Bab's Uvula Who?, chapter 1
It was that time of year again for the Vh1 Big in 2005. We were going to the show with our friend, Lydia, who was in the band The Daveys, and had invited us. Us as in Vivian and I. We didn't particularly like other celebrities. At all. It was just one of those things that didn't interest us. We were the people that were hating everything from rap to pop which was a shame because there were a few decent pop artists out there.
'This is going to be torture. There will be paparazzo's on our ass asking us why the hell we are here and who we are, who made our outfits and everything' I complained. Vivian did more interviews with people than I did, so this wasn't as devastating for her, as it seemed to be for me. We both did a lot of things with people but it was ehr that did that most. She was the fashion designer that amazingly helped with the pop stars fashions even though she didn't care for them at all. I was the music producer for a record company in Oakland which signed mostly garage bands and tried to make something out of their music and would succeed sometimes and I was a part time drummer for a band called Soul Love with Vivian on bass and our friend Jenny on guitar and lead vocals. We were a local band that played music just for the heck of it and had one album out there already with a small but growing fan base under my lable.
'Don't worry about it, you know all the answers. You know your name, why you are here, who made your dress, mwah, and you have a right to your opinion. So be the in your face person out there that everybody wishes they could be' She supported me, on the way to the show. We were riding in a limo that was provided for us by the wonderful Lydia that rode with her band, leaving just us.
When we arrived, there was cameras at the ready, trying to see who was coming in next and already snapping pictures of people there. I didn't like seeing dots for thirty minutes after I went some where but I knew I had to make the exception for this.
We stepped out of the back of the car when the driver opened it up, me being the first, I got the wave of flashing lights before she did. Even if I wasn't well known, they must have figured if I was here, I was certainly someone.
Up ahead of us, was The Davey's, posing for pictures, and doing stupid things for the cameras. I could see that there was Hilary Duff right in front of them. I never liked her music, but being put in the position of being right in front of her, you can't say anything or you would be mobbed everywhere you went and even I would feel bad for saying something rude to her.
I looked over to Vivian, and I could tell she was thinking the same thing that I was. "There is only going to be a few decent artists at this show".
When we met up with Lydia in the middle of the carpet, the cameras were amazing. It was like an ocean of sparkles that record every move. It felt like you were on top of the world, really, but you know that they aren't interested in you, it's the people standing around you. The rush of energy was always nice though.
'You enjoying this? You should see the look on your face right now' Mark, the drummer for The Davey's, said into my ear.
'I don't think I have seen THIS many people. This is insane' I raised my voice, to overcome the sound of clicks and shouts from the people behind the barrier.
'I know your taste of music and this isn't satisfying, but there is one decent band for you here' He told me.
'Who is it?'
'You'll find out. I made sure they seated you next to one of them. You look just as out of place as they do too' he smirked. I did kind of look out of place. So did they though. So did Vivian. We were a group of outcasts basically. She did a damn good job designing this dress and it looked excellent and unique, as well as hers. It was just different and much cooler than everyone elses.
When we took our seats, we were the only ones in our row so far. I could only wonder who Mark was talking about. Then when three familiar people and their dates, and what appeared to be friends, managers, producers and the whole crew was following them. I wasn't the happiest either. I leaned over to Mark and asked him what he was thinking.
'Mark! I don't like these guys. I can't stand Green Day!' I whined. I really didn't. I usually just figured "ehh. They are there. They can make music. I just won't be the one listening". But right then, I hated everything about them. The eye liner, the hair gel, the clothes. Heck I even hated the way they smelled right then. The dateless drummer sat down right next to me, with a ton of brown eyeliner, and a ton of hair gel, and loads of cologne. Oh, I was so disappointed with Marks choice in seating.
For the first 15 minutes of the show, I sat there, trying not to pout, but it was happening anyway. The drummer seemed to be ignoring me, and I was fine by his idea of not talking to me. But then, he turned and spoke.
'I.. Like your dress. It's nice' He said, in a high pitched, awkward voice. Okay, he had a cool voice, I admit that.
'Thanks' I grumped out. I had an even more mad look on my face.
'If it makes you look more perky, your hair looks pretty good too' He complimented.
'You hitting on me?' I snapped.
'Maybe' He was pissing me off right then. His blonde friend started to notice because he nudged him in his side with his elbow, causing him to glare at him for his disturbance.
