The very last thing that Christine Hill expected was the exponential success of Mötley Crüe-the band she loved to hate.
And she never would've surmised that she'd be dragged-kicking and fucking screaming, by the nape of her neck-along for the wilde...
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Warning(s): mentions of drug abuse and suicidal thoughts.
Nikki's Diary
June 7th, 1986. Van Nuys: 3:24 pm.
Currently, Mötley is spending each and every single fucking day in the goddamn studio, working our asses off to at least "try" to make a start on this stupid album.
I say 'stupid,' but I don't mean that. It's pretty good, definitely one of our strongest thus far, but it is fucking hard to make music when you really don't want to be there. Especially because you can't stand the sight of your drummer, his wife is clinging to his neck like a goddamn sloth to a branch, your singer is "clean" of everything besides alcohol and won't quit bitchin' about it, and your guitarist is hastily drinking himself into an early goddamn grave.
It. Is. Fucking. Agonizing.
However, despite all of that and the absolute ball-busters--Doc and our producer Tom--coming down on us for absolutely everything and making us do take after fucking take, I'd say that we're moving pretty swiftly towards completing a stellar album.
We've laid some tracks down, we've changed a couple of lyrics of old songs here and there, written a few more...we've all pulled our weight some way or another, and I think that we're all satisfied with how it's coming along.
And yes, there will be a subtle nod to my incredible estranged wife in a couple of these songs, 'You're All I Need,' in particular. 'Girls, Girls, Girls,' also with the line "red lips, fingertips," because everybody knew her for--besides being a slut--those crimson nails that complemented her pout incredibly.
Also, Tom is so confident that 'Girls' is going to be a hit, and he is adamant that we all need to consider using that as the name of the album. I'm pretty convinced, so is Vince, I don't know about Mick, and Tommy? Well, he's not even in California right now. He's taken a break and headed somewhere with his dearest Heather, and I can't say that I wasn't happy to see the back of them.
No Tommy means that concentration levels can boost, and more things can get done. As of right now, we're working on 'Wild Side'--the completely bastardized, tarnished, version of the actual Lord's Prayer that I got Christine's Catholic sister to send my way when she and I spoke on the phone just before Chris' little disappearing act.
I'm sure they'd both be absolutely over the moon when they hear what I've done with that.
But, no matter how happy I am with this album--the parts that I can remember anyway--I still don't feel content. I'm okay, just not satisfied. And I could be a little piss-baby and cry over my wife leaving me, but what the fuck is that going to do for me?
Today marks four weeks since she walked out, and I would be a goddamn liar if I said I hadn't thought about her every single day since. I'm dying to know what she's doing, how she's getting by--if she's getting by--and who she's with...I really need to know that she's with someone who's taking care of her because she hasn't been in the best headspace lately and she's just a fucking pro at making insanely rash decisions.
