Categories > Celebrities > Fall Out Boy > Different Names for the Same Thing
I'm back. Nearly twenty-four hours later, mind you, but I'm back. I have some good news, and some morbidly bad news. Well, not morbidly. You might actually think it's funny, but it's got me miserable and lying on a couch on Fall Out Boy's bus. It could be because they're kind. It's probably because they need something to laugh at.
Greta is too cool to be 18. She's one of the most interesting and easy to talk to people probably ever. Well, concerning females, anyway. We had sandwiches while simultaneously watching Fall Out Boy goof around on stage. Sort of an interesting dinner, by the way. We didn't have a lot to talk about, but she seemed really interested in my work, and I was really interested in her writing. I told her it was very eloquent, and she begged to read something out of this journal, so I was kind enough to let her read through what I've got on here so far, while watching Fall Out Boy play. It was really a night of multi-tasking. She says I write with personality. I think it's better than being told I write like I'm illiterate or something. I've never been told that though, so that may actually feel great (kidding).
Anyway, we hung out for awhile after and I met Bob, Chris, and Darren, who were in the process of filming some sort of absurd documentary. Probably the funniest thing I've ever witnessed, but I throw that phrase around a lot. Everything I see here is the funniest thing I've ever seen. I promise it's possible. They're cool. They're kids who don't know what's happening to them, and they make music that's worth hearing. Go check it out, kids. I mean that.
After Fall out Boy is finished playing, there exists this chaotic hour where you're breaking your back to either sell stuff to sweaty kids, move equipment twice your size, or, in the guys' case, meet a bunch of girls who want to share a bed with you. Sometimes it lasts longer than an hour. It mostly just depends on how crazy the fans are, and how long they'll wait to meet their beloved band. Tonight, it lasted almost 3 hours, making it about 1 in the morning before I felt someone shaking my shoulder and heard Greta scream , due to having a cup of water poured on her head.
"Wake up, C.J., it's time to walk." I looked up to see Patrick Standing over me, smiling, and sweating.
"I can't walk, I'm too tired." I said. Or at least I think I said, because at this point, I was still half asleep and embarrassingly groggy.
"Then you won't, but you're still talking to me." Next thing I knew, I was being hoisted into the air, and tossed over his shoulder.
"If you don't put me down, I'll refuse to say a single word."
"If you don't say a single word, I'll never put you down."
"Well, then this just seems like a viciously pointless cycle, then doesn't it?" He laughed and set me down.
"You're funny."
"Hilarious. Let me tell you." We walked out of the bus and into the cold night. It was cold, and I was miserable, due to the fact that I had no jacket. I exhaled and saw my breath and shivered noticeably.
"Here. I don't care if I'm cold. I'd actually love to be cold, because I'm still sweaty and gross." Patrick handed me the jacket that had been over his right shoulder and I gratefully put it on.
"It's too big." He said, smiling.
"Not really." I waved my arms around and noticed my hands could not be seen. He was looking at me like I was an idiot. I am, so I didn't think anything of it. "I have short arms, okay?"
"Okay." He laughed, and looked down at the sidewalk.
"Where are we going?"
"We're going as far as we feel like walking, C.J."
"Well that seem like a very sensible idea, Patrick" I tried to mock him but I just sounded stupid.
"What does C.J. stand for?" I hated this question. Everyone always made fun of my stupid name that my mom was horrible to give me. I looked down at my Mary Jane's and answered quietly.
"Caroline Jane. My mom is very old fashioned, and thought it was a lovely name. Especially for New York. No, a name like that wouldn't give anyone ammunition to make fun of me or anything."
"Caroline. Can I call you that instead of C.J.?"
"Why would you want to? It's not a very pretty name."
"I think it gives me a better idea of who you are than C.J. Please? Can I call you that?" He had stopped walking and was making a terribly sad face.
"Call me whatever you want, bitch, just stop making that face." He laughed.
"No one has ever been to me the way you are. You're really not afraid of hurting my feelings."
