Post by Angelica James on Feb 2, 2011 6:40:39 GMT -5
I've been gaining weight latey. It's not overly bad - I've always been a skinny little shit - but it's also not very good, especially with a career that depends so much on fitness and looks. I swallowed my pride and got checked out, and found out that the root of the weight gain is caused by one of the medications I use to help me sleep. As a result, I've got to cut that particular medication out of my daily rituals... and it's hardly been pleasant.
Case in point, the other day: I was at a hotel, doing shitty
champion radio spots and what not, and I had my new 'agent' - the PWE's agent, that is - following me around like a puppy most of the day... at least, until he scheduled me for something I didn't want to do. After being attached to my leg all morning, he mysteriously disappeared - leaving me with a photographer, makeup artists and a bikini.
Chapter 1.0. (This Life)
''Where is that little fuckstick? I'm gonna slap the shit outta him...''
''I think killing your PR guy might be bad PR.''
''My mom's gonna see this!''
''Sorry honey, but you don't strike me as the type who's been worried about what mommy-dearest might see or think.''
This had been going on for a few minutes. She'd entered a photoshoot and gone through the makeup process, which she loathed but always worked through, and then been told to wear... well... not very much.
Angie frowned at the photographer, who was pushing at least a hundred cliches by wearing a beret and munching on a croissant, ''Well, Danny's asleep upstairs. You want me to call him down to check out what his wife's gonna show the world?''
''I'm just doing my job,'' he answered, ''I don't know if anyone told you, but 'Underpaid Photographer' trumps 'Angry Husband' every time. Now... wardrobe sent that, and that means you're supposed to wear it.''
''I wouldn't be caught dead in that.''
The pompous photographer chuckled and interrupted her, ''Then you can make me some extra commission and go nude. It's your choice. A year ago, I 'wouldn't be caught dead' taking pictures of a bunch of redneck wrasslers, but money makes us do strange things.''
Angie was hell-bent on arguing her way out of it. Her lip started to curl in anger as she slowly began to realize that this wasn't a good week to cut back on medications.
She balled a fist, ''I'm not doing it.''
''I don't think there's much choice in it for you,'' he grinned, happy that someone was as miserable as he was, ''And it's not like the bikini would show anything that your last big beef didn't already. What was his name again? Alex, was it?''
He sat back, thinking he'd just had the privilege of playing the trump card in the game -- but this guy hadn't been around Angelica James ever before, and had no idea what he'd just gotten himself into.
''You know what, you pitiful, artsy-wannabe piece of 'wish I was as French as you' garbage? You can't spell 'croissant' without ass backwards.''
''And you can't spell 'bitch' without... well, without 'bitch'.'' he replied.
As she began her exit, Angie's temper rose with the pressure in her hand - gripping a fist white-knuckle tight by the time she got to the door. The photographer, for his part, began a verbal barrage of 'loser' remarks aimed with a sniper for the redhead.
Chapter 1.0.1. (My New Moves)
''God damn this medication bullshit!''
An angry woman roared her way back into her house after a near week-long absence. With bags in tow, she immediately went into her bedroom - where Danny was just making the bed in anticipation of her sleepy arrival.
''I haven't slept in three days,'' she groaned, ''And I missed you.''
She sighed, ''And... and God, I hate that new agent.''
''I didn't expect you to love a walking penis who never shuts up,'' Danny smiled as he wrapped his arms around her, ''Welcome home.''
''This 'career cleanup' stuff is insane,'' Again, she sighed, ''I'm already sick of it. Your back is screwed up again, my entire body hurts, I've gotta face two guys who... just... ugh. I can't tell what side they're on. Everything's a mess.''
As expected, Danny Matthews provided her with a soft place to land. He rested his chin on her head, ''You're just not used to not having this one, huge enemy. I'm sure someone will come up with something to piss you off enough, your motivation can't be too far away. Wade your way through the bullshit for now - 'cause I see you with that title, and I couldn't be more proud of you. I can tell that you're proud of yourself, too.''
''You always come home after being away and say that everything's a mess,'' he said, ''You need to take a couple of days to unwind after everything you've been through in the past couple of months. Face it, Angie... you feed on hating people and, right now, you don't have enough reasons to hate Roshan Nocturne. But I guarantee when Solitary rolls around, you'll have come up with a few.''
''You might be right.''
Danny smiled, ''I know I'm right. And I know that you need to get some sleep, 'cause - no offense - you look like death warmed over. Is getting off the Seroquel that bad?''
''I don't know... it's been such a wild week, I haven't had a chance to sit down and think about how I'm feeling or acting. That new guy - whatshisface - has been doing the thinking for me, I guess.''
