"I knew a vampire once. Cute as a bug. Teeth all sharpened."

Dear New Orleans,


I miss you already.

Remember that time that I came to visit? Remember how we drank Hurricanes at Pat O'Briens and sang along to some rad songs with the piano player? Do you remember the awesome guy playing the tin tray? I LOVED HIM. Almost as much as I love you.

It was a great time, wasn't it New Orleans? Did you have fun too?

There was the swamp tour! ("If a snake gets in the boat, just lift up your feet, we'll get him out." "By we, he really means he right?") And the gators! All those gators! Remember the Swamp Kittens and how Sarah fed them her Doritos? That was fun, wasn't it New Orleans?

And the French Quarter! DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH I LOVED THE FRENCH QUARTER?! Bourbon and Toulouse and Chartres? Even though Bourbon street smelled like vomit and booze and urine. And even though the number of strip clubs seemed to outnumber everything else. And even when I paid 8.50 for a Blue Moon. Because it only took about a Hurricane and a half before I was good and sloshed. AND I DIDN'T EVEN GET A HANGOVER. Not once, New Orleans. Do you understand how rare that is? HOW WONDERFUL?

And then the cemetery tour! And Priestess Miriam's House O' Voodoo. Remember how our tour guide told us to peek in through windows and doors? REMEMBER HOW CREEPY/AWESOME THAT WAS?! Remember how she dropped us off in front of Armstrong Park where two tourists had been stabbed for their camera? She was crazy, New Orleans, but damn charming.

And the streetcars, New Orleans! And the World War II Museum! AND THE PAT O'BRIEN'S HURRICANES!

I miss you New Orleans. I miss your booze and your Swamp Kittens. I miss that awesome dinner we had at Coop's and the Mango Mangos every four feet on Bourbon. I miss them gators, and Muffalettas at Central Grocery. Mmmm. Muffalettas. I miss the Hotel St. Marie (but not that non-door to our bathroom). I miss the super creepy guy asking us if we want our fortunes read by Jackson Square.

I will visit again, New Orleans, hopefully soon.

Save some gator jerky and frozen daiquiris for me.


Love,

Lisa

I'm not above begging. Or blackmail.

Dear Guillermo Del Toro,

I did not know who you were. Apparently you directed the second Blade movie. I have only ever seen the first one. And also, I did a little research (thank you Google!) and found you also directed Pan's Labyrinth. Friend, I dug that movie a whole lot. But still, you were a mystery to me. An enigma. But you wrote a book. And one of my favorite new regulars let me borrow your book.

And I liked it, Guillermo (can I call you that? Or would you prefer Mr. Del Toro?). I liked it a lot. In fact, I could not put it down.

I did not realize, Guillermo, that it was the first book in a trilogy. Also, I did not realize YOU HAD NOT PUBLISHED THE SECOND AND THIRD BOOK. ARE YOU TRYING TO KILL ME!?

See, G, I promised myself after waiting two years between H.Potters that I would not do that to myself anymore. I am not very patient, Mr. Del Toro. I am a big fan of instant gratification, and I DO NOT LIKE WAITING FOR SECOND AND THIRD BOOKS TO FIND OUT WHAT HAPPENS.

I know that this is not all your fault. I know that part of this is Paul's fault for giving me a book that was one part of an unfinished trilogy. And not telling me this prior to my reading it. You cannot be held accountable for that part in all of this.

BUT I NEED TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENS NEXT. So get your act together, Guillermo. Start writing. See, because I don't know if you know this, but you kind of left everything up in the air. They call those cliffhangers.

I DO NOT LIKE CLIFFHANGERS.

You seem like a reasonable person (actually I have nothing to base this on, this is pure speculation). I'm sure you can figure out a way to hurry up and get the next book published BEFORE I DO SOMETHING WE BOTH REGRET.

I swore, Guillermo, I swore I WOULD NOT GET THIS ATTACHED TO CHARACTERS WHEN I HAD NO IDEA WHAT WOULD HAPPEN TO THEM. If you break my heart like J.K. Rowlings did, I will probably die (WHY FRED, WHY?!?). Just so you know.

Shame on you, sir. For shame. For being so DAMN AWESOME. And for writing a book about vampires that is so much better than that garbage that Stephanie Meyers puked up (I cannot blame her inferior writing on her being a Mormon because Orson Scott Card was a Mormon too, and we both know that Ender's Game kicked some serious ass).

I hope even now, as I write this, you are feverishly writing to finish the trilogy. Oh Guillermo! Think of the children. One child in particular. Me. Think about me. START WRITING.

FOR ALL THAT IS GOOD AND HOLY IN THIS WORLD START WRITING.

That is all.

Love, Lisa

Nice turn signal!

You know what's not cool?

PEOPLE WHO CANNOT DRIVE WHO TRY TO DRIVE AND WHO IN DOING SO DRIVE ME CRAZY.

Yes.

I have come to the conclusion that most of the residents in Pittsburgh, but definitely ninety percent of those people living in Aspinwall/Fox Chapel/Sharpsburg, really, really, don't know how to drive.

Old Lady in the blue Buick, ARE YOU TRYING TO KILL ME? I'm sorry that you are too little to see over the steering wheel. Also, I am sorry that you have a car that is approximately the size of a small yacht, but Old Lady, you almost killed me today. Please, stop driving on Route 28. See, I have my lane, and you have your lane, and YOU DON'T ACTUALLY NEED TO BE IN MY LANE, SO STAY IN YOURS!

I need to have a message board on the outside of my car. It can have pre-programmed messages for the masses. Such as "Nice turn signal asshat" and "What are you doing!? You could have gone like twelve times!" Someone invent that for me. I will buy two of them. One for the front and one for the back. I will use it all the time. I will even try to contain myself to very few mean names and I cannot promise anything, but I will try not to use sarcasm too much.

Seriously, though, Old Buick Lady. You're on my list.