Eat Your Heart Out …
You know, if there is one thing I miss, it’s having a belfry. Back in our hometown, we used to hang out in them all the time. But NYC kids tend to waste time at Gray’s Papaya—only being a vegan, I can’t even partake of the hot dogs. Just the salsa.
Hudson, my li’l bro, did NOT celebrate a righteous Valentine’s Day, as his class got sick of his Save The World – Or Else militant green campaign. He is one of those kids who is way too handsome for his own good. I sent Dylan Easterby a love sonnet, which my friend Pete said was the last word in Dork McGork, but that is how I roll, I say it with sonnets.
Is your teacher still MIA? What’s up with your substitute? Last year, we made our Spanish substitute cry. Her name was Senora Piñas. The whole class kept pronouncing the short “i” as a long “e” and … well, you get the rest. She was young, it was just too easy.
I was gonna send you some chocolate-covered ants for Valentine’s Day, but dang, Vlad, they were expens$ive. And I am saving my greenbacks to go see The Mackerels, they are this new alt. reggae group, I am really into them these days.
Post Me. xxoo
Sunday, March 2, 2008
Monday, January 7, 2008
Long Time, No Bite (er...Write)
Hey Lex --
Sorry I haven't written in so long. Remember my teacher, Mr. Craig? Well, he disappeared around Halloween and nobody knows where he is. Some people think he ran off with a woman. Most people think he's dead. I'm not sure what I think just yet. Oh yeah, and now we have this substitute called Mr. Otis (his first name is Otis too--how bizarre is that?). He's really strange, wears a purple top hat and watches me a little too closely at times. Life, in short, has gotten pretty strange around here. Anyway, I hope Mr. Craig returns soon.
That short-term-memory-loss-pumpkin-pie sounds pretty sweet! Definitely something I could give to Principal Snelgrove the next time I land in his office over something stupid.
Anyway, back to Halloween. I did end up going to Matthew's party, after all. It didn't turn out so well. I think Meredith has a crush on Henry. So...yeah...sucks.
Thanksgiving was the same old same old, same with Christmas. I got a bunch of new PlayStation games and some books on vampire lore. One in particular looks good: The Life and Times of an Evil Blood Countess. I'll have to take them to the belfry and check them out. Did I mention the belfry before? It's this closed-off portion of the high school (which used to be a church) that I go to most nights. I hang out, read, think, whatever I feel like. The cool thing is that the only way up there is to levitate, so I'm sure nobody can bother me.
Anyway, I'm feeling kind of down about Mr. Craig, but I wanted to take a moment to wish you a happy new year. I really hope it's fangtastic. How's everything with lover boy, anyway?
~V
P.S. Tell Maddy I said hi.
Sorry I haven't written in so long. Remember my teacher, Mr. Craig? Well, he disappeared around Halloween and nobody knows where he is. Some people think he ran off with a woman. Most people think he's dead. I'm not sure what I think just yet. Oh yeah, and now we have this substitute called Mr. Otis (his first name is Otis too--how bizarre is that?). He's really strange, wears a purple top hat and watches me a little too closely at times. Life, in short, has gotten pretty strange around here. Anyway, I hope Mr. Craig returns soon.
That short-term-memory-loss-pumpkin-pie sounds pretty sweet! Definitely something I could give to Principal Snelgrove the next time I land in his office over something stupid.
Anyway, back to Halloween. I did end up going to Matthew's party, after all. It didn't turn out so well. I think Meredith has a crush on Henry. So...yeah...sucks.
Thanksgiving was the same old same old, same with Christmas. I got a bunch of new PlayStation games and some books on vampire lore. One in particular looks good: The Life and Times of an Evil Blood Countess. I'll have to take them to the belfry and check them out. Did I mention the belfry before? It's this closed-off portion of the high school (which used to be a church) that I go to most nights. I hang out, read, think, whatever I feel like. The cool thing is that the only way up there is to levitate, so I'm sure nobody can bother me.
Anyway, I'm feeling kind of down about Mr. Craig, but I wanted to take a moment to wish you a happy new year. I really hope it's fangtastic. How's everything with lover boy, anyway?
