Okay, so as if hearing the Brownie Hounds (if you don’t know who they are, look at my last post) practically EVERY night isn’t torture enough, I am forced to hang out with strange people aka the roadies (who, by the way aided Eric in my kidnapping) and yes this does include Eric. Okay, granted, they are cool…ish. And not stuck up. Just they’re really, really….guyish? I dunno how to describe it.
Oh wait, yes I do…gross.
It’s like no one here has manners. No, it’s not nice to fart and then lock people up in a stupid little coach with no functioning windows. No, it’s not nice to use up all the toilet paper, and leave people stranded when they have just done a number two. No, it’s not nice to flash your hairy arse to practically the only girl on the tour crew. And no, I do not want to know what you got up to last night with Vicky. Or Allison, or May or even Susie.
Boys.
And you wonder why none of them have girlfriends. It’s a no brainer. Really.
So, Auds, Nat, I said that I’d give you the goss on the groupies. Think of loads of eyeliner, double it, inches of caked on foundation and straightened to death hair. Now, don’t get me wrong, some of these girls are pretty and some are pretty desperate. And well, they’re only guys. I mean, people throwing themselves at you is most definitely hard to refuse.
Even Eric *shudder* gets his share. Even thinking that makes me feel queasy.
So from Cardiff…with nausea, lots of love,
Tashie
Wednesday, 16 April 2008
Sunday, 13 April 2008
Saturday, 12 April 2008
NATS - Boredness
Because I’m bored, here’s a list of my current obsessions: -
- Twilight (namely one RP, and all the rest of those yummy vamps)
- Mac n cheese.
- Rice cookers (just not mine. It overflows)
- Cooking mac n cheese in a rice cooker (no can do. I/It sucks)
- Um...shapes. Heh. This is embarrassing.
Thursday, 10 April 2008
Tash - KIDNAPPED!
Okay, so regardless of the fact that I have a TON of work, and I mean a TON of work, I have been kidnapped. By my own brother no less. What was it they say about kidnappers? You always know them or something. Well, my darling brother was never one to follow rules. Until now.
‘You’re a bastard.’ I told him ranting as he bundled (yes, bundled) me into the car, driving in his usual reckless manner.
‘I’m going to ask this one more time, and I demand an answer – what the hell?’
‘Just chill, sis, chill.’
‘Chill? Chill? CHILL?’
‘Supersonic much? Look, just chill sis, I’ve talked with McKenzie and it’s all fine and dandy. Now, just RELAX.’
‘Relax? Relax? RELAX?...’
Rolling his eyes and twisting the knob, he smiled at me (the little git!) before drowning me out with Motley Crue. O how wunnerful.
See, Auds, Nat, I DO post here. If only to rant about stupid little turds like Eric. For those of you who don’t know Eric, he’s my brother. Or was. He’s not likely to be my brother for much longer – wait until I can get my hands on that scrawny beanpole. He’s the little rebel in our family. Being twins, we both decided simultaneously that further education was not for us, and unlike me, Eric has decided to pursue an unusual career path…. Smokin’ hot Rock n’ roller. His words, not mine. Can you feel the sarcasm? You should.
Regardless to say, mother was shocked and Daddy thought it was a phase he would grow out of. Some parents just live in the Nile, don’t they?
So anyhow, somehow it turns out that Eric has convinced Daddy (the boss) to let me take three weeks off, to tour with him, and the ….Brownie hounds*. The slimy little…
Deep breaths, deep breaths. So here I am, locked up in a tourbus with three smelly boys. (All roadies, not a single one of them hot Auds) Do you feel my pain?
Dirty socks…pants (I’m informed they don’t even bother wearing boxers anymore – it’s just more laundry)…old pizza…a crusty chicken wing from KFC in my bed….old pasta….And all I have is my laptop, and my HTC. Feeling my pain yet?
All I have are the clothes on my back and a spare T shirt Eric thought to grab for me (obviously planning isn’t his strong point).
Feeling it yet?
No?
The brownie hounds are pop.
Oh yah, you feel my pain, don’t you.