'Sorry' He leaned forward and said. I wanted to leave right then. I didn't want to switch places with someone because I miraculously didn't want to be rude and actually say "I don't like you at all" even if it was indirectly by that action of moving away from them. My acts of pouting like a five year old could have a potential excuse for them to brush it off though. The excuse that helps women be bitches and get away with it even if they were bitchy to another woman because they would understand too. PMS.
Half way through the show, we all got up for a small intermission, which meant an extra long commercial for the home viewers. When we stood up, and I made sure that Green Day couldn't hear me, and immediately jumped to Mark.
'What in the hell are you thinking? I don't like them. I thought you heard my little Green Day speech that went something like "I will never listen to them and I really don't want to meet them" or something along the lines of that' I gave him a cold stare, trying to watch him think of something to say. He knew he didn't make a good move for my sake, with the way I was talking to him.
'I thought you liked them and no I didn't hear that lecture or speech, whatever you called it' He was slightly stuttering. I was a little cute but it wasn't working for me.
Before I knew it, it was time to be seated again. Obviously all my bitching about the three men was making time move by a little faster. This time, I seemed to be seated next to the black haired one with about an entire pencil of eyeliner on and an entire bottle of gel on his head. He sat down with a woman that appeared to be his wife. She wasn't that bad of looking either. I was jealous of her, for her dress though, I will admit that. And her looks. Damn it. I envied her.
A few minutes into the show, he leaned over to me and said something to me, that I wasn't sure how to handle.
'You know, my friend really has the hots for you' He whispered. Hmm. Fresh breath.
'I have no comment to it'
'Look. Doing this "hard to get" thing is cute, but honestly you are only making him more determined'
'What's his name again?' I asked.
'He goes by the name of Tre Cool'
'Heh. Well tell your friend Tre Uncool that he shouldn't have to get his friend to help to ask a girl out'
'What exactly is your problem anyway?'
'Being here for one. What was your name?' For some reason, I was determined to know these guys names.
'Name's Armstrong. Billie Joe Armstrong' He tipped his head backwards as he said "Armstrong" both times.
'Oh. I love the James Bond thing' I said sarcastically. For some reason I did think it was cool though, even though I didn't care for him. 'Here let me try. Name's Wright... Kristy Wright' I smirked.
'Wow. That made you ten times cooler just saying it. You know? That's kind of weird, though. Tre's real last name is Wright too'
'Maybe we are somehow related' I paused. 'Actually, that is really disturbing'
'Oh. You are a bitch, aren't you?'
'Billie. Be nice to her' His wife jabbed him in the side. Wow. She was helping them earn my respect a little more.
'No. Not disturbing as in the mans nuts and I would be humiliated to be related, it's like, he has the hots for me and we could be cousins or something'
'Ehh.. Not really because there are so many Wrights in the sea. Like Armstrong. There is no possible way I am related to Louie Armstrong. Or Lance Armstrong. Tim Armstrong isn't even related'
'Thanks for your family history' Fine. He was cool, okay? I guess it was just this "Tre Cool" guy that wasn't exactly as good with talking to people like me.
'Okay. Well straight to the point since we will probably have some old bastard on our case for being so damn loud-'
'Oh you're actually entertaining us more than the show. Don't worry about it' Justin Timberlake cut in from behind us with Cameron Diaz sitting right next to him with all his crew people also sitting with him. Billie and I just gave him a slight glare. I could tell Billie didn't really want to be here either, and didn't really like other pop celebrities. I heard Vivian behind me, trying to hold her snickers at our conversations, which she had been listening to the entire time.
'Well, if Tre asks you to buy a drink, just except. I know he will hunt you down later at the after show thing. And don't tell him I am doing this. He likes to play the "hard to get" game but.. Ah fuck it I can tell you get what I am talking about'
'Yeah. But this is VERY awkward with someone I don't even like telling me to do something and I actually do it'
'No wonder you're being so rude to us'
'Well Mr. Armstrong, I can tell you know how to put up with shitty people like me pretty well'
'Put up with you? Well Miss Wright, we seem to have the same shitty attitude which is probably why you and I can have a conversation'
'True'
Just from one member of the band talking to me, was enough to make me more comfortable about sitting there next to them. Like I said before, he was pretty cool. I didn't really like how he talked to me about Tre. Actually I didn't like it at all. It made his band mate seem desperate, and it made me feel like I was in the middle of a cheesy movie or some corny romance novel with high school kids sitting in the cafeteria talking about who they should go out with. And I left high school long enough ago to be reliving it again...
