Sinister: (gold-covered) tits and ass; bulgarian tex-mex

[stacey dahling]

Okay. I promised myself I wouldn’t do this again, post to sinister elaborate 
detail about a club experience, but it seems to be the time of year when 
resolutions are broken and I just can’t help it. It was possibly the 
GREATEST CLUB EXPERIENCE EVER, that’s why. AND it technically was a sinister 
meet-up. So there’s context for ya. Content. Yeah.
It all came about when lovely sinister listee ZOE contacted me to say she’d 
be home for the holidays and we should meet up. Calls were made, and she 
suggested we go to “Kitcherella,” a special night dedicated to kitch of all 
sorts - kitch music, kitch decorations, kitch clothing. She said it began 
years ago in a small club and had presumably grown to massive proportions, 
warranting the occasional take-over of a huge schwanky club. She hadn’t 
attended since the move, so told me she didn’t know what to expect, but it 
should be fun. OKAY! I’m always up for the possibility of fun. Oh yes. And 
KITCH! Hells yeah.
Anyway.. I try to drag Joanna with me (not very difficult considering she 
likes to dance as much as I do) but she is actually ill. Poor dear. So at 
midnight I venture out alone to meet Zoe. I arrive early, and as I stand 
outside I see some absolutely gorgeous people enter the club. I see some old 
men drive up and throw the keys of their Mercedes to the doorman who runs 
out to look for a valet. I see people with GOLD HAIR and ripped stockings 
and ugly furs. Oooh! I knew it would be a fine evening already.
Once inside, I was floored. The club was ENORMOUS, larger than any I’d ever 
been in before. And there was a seemingly endless supply of beautiful thin 
girls in mesh gold dresses and gold foil wigs working at desks, bars, 
circulating the crowd, leading men in suits to reserved tables. It was like 
the Greek version of Studio 54, except not as many naked people. But just as 
much underwear. (Coincidentally (?) enough, it was called Club 22. Hmm.) 
Underwear hung from clotheslines strung up around the club, and by the end 
of the night it was being twirled over heads, slipped on over clothing, 
draped over faces… oh yes.
Zoe arrived dressed in a classic sleeveless long white shirt, with black 
paint-like splatters and a big belt and.. it was quite a fine eighties 
ensemble. Her friend Helen was dubbed “Madonna” for the evening. She looked 
fantastic. And the rest of the crowd - incredible. There were coon caps, 
argyle sweaters, neon floral prints, huge gold chains, wigs, sunglasses.. I 
can’t even do justice to the amazing costumed kitchiness. I, on the other 
the hand, was dressed pretty conservatively in a little black dress and 
maroon Johnny-collar shirt/jacket thingie. Ah well.
We clumped around, waiting for others in our party to arrive, staring with 
greedy eyes at all the beautiful people who entered, shaking our heads a 
little, anxious for some serious cheesy booty-shaking to begin. When we were 
finally all assembled, we headed to the dance floor and bopped around a bit. 
Then the lights dimmed and three screens came down from the ceiling and the 
opening of Dynasty was projected. Lordy. Everyone hooted and screamed in 
glee. Then the center screen lifted to reveal a man in an enormous golden 
afro, sitting in the center of a stage with a drink in hand, regarding one 
of the screens in studied interest. Everyone yelled and he got up, did a 
dramatic little turn and headed to the DJ booth, all decked out in gold and 
flanked by two beautiful girls scantily-clad in gold mesh and foil. Yay! 
Golden afro man was the DJ! He slammed his hands down like a conductor and 
the Bee Gees blared. Everyone immediately started to go crazy. It was 
fantastic! The Bee Gees were followed by other incredibly cheesy songs, 
including some Greek classics and, even worse, Greek covers of American 
cheese. My favorite was a Greek cover of a Grease song. Oh yes.
After about five songs or so, the lights dimmed again, another cheesy video 
clip was projected on the two screens, and then the stage was lit to reveal 
seven scantily clad golden girls with gold foil pom poms, who did a 
choreographed dance to some cheery song. It was so great! Stage shows! There 
were a few more interspersed throughout the evening, all hilariously 
fantastic.
Needless to say, we danced our asses off. Until 4:30 a.m. We could have 
lasted longer, I think, but Zoe had a paper to write. She did leave with a 
souvenir of the evening - a bra flung in our direction by a crazed dancer 
that exactly matched her eighties paint-splattered shirt! Incredible!
I just could not get over the sheer quantity - and quality - of fine-looking 
people. It seemed like everyone who was anyone was there. Where do they all 
hide in the daytime, I wondered. In fact, the biggest star of the moment in 
Greece - the winner of Big Brother, Greece’s first experiment in reality 
television that was an amazing success - was on the guest list and rumoured 
to be coming, but he never did appear. Pity, really. Ha!
It really doesn’t sound as exciting when translated to paper, does it? Ah 
well.
Zoe was lovely, of course, as were her friends, and we had a great time 
dancing. Again, I was able to do the Molly Ringwald and it was cooooool. And 
I threw in some Ally Sheedy as well, being a special occasion and all.
After I left Zoe, I took a cab home and had a lovely conversation with the 
driver, speaking perfect Greek. Why do I find myself suddenly able to 
converse in Greek only after being awake for more than 15 hours or drunk? We 
discussed the usual topics - where I was from, what I’m doing here, why I 
like it, whether I’m looking for a Greek husband, American capitalistic 
imperialism. And he didn’t even try to rip me off! I even paid in Euros, how 
exciting!
And I just woke up at 5 p.m. and listened to Queen’s Bohemian Rhapsody. Good 
fucking song. It’s kinda sad. I almost cried.