~V
P.S. Tell Maddy I said hi.
Sunday, November 18, 2007
Novem-bore
Rimidalv! (that’s your name backwards)
Long time no post ... So how was your Halloween? Any events of particular insanity? Did you egg a house? Trick-or-treat? Kiss a girl (ha ha, you don’t have to tell me …) Pete and I went to a party as his friend Max’s house, Pete was a slickster senator and I was a toilet stall—we were so politically on-message—and my stall was excellent, graffiti-on-cardboard and massive amounts of toilet paper stuck to my shoe. We got a prize—one dozen caramel candy apples. The vote for worst costume went to Art Wechler, for his cumbersome invention that he called “Happy Hour.” Which was basically Art wearing a shirt made out of Ritz crackers and real, processed cheese, plus swizzle sticks and olives glues to various body parts. I brushed up against him and didn’t smell right for three days. But it was good times, I love Halloween. Didn't get much chance to talk to Dylan Easterby, though. Swarms and schools and hives of females chase him down wherever he is...
But Halloween is a distant memory, compared with what we're doing now-- trimester finals. We have them mid-Nov, end of Feb, and early June. Just to make sure that nobody is too psyched for Thanksgiving, Spring Break, or Summer vacation.
In other news, Dad’s sister, my Aunt Malin is staying with us this week thru Thanksgiving. She is an Old World hybrid who is also a fortune-teller slash herbalist slash troublemaker. First thing she did when she got here was throw peppercorns in the carpets “to blow out the ghosts” and we’ve all been sneezing our hearts out. She read my cards and told me: “forget all about the last four hundred years, Lexie, your heart-wrenching, hirsute, hoary love is just around the corner.” So I looked up hirsute and it means: HAIRY. Yich! I have decided not to go around any corners for the next few months.
Auntie Malin also taught me how to make short-term-memory-loss-pumpkin-pie. She's an herbalist, after all. You have to use real pumpkins, and brush them with Malin’s Madderberry Juice while they roast, then after 130 minutes, you open the oven and mutter the name of your intended victim. I took the pie into school and gave it to Mrs. Dowd, my chemistry teacher slash intended victim, who them totally forgot to give us her weekly quiz. How cool is that? Just when I'd lost faith in my own ability to be completely superstitous. Anyway, delete this incriminating email after reading …
What’s going on with you????
Fill me in on the deets.
Your bestest herbalist slash vampish pal, L.
Long time no post ... So how was your Halloween? Any events of particular insanity? Did you egg a house? Trick-or-treat? Kiss a girl (ha ha, you don’t have to tell me …) Pete and I went to a party as his friend Max’s house, Pete was a slickster senator and I was a toilet stall—we were so politically on-message—and my stall was excellent, graffiti-on-cardboard and massive amounts of toilet paper stuck to my shoe. We got a prize—one dozen caramel candy apples. The vote for worst costume went to Art Wechler, for his cumbersome invention that he called “Happy Hour.” Which was basically Art wearing a shirt made out of Ritz crackers and real, processed cheese, plus swizzle sticks and olives glues to various body parts. I brushed up against him and didn’t smell right for three days. But it was good times, I love Halloween. Didn't get much chance to talk to Dylan Easterby, though. Swarms and schools and hives of females chase him down wherever he is...
But Halloween is a distant memory, compared with what we're doing now-- trimester finals. We have them mid-Nov, end of Feb, and early June. Just to make sure that nobody is too psyched for Thanksgiving, Spring Break, or Summer vacation.
In other news, Dad’s sister, my Aunt Malin is staying with us this week thru Thanksgiving. She is an Old World hybrid who is also a fortune-teller slash herbalist slash troublemaker. First thing she did when she got here was throw peppercorns in the carpets “to blow out the ghosts” and we’ve all been sneezing our hearts out. She read my cards and told me: “forget all about the last four hundred years, Lexie, your heart-wrenching, hirsute, hoary love is just around the corner.” So I looked up hirsute and it means: HAIRY. Yich! I have decided not to go around any corners for the next few months.
