Post by Alysson Gardner on Jun 14, 2012 10:56:30 GMT -6
Living with Spike is always a surprise. Now that we're almost married - I mean, we ARE on our way to do that, aren't we? -, all kinds of things have been happening. I've become the mother of his infant son, and the little rascal even calls me "mama" already. And we get all kinds of visit. Most of them are for Spike...
... even when they actually are for me.
Freya: I guess he's finally found his match.
Freya, my sister-in-law to be, mentions the one person playing games with Spike... My niece, Gladdy Ragnal-Gardner. Poison - her online nickname or something like that - is a gaming nut, and apparently likes to give gamer boys a hard time on first-person-shooters in her free time. Michael seems to be entirely absorbed by the game (boys...), as I chat with my two "sisters" in Freya and Linda.
Freya: If you were as much a gamer as Gladdy is, Mike would be head over heels for you.
Alysson: Eh... I thought he already was? I mean, he wouldn't leave me behind for a video game, would he?
Freya and Linda look at one another cryptically. I"m afraid to ask what's up.
Linda: ANYWAY! You two got any plans for the big wedding already?
Alysson: Ah, it's not going to be anything huge. Just a couple of friends.
Freya suddenly puts her hand on my forehead.
Freya: You feeling sick? "Not anything huge"? I thought YOU were the rock star of the family.
Alysson: Hey! I don't NEED to be loud and show off all the time, okay? There are a couple of things I like to keep low profile. You more than anyone know that I didn't tell anyone from work about our marriage; Mike did.
Freya: True. He's like in cloud nine with all this. Never seen my brother so happy.
I catch myself looking at the big dork that is my fiancée and sighing happily. That boy is my life too.
Alysson: I'm happy too. There's nothing I'd like more than be part of his life. That boy has been damaged enough.
A moment of reflection goes by, as Linda "awwww"s and Freya just nods, acknowledging me. That, before she blurts out...
Freya: I have an idea! We should go shopping for some lingerie!
Alysson and Linda: ... lingerie?
Freya: Yeah! I mean, you guys are going to go on honeymoon, aren't you?
I spend the next couple of seconds processing the information... and then I blush like a pepper, as Linda huffs cutely.
Linda: Freya! Why is your mind always in the gutter?!
Freya: What now?! I'm serious! They need something to heat up, you know! With the body Aly has, Mike would go up them walls if she put on some hot lingerie. Like a sexy corset or, I don't know. Aly, do you use bras?
Alysson: OF COURSE I DO! How do you think I'm supposed to keep these two in place?!
My turn to blurt out, as I'm REDDER than a pepper. Freya just grins.
Freya: Do you know what else do you need? A bachelorette party.
Now Linda springs up on her seat like the ice cream truck is coming.
Linda: Now THAT is something I can totally support. I'm all for a girls' night out.
Freya: With sexy dudes dancing for us and drinks--
Alysson and Linda: NO.
Freya: ... just the drinks?
Alysson: Double no! I'm straight-edge, remember?
Freya: Boo. You guys're no fun.
Linda: All the three of us have our men, and they'd kill us if we did something like that.
I smirk. I can't resist poking fun at my own brother.
Alysson: I know Dexter and Michael would, but I don't know about Christian...
Linda: Hey!
As Linda and I start girl-fighting - in other words, giving one another slaps to the arm in protest -, suddenly, Mike shouts in happiness.
Spike: TAKE THAT!!! I win! Who's your daddy now, huh?!
Gladdy: We're two for two! Best of seven!
Spike: It's on like Donkey bloody Kong!
And the two children start playing again. And again, I catch myself sighing at Spike. Maybe I was made to be his girl.
Reborn is upon us, and I guess we're in the eminence of another speech full of bravado from the #1 contender for the Women's Championship, telling the world how she fought for her chance to be here, how she has a clean win over me, how I'm a big badass bitch and she is more suitable to be the top woman of this division and I'm not. Save your saliva, Amy. We've all heard it before, numerous times; and believe me, of all people that are going to have to sit through your nonsense, I'm the one with the most time to lose by listening to your yapping.
Because believe me... I was there in every single of your moments.
I was there when you were a young hopeful in Ring of Beauty, that punk rock girl with the blue and pink straks in her hair, that sported the 3 X's in her name and wasn't afraid of anything. The one young breakout girl to whom I gave up the moniker of "Punk Princess" to. The one that I hoped that one day would be better than me, and, who knows?, be the next Alysson Gardner, after I reached my prime and then hit the descent button. I was there to fight you in that show that never happened, when one bitch Destiny Campbell launched the mutinous attack that led to RoB's bankruptcy; I was there seeing your face, not of despair, but of confusion, as many of the girls didn't even know what happened, and the next thing we all know is that Destiny Campbell broke Aly Gardner's arm with a fire extinguisher, while you followed safely to a new venture.