'This is going to be torture. There will be paparazzo's on our ass asking us why the hell we are here and who we are, who made our outfits and everything' I complained. Vivian did more interviews with people than I did, so this wasn't as devastating for her, as it seemed to be for me. We both did a lot of things with people but it was ehr that did that most. She was the fashion designer that amazingly helped with the pop stars fashions even though she didn't care for them at all. I was the music producer for a record company in Oakland which signed mostly garage bands and tried to make something out of their music and would succeed sometimes and I was a part time drummer for a band called Soul Love with Vivian on bass and our friend Jenny on guitar and lead vocals. We were a local band that played music just for the heck of it and had one album out there already with a small but growing fan base under my lable.
'Don't worry about it, you know all the answers. You know your name, why you are here, who made your dress, mwah, and you have a right to your opinion. So be the in your face person out there that everybody wishes they could be' She supported me, on the way to the show. We were riding in a limo that was provided for us by the wonderful Lydia that rode with her band, leaving just us.
When we arrived, there was cameras at the ready, trying to see who was coming in next and already snapping pictures of people there. I didn't like seeing dots for thirty minutes after I went some where but I knew I had to make the exception for this.
We stepped out of the back of the car when the driver opened it up, me being the first, I got the wave of flashing lights before she did. Even if I wasn't well known, they must have figured if I was here, I was certainly someone.
Up ahead of us, was The Davey's, posing for pictures, and doing stupid things for the cameras. I could see that there was Hilary Duff right in front of them. I never liked her music, but being put in the position of being right in front of her, you can't say anything or you would be mobbed everywhere you went and even I would feel bad for saying something rude to her.
I looked over to Vivian, and I could tell she was thinking the same thing that I was. "There is only going to be a few decent artists at this show".
When we met up with Lydia in the middle of the carpet, the cameras were amazing. It was like an ocean of sparkles that record every move. It felt like you were on top of the world, really, but you know that they aren't interested in you, it's the people standing around you. The rush of energy was always nice though.
'You enjoying this? You should see the look on your face right now' Mark, the drummer for The Davey's, said into my ear.
'I don't think I have seen THIS many people. This is insane' I raised my voice, to overcome the sound of clicks and shouts from the people behind the barrier.
'I know your taste of music and this isn't satisfying, but there is one decent band for you here' He told me.
'Who is it?'
'You'll find out. I made sure they seated you next to one of them. You look just as out of place as they do too' he smirked. I did kind of look out of place. So did they though. So did Vivian. We were a group of outcasts basically. She did a damn good job designing this dress and it looked excellent and unique, as well as hers. It was just different and much cooler than everyone elses.
When we took our seats, we were the only ones in our row so far. I could only wonder who Mark was talking about. Then when three familiar people and their dates, and what appeared to be friends, managers, producers and the whole crew was following them. I wasn't the happiest either. I leaned over to Mark and asked him what he was thinking.
'Mark! I don't like these guys. I can't stand Green Day!' I whined. I really didn't. I usually just figured "ehh. They are there. They can make music. I just won't be the one listening". But right then, I hated everything about them. The eye liner, the hair gel, the clothes. Heck I even hated the way they smelled right then. The dateless drummer sat down right next to me, with a ton of brown eyeliner, and a ton of hair gel, and loads of cologne. Oh, I was so disappointed with Marks choice in seating.
For the first 15 minutes of the show, I sat there, trying not to pout, but it was happening anyway. The drummer seemed to be ignoring me, and I was fine by his idea of not talking to me. But then, he turned and spoke.
'I.. Like your dress. It's nice' He said, in a high pitched, awkward voice. Okay, he had a cool voice, I admit that.
'Thanks' I grumped out. I had an even more mad look on my face.
'If it makes you look more perky, your hair looks pretty good too' He complimented.
'You hitting on me?' I snapped.
'Maybe' He was pissing me off right then. His blonde friend started to notice because he nudged him in his side with his elbow, causing him to glare at him for his disturbance.