Auntie Malin also taught me how to make short-term-memory-loss-pumpkin-pie. She's an herbalist, after all. You have to use real pumpkins, and brush them with Malin’s Madderberry Juice while they roast, then after 130 minutes, you open the oven and mutter the name of your intended victim. I took the pie into school and gave it to Mrs. Dowd, my chemistry teacher slash intended victim, who them totally forgot to give us her weekly quiz. How cool is that? Just when I'd lost faith in my own ability to be completely superstitous. Anyway, delete this incriminating email after reading …
What’s going on with you????
Fill me in on the deets.
Your bestest herbalist slash vampish pal, L.
Sunday, October 21, 2007
Back from the (Un)dead
Hi, Lex!
Man, school has been crazy busy here (all six-hundred years of it—yeah, I totally feel that way too). Lots of pop quizzes, too, which only goes to show that even nice teachers like Mr. Craig can be sadistic when they want to. Speaking of Mr. C, he's been out sick for a few days now. I hope he comes back soon. Our rat-faced principal, Mr. Snelgrove, has been subbing for him.
Public speaking?! What are they, sick?! That's just twisted. As if we'll ever really HAVE to stand up in front of people and talk. I mean, my aunt is a nurse and you don't see her blabbering on in front of people. My sympathies, Lex. But I'm sure you'll do great.
Wait a sec. You're telling me you have the hots for some guy who smells like socks? Seriously? As in the things we wear on our feet to soak up all of our sweat and foot funk? Man…I will never understand girls.
Hey, at least you're brave enough to call Dylan. I can barely breathe when Meredith is around, and there's no way I'm going anywhere near a phone.
What are your plans for Halloween? This guy, Matthew, in my grade is having another Halloween bash this year. He's been hosting them since we were like six. They're okay, I guess. Mostly I just hang out with Henry and pretend I actually belong there. If I do go this year, I was thinking of going as a vampire. *snort* How rock do I??? But…I probably won't go. There's supposed to be a great line up of horror movies on TV that night…maybe I'll luck out and they'll show Nosferatu.
Anyway, sorry I'm such a lame pen pal. But I've been stuck in a grave…and its name is Algebra.
~V
Man, school has been crazy busy here (all six-hundred years of it—yeah, I totally feel that way too). Lots of pop quizzes, too, which only goes to show that even nice teachers like Mr. Craig can be sadistic when they want to. Speaking of Mr. C, he's been out sick for a few days now. I hope he comes back soon. Our rat-faced principal, Mr. Snelgrove, has been subbing for him.
Public speaking?! What are they, sick?! That's just twisted. As if we'll ever really HAVE to stand up in front of people and talk. I mean, my aunt is a nurse and you don't see her blabbering on in front of people. My sympathies, Lex. But I'm sure you'll do great.
Wait a sec. You're telling me you have the hots for some guy who smells like socks? Seriously? As in the things we wear on our feet to soak up all of our sweat and foot funk? Man…I will never understand girls.
Hey, at least you're brave enough to call Dylan. I can barely breathe when Meredith is around, and there's no way I'm going anywhere near a phone.
What are your plans for Halloween? This guy, Matthew, in my grade is having another Halloween bash this year. He's been hosting them since we were like six. They're okay, I guess. Mostly I just hang out with Henry and pretend I actually belong there. If I do go this year, I was thinking of going as a vampire. *snort* How rock do I??? But…I probably won't go. There's supposed to be a great line up of horror movies on TV that night…maybe I'll luck out and they'll show Nosferatu.
Anyway, sorry I'm such a lame pen pal. But I've been stuck in a grave…and its name is Algebra.
~V
Saturday, October 6, 2007
October? Already?
Greetings, Comrade Vlad--
Okay, doesn’t it seem like we’ve been in school for six hundred years? I am already in after-school tutorials for my most hated class—that would be, PUBLIC SPEAKING. Which my school has decided is mandatory for all eighth graders, so that we can go into high school knowing how to stand up and speak up.