Fast forward to NCW. I was there when you got the Women's Championship off one of the most useless human beings in this circuit; I was there when you defended it by hitting that same woman on the c**t to run away with your championship; and I was there when you lost it to the very same woman. That makes you as good a champion as Ashlie Stevens... I hope you're proud of yourself.
Somewhere in the limbo of the forgotten, Patricia is nodding at you.
And what have you done since then? You cried, cried and cried. You kept blabbering about how you wanted a title shot, how all other people were getting their opportunities when in fact YOU had your chance to be a decent champion and you WASTED it by putting your hands on your sister's kitty in front of the whole world to see. Was that what you envisioned for your run as a champion, Amy - someone who would be known for failing to get the job done? Someone who took the easy way out of a match? You felt it on your own skin... This just plain doesn't work.
I don't take shortcuts. This is not a sport for the faint of heart or for those who aren't willing to work. You see, while you were struggling to convince people that you deserved a shot at Kelly Fox and then at Ashlie, I came back from an injury before I was scheduled to, and I focused myself in doing EXACTLY what I said I was going to do since day one: I stood up against the bull**** in this company, and went straight to the head of the movement of the empty-headed barbies, waving the flag of a different kind of female wrestlers, a kind I was willing SO HARD to believe you were a specimen of.
I was getting ready to believe you were the one woman to stand by my side once the war against the eye-candy flip-flapping Barbies got ugly. But then again, I thought you were the one that said you had become a different woman. And you showed that, by breaking Rose Acantha's arm and putting Ms. That's-Not-My-Name in her place. But even then, you felt bad for something I would have done again, and worse if I had the chance. Hell, I almost broke my own best friend Ayla St. James' teeth for breaking out a chair... Imagine what I wouldn't have done to Rosie. Because THAT, Amy, was a work of art, something that I can admire. And even more admirable was the fact that Rose CAME BACK from that after a while, and FOUGHT.
Oh, boy! That thing between you and her had me getting WET.
And when I saw you breaking Rose's face with your knees, again I thought, "hey, that girl's gonna be on my side when s*** gets ugly!" But then, all it took was ONE night. A lucky win over me, in a night when... Whatever, maybe I didn't have my instinct check, maybe it was my ego, screw it. It only took ONE MATCH. And then a rotten, spoiled Amy Marshall flourished. A persona of Amy Marshall that chimed in at every chance asking for a title shot. A persona of Amy Marshall that cried and stomped her feet while she couldn't get it. After all, hell, you got a win over the champion! Why hold a tournament or something that makes people deserving of it when you can just be a spoiled brat?
In a nutshell... It only took one night for you to go back to your old spoiled, rotten, primadonna, demanding childish self.
And here's the ultimate proof of the perfect laps the world gives around itself: the difference here, Amy, is that summer took 9 months to come back. You... From the day you claimed to be a different woman, a badass, someone who took no BS, to reverting back to your old retarded self... How much time did it take? One, two months? That's what separates a commoner from a warrior: constancy. Warriors are not willing to give up, to cheat. There's a reason I specialized in hardcore and no-disqualifications, Amy: it's because I like to have the freedom of hitting people like you in the face with a weapon for everybody to see. I don't ambush people to make a point; I confront them. And I don't provoke "accidents"...
"Accidents" don't happen, love.
Tragedies happen.
But I'm in a generous mood today, so I'll humour you. If you want an apology, I'm sorry for defending what's rightfully mine. I'm sorry for being a fighting champion, something you were not. I'm sorry for knocking you down with that steel chair when I actually could knock you out cold into next year just for the fun of it. And most importantly... I'm sorry for being better than you in every single sense possible. You can call me "faker than a rubber d**k"... My match record says otherwise.
I just hope you're not too cocky after your last three wins over me... Given I wasn't even involved in the direct result of the last two. You can go ahead and pin as many of my tag team, uh, "partners" as you may want... I'm not a team player. And I'm glad the wait is over. Because the one match we had a month ago, Amy, that was not the one that had been three years in the making. THIS is the one. No teams, no crap... Only you, I, and the will to be the best, and be the face of a dying division. And just like I did to the others that came before you, trying to act all pretty and smartass around me... I'm going to break you like the hollowed doll you are. And this time, Kelly won't be there to help you get an easy win - because, let's be honest, she has more important things to do than worry about babysitting crybabies like you in a match... There won't gonna be nobody to help you when I
ROCK YOUR WORLD
and send you crying back to Jersey shore where you shouldn't have ever left in the first place.
