Post by Laci Valentine on May 11, 2020 21:14:36 GMT -5
OFF CAMERA
Apartment of Laci & Lucy
Romanticism. My least favourite word. And the problem is that it can be applied to virtually anything. Putting on a pair of rose coloured glasses and making things seem much more sensational than they really are. For this reason, I don’t talk about my past outside of inside my own head, like now.
While my opponent regales us with information about how she ran away from boarding school to tough it out on the streets I have so many questions. Like where the hell were her parents? And compared to life on the streets I think boarding school is pretty kush. Try going to public school when you’re the weird butch kid.
So I guess that segways into me. Why am I the way I am? Why do I have anxiety, why do I have school suspensions and a knowledge of fighting that can’t be learned in any gym? How do I know what it’s like to get up from the pile of shit and be a proverbial phoenix? Because I fucking did it. More times than I will ever admit outside of again... my own head.
See, I don’t want to use my past as a way to garner attention. I want my skills to do that. I want my truth to be what I’m known for, not that girl that was abused by an asshole step-father and watched her mother equally abused. The problem is, he’s a cop and no one would ever believe me so I stopped talking about it. I learned how to defend myself. I got into fights at school with other chicks that wanted to say things about the way I did things. I wasn’t into the same things they were and even now, with me somewhat more girly, I still don’t do things the way other people do. One thing I hate is being compared to others. Other rookies.
It pissed me off so much her saying “she’s a rookie, how does she know what it’s like to fail and get back up.” Did she miss the part where I have been in the independent circuit for a year? Guess so. Just further proof of what I was saying. And that’s the problem with a lot of people in this industry, they would rather look down their noses at girls like me because it’s easy. Easy to not read a bio at the very least.
But, well... not much I can do about all that except beat her ass. And you know, I don’t wish her bad either. That’s not my thing. It’s a shitty life she supposedly had and I don’t know the reasons for decisions. I only know what I would do in that situation because I only know me, know my reactions. I may not have lived like a hobo by choice but I certainly know what it feels like to have something to run from.
I bet you’re wondering why I don’t talk about this stuff in promos. Well, one, it’s nobody’s beeswax and secondly, I want to be recognized for skill, not my poor me story. It should be my actions that win me the attention. I have fought, both literally and figuratively for this.
And now, I was doing something I despised simply so that I could get something in return. I was going to some downtown nightclub to see my roommate DJ so that she’d give my wrestling show a decent chance. I had looked through my meager wardrobe to finally decided on a black tank top and black leggings. Lucy walks by and then backtracks, dramatically I might add because she doesn’t just turn around, she literally walks backward.
“Is that what you’re wearing?”
I look down at myself and then back up at her. “Yeah, why? What’s wrong with it?”
“Nothing, if you want to be the bride of Dracula.”
I roll my eyes. “She had black hair and long nails. Some black clothes don’t make me part of some cult.”
She sighs deeply. “At least let me do something with your hair.”
She comes in and starts messing around with my strawberry locks until finally deciding on pulling it half up and out of my face. “See, look at how pretty your neck is without hair everywhere.”
I roll my eyes at her through the mirror. “It’s not like it’s always down. I put it up for matches so bitches don't step on it. That hurts. I learned my lesson the first time.”
She stifled a laugh by biting her bottom lip.
“Well, you’ll look out of place but at least you don’t look like you want to burn the place down.”
This time she does laugh as she leaves. “I’m leaving in ten minutes so get your ass ready.”
Life was never going to be some bed of roses and no matter how much-romanticizing anyone did, I would always see the reality in things. I tried to be more analytical. At least, in my wrestling life. Inside I am freaking out about a large crowd of people and every possible bad situation is crawling through me. But I push forward. I want Lucy to see my show so it’s time to take a bullet for the team. I mean that figuratively of course. No need to give Miss Mad Woman any ideas. She’s already got a knife and a warrant out for my internal torment. If I do happen to lose, I wonder if she’ll get mad that I’m not crying over it. That’s almost interesting enough to throw the match just to see it but now it’s a matter of wanting to shut her up so she’s not going to be given anything. Certainly not an easy win, that's for sure
Apartment of Laci & Lucy
Romanticism. My least favourite word. And the problem is that it can be applied to virtually anything. Putting on a pair of rose coloured glasses and making things seem much more sensational than they really are. For this reason, I don’t talk about my past outside of inside my own head, like now.
