Sinister: It's a good thing Proust is dead, butterfly boy!

[Laura Llew]

The original subject line for this post was, "SPECS APPEAL OR girls who wear 
glasses are desirable lasses. Really, we are. May I have my chocolate 
covered boy now, please?" However, that stupid butterfly boy over at MSN 
doesn't understand my need for long subject lines but is into truncation of 
my usually unbearably long sentences. Ohhh, it's a good thing Marcel Proust 
is dead or he would be UP IN ARMS! Well, maybe laying down in his bed in 
arms. Whatever it was, there would be arms - and since it's Proust - 
probably whips too.

Onward and upward folks.

Jay went for the juglar with, "She's a busy girl, of course, with her store 
and extravagant social life and whirlwind romance afoot."

It must have been quite the whirlwind romance indeed and happened so fast 
that I wasn't even cognizant of its existence.  Last time I recall liking a 
boy, it took me three years to manage to speak to him without turning foot 
and running. So, this romance - details please. Were they cute?  Were they 
foreign? Was that the reason I liked them - because I couldn't understand 
what they were saying (mighty attractive quality you must admit)? Did I 
follow them around hopelessly while furtively looking through the language 
dictionary book trying to stutter out phrases such as, "I love the way you 
lisp when you try to say my name" and "You are you paying for this, aren't 
you?"

Or is the reason I don't remember something to do with Markelby 
C-my-assarotto's statement of, "when I eventually get Laura Llew into my 
boudoir I shall render her stupefied"? Was my original reaction to this 
statement true in that I would already have to be stupefied in order for me 
to end up there in the first place? Did someone slip me a roofie?

Well, I suppose this post is going to be all about setting the record 
straight. I've always considered my only charm to be my consistency in being 
single. Of course, this might be because I think relationships are for 
SUCKAHS.. which leads me to my second clarification of the evening which is 
that I was indeed going to do the Valentine's Day Exchange. However, I was 
just waiting for January 17th which is the anniversary of when my best 
friend got really drunk and confessed his love to me so I spent the rest of 
the night resisting the urge to poke him out of his alcohol induced 
unconsciousness to ask him if when he said he loved me if it was "I love you 
like I would a matronly dumpling of a convent nun" or if it was a "I'm IN 
love with you and would like to eventually snog the life out of you but if 
you prefer we can wait until my breath doesn't smell like wet dog. Now if 
you'll excuse me I'll pass out in a lovely puddle of my own drool." However, 
I never got the courage to clarify. If Christmas is all about getting drunk 
and insulting your blood relations, then Valentines Day is all about being 
muddled by a crush and consuming two pounds of chocolate in hopes you'll 
forget about it or at least slip into a chocolate induced coma.

My point, which is as dull as I am, is that far be it from me to deter 
GayJay from meeting his -until now- unrequited desires to pack on the 
adipose tissue, drop most of his clothes, and wield sharp weapons in hopes 
of matching Sinisterines so the best luck to him in the Valentines Day 
Exchange and to everyone who participates in hopes that it will result in 
disco balls, strobe lighting effects, and getting it awn. I mean, I love you 
all - even those of you who I feel like are my slightly slow, 
raised-by-monkeys, 4 year old brothers.

In other news, for the first time ever I had a very sinister New Year. Not 
in the tight leather, shooting up heroin and getting slipped roofies (or so 
I THOUGHT) way but in the cozy new york scenester set as I drove up there 
with GayJay to be with the best hostess in the world Miss Laurel, Sir 
Matthew (the first person to ever write back to something I posted to 
Sinister), the most clever Hobnob Brian, Will Porter (who, thankfully, is as 
fantastic and as foxy as I've spent the past three years declaring that he 
was), and then later the infamous and swoonfully cute BILWWNLM. I wish there 
was someone subpar in the group so I could make thinly veiled insulting 
comments about them so I didn't seem like such a sycophant but the truth is 
I loved and am quite smitten with them all. Sick, isn't it? They even took 
me to the Algonquin where too expensive cocktails were drunk, insults were 
sniped, and eyes made at some skinny Russian boy with a big head and bad 
hair because evidently other people like skinny boys with bad hair. These 
are the type of people who get involved in relationships. See why I think 
they're for suckahs?

xo,
Ll
'meeting all your Laura Llew needs since 1977'

ps - In this post I quoted Miss Maddie Minx and Sir Brian In The Orange 
Toboggan. They're the really clever statements. The drivel is mine.
pps - Apologies to those who requested a Christmas post from me but I was 
really quite ill. Not that you should feel guilty for being an uncaring and 
selfish bastard in not rushing over here with tea, soup, and offers to plump 
my pillows (not a euphemism, not a euphemism) because I understand how it 
is. Really, I do.
ppps - I LOVE HONEY.

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