Whatever. Don’t judge me. I’m doing enough of that myself…
I have a confession to make.
I just finished watching the first six seasons of ‘The Vampire Diaries’. And I loved it.
Like, I loooooooved it.
Please know that it’s taken me months to share this with anyone outside of a small, sacred circle of trust. Out of respect for all of us, I kept this guilty pleasure pretty much to myself. Now that the show, and my relationship with it, is at a crossroads, I have to come clean.
I was raised on Anne Rice. Vampires are meant to be badass and kind of awful. I read the first Twilight book and saw the first movie only so I could talk smack appropriately and with supporting evidence. For the record, those vampires suck (or, at least, were not done the justice of decent context). True Blood? Better, but the whole human-girl-torn-between-supernatural-hotties just seemed a bit played out. Of course, I hadn’t met the Mikaelsons and Salvatores…
Following an October trip to New Orleans last fall, one of my traveling companions (who knows me better than just about anyone) mentioned a show called ‘The Originals’ that takes place in NOLA and features lots of great settings in the city. Centered on the Mikaelson siblings, it tells the story of the world’s first vampires. It was on Netflix, and I figured a little vampire-based guilty pleasure wouldn’t hurt. In fact, I needed the distraction. It was just about New Orleans, right? If only I’d have known…
Judging by the 
