Post by Deleted on Apr 23, 2015 23:03:59 GMT -6
When I was seven, my mom died.
I know, you're probably thinking, Whoop-de-fucking-do right?
I'm not telling you this to get sympathy, or to try to relate to anyone because I learned a long time ago that I'm a bit of an odd duck. I think differently than most people.
No, this is just a nearly twenty-two year old girl, (yes! G.I.R.L. because I refuse to grow up completely) who wants to tell her story. Who wants to tell people why she chose to become a professional wrestler out of all the professions in the world. Why I believe that given time, I will prove myself worthy to be a star within the ranks of NEW, the wrestling community even. It starts nearly twenty-two years ago, but what fun would it be to tell this story in chronological order?
THAT'S just boring....
***
...Flashback time...
...Flashback time...
"Kaycee baby..." I remember being shook awake. The beautiful blue eyes of my mother are what I remember the most. Ask me anything else about her and I'll always tell you her eyes could make anybody smile. Like now, even in my half comatose stage. Underneath me was a magazine. Questionable reading material for a girl barely seven. I couldn't read the June 2001 issue of Cosmo if I wanted to, but I admired the pictures of beautiful perfect women and dreamed one day of being one of them. Oh how wrong that dream had been, but that's another story. One where I realized that 5'2 was going to be my complete adult height, but I digress.
She kneels down in front of me. Her eye make-up was heavy and dark. I learned pretty quickly that when you danced a pole, you had to wear it like a second skin. Most the guys that came into the club were not there to see any imperfections. If you so much as had a tiny blackhead you risked losing your spot for the night. So it was from that I learned to important rules:
Get a good cleanser
And
Only buy quality
She gives me a smile, but quickly she's biting her lip. A habit I would inadvertently pick up myself in my later years when something bothered me. "Cee-cee, mama's gotta do something tonight, so Lacey is going to take you home with her. I'll be there in the morning, I promise. I will make you waffles, just like you love."
(This also led to an obsession with waffles)
"Okay Mama." I had gone home with Lacey, a woman pushing forty and still looked thirty. She'd been doing this for fifteen years. She rarely did anything but a few private dances anymore. Unfortunately Mama did what she had to, to keep us with a roof over our head and food in the fridge.
Lacey picked up my backpack and tossed it over one shoulder, smiling at me with tobacco stained teeth. Despite her halitosis though... She really was a nice woman. My mother gave me a hug, squeezing tightly. "I love you baby. I want you to remember that I always wanted you, from the moment I found out I was having you."
"I love you too mama."
And those... Were the last words my mother and I ever spoke to each other. I had woken the next morning to Lacey sobbing into her phone. "But Candy wasn't that stupid...."
My mother's stage name perked up my ears. I watched the back of the older woman's head from the hallway. A long billow of smoke rose in front of her as she chain smoked. "What do I do about the kid?"
I never had a name with the girls. I was always 'The kid'. It started out as something the owner called me. Thinking my arrival would ruin the figure of one of his best girls, but eventually I became something of a mascot. I also saw my fair share of naked boobies. Enough that I can honestly say I am no where close to Lesbian tendencies.
"Right. This is going to devastate her, she loved her mum ya know?"
Lacey had given me the "PG" version. My mom had an accident, choked and died in some clients bathroom. When I got older... Well I learned the truth. The funeral happened quickly and on that day I met my straight laced militant grandmother who had disowned my mother for her wild ways. She hadn't even known I existed before then.
I lived with her after that, but her strict rules and religious propaganda only served to push me out much the same way it had my mother, only I chose a set of ropes instead of a pole.
I fell in love with wrestling the moment I saw it, flipping through channels out of boredom some five years ago. It was then I saw a man that inspired me to do this. That man was Eric James.
I waited. Watched. Followed. Like any little fan girl should do and the moment I got to meet him in person I begged him for a chance to show him what I had absorbed. What I had learned by playing with boys in the neighbourhood on backyard trampolines.
Eventually I'd impress him enough to take me on, but it took months. Excuses as to why I couldn't hack it only made me more determined to get better and when I returned, having nearly perfected the move he criticized he'd find another until there were none left to critique.
A year later here I stand, having learned all I can from my mentor. Ready to take on the world and do to this roster exactly what I did to Eric.
EARN THEIR RESPECT!
***
...Here's that promo part you know you love...
R.E.S.P.E.C.T
Seven letters. Who knew seven letters could mean so much.
One thing people should know about me is that I'm not like other newbs. I don't walk in here with an ego. I don't expect people I don't know to be giving me props and expressing adoration for my skills. I don't expect anyone to know my name and most of all, I don't expect my two opponents to respect me.
What I do expect is to have them judge me. I expect them to reprimand me for being a rookie. To pick at my history. To call me derogatory names.
I expect them to underestimate me because that's what people do in this business
Maybe it's too much of an old school mentality to respect someone's skill in a ring. I don't however respect anybody fully until they prove to me they deserve it.
Confused?
Let me explain. There is a difference between respecting someone and respecting skills. You see I respect anyone that has gotten the nerve to lace up a pair of boots and get in a ring because lets face it, this shit takes guts. The faint of heart need not apply here. I also respect the fact that everyone has taken time to learn and perfect these moves to precision. Who have honed their strengths to work in their favour whether that's speed, strength, ring intelligence etc, etc. But, that doesn't mean that they automatically get my respect as a person.
