We’re so screwed for Fast and Fresh. I’m especially screwed, because they just decided to dump all the loser-looking costume accessories on me. What? Polar-bear themed suspenders?
I don’t know if it’s a good or bad thing that it wouldn’t be the first time I’m stumbling on stage looking ridiculous, if only for ten minutes.
I am also in desperate need of hair. Every few days or so I wake up and look in the mirror and scream.
Rehearsals today were refreshingly fruitful. At least now I know that stone soccer is a great pasttime while in the Raja block with nothing to do (as the age-old adage goes, “The Raja block has so many freaking pebbles anyway, there’s not much wrong with kicking some into unsuspecting drains at the side of the road!”); Justin has the worst taste in music EVER; Shikaye knows J8 better than the RI boys. Though how the hell are we supposed to know where Watsons is? After all, guys thrive on only four things: breakfast, lunch, dinner and snack. Why would we have to walk beyond the hallowed corridors of fast food and grease?