"At this point in my life, I've learned no one takes me seriously, so I say whatever I want, because in the end, I'm probably joking, according to whomever I've said something vicious to. I don't walk on eggshells with my words anymore. That's just not me."
"I'm glad. You're real with me. You're real with all of us, but I think I appreciate it most."
"How do you know that?"
"I don't. I just want you to like me better than you like them." I laughed a lot. The guy talking to me tonight was a lot more relaxed then the guy I talked to the night before.
"Okay, well. I'll take a poll, and get back to you on how you rate compared to the others. Better work hard tonight to prove yourself to me. I mean it. I'm not easily convinced."
"What makes you so cynical?" That seriously came out of no where.
"What? I'm not."
"Alright. Then I'm not really Patrick. I'm Pete. Wasn't that a funny joke?"
"Alright, fine. I'm cynical. When I was little I had a stutter. I know that doesn't seem like a big deal, but I didn't lose it until 10th grade. I had friends and whatever, but I still took shit from people for talking weird. It's totally lame, but it really hurt my feelings. One day, I was walking down the hall at my school, and a guy threw a pencil at me. It hit me with the sharp end in the eye and I had to have surgery, which is why I wear glasses. I fell face first that day onto my nose, and I broke it, causing more than one surgery. It's a completely lame story and it's not as big as some problems that exist, but I really hate people. Human nature is what makes me this way. If you're not flawless, people throw stuff at you. I lived by that, and now every time someone snobs me off, I throw something at them. Because bitches especially, need to be shown." He laughed.
"What? It's not that funny."
"How much did you hate having stuff thrown at you?"
"A lot. It fucking sucked."
"Then why do you do it to other people?"
"Why do you shy away from human beings and cling to music that's only going to satisfy so much?" That was probably the worst idea I've ever had.
"Pete talked to you."
"Why would I listen to Pete. He tells me you're some guy you've never been, but honestly, how would I know that? This is the person I'm getting to know, and I don't have a problem with him at all. I admire this guy that I've been talking to for," I looked down at my watch. "2 and a half hours now. Patrick, I don't know who Pete is referring to when he talks about the old Patrick. I do know, however, that you make too much of music. People are going to be there to comfort you, and support you, and music comes and goes. It's like a mistress, I guess. Don't let it be yours." He didn't really say anything for awhile. I thought I had made him mad. Instead, he walked over to me, and hugged me.
"At least you tried." I didn't know what he meant by saying that, but I guessed then that his love for music was more of a psychological thing. Well, we'll see if we can't shake that. Anyway, we talked and walked for another hour or so, and on our way back, he decided it was an excellent idea to race.
"Patrick. We're not kids. Let's just walk or something."
"Race me, or we're not friends anymore."
"Let's just walk or something."
"Bitch. I'm going to count to three."
"I'm not going to run."
"Because you know I'll win."
"Oh, hell no. I'll school your ass, bitch." I said this as gangsta as possible.
"You're not that convincing. 1...2.....THREEE!"
And we were off. Kid gave me a run for my money, but honestly, I'm not that fast. Right as we were turning the corner, my ankle caught and I slipped landing on my head on the concrete, and twisting the shit out of my ankle. It felt great. Trust me.
"Shit! Caroline, are you okay? Oh my God." Patrick ran to where I was and picked me up. Apparently, I blacked out, because when I woke up, I told Patrick I liked his glasses, and proceeded to pass out, once again. Next thing I knew:
"She has a minor concussion, and a severely sprained ankle. Keep her in bed for awhile. Make sure she stays awake-"
"What the hell? I have stuff to do, I can't stay in bed." The Doctor just looked at me. Dirty started laughing. I looked around the hospital room and saw Pete and Andy standing there. Funny, considering the only time I'd seen Andy without his lovah was when he was playing. The Doctor just smiled and left, assuming, I'm sure, that the guys would fill me in.
"Where is Patrick?"
"Look down." Andy said, and I did. Sure enough, Patrick was on the right side of my bed, sleeping on the floor. I hit him on the back of his neck.
"Get up, asshole. This is your fault."