... even when they actually are for me.
Freya: I guess he's finally found his match.
Freya, my sister-in-law to be, mentions the one person playing games with Spike... My niece, Gladdy Ragnal-Gardner. Poison - her online nickname or something like that - is a gaming nut, and apparently likes to give gamer boys a hard time on first-person-shooters in her free time. Michael seems to be entirely absorbed by the game (boys...), as I chat with my two "sisters" in Freya and Linda.
Freya: If you were as much a gamer as Gladdy is, Mike would be head over heels for you.
Alysson: Eh... I thought he already was? I mean, he wouldn't leave me behind for a video game, would he?
Freya and Linda look at one another cryptically. I"m afraid to ask what's up.
Linda: ANYWAY! You two got any plans for the big wedding already?
Alysson: Ah, it's not going to be anything huge. Just a couple of friends.
Freya suddenly puts her hand on my forehead.
Freya: You feeling sick? "Not anything huge"? I thought YOU were the rock star of the family.
Alysson: Hey! I don't NEED to be loud and show off all the time, okay? There are a couple of things I like to keep low profile. You more than anyone know that I didn't tell anyone from work about our marriage; Mike did.
Freya: True. He's like in cloud nine with all this. Never seen my brother so happy.
I catch myself looking at the big dork that is my fiancée and sighing happily. That boy is my life too.
Alysson: I'm happy too. There's nothing I'd like more than be part of his life. That boy has been damaged enough.
A moment of reflection goes by, as Linda "awwww"s and Freya just nods, acknowledging me. That, before she blurts out...
Freya: I have an idea! We should go shopping for some lingerie!
Alysson and Linda: ... lingerie?
Freya: Yeah! I mean, you guys are going to go on honeymoon, aren't you?
I spend the next couple of seconds processing the information... and then I blush like a pepper, as Linda huffs cutely.
Linda: Freya! Why is your mind always in the gutter?!
Freya: What now?! I'm serious! They need something to heat up, you know! With the body Aly has, Mike would go up them walls if she put on some hot lingerie. Like a sexy corset or, I don't know. Aly, do you use bras?
Alysson: OF COURSE I DO! How do you think I'm supposed to keep these two in place?!
My turn to blurt out, as I'm REDDER than a pepper. Freya just grins.
Freya: Do you know what else do you need? A bachelorette party.
Now Linda springs up on her seat like the ice cream truck is coming.
Linda: Now THAT is something I can totally support. I'm all for a girls' night out.
Freya: With sexy dudes dancing for us and drinks--
Alysson and Linda: NO.
Freya: ... just the drinks?
Alysson: Double no! I'm straight-edge, remember?
Freya: Boo. You guys're no fun.
Linda: All the three of us have our men, and they'd kill us if we did something like that.
I smirk. I can't resist poking fun at my own brother.
Alysson: I know Dexter and Michael would, but I don't know about Christian...
Linda: Hey!
As Linda and I start girl-fighting - in other words, giving one another slaps to the arm in protest -, suddenly, Mike shouts in happiness.
Spike: TAKE THAT!!! I win! Who's your daddy now, huh?!
Gladdy: We're two for two! Best of seven!
Spike: It's on like Donkey bloody Kong!
And the two children start playing again. And again, I catch myself sighing at Spike. Maybe I was made to be his girl.
Reborn is upon us, and I guess we're in the eminence of another speech full of bravado from the #1 contender for the Women's Championship, telling the world how she fought for her chance to be here, how she has a clean win over me, how I'm a big badass bitch and she is more suitable to be the top woman of this division and I'm not. Save your saliva, Amy. We've all heard it before, numerous times; and believe me, of all people that are going to have to sit through your nonsense, I'm the one with the most time to lose by listening to your yapping.
Because believe me... I was there in every single of your moments.
I was there when you were a young hopeful in Ring of Beauty, that punk rock girl with the blue and pink straks in her hair, that sported the 3 X's in her name and wasn't afraid of anything. The one young breakout girl to whom I gave up the moniker of "Punk Princess" to. The one that I hoped that one day would be better than me, and, who knows?, be the next Alysson Gardner, after I reached my prime and then hit the descent button. I was there to fight you in that show that never happened, when one bitch Destiny Campbell launched the mutinous attack that led to RoB's bankruptcy; I was there seeing your face, not of despair, but of confusion, as many of the girls didn't even know what happened, and the next thing we all know is that Destiny Campbell broke Aly Gardner's arm with a fire extinguisher, while you followed safely to a new venture.