But what about if you get those awful, cringing, involuntary voice-trembles? Then what? Seriously, Vlad, I am totally scared of the sound of my own voice. And it shows. Maybe it’s all those years in the Old World, where kids learned things like ‘Better to be Seen than Heard’ and ‘Don’t Speak Until You’re Spoken To.’ Kids here really aren’t like that, eh? More like, ‘Don’t Shut Up Until You’re Yelled At.’
Moving from my icky voice trembles onto my nonexistent love-life, I did the lamest, most idiotic thing when I was at my friend Pete’s house yesterday—I called Dylan Easterby. I know, I know. If you want to secede from my friendship, I would understand. And when Dylan himself answered, I just stood there on the phone-- "lonely as an oyster" as Charles Dickens would say. Then I hung up. But wait, it gets worse. Dylan’s MOM called back, and Pete’s MOM answered. Huge confusion. I denied everything. Why am I such an awkward dork? Um, don’t answer that.
I hope your year hasn't been as embarrassment-attacked, and Mrs. Bell’s aroma isn’t making you too nauseous. It’s funny you mention the aftershave, because I can identify almost anyone by smell. Must be one of those vestige-vamp traits. My nose is always exhausted by 3 PM. There’s one kid who smells inexplicably like hot dogs and wood chips. My lab partner, Jake Olatz, smells like old skim milk. Mina Pringle reeks like fake Chanel No. 5 that she sneaks out of her Mom’s bottle. Dylan Easterby smells like clean cotton socks.
Well, gotta fly …
Olfactorily yours,
L.
Okay, doesn’t it seem like we’ve been in school for six hundred years? I am already in after-school tutorials for my most hated class—that would be, PUBLIC SPEAKING. Which my school has decided is mandatory for all eighth graders, so that we can go into high school knowing how to stand up and speak up.
But what about if you get those awful, cringing, involuntary voice-trembles? Then what? Seriously, Vlad, I am totally scared of the sound of my own voice. And it shows. Maybe it’s all those years in the Old World, where kids learned things like ‘Better to be Seen than Heard’ and ‘Don’t Speak Until You’re Spoken To.’ Kids here really aren’t like that, eh? More like, ‘Don’t Shut Up Until You’re Yelled At.’
Moving from my icky voice trembles onto my nonexistent love-life, I did the lamest, most idiotic thing when I was at my friend Pete’s house yesterday—I called Dylan Easterby. I know, I know. If you want to secede from my friendship, I would understand. And when Dylan himself answered, I just stood there on the phone-- "lonely as an oyster" as Charles Dickens would say. Then I hung up. But wait, it gets worse. Dylan’s MOM called back, and Pete’s MOM answered. Huge confusion. I denied everything. Why am I such an awkward dork? Um, don’t answer that.
I hope your year hasn't been as embarrassment-attacked, and Mrs. Bell’s aroma isn’t making you too nauseous. It’s funny you mention the aftershave, because I can identify almost anyone by smell. Must be one of those vestige-vamp traits. My nose is always exhausted by 3 PM. There’s one kid who smells inexplicably like hot dogs and wood chips. My lab partner, Jake Olatz, smells like old skim milk. Mina Pringle reeks like fake Chanel No. 5 that she sneaks out of her Mom’s bottle. Dylan Easterby smells like clean cotton socks.
Well, gotta fly …
Olfactorily yours,
L.
Monday, September 10, 2007
Algebra & Aftershave
Hey, Lex!
Wow, your upgraded room sounds sweet! Well...for a girl (no offense). I can't handle any more than a poster or two. To be honest, I never understood the decorating craze. But I'm really glad you're happy with it! I almost, kinda managed to clean mine this week. Well...there are still a few stray socks lying around, but they add character (at least, that's what I told Nelly). And don't even look under my bed... *shudders*
Mrs. MacCaw sounds pretty bad--my sympathies. But I've got one to top it. Her name is Mrs. Bell (huh...what's with these teachers and bells?) and she's a sub at Bathory Junior High. No cowbell in the world could be as obnoxious as her painted-on eyebrows, Lex. And dude...she smells like aftershave. AFTERSHAVE. What's that tell you about her nightlife, eh? Disturbing. But luckily, we only had to deal with her one day this week, while Mr. Craig was out with a cold. I can't imagine what it would be like to see her more often. Of course, whenever she can't sub, the other option is Mr. Snelgrove (our principal). I swear, he looks just like a rat. Woe unto normal society if those two ever started dating.