While my opponent regales us with information about how she ran away from boarding school to tough it out on the streets I have so many questions. Like where the hell were her parents? And compared to life on the streets I think boarding school is pretty kush. Try going to public school when you’re the weird butch kid.
So I guess that segways into me. Why am I the way I am? Why do I have anxiety, why do I have school suspensions and a knowledge of fighting that can’t be learned in any gym? How do I know what it’s like to get up from the pile of shit and be a proverbial phoenix? Because I fucking did it. More times than I will ever admit outside of again... my own head.
See, I don’t want to use my past as a way to garner attention. I want my skills to do that. I want my truth to be what I’m known for, not that girl that was abused by an asshole step-father and watched her mother equally abused. The problem is, he’s a cop and no one would ever believe me so I stopped talking about it. I learned how to defend myself. I got into fights at school with other chicks that wanted to say things about the way I did things. I wasn’t into the same things they were and even now, with me somewhat more girly, I still don’t do things the way other people do. One thing I hate is being compared to others. Other rookies.
It pissed me off so much her saying “she’s a rookie, how does she know what it’s like to fail and get back up.” Did she miss the part where I have been in the independent circuit for a year? Guess so. Just further proof of what I was saying. And that’s the problem with a lot of people in this industry, they would rather look down their noses at girls like me because it’s easy. Easy to not read a bio at the very least.
But, well... not much I can do about all that except beat her ass. And you know, I don’t wish her bad either. That’s not my thing. It’s a shitty life she supposedly had and I don’t know the reasons for decisions. I only know what I would do in that situation because I only know me, know my reactions. I may not have lived like a hobo by choice but I certainly know what it feels like to have something to run from.
I bet you’re wondering why I don’t talk about this stuff in promos. Well, one, it’s nobody’s beeswax and secondly, I want to be recognized for skill, not my poor me story. It should be my actions that win me the attention. I have fought, both literally and figuratively for this.
And now, I was doing something I despised simply so that I could get something in return. I was going to some downtown nightclub to see my roommate DJ so that she’d give my wrestling show a decent chance. I had looked through my meager wardrobe to finally decided on a black tank top and black leggings. Lucy walks by and then backtracks, dramatically I might add because she doesn’t just turn around, she literally walks backward.
“Is that what you’re wearing?”
I look down at myself and then back up at her. “Yeah, why? What’s wrong with it?”
“Nothing, if you want to be the bride of Dracula.”
I roll my eyes. “She had black hair and long nails. Some black clothes don’t make me part of some cult.”
She sighs deeply. “At least let me do something with your hair.”
She comes in and starts messing around with my strawberry locks until finally deciding on pulling it half up and out of my face. “See, look at how pretty your neck is without hair everywhere.”
I roll my eyes at her through the mirror. “It’s not like it’s always down. I put it up for matches so bitches don't step on it. That hurts. I learned my lesson the first time.”
She stifled a laugh by biting her bottom lip.
“Well, you’ll look out of place but at least you don’t look like you want to burn the place down.”
This time she does laugh as she leaves. “I’m leaving in ten minutes so get your ass ready.”
Life was never going to be some bed of roses and no matter how much-romanticizing anyone did, I would always see the reality in things. I tried to be more analytical. At least, in my wrestling life. Inside I am freaking out about a large crowd of people and every possible bad situation is crawling through me. But I push forward. I want Lucy to see my show so it’s time to take a bullet for the team. I mean that figuratively of course. No need to give Miss Mad Woman any ideas. She’s already got a knife and a warrant out for my internal torment. If I do happen to lose, I wonder if she’ll get mad that I’m not crying over it. That’s almost interesting enough to throw the match just to see it but now it’s a matter of wanting to shut her up so she’s not going to be given anything. Certainly not an easy win, that's for sure