''Maybe that'll be a good thing once you're used to it,'' he replied, ''For once, you came home and didn't have to start doing a bunch of paperwork. You came in the door and now, not five minutes later, you can go to bed.''
She hadn't thought of it that way.
Does playing the game REALLY have perks, or is she just getting blinded by the job security of holding a championship belt?
Case in point, the other day: I was at a hotel, doing shitty
champion radio spots and what not, and I had my new 'agent' - the PWE's agent, that is - following me around like a puppy most of the day... at least, until he scheduled me for something I didn't want to do. After being attached to my leg all morning, he mysteriously disappeared - leaving me with a photographer, makeup artists and a bikini.
Chapter 1.0. (This Life)
''Where is that little fuckstick? I'm gonna slap the shit outta him...''
''I think killing your PR guy might be bad PR.''
''My mom's gonna see this!''
''Sorry honey, but you don't strike me as the type who's been worried about what mommy-dearest might see or think.''
This had been going on for a few minutes. She'd entered a photoshoot and gone through the makeup process, which she loathed but always worked through, and then been told to wear... well... not very much.
Angie frowned at the photographer, who was pushing at least a hundred cliches by wearing a beret and munching on a croissant, ''Well, Danny's asleep upstairs. You want me to call him down to check out what his wife's gonna show the world?''
''I'm just doing my job,'' he answered, ''I don't know if anyone told you, but 'Underpaid Photographer' trumps 'Angry Husband' every time. Now... wardrobe sent that, and that means you're supposed to wear it.''
''I wouldn't be caught dead in that.''
The pompous photographer chuckled and interrupted her, ''Then you can make me some extra commission and go nude. It's your choice. A year ago, I 'wouldn't be caught dead' taking pictures of a bunch of redneck wrasslers, but money makes us do strange things.''
Angie was hell-bent on arguing her way out of it. Her lip started to curl in anger as she slowly began to realize that this wasn't a good week to cut back on medications.
She balled a fist, ''I'm not doing it.''
''I don't think there's much choice in it for you,'' he grinned, happy that someone was as miserable as he was, ''And it's not like the bikini would show anything that your last big beef didn't already. What was his name again? Alex, was it?''
He sat back, thinking he'd just had the privilege of playing the trump card in the game -- but this guy hadn't been around Angelica James ever before, and had no idea what he'd just gotten himself into.
''You know what, you pitiful, artsy-wannabe piece of 'wish I was as French as you' garbage? You can't spell 'croissant' without ass backwards.''
''And you can't spell 'bitch' without... well, without 'bitch'.'' he replied.
As she began her exit, Angie's temper rose with the pressure in her hand - gripping a fist white-knuckle tight by the time she got to the door. The photographer, for his part, began a verbal barrage of 'loser' remarks aimed with a sniper for the redhead.
Chapter 1.0.1. (My New Moves)
''God damn this medication bullshit!''
An angry woman roared her way back into her house after a near week-long absence. With bags in tow, she immediately went into her bedroom - where Danny was just making the bed in anticipation of her sleepy arrival.
''I haven't slept in three days,'' she groaned, ''And I missed you.''
She sighed, ''And... and God, I hate that new agent.''
''I didn't expect you to love a walking penis who never shuts up,'' Danny smiled as he wrapped his arms around her, ''Welcome home.''
''This 'career cleanup' stuff is insane,'' Again, she sighed, ''I'm already sick of it. Your back is screwed up again, my entire body hurts, I've gotta face two guys who... just... ugh. I can't tell what side they're on. Everything's a mess.''
As expected, Danny Matthews provided her with a soft place to land. He rested his chin on her head, ''You're just not used to not having this one, huge enemy. I'm sure someone will come up with something to piss you off enough, your motivation can't be too far away. Wade your way through the bullshit for now - 'cause I see you with that title, and I couldn't be more proud of you. I can tell that you're proud of yourself, too.''
''You always come home after being away and say that everything's a mess,'' he said, ''You need to take a couple of days to unwind after everything you've been through in the past couple of months. Face it, Angie... you feed on hating people and, right now, you don't have enough reasons to hate Roshan Nocturne. But I guarantee when Solitary rolls around, you'll have come up with a few.''
''You might be right.''
Danny smiled, ''I know I'm right. And I know that you need to get some sleep, 'cause - no offense - you look like death warmed over. Is getting off the Seroquel that bad?''
''I don't know... it's been such a wild week, I haven't had a chance to sit down and think about how I'm feeling or acting. That new guy - whatshisface - has been doing the thinking for me, I guess.''
''Maybe that'll be a good thing once you're used to it,'' he replied, ''For once, you came home and didn't have to start doing a bunch of paperwork. You came in the door and now, not five minutes later, you can go to bed.''
