فيزا
Hello from the tour bus, beloved book of my secrets ! We made there with all nerves and all limbs still intact, and now, we're travelling to the venue where the band will play a show in no time... which I'm absolutely looking forward to, as I haven't seen my friends and my boyfriend (is he?) play live for way too long. Plot twist but not very much so, I am a road wife again, I've still got what it takes to be so after three weeks spent crying while my boyfriend (why am I still calling Sean like that?) was busy doing his own thing several thousands of miles away from me ... and in all of this, I have paracetamol stuffed into the elastic band of my (barely there) panties, ready to use it during the show to cure the migraine I'll get 'cause I just ain't a fan of Alice in Chains, if you ask me. But I am, indeed, a great fan of how I was somehow able to get their drummer back to sober, losing a pair of expensive as fuck, designer heels while trying to do so, and finally clear him for the show of tonight. And oh, I'm proudly back at wearing my custom, all access, Alice STAFF badge, as the lead singer of the band threw it back around my neck not so long ago, much to Cuntrell's contrariety... so does this crown me as one of the guys, honorarily so, or is it just a way to remind me that I've never not been the drummer's girlfriend? I don't know. But whatever it means, it must not so deep down mean that I've been welcomed by everyone (but Cuntrell, but need I even say that?) with open arms.
Now, beloved book of my secrets, I don't want to annoy you with one of my usual, ultra detailed narrations of how I ended up in this awful smelling bus and how it was... so I will only say that everything became a blur when the tour bus driver came to summon Sean and I aboard, while we were sitting in the hotel lobby all hugged up, and talking about everything and nothing at the same time. We were loving our moment, we really were, I am pretty sure he was loving it even more than I was... but the moment I was about to let myself go and kiss the guy, FINALLY, the tour bus driver (whose name I can't remember) spotted us and not very kindly asked us to join the rest of the gang on the mayhem vehicle. At first, he mistook me as a groupie (standard, that's the second most common guess I get besides 'terrorist'), and treated me as if I were the filthiest one of 'em. But then he took a closer look at me from the front (thank goodness, as the side is all sorts of fucked up), recognised me as Cleopatra, Sean's girlfriend during the No More Tears tour... and he showered me with compliments! He told me that I'm looking great, and that my artificial tan (which I got for one of my latest modelling jobs, and which makes me look less like someone who lives in a place devoid of any trace of sunlight) and red hair suit me! He called me beaut, and told me he'd missed my shenanigans while I was away. Then he patted Sean's shoulder, even gave him a backhand in the nape of his neck at some point, told him that he thinks it's uncanny how a cute girl like me would be into him (just for shit and giggles and for the sake of slandering him)... and after he made some comment on how we would've finished whatever we were doing in the tour bus, condition sine qua non that Sean wouldn't have tried to steal the wheel from him as his usual, we got aboard. More like, Sean got abroad and carried me loaded over his shoulder 'cause I was barefoot, hence unable to walk on my own. We sat down in the quietest, least busy spot on the bus... and before we could even get any more comfortable there, we found ourselves surrounded by the rest of the gang minus Gerry Cuntrell, who took a seat twelve rows away from us and spent the last twenty minutes giving me deadly, occasional stares.
I'm sitting right next to Sean now, couldn't be any other way as we've been basically glued to the other one's hip all evening long, around the big poker table with my friend Mimi, a bunch of other chicks whom I've never seen before in my life, Bessie and Starr (apparently, they're fucking again, shucks) and Layne and Dem... god bless the latter for having let me borrow a pair of shoes that is a little too small for me but that, thank goodness, still helps a lot with my barefootness issue. We are all, still keeping twelve rows of distance from Cuntrell, who's sprawled on his seat with a pouty face on and his guitar loaded over his lap... and we've basically, just finished a hand of poker that was initiated out of boredom by Sean and won by the mighty Mr. Layne. Alcohol is flowing, and it looks as though as everyone but Sean and I is drinking. Even Mimi, whom I didn't know was a drinker until someone from the crew handed her a beer. Yum, I could never say no to the same my friends are drinking, icy cold fucking beer, if it was all up to me ... but I'm having to say no to any alcoholic beverage, as I know that if I drink, Sean's gonna feel like he oughta, too. Being a good girlfriend is lots of hard work, but does it matter, when you have the best boyfriend in the world? Who's sticking to smoking (cigarettes, not weed nor crack) with you, and giving you amazing fucking cuddles while he's too busy calling his friend and frontman all sorts of degrading nicknames? Just because he's won a hand of poker that he didn't start and simply wasn't meant to win? I don't think so.