"Shut up. You could have walked or something." He started cracking up. He really must have thought he was the funniest guy in the world. A couple hours later, I was released, and now, here I am. Not allowed to sleep or walk or hang out with anyone due to one hell of a headache and a horribly pissy mood. More later, I'm tired of typing.
Greta is too cool to be 18. She's one of the most interesting and easy to talk to people probably ever. Well, concerning females, anyway. We had sandwiches while simultaneously watching Fall Out Boy goof around on stage. Sort of an interesting dinner, by the way. We didn't have a lot to talk about, but she seemed really interested in my work, and I was really interested in her writing. I told her it was very eloquent, and she begged to read something out of this journal, so I was kind enough to let her read through what I've got on here so far, while watching Fall Out Boy play. It was really a night of multi-tasking. She says I write with personality. I think it's better than being told I write like I'm illiterate or something. I've never been told that though, so that may actually feel great (kidding).
Anyway, we hung out for awhile after and I met Bob, Chris, and Darren, who were in the process of filming some sort of absurd documentary. Probably the funniest thing I've ever witnessed, but I throw that phrase around a lot. Everything I see here is the funniest thing I've ever seen. I promise it's possible. They're cool. They're kids who don't know what's happening to them, and they make music that's worth hearing. Go check it out, kids. I mean that.
After Fall out Boy is finished playing, there exists this chaotic hour where you're breaking your back to either sell stuff to sweaty kids, move equipment twice your size, or, in the guys' case, meet a bunch of girls who want to share a bed with you. Sometimes it lasts longer than an hour. It mostly just depends on how crazy the fans are, and how long they'll wait to meet their beloved band. Tonight, it lasted almost 3 hours, making it about 1 in the morning before I felt someone shaking my shoulder and heard Greta scream , due to having a cup of water poured on her head.
"Wake up, C.J., it's time to walk." I looked up to see Patrick Standing over me, smiling, and sweating.
"I can't walk, I'm too tired." I said. Or at least I think I said, because at this point, I was still half asleep and embarrassingly groggy.
"Then you won't, but you're still talking to me." Next thing I knew, I was being hoisted into the air, and tossed over his shoulder.
"If you don't put me down, I'll refuse to say a single word."
"If you don't say a single word, I'll never put you down."
"Well, then this just seems like a viciously pointless cycle, then doesn't it?" He laughed and set me down.
"You're funny."
"Hilarious. Let me tell you." We walked out of the bus and into the cold night. It was cold, and I was miserable, due to the fact that I had no jacket. I exhaled and saw my breath and shivered noticeably.
"Here. I don't care if I'm cold. I'd actually love to be cold, because I'm still sweaty and gross." Patrick handed me the jacket that had been over his right shoulder and I gratefully put it on.
"It's too big." He said, smiling.
"Not really." I waved my arms around and noticed my hands could not be seen. He was looking at me like I was an idiot. I am, so I didn't think anything of it. "I have short arms, okay?"
"Okay." He laughed, and looked down at the sidewalk.
"Where are we going?"
"We're going as far as we feel like walking, C.J."
"Well that seem like a very sensible idea, Patrick" I tried to mock him but I just sounded stupid.
"What does C.J. stand for?" I hated this question. Everyone always made fun of my stupid name that my mom was horrible to give me. I looked down at my Mary Jane's and answered quietly.
"Caroline Jane. My mom is very old fashioned, and thought it was a lovely name. Especially for New York. No, a name like that wouldn't give anyone ammunition to make fun of me or anything."
"Caroline. Can I call you that instead of C.J.?"
"Why would you want to? It's not a very pretty name."
"I think it gives me a better idea of who you are than C.J. Please? Can I call you that?" He had stopped walking and was making a terribly sad face.
"Call me whatever you want, bitch, just stop making that face." He laughed.
"No one has ever been to me the way you are. You're really not afraid of hurting my feelings."
"At this point in my life, I've learned no one takes me seriously, so I say whatever I want, because in the end, I'm probably joking, according to whomever I've said something vicious to. I don't walk on eggshells with my words anymore. That's just not me."
"I'm glad. You're real with me. You're real with all of us, but I think I appreciate it most."
