til mom finds out!<---If you got that reference you're damn cool in my book.) Now, realize that I have nothing against the gothic lifestyle or pretending to be a vampire, living as one, even thinking you are one. If you're not hurting anyone than hey, do whatever makes you happy and screw what other people think about it. The thing is... don't you agree that she should have mentioned this? She mentioned that she liked vampires, in passing, but never said she WAS one. They didn't have a bad time or get any shocked looks (I mean, what's one more person in a cape and whiteface in Harvard Square?) The highlight of the evening, however, was when they were taking a nice walk and she asked if she could have some of his blood. This is a guy who once kept his eyes closed the entire time I disinfected and bandaged up a nasty tree-branch-inflicted gash on his arm while we were camping. He can't stand the sight of his own blood leaving his body. He told her no and she was okay with that. The rest of the evening, so I'm told, went pretty well except for her talking about her "creator" and how she was "embraced" which freaked him out. So, once again, he's hoping that she won't call. I understand it's pretty expensive to keep having your phone number changed...

One of these days I'll share a few of my own dating disasters with you but mine aren't half as funny as his. The poor guy's fly paper for freaks.

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