Mina Pringle sounds like a brat. (What's with me saying "sounds like" so much in this email?) Sucks that you have to share air with her. I didn't realize until I went to class the first day that Meredith Brookstone is in my home-room (which is also my English class). She's really sweet. But Chelsea Whitaker sits right in front of me and I kinda hate her with a deep passion. Hey, don't forget to tell Pete I said hi!
Ha ha...I'm sure you'll ace European history! In fact, you have kinda an unfair advantage there... ;) Me, well, I may be failing math already. Yep. After just two weeks or so in school. It might have something to do with the fact that the title of "Algebra" should be changed to "nap time for Vlad". I never fail to stay awake in Biology--seems like the conversation always gets around to blood. What a big relief that lunch is right after that class.
Speaking of which, I've been wondering just a little lately if different blood types have different flavors...
More later, batty girl!
~V
Wow, your upgraded room sounds sweet! Well...for a girl (no offense). I can't handle any more than a poster or two. To be honest, I never understood the decorating craze. But I'm really glad you're happy with it! I almost, kinda managed to clean mine this week. Well...there are still a few stray socks lying around, but they add character (at least, that's what I told Nelly). And don't even look under my bed... *shudders*
Mrs. MacCaw sounds pretty bad--my sympathies. But I've got one to top it. Her name is Mrs. Bell (huh...what's with these teachers and bells?) and she's a sub at Bathory Junior High. No cowbell in the world could be as obnoxious as her painted-on eyebrows, Lex. And dude...she smells like aftershave. AFTERSHAVE. What's that tell you about her nightlife, eh? Disturbing. But luckily, we only had to deal with her one day this week, while Mr. Craig was out with a cold. I can't imagine what it would be like to see her more often. Of course, whenever she can't sub, the other option is Mr. Snelgrove (our principal). I swear, he looks just like a rat. Woe unto normal society if those two ever started dating.
Mina Pringle sounds like a brat. (What's with me saying "sounds like" so much in this email?) Sucks that you have to share air with her. I didn't realize until I went to class the first day that Meredith Brookstone is in my home-room (which is also my English class). She's really sweet. But Chelsea Whitaker sits right in front of me and I kinda hate her with a deep passion. Hey, don't forget to tell Pete I said hi!
Ha ha...I'm sure you'll ace European history! In fact, you have kinda an unfair advantage there... ;) Me, well, I may be failing math already. Yep. After just two weeks or so in school. It might have something to do with the fact that the title of "Algebra" should be changed to "nap time for Vlad". I never fail to stay awake in Biology--seems like the conversation always gets around to blood. What a big relief that lunch is right after that class.
Speaking of which, I've been wondering just a little lately if different blood types have different flavors...
More later, batty girl!
~V
Tuesday, September 4, 2007
School's In
VLAD!
Here it is, my long-awaited (or maybe not) Back to School Bonjour. In honor of my completion of the first day of the new school year—doesn’t it feel weird to be in eighth grade? Top of the Social Heap. Finally. Crazy.
This weekend, decided to redecorate my 1/2 of the room, and rocking a whole new look, with dozens of string darklights and string flowers. Pete and I got a major bargain on them at the Dollar Tree, now the whole ceiling (yeah, Maddy's side, too) is criss-crossed with daisies and sunflowers and blue and purple pinpoints of light ... you look up and it’s like something van Gogh might have imagined, when he wasn’t feeling totally, ear-removingly depressed. Mom got me a new comforter in a violet lilac pattern, and then I found this place on Elizabeth Street where you can customize your own scent for perfume or room spray ... soooo I brewed up this jasmine blend, and my room officially smells awesome, though Mads is supremely annoyed, since she prefers a more mildewy, rotting smell. Oh, well. SHe just has to take it.