*yah, I don’t really want to use their real name. We may attract weird teenyboppers and tweenies. There’s nothing more scary than fan girls, believe me. I’ve met plenty. But more about that in a later post.
Oh and this is a reference to The Breakfast Club (the rockin-est movie ever!). And yes, these boys really are brownie hounds. If you know what it means. If you don’t, look it up on urbandictionary.com
‘You’re a bastard.’ I told him ranting as he bundled (yes, bundled) me into the car, driving in his usual reckless manner.
‘I’m going to ask this one more time, and I demand an answer – what the hell?’
‘Just chill, sis, chill.’
‘Chill? Chill? CHILL?’
‘Supersonic much? Look, just chill sis, I’ve talked with McKenzie and it’s all fine and dandy. Now, just RELAX.’
‘Relax? Relax? RELAX?...’
Rolling his eyes and twisting the knob, he smiled at me (the little git!) before drowning me out with Motley Crue. O how wunnerful.
See, Auds, Nat, I DO post here. If only to rant about stupid little turds like Eric. For those of you who don’t know Eric, he’s my brother. Or was. He’s not likely to be my brother for much longer – wait until I can get my hands on that scrawny beanpole. He’s the little rebel in our family. Being twins, we both decided simultaneously that further education was not for us, and unlike me, Eric has decided to pursue an unusual career path…. Smokin’ hot Rock n’ roller. His words, not mine. Can you feel the sarcasm? You should.
Regardless to say, mother was shocked and Daddy thought it was a phase he would grow out of. Some parents just live in the Nile, don’t they?
So anyhow, somehow it turns out that Eric has convinced Daddy (the boss) to let me take three weeks off, to tour with him, and the ….Brownie hounds*. The slimy little…
Deep breaths, deep breaths. So here I am, locked up in a tourbus with three smelly boys. (All roadies, not a single one of them hot Auds) Do you feel my pain?
Dirty socks…pants (I’m informed they don’t even bother wearing boxers anymore – it’s just more laundry)…old pizza…a crusty chicken wing from KFC in my bed….old pasta….And all I have is my laptop, and my HTC. Feeling my pain yet?
All I have are the clothes on my back and a spare T shirt Eric thought to grab for me (obviously planning isn’t his strong point).
Feeling it yet?
No?
The brownie hounds are pop.
Oh yah, you feel my pain, don’t you.
*yah, I don’t really want to use their real name. We may attract weird teenyboppers and tweenies. There’s nothing more scary than fan girls, believe me. I’ve met plenty. But more about that in a later post.
Oh and this is a reference to The Breakfast Club (the rockin-est movie ever!). And yes, these boys really are brownie hounds. If you know what it means. If you don’t, look it up on urbandictionary.com
Wednesday, 2 April 2008
AUDS: I swear...
Things I will never do (again): -
As from this moment on, I solemenly swear to not do any of the above, excluding times of desperateness (see, I really am sleep deprived. I don’t even think I’m making any sense)
Audrey (in a state of zombiness)
- Make up a fake vampire boyfriend, because it’s funny. In my defence, it sure seemed funny at one o clock in the AM (yes Nats, I know you’re appalled, but let’s face I really don’t need beauty sleep)
- I will also never stalk a famous chef. Even if guys who cook are total catches. Now, a famous vampire (twilight – Edward) shall be a different matter. Robert Pattinson was Cedric. And you guys did always say I should be a Hufflepuff.
- Drink red bull and vodka. It’s lethal.
- Drink ‘surprise’ drinks or eat ‘surprise’ food. They’re not so much surprises as nasty. Nasty, nasty, nasty. I shudder.
- Procrastinate. All nighters are evil, and after that vodka and red bull incident, I’m off red bull (and i hate coke), so all nighters on just coffee is NOT nice. Also, it wreaks havoc with my sleeping pattern, so now it’s all screwed up!
As from this moment on, I solemenly swear to not do any of the above, excluding times of desperateness (see, I really am sleep deprived. I don’t even think I’m making any sense)
Audrey (in a state of zombiness)
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