Bite Me

BEING THE JOURNAL OF ABIGAIL VON NORMAL,
Emergency Backup Mistress of the Greater Bay Area Night

The City of San Francisco is being stalked by a huge, shaved vampyre cat named Chet, and only I, Abby Normal, emergency backup mistress of the Greater Bay Area night, and my manga-haired love monkey, Foo Dog, stand between the ravenous monster and a bloody massacre of the general public. Which isn’t, like, as bad as it sounds, because the general public kind of sucks ass.

Still, I think that this battle of dark powers; the maintenance of my steamy, forbidden romance; the torturous break-in of a new pair of red vinyl, thigh-high Skankenstein
^®
platform boots; as well as the daily application of complex eye makeup and whatnot, totally justify my flunking Biology 102. (Introduction to Mutilation of Preserved Marmot Cadavers, with Mr. Snavely, who totally has his way with the marmots when no one is around, I have it on
good authority.) But try to tell that to the mother unit, who deserves this despair and disappointment for cursing me with her tainted and small-boobed DNA.

Allow me to catch you up,
s’il vous plaît
. Pay attention, bitches, there will be a test.

Three lifetimes ago, or maybe it was like last semester, because like the song says, “time is like a river of slippery excretions when you’re in love”—anyway—during winter break, Jared and I were in Walgreens looking for hypoallergenic eye makeup when we encountered the beautiful, redheaded Countess Jody and her consort of blood, my Dark Lord, the vampyre Flood, who was totally disguised in jeans and flannel as a loser.

And I was all, “Nosferatu.” Whispered to Jared like a night wind through dead trees.

And Jared was all, “No way, you sad, deluded little slut.”

And I was all, “Shut your fetid penis port, you spunk-breathed poseur.” Which he took as a compliment, so that’s how I meant it, because while Jared is deeply gay, he’s never really gayed anyone up, except maybe his pet rat, Lucifer. Strictly speaking, I think Jared would be considered a rodentsexual, if not for the difficult geometry of the relationship. (See, size does matter!)

Note to self: I should totally set Jared up with Mr. Snavely and they can talk about squirrel-shagging and whatnot and maybe I won’t have to repeat Bio 102.

Anyway, Jared is a fitting support player in the tragedy that is my life, as he dresses dismal chic and excels at
brooding, self-loathing, and allergies to beauty products. I’ve tried to talk him into going pro.

’Kayso, the vampyre Flood had me meet him at a club, where I offered up myself to his dark desires, which he totally rejected because of his eternal love of the Countess. So he bought me a cappuccino instead and appointed me to be their official minion. It is the duty of the minion to rent apartments, do laundry, and bring the masters a sack with a tasty kid in it, although I never did that last part because the masters don’t like kids.

’Kayso, the vampyre Flood gave me money and I rented a
très
cool loft in the SOMA (which is widely accepted to be the best ’hood for vampyres because there’s mostly new buildings and no one would suspect ancient creatures of purest evil to hang out there). But it turns out, it was like half a block from the
très
cool loft in the SOMA that they already lived in. ’Kayso, when I take the key to them, hoping they will bestow the dark gift of immortality upon me, this limo full of wasted college-age guys and a painted blue ho with ginormous fake boobs pulls up. And they’re all, “Where is Flood? We need to talk to Flood. And let us in,” and other demanding shit. And I’m all, “No way, step off Smurfett. There’s no one named Flood here.”

I know! I was all, Oh-my-fucking-zombie-jebus-on-a-pogo-stick! She was blue!

And I’m not racist, so shut up. She clearly had self-esteem issues that she compensated for with giant fake boobs, slutty blue body-paint, and doing a carload full of
stoners for money. I’m not judging her by the color of her skin. Everyone copes. When I got braces I went through a Hello Kitty phase that lasted well into my fifteens, and Jared maintains that I am still perky at heart, which is not true. I am simply complex. But more about the blue hooker later, because right then the Asian guy looks at his watch and says, “Too late, it’s sunset.” And they drove off. Which is when I opened the door into the stairwell to the loft and was confronted by Chet, the huge shaved vampyre cat. (Except, at the time, I didn’t know his name, and he was wearing a red sweater, so I didn’t know he was shaved, and he wasn’t a vampyre yet. But huge.)