"How do you know that?"
"I don't. I just want you to like me better than you like them." I laughed a lot. The guy talking to me tonight was a lot more relaxed then the guy I talked to the night before.
"Okay, well. I'll take a poll, and get back to you on how you rate compared to the others. Better work hard tonight to prove yourself to me. I mean it. I'm not easily convinced."
"What makes you so cynical?" That seriously came out of no where.
"What? I'm not."
"Alright. Then I'm not really Patrick. I'm Pete. Wasn't that a funny joke?"
"Alright, fine. I'm cynical. When I was little I had a stutter. I know that doesn't seem like a big deal, but I didn't lose it until 10th grade. I had friends and whatever, but I still took shit from people for talking weird. It's totally lame, but it really hurt my feelings. One day, I was walking down the hall at my school, and a guy threw a pencil at me. It hit me with the sharp end in the eye and I had to have surgery, which is why I wear glasses. I fell face first that day onto my nose, and I broke it, causing more than one surgery. It's a completely lame story and it's not as big as some problems that exist, but I really hate people. Human nature is what makes me this way. If you're not flawless, people throw stuff at you. I lived by that, and now every time someone snobs me off, I throw something at them. Because bitches especially, need to be shown." He laughed.
"What? It's not that funny."
"How much did you hate having stuff thrown at you?"
"A lot. It fucking sucked."
"Then why do you do it to other people?"
"Why do you shy away from human beings and cling to music that's only going to satisfy so much?" That was probably the worst idea I've ever had.
"Pete talked to you."
"Why would I listen to Pete. He tells me you're some guy you've never been, but honestly, how would I know that? This is the person I'm getting to know, and I don't have a problem with him at all. I admire this guy that I've been talking to for," I looked down at my watch. "2 and a half hours now. Patrick, I don't know who Pete is referring to when he talks about the old Patrick. I do know, however, that you make too much of music. People are going to be there to comfort you, and support you, and music comes and goes. It's like a mistress, I guess. Don't let it be yours." He didn't really say anything for awhile. I thought I had made him mad. Instead, he walked over to me, and hugged me.
"At least you tried." I didn't know what he meant by saying that, but I guessed then that his love for music was more of a psychological thing. Well, we'll see if we can't shake that. Anyway, we talked and walked for another hour or so, and on our way back, he decided it was an excellent idea to race.
"Patrick. We're not kids. Let's just walk or something."
"Race me, or we're not friends anymore."
"Let's just walk or something."
"Bitch. I'm going to count to three."
"I'm not going to run."
"Because you know I'll win."
"Oh, hell no. I'll school your ass, bitch." I said this as gangsta as possible.
"You're not that convincing. 1...2.....THREEE!"
And we were off. Kid gave me a run for my money, but honestly, I'm not that fast. Right as we were turning the corner, my ankle caught and I slipped landing on my head on the concrete, and twisting the shit out of my ankle. It felt great. Trust me.
"Shit! Caroline, are you okay? Oh my God." Patrick ran to where I was and picked me up. Apparently, I blacked out, because when I woke up, I told Patrick I liked his glasses, and proceeded to pass out, once again. Next thing I knew:
"She has a minor concussion, and a severely sprained ankle. Keep her in bed for awhile. Make sure she stays awake-"
"What the hell? I have stuff to do, I can't stay in bed." The Doctor just looked at me. Dirty started laughing. I looked around the hospital room and saw Pete and Andy standing there. Funny, considering the only time I'd seen Andy without his lovah was when he was playing. The Doctor just smiled and left, assuming, I'm sure, that the guys would fill me in.
"Where is Patrick?"
"Look down." Andy said, and I did. Sure enough, Patrick was on the right side of my bed, sleeping on the floor. I hit him on the back of his neck.
"Get up, asshole. This is your fault."
"Shut up. You could have walked or something." He started cracking up. He really must have thought he was the funniest guy in the world. A couple hours later, I was released, and now, here I am. Not allowed to sleep or walk or hang out with anyone due to one hell of a headache and a horribly pissy mood. More later, I'm tired of typing.
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