Payne in the Ass

9. Glacier Eppy

Just going to say it here, THIS CHAPTER SUCKS.
I wrote this very rushed, therefore it's terrible. I JUST WANTED TO GET IN A CHAPTER BEFORE THE CHRISTMAS JESUS DAY, OKAY? 

HAPPY BELATED BIRTHDAY LOUMEISTER. CRYING. SOBBING. DYING. OUR BBY'S ALL GROWN UP.

MERRRRRYYY CHRISTMAS. Tomorrow, the Les Mis movie comes out omg. And Jade Thirlwall's birthday is the day after. I'm so excited, I could flip a cow over. 

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Fae’s POV.

We were about three eights done with the tour, and despite the rank tiny bunk beds we were forced into, it was amazing.

The first point I have to get across is: I love my job. Who wouldn’t right? Everyone dreams of being a star, and here I was, little Fae Maureen Beineke, all grown-up, living that very dream. 

The other thing I need to say is: Being on tour, although exciting, can be quite boring. Boring in an exciting way like a documentary on Monopoly. 

Alright, I’ve no idea how that could even sound the slightest bit exciting. 

“What is this!?” I asked demandingly, holding up a plate that had been sitting out on the counter for days. “Sammi!” I waved it in front of her, annoyed.

“Ew, get it out of my face!” She swatted it away.

“You have left this sitting here for days. Just look at this disgusting plate of grapes!” 

“...Or, a delightful dish of raisins!” Sammi argued.

I shook my head and dropped the plate in the trash. “Ugh. What would you do without me?”

“I’d open up a raisin shop.” Sammi grinned, grabbing a cherry coke from the mini fridge as I rolled my eyes at her answer. 

A lot of the time when we were traveling from city to city, we’d just be stuck on the bus with nothing to do. Except Sammi. She seems to like to grow raisins as a past-time.

When we’re not performing, I get to wile away my time with the girls, inventing new ways to amuse ourselves while we wait until we arrive to the venues.

To be completely honest, I kind of wish we had the boys on the same tour bus as entertainment, but I’d never tell them that.

But since we didn't have them around, we had to give birth to our own brainchildren so we wouldn’t be bored. 

Brainchildren. Of all the ways I could have phrased that, brainchildren.

Some of our most recent items on our to-do list on the tour bus whom we’ve named Bby Fury Bus (Or BFB, which is also said like bifb. We aren't good at naming things.) were: 1) lounge around in our onesies like lazy infants and 2) wear said onesies in ironic glamour photo shoots as we walked down the aisles of the bus as if it were a runway; 3) attempt to learn how to beatbox; 4) shampoo, comb, curl, and style the blonde Hannah Montanna wig Eppy inexplicably owned in order to 5) wear in our high glamour onesie photo shoots down the Bby Fury’s aisles; 6) Create a new language only we understood so we can insult the boys right in front of them without them knowing (We’ve gotten down some phrases already, such as ‘My name is Fae’ is ‘Irnu flamoo woosh Jessica Simpson’, and the word ‘stupid’ translates to ‘About three things I was absolutely positive. First, Edward was a vampire. Second, there was a part of him, and I didn’t know how dominant that part might be, that thirsted for my blood. And third, I was unconditionally and irrevocably in love with him’. We also used this language to pass notes to each other while Dan the Turtle Man lectured us. The girls never learned it, so I was forced to pass notes with myself.); 7) Write handwritten fanmail to P. Diddy to see if he writes back; 8) draw a highly detailed picture of Psy; and 9) master the art of kung-fu.