Moving to Blogspot turned out to be a death knell for Calm Down Black Girl when I forgot the URL and summarily gave up on the 30 Day Challenge (Not even a good challenge, to be fair, lots of questions that I didn’t have an answer for. So, fuck off nowadays challenges!). In addition all of the posts that were previously password protected were let open like Pandora’s Box; resulting in the bitter tears of an Asian and a vow to return to wordpress despite the fact that making a visually appealing header is like pulling teeth. So the great work stood abandoned in the vast digital wilderness; a vast edifice forgotten by its creators and the world at large.
(Play the first 30 seconds or so and imagine I’m standing there after kicking open a door and I’m wearing a cape that is flowing in the wind!)
I didn’t take any pictures today. Basically I went to class and took a final. I didn’t feel like that needed photographic evidence. Sorry, blog challenge. Sorry, college. Sorry, mom and dad.
So I have three wishes apparently. This is really a hassle because I have to be very specific with my language so that the genie/monkey’s paw/spooky idol doesn’t kill someone or make me chop my own head off or bring back any terrible zombies. In the end it’s really easier to just not wish for things.
But I’ll play your game this time:
Wish I: I want to get drunk with Lemmy and Shane MacGowan (preferably before he lost his teeth!).
This seems like a pretty awesome idea. I bet they have great stories and later on we’d go out on the town and cause a ruckus.
Wish II: Travel back in time to the 1970s to make out with Christina Lindberg.
I’ve developed an obsession with this woman lately and I refuse to get any help about it. I’d probably want to end up boning her but I’d honestly be satisfied with just feeling her up some. Totally hot, totally Swedish!
Wish III: While I’m back in the 70s I figure I can just catch a plane to New York and catch an early Ramones show.
It’s pretty self-explanatory.
JEREMY “THE BASTARD” SCHNEIDER
I don’t really have any nicknames. My Australian friend, from Perth, has taken to calling me “The Bastard.” I’m not sure why though; I believe it’s because I “drink to be well.” But it sounds pretty cool so I think I’ll take it. I like to imagine that when people hear I’m called “The Bastard” they imagine a dude dressed like Lemmy from the cover of Ace of Spades. I think that’s what happens. That’s certainly what I imagine.
This challenge is really obsessed with my dreams and goals. List your short term goals, list your goals and dreams, list twenty goals.
I am not that goddamned ambitious. It’s not a lie to say that I rarely plan for the future and I live day to day. Long term plans consist mostly of going places, getting a job, maybe starting a band. That kind of thing.
I’m in the process of hitting the big food coma here so, man, fuck this nonsense. Plotting beyond next month really doesn’t appeal to me. Plans crumble, people flake, a tsunami destroys the place you planned on vacationing.
NIHILISTIC ALCOHOL INDUCED RAGE
The day I’m supposed to talk about who I would change lives with happens to fall on Thanksgiving this year. I’m not normally the sentimental cunt but as much as there are times I wish I could be anywhere outside of my life I’m pretty happy with it. So, on one hand: Fuck that. On the other hand, here’s a list of five people I think it would be cool to be.
I. Jeff Goldblum – Good voice, can talk about just about anything and people will enjoy it.
II. Jason Statham – I would spend all day just looking at myself in the mirror.
III. A dead guy – What’s it like being dead? I don’t know. I bet it’s like being alive but with more parasites burrowing through you.
IV. A girl I was about to have sex with – What is it like having sex with myself? Only one way to find out. This would require somehow splitting my mind in half though rather than a swap. Otherwise she might foul up the whole thing.
V. A shark – Totally just roaming the sea being a merciless motherfucker.
I fucking hate centipedes. They disturb me on a deep, primal level. I can’t remember any incident where I might have developed a fear of them from my childhood. The only real time I encountered them was during a trip to Mammoth Cave when I was five or six and my mom just told me that some of them were poisonous. So I just stepped on them when I had the chance even though some of them were pretty big. So I suppose that even then I disliked them but my reaction at the time wasn’t to cringe in fear. I even remember having a rubber centipede that I played with a lot as a child; I even stuck the thing in my mouth on occasion. Perhaps one of man’s greatest and most ancient fears is the terrifying centipede and this primeval dread awakened in me at some point in the past three years. It’s a goddamn mystery.