Holy Moses, it’s snowing outside. Coming down like a blizzard. My lord.
Perfect time to defrost the fridge, actually. Can put the food outside. Mmm.

By the way, my first official Big Decision of 2002, was to venture, alone, 
to BULGARIA. Yes, I am clearly insane. Even more so when you hear my other 
option - taking a cheap (76 Euros/$70) flight to London to stay with friends 
for a week and go bowling with Ken. Hmm. That or return to the Eastern 
European country where I was almost kidnapped and married off to Romanian 
prisoners five years ago? And I chose the latter option? What the fuck, eh? 
Well, it all came down to money, really. First of all, the whole reason I 
must make such a decision is because I must leave the country by Jan. 23 - I 
only have a three-month visa, and if I don’t leave the country every three 
months I run the risk of being deported; backwards, eh? So if I go to 
Bulgaria, which would be cheaper to begin with, I can write travel stories, 
which pays for expenses and perhaps more. In fact, I already have one 
assignment lined up which would cover expenses. And considering how 
desperately poor I am, there really was no other choice. Even though I am a 
bit.. um.. frightened. Eeps! If you don’t hear from me in a week and half, 
send out the rescue mission please.
I’m trying to make the most of it, though. It will be an adventure of 
gigantic proportions, I tell myself. And I will undoubtedly return with 
great stories. Already my plan is to write about the Mexican restaurant 
phenomenon in Sofia. Hehehe. Last time I went, I discovered Eddy’s Tex-Mex 
Diner, owned by Mafioso Eddy, who had spent several years in Las Vegas and 
came out of the back room dressed entirely in black leather to have a shot 
of whiskey with us. According to my sources in Sofia (ha! I actually have a 
source in Sofia!) Eddy is rumoured to be doing time in a Nevada prison for 
drug trafficking charges or something (we suspected the Mexican imports were 
not limited to food ingredients alone). But, fingers crossed, I really hope 
to run into him again and do a proper interview.

Ok that’s enough of that then.
Hope y’all are having a peachy keen 2002 so far. I’m gonna go dance in the 
snow-covered streets now. Eat your heart out, New Englanders!
MWAH!

~dahling

ps: i feel like kind of an ass posting such dribble after amy’s lovely post 
but..um..well..yeah. i guess i’m an ass. Hmm.


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