Sitting Back and Reminiscing
Jan 26, 2012 18:43:51 GMT -5
Post by Deleted on Jan 26, 2012 18:43:51 GMT -5
OOC: I wrote this a while back for the other fed I'm in. But since I used it there I don't want to have to rewrite it (again) and I don't want to use something I used somewhere else here competitively. There may be a few more pieces to follow this to fill in Blaine's background a little better.
I'm not quite sure what I'm getting myself into. A few months ago I was wrestling for a promotion on the verge of hitting a global scale; now I'm signing my name on a contract for a once-a-month promotion based out of Georgia. Fayetteville! Alas, this is the hand God has dealt me. And I'm going to do what I always do and make the best of things. I mean, I can't really remember the last time I was happy...
It was Sunday March 22nd 2009 and I was contracted for Saints Haven Wrestling out of Boston, Massachusetts. I'd had an argument with my older half-brother, Jackson because I was the cause of us losing a title match so I hit the town in an attempt to heal my bruised ego. This was a new city to me; I'd been there for maybe three or four weeks at this point, I didn't know the city. 'Social' wasn't a word people used to describe me back then. Still don't. Hell, if I was back in Akron I could have started at the Matinee, chugged a few drinks and headed to Thursday's for some live music and drink into the early hours of the morning. I didn't know those places in Boston. So I ended up in a dive called the Purple Shamrock on Union Street.
So I ended up sitting alone at the bar trying desperately to get a fuzzy navel; only to watch the inebriated ladies of Boston get served before me. The drunk-off-their-ass morons on the karaoke machine were murdering Tom Jones' 'Sex Bomb' as I began to resent ever stepping foot in this hell hole before I heard the saccharine voice of an angel.
Redhead
Two fuzzy navels please!
She sounded like I imagine angels sing; a glorious song the likes of 'Gloria' by Them or 'Sweet Home Alabama' by Lynyrd Skynyrd. I glanced out of the corner of my eye before having to turn my head to take in the whole picture (and what a fine picture!) as, standing there, dressed in a white v-neck vest and some Daisy Dukes was five foot six of red-headed, emerald eyed beauty. The sight of her took my breath away. She said something I can't recollect because...well, she was wearing a v-neck vest and I am but a mere human being. I managed to pull my gaze upwards to those sparkly green gems she had--and has, still--for eyes, as she speaks up again.
Redhead
That is what you're drinking, isn't it?
I nodded drunkenly, trying desperately not to stare down at her cleavage whilst my head bobbed. I failed. Fortunately she was turned to the bartender paying for the drinks so she didn't notice. She did notice him scoping out her cans; unprofessional behaviour at it's finest. She handed me my high ball glass topped with an orange garnish and led me away from the bar, back towards the rear of the bar. The quiet area. I went to introduce myself and thank her for the drink but she insisted she knew who I was; she was a closet wrestling fan and snuck away from her friends to drink with me because she was a fan. And as a fan, buying me the fuzzy navel was her pleasure. I think I blushed at that moment. I remember she giggled. Said that it was cute.
I can recall every word of the next two or three hours as she probed me for information. The favourite match I've ever wrestled? Easy, a singles match against Kirsta Lewis. What is it like to be a professional wrestler? Tough. An independent wrestler? Tougher. What's it like to work for Isaac Bronco in his upstart promotion? It's a dream come true ... I expanded my answers slightly back then, stumbling through her line of questioning with slurred words and cheeky cleavage peeks. She caught me more than once but just giggled each time. Occasionally reversing the roles by peeking down my two-button-undone shirt at my hairless chest. It was fun at the time.
The fourth hour I kind of struggle to remember. I know I didn't buy another drink that evening so I got stumped with the cab fare; I can't recall hailing the taxi or telling the driver where to go, but the next thing I remember I'm waking up back in my apartment. The light was streaming through the opened curtains as I struggled to keep my eyes closed. I was awake and that sun was far too bright for this time of year!
Redhead
Wakey wakey.
She spoke as I rolled over to face her; a bad move considering the hangover headache I had brewing. Her effervescent eyes were a far shot from my blood-shot ones, but her cute smile was enough to make me crack a grin. My head ached a bit more but it was worth it. So totally worth it.