So I’m all, “Hey, kitty, go away.” And he did, leaving only William, the huge shaved cat homeless guy, lying on the steps. I thought he was dead, because of the smell, but it turns out he was only passed out from alcohol and partially drained of blood and stuff. But I’m pretty sure he’s dead now because, later, Foo and I found his stank-ass clothes on the steps of the loft, full of the gray dust that people turn to when a vampyre drains them.

So upstairs I’m all, “There’s a dead guy and a huge kitty in a sweater on your steps.” And the Countess and Flood are all, “Whatever.”

And I’m all, “And there was a limo full of stoners here who were totally hunting you.”

And they were all, “Whoa.” And they seemed more freaked out than you’d think, for ancient creatures of dark forbidden romance and whatnot. And it turns out they
weren’t—I mean, aren’t. I mean, sure, their love is eternal, and they are creatures of unspeakable evil and stuff, but they are not ancient at all. It turns out that the vampyre Flood is only like nineteen, and he’s only known the Countess for like two months. And she’s only like twenty-six, which, while a little crusty, is not that ancient. And despite her advanced age, the Countess is beautiful, with long, totally natch red hair and milky skin, green eyes like emerald fire, and a smoking body that could turn a girl totally lesbo if she wasn’t already a slave to the mad, man-ninja sex-fu of the delicious Foo Dog. (Foo keeps insisting that he can’t be a ninja because he’s Chinese and ninjas are Japanese, but he’s just being stubborn and goes all
Angry, Angry Asian
on me whenever I bring it up. )

’Kayso, in the master’s loft I see these two bronze statues, one of this crusty businessman-looking guy, and the other looks like the Countess, except it’s totally naked, or in a leotard, and bronze. And I’m all, “Exhibitionist, much, Countess? Did it come with a pole?”

And she’s all, “Help Tommy move furniture, Wednesday.” Like that makes any sense at all. (Turns out that Wednesday is a Gothish character from some crusty movie.)

’Kayso, later, by virtue of my extensive research and sneaking around and whatnot, I find out that the statues aren’t statues at all. That the Countess used to be inside the statue of her, and that inside the crusty businessman statue is the real ancient creature of unspeakable evil, the nosferatu that turned the Countess. And the vampyre Flood, who
wasn’t a vampyre at all at the time, had bronzed the two of them when they were sleeping the deep sleep of the daytime dead, which is like the deepest sleep you can get. (You should know right now, that there’s no yawning, gentle drift into sleepytime for vampyres. When the sun breaks the horizon, they drop rag-doll dead on the spot, and you can pose them, paint them, put their hands on their junk and post the pics on the Web, and they won’t know a thing until sundown when they come on like a light and they’re wondering why their naughty bits are green and their inbox is full of propositions from elfin_love.com.)

I know. Whoa!

It turns out that Flood, who was known as Tommy, was chosen by the Countess as her day-minion, blood lunch, and love monkey, because he worked nights at the Safeway. Then, the old vampyre, who had turned the Countess only like a week before, started fucking with them—saying he was going to kill Tommy and generally harsh Jody’s reality. ’Kayso, Flood and his stoner Safeway night crew (called the Animals) hunted down the alpha vampyre, who was sleeping in a big yacht in the Bay, and they stole like jillions in art from the yacht and blew it up with the vampyre in it, which seriously put habaneras in his ’tude lube, but when he came out of the water, they fucked him up a good long time with spear guns and whatnot.

I know! Oh-my-fucking-god-ponies-in-the-barbecue! I know! It just goes to show you, like Lord Byron says in the poem: “Given enough weed and explosives, even a creature
of most sophisticated and ancient dark power can be undone by a few stoners.”

I’m paraphrasing. It may have been Shelley.

’Kayso, the Countess saves the old vampyre from being toasted, but she promises the cops (there were these two cops) to take him away and never come back to the City, but when they go to sleep, Flood, who couldn’t bear to lose Jody, took them downstairs to the biker-sculptors and had them bronzed. But when he was trying to explain to the Countess about why he did it, he drilled holes in the bronze by her ears, and she turned into mist, streamed into the room, and turned him into a vampyre. Which totally surprised him, because he didn’t even know she knew how to do either of those things. (Misting and turning, I mean.)

So then they’re like, both vampyres, eternal in their love, but somewhat lame in their night skills. Because Jody had been feeding off of Tommy, she hadn’t thought through what they would eat after Tommy turned vampyre. So, first they went to this homeless guy we’ll call William the Huge Cat Guy (because that’s what people call him) because he used to sit on Market Street with Chet and a sign that said,
I AM POOR AND MY CAT IS HUGE.
And they ended up renting the huge cat, Chet, to be their shared blood lunch. But it turned out that a large part of Chet’s kitty hugeness was fur, so in order to facilitate the biting process, they shaved him. I’m just glad that I wasn’t their minion yet, because I think we all know who would have ended up shaving the kitty.

