The name of the tour is 777, but the name of the album is Unapologetic. And now all 200 journalists that are being flown across the world with Rihanna knows she means that shit; she’s not sorry at all. At this point, we have all reached new heights in our delirium.
I’m not quite sure why all the stellar journalists were invited on this trip, because I don’t think she wants us here honestly. The tour has been Ground Hog Day at best, the same ish everyday. Every night we only get 2 hours of sleep, barely edible food, but tons of booze, then rushed to our home on the bus, to sit and wait for the singer who has no intention of arriving until the afternoon.
Hurry up and wait is the running theme.
But with all of that, maybe the blow would be softer if we actually felt like we were getting some time with her – you know actually apart of something – not just “wicked band camp stories.” We all left people at home who were insanely jealous that we got the opportunity, “Why not me?” they cried. But now those tears are dry and replaced with laughter. And I can’t blame them, I am laughing at myself.
We haven’t even seen Rihanna since day one, when she won us over by pouring us champagne and joking around on the mic. Looking back now, that was the ultimate set up, to make us think this was going to be a trip of a lifetime.
Just a while ago, in the wee hours of the morning right before take off, we all had enough. The plane began to move and the chanting ensued, “Save our jobs. We need a headline. Just one quote.” It was crazy, but unity at its finest.
Still nothing from Rihanna – not a peep.
Shoot, she probably barely removed her sleep mask or kept sipping her Ace of Spades, as we all begged for her to save our jobs! My favorite part was the hot Aussie journalist Tim, who took off all his clothes. Although he only used one hand to cover his bits, I was thoroughly entertained. One would think that would be enough to get the “Rebel Flower” to say something, grab that the mic and talk dat talk, tell us to “shut up and go to bed,” something, anything. But nothing. Instead we received Cognac.
To be honest, if it wasn’t for the 3-hour waits on the tarmac while Rhianna shops for panties, I wouldn’t believe she was even on the plane.
It hasn’t been all bad. We have all bonded together – maybe out of sheer desperation – but regardless, these bonds will last forever, so don’t cry for me Argentina. And you know what else? There has been some hooking up on the tour, especially when you factor in there are Fans and Stans on the flight, which helps add to the comedy.
I myself have found my future husband, Jeff Rosenthal from Rolling Stone. He’s such an awesome writer and he’s Jewish. But after seeing him nail all of the Bad Gal RiRi choreography, I am pretty much ready to convert. Sure he thinks I’m a little nutty but hey, so is he and I love it!
Anyway, the London show will be starting shortly and to be honest, after this morning it’s shocking that we are all still invited. But of course, our girl RiRi will stick to the same script as she did with all the shows, so I doubt she will make mention of the plane straight up turning against her. But hey, it’s her world, and she’s the only girl in it! #Unapologetic
Photo credit: Kevin Mazur/Wire Image