Redhead
Coffee?
She asked as she stepped over me, heading towards the kitchen area of the apartment. I nodded, presumably I verbally confirmed my wanting of a coffee as she pulled two cups out of the cupboard. I mumbled something about wanting "milk and sugar, please" but it might not have been audible. I remember glancing over towards her; she was facing away from me wearing only a purple thong and that v-neck vest from the previous night. Her daisy dukes were thrown over the back of the sofa along with my pants. I remember seeing that ankle tattoo, the letters L.A. in a heart. And the Aerosmith tramp stamp she had. A poor taste in music, but I figured I could get over that. She returned moments later with the two cups of coffee and a pack of aspirin from the stuff drawer. I hastily scoffed two tablets and swallowed them with a mouthful of coffee; forever grateful the kettle was on the blink and didn't quite fully boil the water.
Redhead
I need to get to work. Call me when you're feeling better, alright?
Blaine Harrison
Uh sure, I'll--
But she cut me off.
Redhead
I've put my number into your cell phone for you.
She leaned down to give me a kiss on the cheek as my half-brother Jackson walked out of the bedroom. I should mention that at this point in time I slept on a foldaway bed in the lounge. It could have been an awkward moment after our argument the day before, but he walked right past the both of us without even glancing over. He missed a real sight. He slammed the front door behind him as he left, probably to annoy me, which, if that was the case, he succeeded. Not that much could have brought me down. The Redhead had shimmied over to the sofa by this time and slipped on her daisy duke shorts.
Redhead
Oh, before I forget, hun. I left a little present on your cell phone for you ... Later!
She blew me a kiss as she slipped out of the apartment, gently closing the door behind her like the considerate angel I thought she was. The second she was gone I put the coffee down and hooked one arm under my bed to fish out my cell phone from within my pants' pocket. On the second try I succeeded. I flipped it open and headed to the gallery and let me just say the smile on my face grew wider at that moment in time. Then I browsed through my phone book to find the new entry; there she was. Joelle. A rose by any other name would never be as sweet as my Joelle.
~*~ Sitting Back And Reminiscing ~*~
Wednesday, Oct 12, 2011
Your perceptions of others are rather fuzzy now. You tend to see just what you want to see or to fantasize a bit too much about another person. Your empathy increases also and you feel "soft" at this time.
[/quote]Your perceptions of others are rather fuzzy now. You tend to see just what you want to see or to fantasize a bit too much about another person. Your empathy increases also and you feel "soft" at this time.
I'm not quite sure what I'm getting myself into. A few months ago I was wrestling for a promotion on the verge of hitting a global scale; now I'm signing my name on a contract for a once-a-month promotion based out of Georgia. Fayetteville! Alas, this is the hand God has dealt me. And I'm going to do what I always do and make the best of things. I mean, I can't really remember the last time I was happy...
It was Sunday March 22nd 2009 and I was contracted for Saints Haven Wrestling out of Boston, Massachusetts. I'd had an argument with my older half-brother, Jackson because I was the cause of us losing a title match so I hit the town in an attempt to heal my bruised ego. This was a new city to me; I'd been there for maybe three or four weeks at this point, I didn't know the city. 'Social' wasn't a word people used to describe me back then. Still don't. Hell, if I was back in Akron I could have started at the Matinee, chugged a few drinks and headed to Thursday's for some live music and drink into the early hours of the morning. I didn't know those places in Boston. So I ended up in a dive called the Purple Shamrock on Union Street.
So I ended up sitting alone at the bar trying desperately to get a fuzzy navel; only to watch the inebriated ladies of Boston get served before me. The drunk-off-their-ass morons on the karaoke machine were murdering Tom Jones' 'Sex Bomb' as I began to resent ever stepping foot in this hell hole before I heard the saccharine voice of an angel.
Redhead
Two fuzzy navels please!
She sounded like I imagine angels sing; a glorious song the likes of 'Gloria' by Them or 'Sweet Home Alabama' by Lynyrd Skynyrd. I glanced out of the corner of my eye before having to turn my head to take in the whole picture (and what a fine picture!) as, standing there, dressed in a white v-neck vest and some Daisy Dukes was five foot six of red-headed, emerald eyed beauty. The sight of her took my breath away. She said something I can't recollect because...well, she was wearing a v-neck vest and I am but a mere human being. I managed to pull my gaze upwards to those sparkly green gems she had--and has, still--for eyes, as she speaks up again.