That is a whole other kettle of fish. You see, I totally believe in benefit of doubt meaning that I make my assessment based on their individual actions. You could be a maverick in the ring but you kill baby kittens in your spare time, pretty sure we're going to have issues.
So needless to say there are a lot of people that have my respect as a competitor but do not have it has a person. Whether they care about this information matters not to me.
I know they try to teach us in school not to let the opinions of others bother us but everyone knows that's a big crock of shit. No one is immune to the scrutiny of others, just some are stronger than others. I have already had the 'pleasure' of what appears to be a ritualistic 'initiation' earlier this week just for simply having an opinion. I think I'm safe to assume it won't be the first time either in what should be a long and lucrative career in professional wrestling. I, as TSwift so elegantly put it... (just) Shake it Off...
My career begins with a triple threat. Jane Crowe & 'the dream'.
For Jane I originally thought woman. I mean how often is Jane thought of as a unisex name right? Sadly I was mistaken. Not only is Jane a man, but a very big man indeed. 6'7, 295lbs to be exact. That's a whole lotta human right there.
Am I intimidated? Well ya sure. He towers over little ole me who -by the way- doesn't even meet the average height for an american female. But does this mean I am going to let it beat me?
Heck no.
You see, the absence of fear does not make you invincible. In fact, Nelson Mandela said that Courage is not the absence of fear but the triumph over it. The Brave man is not he who does not feel afraid, but he who conquers that fear. So regardless of his size, or his obvious strength advantage I will conquer my fear of losing. Nor is his violent past involving disobeying the law or the fact that he was the only cult member not to drink the Kool-aid going to dissuade me from putting everything I have into this match. Sometimes its the unmeasurable skills that are the ones that truly matter. I am not someone that gives up so easily. I am also a true child of this sport. Thirsty to prove my worth. It would make no difference if he was Goliath. I am David and my shot is steady.
Now this other dude... He goes by one of those gimmicky names and wears a mask. Personally, I don't like either. Having a nickname is one thing. Like if he was John 'The Dream' Bananahammock I could totally be on board for that, but to me a gimmicky name is like taking away your identity and he does a double whammy by covering up what I'm sure is a lovely face, maybe even more people besides his mother would like it too.
As much as anybody tries to deny it we're all here to be famous. To get recognized by that kid at Pizza Hut while chowing down on stuffed crust and effectively signing his Ninja Turtle Shirt. (I personally would sign near Raphael) so to put on a mask to me, its almost like saying 'hey I don't want massive amounts of fame for being exceptionally awesome in a squared circle'
No offence to anybody who wants to do the whole, 'private life' thing. It's just really not my cup of tea. I like the fact that one day, I will have people shout my name and know who I am.
Gotta say though, I like the way he rolls. How can you not? I mean the guy uses humour to bring down the defences of his opponents. It can be effective. Especially against women who statistically speaking will have a higher attraction to a man who can make them laugh. That being said, also bring down those walls in a match against one.
Fortunately for me, I am immune to such tactics and I really am not just blowing smoke up your ass either. As someone who uses humour, its powers protect me from it being used against me. I mean in a match that had quite a few women, not only did you not get yourself a sweet silver briefcase but you also got 'knocked the fuck out' pardon my French of course. Humour didn't help you there.
So while I do appreciate both of you for your skills, don't take it personal if I do not have much faith in your ability to overcome the odds. Mainly me.
Like I said, I am not saying I'm the best in NEW. Not saying I'm the best on Ignite but I will tell you I'm pretty confident I will be the best outta three here and that's simply a numbers game. You both lost your last matches. MR Jane there got easily distracted by the Mrs. Robinson of NEW. Being easily distracted does not bode well for you, my gender confused comrade. I may be only debuting but I have the tactical advantage of not coming off a loss. I have all the momentum and I am definitely going to use that to my advantage.
***
All in all I'd say that I had it pretty good.
I look over at Clinton. He's exhausted from all the driving we had done. Lounging on the sofa of our shared Boston apartment. It would probably be one of the last times we could do this road-trip thing together. It was bitter-sweet.
I knew that once I 'graduated' it was going to be difficult. Especially when I told him that for the sake of our relationship it was better to work for separate companies.
"What's up babe?" I ask when I notice his frown. He looks up at me with those sad puppy dog eyes.
"Nothing..."
I roll my eyes at him and then mute the television. "We've been home only a few hours and you've hardly said two words to me. And don't give me that crap about being tired."
He shakes his head, "Your match... Those guys are both pretty big..."
I smile. "So what. You don't need to worry. Size isn't everything." I chuckle and although he blushes slightly getting my double meaning he chuckles with me.
I hug him close. "They both lost their last matches. I have all the momentum in the world going for me, plus I have confidence. I'd say don't worry but that will be wasting my breath wouldn't it?"
He smirks, nodding his head in agreement.
"There is absolutely nothing to worry about. I'm confident in what I was taught."
He half smiles but I know he's never going to stop worrying. "That's what worries me."
I knew exactly what he meant, because just like my teacher... I knew the value of what a win meant. Especially in a debut match. I was going to do whatever it took to reach the top.