My name is Jade, and this journal has weekly dribble. How I live, work, and shop, whom I eat, and how I deal with sharing a world with humans, demons and various things in between. I've been dead for over 300 years, but frankly, being a vampire has never been harder.

 

3-3-05

More freakin' snow. I mean, is it really necessary?!? This is what I get for moving to Boston and never leaving, I suppose. Don't get me wrong, it's not like I'm a wimp when it comes to cold weather. Being undead, the vagaries of weather are pretty irrelevant, unless you’re a storm demon or maybe a werewolf (ice in the paws can be a bear I hear, but then werewolves are mortal rodents anyway).

First person to comment that wolves aren't rodents gets a free decapitation. (Believe it or not, it doesn't take that much super-strength to rip your squishy melon heads off your scrawny human necks.)

But I digress.

I'm feeling cranky tonight. Maybe you noticed? Of course, with the new snow, I likely won't get a bite for the next couple of nights. Winter's a lean/mean time for predators. At least this year hasn't been so bad. Not like the Blizzard of  '88 (that's 1888, kiddies). A lot of my friends moved to Florida after that. Not me. I was down there back in 1845 or so, when a bunch of us got together and ambushed some US Army gits that were aggravating the Seminoles. Stayed for maybe a decade or so, but didn't like it. Too many people caught yellow fever and who knows what else. You know what blood tainted with yellow fever taste like?  Well, lemme tell ya - It doesn't taste like chicken.

So anyway, here I am and here I'll stay. If the weather stays bad and I get too hungry, I can always resort to trolling the T in search of a snack. There's always some undesirable in the subway, just begging to be drained, especially at the hours that I go down there.

Meanwhile, I'm on shift at the docks every night this week. It's a paycheck.

 And every once in a while, meals are included.

The bennies of being the sole security guard on duty when some defect decides they want to steal something from the warehouses. Sole security guard, you ask? As in what happened to that blonde chica from last year? The one whose pants I wanted to occupy? She moved on. They all do. The longest partner I've had on this job lasted three years, and she was a reanimated zombie that some entrepreneurial type was controlling for an easy paycheck. I think the guy had three zombies on his *cough* staff at one time.

Of course, eventually the city found out and arrested him. Trumped up charges of tax evasion. It's not like they could charge him with illegal employment of the undead. After all, it was the City of Boston that was paying the freakin' zombie for three years. And since (contrary to Anita Blake novels) they don't officially recognize the undead, they had to think of something to shut this guy down.

Mind you, I could have told them she was dead. But she managed to mask the odor of decaying flesh well enough and covered the nasty flaps of skin falling off with makeup (maybe it IS Maybeline!), so I kept quiet.

Ah well, it's about time I left for work. Spit-polish the ol' plastic badge, tuck my oversized security shirt and tie into my britches, and I'm off.

TO BE CONTINUED

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