Sinister: something vague

[stacey dahling]

Am I the only one who thinks this B&S love connection club idea is a bad 
one? Sinister crushes are evil things, I have determined. They come on 
unexpected, they come on strong. Soon you’re spending several hours per day 
writing gargantuan emails or chatting into the morning on #sinister, waking 
up at god-awful hours to account for other time zones. Then one day the 
whole thing falls apart. Your beloved suddenly finds a real-life love, or 
you realize the 3,000 miles between you won’t be so easily bridged. Or you 
meet and things fizzle. Or… there are so many reasons why it just doesn’t 
work out. And then you look back at all the time you’ve spent pining away, 
all the silly fantasies you came up with that involved expensive holidays or 
moves to foreign lands. Soon you are bitter and cursing and listening to 
Trembling Blue Stars all the time.
Not Good.
Sorry. I am feeling old and bitter lately. And I have counseled so many 
hopeless sinister romantics on #sinister that it makes my heart weep. And I 
have myself fallen victim to the tired charade as well. So forgive me. I’ll 
just put “Something Vague” on repeat for a few hours and keep all further 
thoughts on that matter to myself.
I don’t know what brought this on. Or why I felt the need to post about it. 
Perhaps it’s because I’m sitting here, doped up on very strong cold tablets, 
listening to “Dueling Banjos” from Deliverance, reading a few days backlog 
of posts, feeling a bit miserable. I don’t know why I should feel this way. 
Maybe because it’s Halloween and there will be no trick-or-treaters in this 
neighborhood. Maybe because I just returned from a five-hour bus ride, ready 
to collapse into bed, entirely forgetting that the night before I left for 
Volos, I spilled beer on my sheets and neglected to wash them. Now they are 
in the washer, but lord knows when they will dry, the clothesline being full 
of wet clothes and the temperature being mighty damn frigid. Is it already 
winter for you, too? What the hell happened to autumn? I used to love autumn 
- swishing through colorful heaps of dead leaves, sipping hot apple cider. 
Now there is nothing to distinguish the change in season except for shorter 
days and colder nights. Blech.
Bless Ms. Vel, who took me under her wing during the last few days and 
nursed me back to health. She made me soup and watched films with me, 
cuddled on a couch. She was cheery and happy while I was miserable and ready 
to die. Sorry I was such a grouch, lovey. And spooky is a wonder dog, 
although she was intent on chewing my feet to pieces this time. Crazy.
I must have ridden in the only double-decker bus in Greece today. Fantastic! 
I saw it parked at the bus station and actually got excited about the long 
journey ahead of me. And I wasn’t the only one. All the old people swarmed 
around, pointing in amazement at the two tables in the center of the bus. 
After craning their heads to see the tables’ corresponding seat numbers, 
they ran back into the station to make sure they got to sit there. Whereas 
all the youngsters ran up the stairs and huddled near the front. I was just 
happy to get a whole seat to myself, even if it meant I was stared at by a 
random 20-something studmuffin of a boy. Right.
This will likely be a very short post indeed. Lucky, because I fear I have 
become known as the girl of the epic posts. So sorry to hog all your inbox 
space. I can’t promise it won’t happen again, but not this time at least.
Oh yes.
So it seems I may have inadvertently become a picnic mummy. Craziness. After 
discovering that return flights from London to Athens are only 50 quid on 
EasyJet if booked well in advance, I have begun attempts to lure 
sinisterenes to Athens for a brief holiday/picnic. Why not? I mean, 50 QUID! 
That’s less than some train fares within the UK. And I’ve tons of floor 
space. And I’m an excellent tour guide to all the sites of Athens (I even 
have a classics degree. Oh yes.) And half-litre bottles of Amstel are only 
20p!!! Yes, that’s TWENTY PENCE!
I was thinking March. The holidays are too chaotic, and many of you have 
used up this year’s vacation, I suspect. Unfortunately, this means Vel dear 
will have already moved to Glasgow by then so won’t be able to join us, 
which would be a damn shame. She had offered Volos as a picnic spot, since 
Athens parks are full of scary old men and not too charming.
I’m not sure how warm it’ll be by then, especially with this freakish 
weather lately, but we could still visit a lovely Aegean island or some 
equivalent exciting destination. And not only will you get to meet me, but 
Joan of Dark and Zozie as well. I know Sunnyset Rachel is game so far. Any 
other takers? I somehow managed to lure Ken Chu to make an utterly 
spontaneous trip into London a few weeks ago, can I entice anyone else into 
Athens? Think about it. Get back to me. And I’ll continue to scheme through 
the winter.
I’m beginning to miss the UK a bit. I made a little “London” playlist on my 
computer jukebox. It includes Misteeq. Yes, leave it to me to go to the land 
of indie and discover garage instead. Ah well. I also came back with 
Spearmint.
And after my freakish first few days of productivity, I had a job interview 
at a language school. It was not going well AT ALL. She asked me simple 
questions like why I thought I’d be a good English teacher, and I could 
hardly put words together to form a cohesive sentence. Then she sent me into 
a room with a “Business English” textbook for five minutes and came back, 
saying “Teach me.” Er. WHAT? I fumbled through a lesson about a verb form I 
wasn’t even aware existed and supposedly did very well. Go figure. So she 
wanted to take me on, for a measly $80 a week. As soon as I got a green 
card, a social security number and an official embassy translation of my 
diploma. “Right, I’ll just get that sorted tomorrow and give you a call,” I 
told her. I don’t think she got the sarcasm at all.
So I’ve decided to stay illegitimate, and am presently searching for 
tutoring or babysitting jobs. Sad, yes. Essential. Blech. It also means my 
three-month allowed stay is about to expire so once again I must leave the 
country so I won’t get thrown out of it. A bit backwards, eh? The next 
destination: Bulgaria, I think. I once swore I’d never return there, after a 
particularly traumatic 14-hour train ride during which I was almost 
kidnapped and married off to a Romanian. But the allure of a Tex-Mex 
restaurant owned by the mafia is stronger. And this time I’ll take the bus. 
I’ve learned from my mistakes, see.
Listen to me, I am old and wise.
Do not have sinister crushes!!!!
That’s all.
Be good.

MWAH!
~dahling
(off to the corner bakery to buy some 20p Amstel. Yes, they sell beer at the 
bakery. And at every corner kiosk as well. Come, come.)


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