"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.

Oh Mama, I'm in fear for my life

I spent the weekend at Heinz Field. I think everyone will agree that this is not a bad way to spend the weekend. In fact, a weekend spent at Heinz Field is made of absolute win.

Started on Saturday at nine in the morning. Mimosas and chili. And maybe some beer. Maybe a lot of beer. Maybe so much beer that when the score was 21-7 I told someone it was tied. ("Uh. We've scored twice more." "When did that happen?!?!")

Here is what I learned: when you start drinking nine a.m. you kind of feel like you want to die by six in the evening. I don't know how alcoholics do it. Morning drinking is kind of bad news bears.

But oh! When they play "Sweet Caroline" ("Sweet Caroline...Let's go Pitt! Good times never felt so good...Go Pitt! Go Pitt! Go Pitt!"), my heart swells a little bit. I realize that Neil Diamond has nothing to do with football or the Pitt Panthers, but that song has long been a bar favorite. And bars have alcohol and football games have drunks, so really it makes sense.

And then Steelers football. All those black and gold towels waving and all that Styx playing. And all those Brett Favre sacks. If anyone has a sack coming it's Brett "I'm a drama queen" Favre. (And that last one? Harrison's sack in the last five seconds of the game? Beautiful. It was like poetry in motion.)

It's a beautiful way to spend a fall weekend.

Get up off of that thing and dance til you feel better

I like spontaneous dance parties.

They're pretty much my favorite thing ever.

My dance moves are pretty famous, most notably the "Octopus," that shit will be sweeping the nation. Also my rain dance has been known to reduce mere mortals to tears. I'm thinking of trying out for the next season of So You Think You Can Dance.

There's something about flailing around, looking kind of like someone drowning, that brings a smile to my face. I don't think you need to be good to have fun dancing. I don't think not being good should ever stop someone from dancing. I think you just have to move your body the way that it wants to move and have fun doing it.

I like to dance around in a circle with my hands in the air. It makes me happy. I don't really care that I look like a fool. I'm pretty sure that's half the fun.

I like to twirl and dip and do the sprinkler and the shopping cart. I like to look like the kids in the Charlie Brown Christmas special. Pig Pen rocks my world. He just sort of shakes his head back and forth. That's amazing.

This is why I don't care for dance clubs. Those people take themselves way too seriously. I don't really care for people who take themselves too seriously. Life is kind of a bummer sometimes. It's best not to take anything too seriously. Going out to a club, dressed in some skimpy outfit and grinding up next to some drunk stranger? Not my idea of a good time.

Now some David Bowie "Magic Dance" and a dance move that vaguely resembles having a seizure? That's so much better.

Maybe the dog can find water. I mean, dogs can find pot and bombs, so I'm sure they can find water

Know who is on my list?

ABC.

For being so freaking awesome.

Damn it ABC.

First FlashFoward? Now Lost? (Although to be accurate, those two shows should be flipped. I'm a little late coming to the party for Lost).

Bob is also on my list. Also for being awesome. He let me borrow the first two seasons of Lost. Now I'm hooked. Damn it Bob. (Reminds me of a great Bob story. When all the seasons of Gilmore Girls were being passed around the Bou, he came to me one morning and without so much of a greeting said, "Rory loses her virginity to Dean doesn't she? No! Jess! No! Dean! You know what? I don't want to know." And then walked away).

How am I supposed to do anything productive when there are Lost episodes to be watched? And Jack Shepard to look at? AND HURLEY! I LOVE HURLEY SO MUCH IT MAKES ME WANT TO DIE.

This is no good. I did not need this, ABC. Why can't you be more like NBC and have like one or two good shows and then suck at life otherwise? (Although, NBC, you are also on my list because of the latest Office. The wedding? Jim cutting off his tie? Killed me dead).

I have to go to work, ABC. And now all I will be thinking about is Locke and Sun and Claire, poor Claire, and stupid Shannon who is stupid (and who was also in the movie Taken , where she is also stupid. And runs funny. And screams a whole lot. And cries. And is stupid), and Boone who has really pretty eyes.

I will never forgive you, ABC. I hate what you have reduced me to. You and DVR. In cahoots. I HAVEN'T READ A BOOK IN TWO DAYS, ABC! YOU ARE TURNING MY MIND INTO MUSH AND I'M A WILLING PARTICIPANT. Can't you put more garbage on television? Can't you just keep putting Dancing with the Stars on? I know how to turn that off. You and your captivating television can suck it.

Are you too good for your home?!

I'm no IT expert. Never claimed to be. My favorite solution when dealing with rogue electronics is to plead with the offending object for a little while, hit it a couple of times, cry a little, and then repeat.

My computer is being lame pants. That's the only way I know how to describe it. One day it's totally all right with being connected to the interwebs and the next day FALSE YOU WILL NOT CONNECT TO THE INTERWEBS.

What's that all about Dell?

I'm currently not on my own computer (and if I get caught there will be hell to pay). My computer connected last night but this morning? Not so much. WTF computer?

Alas. My computer is telling me in its gentle way that it has little time left. BUT I DO NOT CARE. Connect to the internet! How hard is that?! I've restarted like seven times. SEVEN. That's an absurd amount of times to restart.

Don't computers WANT to connect to the internet? Isn't that really their goal in life? Why has my computer decided to be a slacker who has no real goal in life other than to see how many marshmallows it can fit in its mouth at one time? Will I come home one day to see the computer laying on the couch with a beer in one hand and cheese curl dust all over it?

WHY IS THIS HAPPENING TO ME?

I know I once said that the Check Engine Light is worse than the Blue Screen of Death.

I might just have to disagree with that.

Because this sucks too.

STUPID COMPUTER. JUST CONNECT TO THE INTERNET.

I'm going to restart it one more time.

After all, eighth times the charm.