Last night, I went down to St. Vitus in Greenpoint, Brooklyn, which is undoubtedly the coolest bar in New York, to see Sourvein and The Goat’s other band, Nightbitch. That has nothing to do with Fred Durst, I know. But I don’t care.
Last night, I met The Goat’s new girlfriend, and we hit it off. Real rad chick who has good taste in music. She’s a keeper, dude — don’t fuck it up, Goat! Anyways, she used to have this hot roommate. A half-Japanese girl (which makes me think of Weezer) who is short and has a bod that won’t quit, from what I was told. Again, if you really want to read about Fred Durst (and hear his solo track), just go to the jump, because I’m having a moment here. I don’t want to write about Fred.
She showed me a picture of this girl, and I was floored. She’d be perfect for me. She was adorable, and last night, I had this strange dream, and she (or whatever archetype of a beautiful half-Caucasian, half-Japanese girl my brain conjured up) was in it. This morning, I’ve been thinking about her, wishing I could meet her.
Is that normal? I’ve never met the girl, but was basically told, in so many words, that she’d be perfect for me. Not that I’d be perfect for her, but that she’d be perfect for me. She lives in Japan now, having recently moved from New York City.
It makes me think, you know? I do too much of that sometimes but it makes me wonder. If it is true — and some part of me trusts in this — that there’s a lid for every trash can, well, maybe she was my lid and I never got to meet her. Maybe my lid’s come, and already gone. Waltzed through my life with the greatest of ease, and that connection was never made.
Basically, what this all boils down to is, I don’t know that I’ve met my lid yet. I want to. I need a lid, to trap in all of my insanity and get me under control.
The Goat has his lid (no offense, girl) and I’m psyched for him. He got a good lid. I need my lid. When will I get my lid?
Yeah, so, if you came to hear the a solo track from Limp Bizkit’s Fred Durst, I’m sorry you had to read that. But I needed to purge my thoughts. The following song is called “Hour Alone,” and I’ve heard better sounds slip out of wet vaginas.
Freddy released the track under the moniker of Polarbear (if the size fits…) and described the song as “demo from the road. hotel room. logic. macbook pro (internal mic). just an idea.”
A bad one.
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