Fast forward to NCW. I was there when you got the Women's Championship off one of the most useless human beings in this circuit; I was there when you defended it by hitting that same woman on the c**t to run away with your championship; and I was there when you lost it to the very same woman. That makes you as good a champion as Ashlie Stevens... I hope you're proud of yourself.
Somewhere in the limbo of the forgotten, Patricia is nodding at you.
And what have you done since then? You cried, cried and cried. You kept blabbering about how you wanted a title shot, how all other people were getting their opportunities when in fact YOU had your chance to be a decent champion and you WASTED it by putting your hands on your sister's kitty in front of the whole world to see. Was that what you envisioned for your run as a champion, Amy - someone who would be known for failing to get the job done? Someone who took the easy way out of a match? You felt it on your own skin... This just plain doesn't work.
I don't take shortcuts. This is not a sport for the faint of heart or for those who aren't willing to work. You see, while you were struggling to convince people that you deserved a shot at Kelly Fox and then at Ashlie, I came back from an injury before I was scheduled to, and I focused myself in doing EXACTLY what I said I was going to do since day one: I stood up against the bull**** in this company, and went straight to the head of the movement of the empty-headed barbies, waving the flag of a different kind of female wrestlers, a kind I was willing SO HARD to believe you were a specimen of.
I was getting ready to believe you were the one woman to stand by my side once the war against the eye-candy flip-flapping Barbies got ugly. But then again, I thought you were the one that said you had become a different woman. And you showed that, by breaking Rose Acantha's arm and putting Ms. That's-Not-My-Name in her place. But even then, you felt bad for something I would have done again, and worse if I had the chance. Hell, I almost broke my own best friend Ayla St. James' teeth for breaking out a chair... Imagine what I wouldn't have done to Rosie. Because THAT, Amy, was a work of art, something that I can admire. And even more admirable was the fact that Rose CAME BACK from that after a while, and FOUGHT.
Oh, boy! That thing between you and her had me getting WET.
And when I saw you breaking Rose's face with your knees, again I thought, "hey, that girl's gonna be on my side when s*** gets ugly!" But then, all it took was ONE night. A lucky win over me, in a night when... Whatever, maybe I didn't have my instinct check, maybe it was my ego, screw it. It only took ONE MATCH. And then a rotten, spoiled Amy Marshall flourished. A persona of Amy Marshall that chimed in at every chance asking for a title shot. A persona of Amy Marshall that cried and stomped her feet while she couldn't get it. After all, hell, you got a win over the champion! Why hold a tournament or something that makes people deserving of it when you can just be a spoiled brat?
In a nutshell... It only took one night for you to go back to your old spoiled, rotten, primadonna, demanding childish self.
And here's the ultimate proof of the perfect laps the world gives around itself: the difference here, Amy, is that summer took 9 months to come back. You... From the day you claimed to be a different woman, a badass, someone who took no BS, to reverting back to your old retarded self... How much time did it take? One, two months? That's what separates a commoner from a warrior: constancy. Warriors are not willing to give up, to cheat. There's a reason I specialized in hardcore and no-disqualifications, Amy: it's because I like to have the freedom of hitting people like you in the face with a weapon for everybody to see. I don't ambush people to make a point; I confront them. And I don't provoke "accidents"...
"Accidents" don't happen, love.
Tragedies happen.
But I'm in a generous mood today, so I'll humour you. If you want an apology, I'm sorry for defending what's rightfully mine. I'm sorry for being a fighting champion, something you were not. I'm sorry for knocking you down with that steel chair when I actually could knock you out cold into next year just for the fun of it. And most importantly... I'm sorry for being better than you in every single sense possible. You can call me "faker than a rubber d**k"... My match record says otherwise.
I just hope you're not too cocky after your last three wins over me... Given I wasn't even involved in the direct result of the last two. You can go ahead and pin as many of my tag team, uh, "partners" as you may want... I'm not a team player. And I'm glad the wait is over. Because the one match we had a month ago, Amy, that was not the one that had been three years in the making. THIS is the one. No teams, no crap... Only you, I, and the will to be the best, and be the face of a dying division. And just like I did to the others that came before you, trying to act all pretty and smartass around me... I'm going to break you like the hollowed doll you are. And this time, Kelly won't be there to help you get an easy win - because, let's be honest, she has more important things to do than worry about babysitting crybabies like you in a match... There won't gonna be nobody to help you when I
ROCK YOUR WORLD
and send you crying back to Jersey shore where you shouldn't have ever left in the first place.