'Sorry' He leaned forward and said. I wanted to leave right then. I didn't want to switch places with someone because I miraculously didn't want to be rude and actually say "I don't like you at all" even if it was indirectly by that action of moving away from them. My acts of pouting like a five year old could have a potential excuse for them to brush it off though. The excuse that helps women be bitches and get away with it even if they were bitchy to another woman because they would understand too. PMS.
Half way through the show, we all got up for a small intermission, which meant an extra long commercial for the home viewers. When we stood up, and I made sure that Green Day couldn't hear me, and immediately jumped to Mark.
'What in the hell are you thinking? I don't like them. I thought you heard my little Green Day speech that went something like "I will never listen to them and I really don't want to meet them" or something along the lines of that' I gave him a cold stare, trying to watch him think of something to say. He knew he didn't make a good move for my sake, with the way I was talking to him.
'I thought you liked them and no I didn't hear that lecture or speech, whatever you called it' He was slightly stuttering. I was a little cute but it wasn't working for me.
Before I knew it, it was time to be seated again. Obviously all my bitching about the three men was making time move by a little faster. This time, I seemed to be seated next to the black haired one with about an entire pencil of eyeliner on and an entire bottle of gel on his head. He sat down with a woman that appeared to be his wife. She wasn't that bad of looking either. I was jealous of her, for her dress though, I will admit that. And her looks. Damn it. I envied her.
A few minutes into the show, he leaned over to me and said something to me, that I wasn't sure how to handle.
'You know, my friend really has the hots for you' He whispered. Hmm. Fresh breath.
'I have no comment to it'
'Look. Doing this "hard to get" thing is cute, but honestly you are only making him more determined'
'What's his name again?' I asked.
'He goes by the name of Tre Cool'
'Heh. Well tell your friend Tre Uncool that he shouldn't have to get his friend to help to ask a girl out'
'What exactly is your problem anyway?'
'Being here for one. What was your name?' For some reason, I was determined to know these guys names.
'Name's Armstrong. Billie Joe Armstrong' He tipped his head backwards as he said "Armstrong" both times.
'Oh. I love the James Bond thing' I said sarcastically. For some reason I did think it was cool though, even though I didn't care for him. 'Here let me try. Name's Wright... Kristy Wright' I smirked.
'Wow. That made you ten times cooler just saying it. You know? That's kind of weird, though. Tre's real last name is Wright too'
'Maybe we are somehow related' I paused. 'Actually, that is really disturbing'
'Oh. You are a bitch, aren't you?'
'Billie. Be nice to her' His wife jabbed him in the side. Wow. She was helping them earn my respect a little more.
'No. Not disturbing as in the mans nuts and I would be humiliated to be related, it's like, he has the hots for me and we could be cousins or something'
'Ehh.. Not really because there are so many Wrights in the sea. Like Armstrong. There is no possible way I am related to Louie Armstrong. Or Lance Armstrong. Tim Armstrong isn't even related'
'Thanks for your family history' Fine. He was cool, okay? I guess it was just this "Tre Cool" guy that wasn't exactly as good with talking to people like me.
'Okay. Well straight to the point since we will probably have some old bastard on our case for being so damn loud-'
'Oh you're actually entertaining us more than the show. Don't worry about it' Justin Timberlake cut in from behind us with Cameron Diaz sitting right next to him with all his crew people also sitting with him. Billie and I just gave him a slight glare. I could tell Billie didn't really want to be here either, and didn't really like other pop celebrities. I heard Vivian behind me, trying to hold her snickers at our conversations, which she had been listening to the entire time.
'Well, if Tre asks you to buy a drink, just except. I know he will hunt you down later at the after show thing. And don't tell him I am doing this. He likes to play the "hard to get" game but.. Ah fuck it I can tell you get what I am talking about'
'Yeah. But this is VERY awkward with someone I don't even like telling me to do something and I actually do it'
'No wonder you're being so rude to us'
'Well Mr. Armstrong, I can tell you know how to put up with shitty people like me pretty well'
'Put up with you? Well Miss Wright, we seem to have the same shitty attitude which is probably why you and I can have a conversation'
'True'
Just from one member of the band talking to me, was enough to make me more comfortable about sitting there next to them. Like I said before, he was pretty cool. I didn't really like how he talked to me about Tre. Actually I didn't like it at all. It made his band mate seem desperate, and it made me feel like I was in the middle of a cheesy movie or some corny romance novel with high school kids sitting in the cafeteria talking about who they should go out with. And I left high school long enough ago to be reliving it again...
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