Redhead
That is what you're drinking, isn't it?
I nodded drunkenly, trying desperately not to stare down at her cleavage whilst my head bobbed. I failed. Fortunately she was turned to the bartender paying for the drinks so she didn't notice. She did notice him scoping out her cans; unprofessional behaviour at it's finest. She handed me my high ball glass topped with an orange garnish and led me away from the bar, back towards the rear of the bar. The quiet area. I went to introduce myself and thank her for the drink but she insisted she knew who I was; she was a closet wrestling fan and snuck away from her friends to drink with me because she was a fan. And as a fan, buying me the fuzzy navel was her pleasure. I think I blushed at that moment. I remember she giggled. Said that it was cute.
I can recall every word of the next two or three hours as she probed me for information. The favourite match I've ever wrestled? Easy, a singles match against Kirsta Lewis. What is it like to be a professional wrestler? Tough. An independent wrestler? Tougher. What's it like to work for Isaac Bronco in his upstart promotion? It's a dream come true ... I expanded my answers slightly back then, stumbling through her line of questioning with slurred words and cheeky cleavage peeks. She caught me more than once but just giggled each time. Occasionally reversing the roles by peeking down my two-button-undone shirt at my hairless chest. It was fun at the time.
The fourth hour I kind of struggle to remember. I know I didn't buy another drink that evening so I got stumped with the cab fare; I can't recall hailing the taxi or telling the driver where to go, but the next thing I remember I'm waking up back in my apartment. The light was streaming through the opened curtains as I struggled to keep my eyes closed. I was awake and that sun was far too bright for this time of year!
Redhead
Wakey wakey.
She spoke as I rolled over to face her; a bad move considering the hangover headache I had brewing. Her effervescent eyes were a far shot from my blood-shot ones, but her cute smile was enough to make me crack a grin. My head ached a bit more but it was worth it. So totally worth it.
Redhead
Coffee?
She asked as she stepped over me, heading towards the kitchen area of the apartment. I nodded, presumably I verbally confirmed my wanting of a coffee as she pulled two cups out of the cupboard. I mumbled something about wanting "milk and sugar, please" but it might not have been audible. I remember glancing over towards her; she was facing away from me wearing only a purple thong and that v-neck vest from the previous night. Her daisy dukes were thrown over the back of the sofa along with my pants. I remember seeing that ankle tattoo, the letters L.A. in a heart. And the Aerosmith tramp stamp she had. A poor taste in music, but I figured I could get over that. She returned moments later with the two cups of coffee and a pack of aspirin from the stuff drawer. I hastily scoffed two tablets and swallowed them with a mouthful of coffee; forever grateful the kettle was on the blink and didn't quite fully boil the water.
Redhead
I need to get to work. Call me when you're feeling better, alright?
Blaine Harrison
Uh sure, I'll--
But she cut me off.
Redhead
I've put my number into your cell phone for you.
She leaned down to give me a kiss on the cheek as my half-brother Jackson walked out of the bedroom. I should mention that at this point in time I slept on a foldaway bed in the lounge. It could have been an awkward moment after our argument the day before, but he walked right past the both of us without even glancing over. He missed a real sight. He slammed the front door behind him as he left, probably to annoy me, which, if that was the case, he succeeded. Not that much could have brought me down. The Redhead had shimmied over to the sofa by this time and slipped on her daisy duke shorts.
Redhead
Oh, before I forget, hun. I left a little present on your cell phone for you ... Later!
She blew me a kiss as she slipped out of the apartment, gently closing the door behind her like the considerate angel I thought she was. The second she was gone I put the coffee down and hooked one arm under my bed to fish out my cell phone from within my pants' pocket. On the second try I succeeded. I flipped it open and headed to the gallery and let me just say the smile on my face grew wider at that moment in time. Then I browsed through my phone book to find the new entry; there she was. Joelle. A rose by any other name would never be as sweet as my Joelle.