Damon’s Eyebrows

I could just play this off and say I watch shows like this just so I have enough fodder for blog posts.

Or I could tell you that someone coerced me into watching it.

Or that there was absolutely nothing else on television at the time because U-verse temporarily dropped all channels except one.

But those would be lies.

Here’s the truth: I get paid to watch The Vampire Diaries.

No, no, that was a lie too. I’m not paid to do it, I just do.

See, I like vampire stories.
And unlike the rest of you posers with your “I drive like a Cullen” bumper stickers, I’m a true fan, raised the Anne Rice way. I’m cooler than you late bandwagon jumpers for many reasons, not least of them being that my idea of a vampire could totally kick your sparkly high school boy’s ass.

These guys agree; my vampire could kick your vampire’s ass.

Now, here’s the part where I reveal how uncool I am. *ahem*

It happened while B was deployed during the winter months, when the television became my Friday night I’m-feeling-introverted unwinding companion. (Sound familiar? It is. This is also how I discovered the cheesefests known as Grey’s Anatomy and Desperate Housewives.) The title of this show caught my eye on Netflix so I decided to give it a shot. The discs arrived on a Thursday and I launched into the first season. I made it as far as the second episode before I lost interest, yet somehow, like a moth to a bug zapper, I found myself drawn back to the television the next night. When it happened again the next Thursday I knew I was doomed.

Jasper does not approve of this post.

At first I wasn’t particularly interested in finding out why the Twilight series had become so popular. My coworker / officemate / lunchtime book club friend tried to coax me into reading the books, but I resisted and made fun of her for being captivated by teenage angst-ridden vampire love stories. I’m still not sure what eventually changed my mind, but after a while–I was way behind the times–I took the plunge.

Even when the teenage angst oozed from the pages, I was nonetheless captivated by the story because of its fresh take on vampire lore. I wound my way through the books, hiding the book jackets when I read during my lunch breaks and trying to avoid screaming masses of women who, when they saw me carrying the book tucked under my arm, would stampede me in their rush to profess their love for the series, for Edward, for Bella, for Taylor Lautner’s abs. (True story. I haven’t been inside a shopping mall since that fateful day.) I didn’t want people to one day spot me reading cheesy vampire mush and assume the wrong thing about me, so for several weeks I did everything short of carrying with me a sign reading “Don’t judge me for reading this. I ran like hell away from my teenage years, and I usually read more dignified books than this vampire smut.” (Like the Sookie Stackhouse series. *cough*)