But no! It didn’t work. I’m not sure why. But William
got totally, date-rape-level hammered on the liquor he bought with the huge cat rent money, and they ended up feeding on him. Which is where I, the new princess-elect of darkness, was brought into the fold. (Into the “fold” means, like, the gang, as in gang of sheep, not fold like in what you do to T-shirts if you’re a casual cotton slave at Old Navy.)

It was I, who turned Tommy onto the needle exchange program, where he was able to use his pale thinness to convince them he was a junkie and get syringes so they could take William’s blood and put it in the fridge for the Countess to have in her coffee. Turns out that the only way the vampyre can tolerate real food or drink is if it has a little human blood in it. (The Countess likes blood on her fries, which is at once
très
cool and deeply fucked-up.)

So, as soon as the Countess and Flood figured out the deal with blood and food, William the Huge Cat Guy wandered off and the Countess had to go find him, since she has more experience at hunting the night, while Flood and I moved stuff from one loft to the other. But I had to get lice shampoo for my useless little sister, Ronnie, who was plagued by vermin, and Flood sent me home early to spare me the wrath of the mother unit because he didn’t want his minion on restriction. (So noble. I think that’s when I fell in love with him.) Then he took the bronzed old vampyre down to the water to dump him in the Bay before the Countess got back. It was clear to me that Tommy had jealousy issues with the old vampyre, and wanted to get rid of him. Except he ran out of dark before he got to the Bay and
had to leave the old vampyre sitting by the Ferry Building on the Embarcadero and run from the sun for his life. At the last minute, the Animals drive by in their limo with their stupid blue ho and scoop the vampyre Flood off the street just before he was incinerated by the sun.

I know. WTF?

(FYI, when I type WTF, you are supposed to read it
What the Fuck
? Same with OMG, and OMFG, which are
Oh My God
and
Oh My Fucking God
. Only a completely lame Disney Channel nimnode pronounces the letters. Even BMLWA, or
Bite My Lily White Ass
should only be spoken as letters if you are hanging out with nuns or other people who are embarrassed about being told to bite asses.)

’Kayso, the Animals go back to work at the Safeway, but not before they tie Flood to a bed frame, where the blue hooker tortured him to get him to turn her into a vampyre, because now she had like all the money that the Animals had gotten for the old vampyre’s art, which was like six hundred thousand dollars, and she wanted to take her time spending it, so she wanted to be immortal. But Flood was like a complete vamp noob. He’d never even killed anyone and turned them to dust or anything, so he didn’t know how to change someone. The Countess didn’t tell him that the chosen had to drink the vampyre’s blood to receive the dark gift. So the blue ho tortures the shit out of him.

I know, what a bitch.

Meanwhile, the Countess found the huge cat guy, and I found the lice shampoo, but we don’t know where Tommy
is. But the Countess was burned from going out on some hot water pipes, so she fed on me, right there in the loft, and I was all, “Oh shit, I’m going to get the dark gift and I’m, like, wearing my lime-green Chuck Taylors, which are totally not the kicks for becoming a creature of unspeakable power in.” But no, the Countess just partook of my sanguine nectar so she could heal. That’s probably where I fell in love with her. Anyway, she goes asking around about Tommy, and this completely crazy homeless guy who thinks he is the Emperor of San Francisco (you see him and his two dogs in the north end of the City all the time) says that one of the Animals was asking around about Flood.

So I’m all, “Uh-oh.”

And the Countess is all, “Yep.”

Next thing you know, we are at the Marina Safeway and the Countess—wearing her black jeans and red leather jacket, but no lipstick—underhands a steel reinforced trash can like as big as a lesbian gym teacher through the big front window, and she just walks right through the falling glass, badass as shit, into the store and starts kicking stoner ass. It was glorious. But she didn’t kill anyone, which turned out to be a mistake, as was, in my humble opinion, not wearing any lipstick. For while it was a heroic ass-kicking as has ever been delivered in real life, it would have been that much cooler if she had some black lipstick on, or maybe something in a dark maroon. But they told her that Tommy was tied up at Lash’s, the black guy’s, apartment.