She hadn't thought of it that way.
Does playing the game REALLY have perks, or is she just getting blinded by the job security of holding a championship belt?
---------------------------------------------------
The other day, I told Danny that I was feeling guilty about what happened to Alexander Fayt - about how I hurt him, and now nobody can find the guy. I thought of the family he might have and the options I may have taken away from him. What if he turned around at some point? If he put half the energy he uses on being a prick into improving himself, he could be a halfway decent man some day. I might have taken that option completely out of him. I mean, what if he has kids? Being a dick doesn't mean your swimmers don't work - he could easily get some hooker pregnant. I just stole their hope of having a real man for a father.
I don't think I'm going soft, but Danny said some things that really hit home. He told me that I didn't beat the man he 'could' be, I beat the piss-poor excuse for a human being that he is and that if I'm always going to take responsibility for every possible outcome in the lives of the people I fight, I'm going to go mental. Today, he told me that I seem to thrive on the hate, drama and righteousness that comes from having a true enemy.
Maybe he's right. But the fact remains that, regardless of who I'm feeling guilt about... after all of the press, all of the chemically-induced craziness and once I've paid too much for a photographer's nose, I get to go and get the shit stomped out of me at a weekly show.
At the very least, I have no doubt that I'll walk out of this new fight with my chance in the Road to Glory still in hand, but this is a tricky one.
Roshan Nocturne.. the Vicious champion. Last week, she already had disrespectful words to shoot towards me. So much for woman's unity, huh? I guess I should feel flattered.. she already feels threatened after one match. And for good reason.. she knows she's just another pretty little flavor of the month. She knows that without a weapon, she's gets beats in what, 30 seconds?! So if I was her, and there was a prettier woman that walks into the fed, with the chance to do what she hasn't been be able to, I'd... probably just go kick her ass.
But Roshan isn't me.
She's a wannabe. She wants the fame I've already got... the respect I've already gained. She wants the accolades that I already fought for. And she can get them.. just not at my expense.
I'm fighting to keep my career in the headlines. I'm fighting to make sure I don't end up like Roshan, a threatened little bitch who don't have the faith in her own skills to get the job done.
Wednesday night, I'ma hate to send her further over the deep end, when I beat her and move on to Crowning Glory. But she'll at least still have her little Vicious title that she can show off to her fanboys at the dojo.
... until I get bored, and decide to take that too.
The other day, I told Danny that I was feeling guilty about what happened to Alexander Fayt - about how I hurt him, and now nobody can find the guy. I thought of the family he might have and the options I may have taken away from him. What if he turned around at some point? If he put half the energy he uses on being a prick into improving himself, he could be a halfway decent man some day. I might have taken that option completely out of him. I mean, what if he has kids? Being a dick doesn't mean your swimmers don't work - he could easily get some hooker pregnant. I just stole their hope of having a real man for a father.
I don't think I'm going soft, but Danny said some things that really hit home. He told me that I didn't beat the man he 'could' be, I beat the piss-poor excuse for a human being that he is and that if I'm always going to take responsibility for every possible outcome in the lives of the people I fight, I'm going to go mental. Today, he told me that I seem to thrive on the hate, drama and righteousness that comes from having a true enemy.
Maybe he's right. But the fact remains that, regardless of who I'm feeling guilt about... after all of the press, all of the chemically-induced craziness and once I've paid too much for a photographer's nose, I get to go and get the shit stomped out of me at a weekly show.
At the very least, I have no doubt that I'll walk out of this new fight with my chance in the Road to Glory still in hand, but this is a tricky one.
Roshan Nocturne.. the Vicious champion. Last week, she already had disrespectful words to shoot towards me. So much for woman's unity, huh? I guess I should feel flattered.. she already feels threatened after one match. And for good reason.. she knows she's just another pretty little flavor of the month. She knows that without a weapon, she's gets beats in what, 30 seconds?! So if I was her, and there was a prettier woman that walks into the fed, with the chance to do what she hasn't been be able to, I'd... probably just go kick her ass.
But Roshan isn't me.
She's a wannabe. She wants the fame I've already got... the respect I've already gained. She wants the accolades that I already fought for. And she can get them.. just not at my expense.
I'm fighting to keep my career in the headlines. I'm fighting to make sure I don't end up like Roshan, a threatened little bitch who don't have the faith in her own skills to get the job done.
Wednesday night, I'ma hate to send her further over the deep end, when I beat her and move on to Crowning Glory. But she'll at least still have her little Vicious title that she can show off to her fanboys at the dojo.
... until I get bored, and decide to take that too.