Sinister: sewing circles are not solely based in trades of cloth, there's spinsters all around here taking notes reporting on us as information travels faster in the modern age

[lindsey baker]

when i heard ben from death cab sing that. or rather. when i saw him sing
that line. i swooned. with love. for death cab. singing about my life, they
were, and i smiled that they knew my fate was to be a spinster. a reporting
spinster, no less. i reached into my reporter's bag and took notes.

oh yes yes yes yes, i said, and ignored conor oberst there lurking in the
corner. no, then i wanted to have ben's children.

anyway.

the omaha death cab/prom/shiner show was fabu, minus shiner. yikes, i said.
no math rock for this twee honeypie.

so. where to start.

i said a while ago that i had thought about becoming a lurker. and i
received such a happy, happy outpouring of sinister love that my happiness
was twofold: one, people on sinister are lovely, and two, people on sinister
seem to think i am lovely after all. so, i'm not lurking too too much. on
sinister.

though i have thought about doing so in the big bad world.

my friend jeremy told me recently that he thinks all people posess some
degree of hotness, and that that hotness has periods of latency and
activity.

my hotness appears to have entered the ninth house of activity, and the
raging come-ons i have been subject to as of late are almost too much for me
to handle. 

first.

there was the boy at the student government meeting. now, mind, i'm the
student government reporter. i cover this faction. and yet. this boy.
saunters over. and, kindly, gives me a 'one-seat buffer.' he said that.
then. he said. i was:

intriguing

mysterious

intimidating

someone he thought he might not want to run into in a dark alley

but someone who turned out to be 

interesting

and had a personality

oh my. laying it on thick, he was. and then he mentioned to me in passing
that:

his shoes were making his feet sweat

did i like his open collar shirt?

he was, in fact, a male cheerleader

need i really say more about this kid? goodness. that. that was wednesday.
after the death cab show. almost exactly at the same time that the boy i was
dating was spending the night in another girl's bed. because i told him i
loved someone else.

so. thursday. fight with the boy i love. nothing from boy i was dating.

friday. badness. boy i was dating tells me about rendezvous, and we're
called off. boy i love is neutral on boy i was dating situation. so. i
decided to call my friend ned in new york.

now, ned and i have never met. i interviewed him for a story i wrote about
him and the book he wrote two years ago. so. after that interview, we
started writing emails. and all was well and sweet and friendly. recently,
we started talking on the phone. and all was well and sweet and friendly.

so i thought, surely, ned can make me feel better.

well. the conversation was fine. and then we sent each other photos of one
another through email. as we have never met, yes. and he attempted to tell
me that i looked like several famous so and sos, and that those so and sos
were hot. (note to boys: don't ever say, hey -- you look kind of like winona
ryder with blonde hair. she's hot. NO NO NO. say 'you look kind of like her,
but are so TEN TIMES HOTTER, AT LEAST.")

so. yes. my photos. eventually, the conversation took odd turns and he asked
if i wanted to have phone sex.

NO NO NO. another thing not to ask a girl. especially not if you look like
ned. who looks like ray romano of everybody loves raymond fame.

so. i said no. of course. ugh. gross.

they make magazines for that kind of entertainment. that don't involve my
photo. which makes me wonder if anyone uses sinister photos for that kind of
hobby. hm. yikes.

sorry guys.

anyway.

then there was tonight. 

i suffered the lone 'actively hot' girl in the coffee shop fate.

suffice it to say this man was 41. a welder. from L.A. who came to nebraska
to visit his sister when 'the shit hit the fan' in new york. he asked me if
i liked 'crawly things' and removed two hermit crabs from his shirt pocket
and set them a crawlin' on the table.

'their names are 10 and 11.'

apparently they were the tenth and eleventh hermit crabs he had had. 

he asked me a question.

i said yes, i had a boyfriend. i had to lie, you see. because of 10 and 11.

another question. 

why is it that 99% of the women in nebraska weigh 200 pounds plus, and the
1% as fine as you are all spoken for?

sigh.

so you see. why i think. i should. be a lurker.

and accept. my fate. as a spinster.

all you need is love in a romance novel.

your very own single and sad but yet so so happy miss lindsey lou





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