Okay, enough with the Martha Stewart, girlie details, right? In other news, we all started school with no big hiccups. Hudson’s in fourth, Maddy’s in sixth, and luckily I am not in their building (P.S. 42), but instead all the way across town at Cathedral Middle, on 19th and Eight Ave, West Side, which means I don’t have to deal with being called in every time Mad gets in trouble for picking on other kids (she’s really short, and she’s got a massive Napoleonic complex to go along with it).
My teacher, Mrs. MacCaw, has absolutely no game, a horrifying case of bedhead, and will slap you a demerit quicker than you can say “more cowbell”—she’s got one, btw, and rings it whenever she feels that things are getting out of her control, which is 78% of the time. She has a serious sense of humor failure about pretty much everything.
On that, yeah yeah, I totally remember Mr. Craig, he proctored one of our debates, he’s a fun guy, really smart, too. You must be so relieved you’ve got him twice. Sucks about not seeing enough of Henry, though. I’m in three classes with Pete, including all-important biology, so we can partner up.
And my arch-nem, Mina Pringle, did not transfer to Wolcott School for (Spoiled, Entitled) Girls, as oh-so-greatly anticipated, but is right back here at Cathedral, sitting two rows ahead of me. I am all about maintaining the peace, but the girl has irked me since fourth grade. More on Mina to come, I am sure.
So far, European History is by far my favorite subject of all ; ). Next week, am giving an oral report on Plagues. Since my family survived three of them, I think I’ve got an edge …
Write me, VT!
Lexxx
Here it is, my long-awaited (or maybe not) Back to School Bonjour. In honor of my completion of the first day of the new school year—doesn’t it feel weird to be in eighth grade? Top of the Social Heap. Finally. Crazy.
This weekend, decided to redecorate my 1/2 of the room, and rocking a whole new look, with dozens of string darklights and string flowers. Pete and I got a major bargain on them at the Dollar Tree, now the whole ceiling (yeah, Maddy's side, too) is criss-crossed with daisies and sunflowers and blue and purple pinpoints of light ... you look up and it’s like something van Gogh might have imagined, when he wasn’t feeling totally, ear-removingly depressed. Mom got me a new comforter in a violet lilac pattern, and then I found this place on Elizabeth Street where you can customize your own scent for perfume or room spray ... soooo I brewed up this jasmine blend, and my room officially smells awesome, though Mads is supremely annoyed, since she prefers a more mildewy, rotting smell. Oh, well. SHe just has to take it.
Okay, enough with the Martha Stewart, girlie details, right? In other news, we all started school with no big hiccups. Hudson’s in fourth, Maddy’s in sixth, and luckily I am not in their building (P.S. 42), but instead all the way across town at Cathedral Middle, on 19th and Eight Ave, West Side, which means I don’t have to deal with being called in every time Mad gets in trouble for picking on other kids (she’s really short, and she’s got a massive Napoleonic complex to go along with it).
My teacher, Mrs. MacCaw, has absolutely no game, a horrifying case of bedhead, and will slap you a demerit quicker than you can say “more cowbell”—she’s got one, btw, and rings it whenever she feels that things are getting out of her control, which is 78% of the time. She has a serious sense of humor failure about pretty much everything.
On that, yeah yeah, I totally remember Mr. Craig, he proctored one of our debates, he’s a fun guy, really smart, too. You must be so relieved you’ve got him twice. Sucks about not seeing enough of Henry, though. I’m in three classes with Pete, including all-important biology, so we can partner up.
And my arch-nem, Mina Pringle, did not transfer to Wolcott School for (Spoiled, Entitled) Girls, as oh-so-greatly anticipated, but is right back here at Cathedral, sitting two rows ahead of me. I am all about maintaining the peace, but the girl has irked me since fourth grade. More on Mina to come, I am sure.
So far, European History is by far my favorite subject of all ; ). Next week, am giving an oral report on Plagues. Since my family survived three of them, I think I’ve got an edge …
Write me, VT!
Lexxx
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