Notes from the Diva Underground

Dear Diary,

I write this entry with Rorschach-test facepaint, inkblots culled from my eyeliner earlier tonight after crying in the center of the ring. My worse fears have certainly come to reality as I have now been drafted by Smackdown. No longer am I to do the splits upon entering the ring underneath the sultry red lights of RAW but am back to being underneath the pale-blue lights of Smackdown, my thighs illuminated under the color of raindrops -- how fitting.
I am backstage right now, wondering when the next time I will hear Lillian Garcia sing the national anthem, her dulcet vibrato comforting me like a comforter mattress.
So much has been running through my mind as of late, what with Dave Batista back in the fold. The conspiracy theorist in me was sure it was a strategic move by him to officially render our relationship officially null and void. Perhaps if this were true it is for the better; this topic I have discussed with my RAW sisters at length, conversations that I am already wistfully nostalgic of.
For some reason I tend to forget the awkwardness of Dave's half-erect penis in my mouth as I stared at his wrinkled scrotum until it shaped into the Shroud of Turin and think back to the days when he and I would share a knowing glance when Jim Ross was unaware of the drool on the corner of the droopier side of his mouth. Oh Jim Ross! To watch him look at me as if he was imagining I was sitting on his face makes me squirm with revulsion and now I am back with him on Smackdown.

He was backstage tonight, cursing Heath Ledger.

"Fuck Heath Ledger," he said. "At least the Guerrero family had the intestinal fortitude to apologize to us for Eddie. I did not hear of a goddamn apology given to Christopher Nolan."

Heartless prick JR is, but at the same time I find myself nodding at his insight.

One day I will look on this night with dried eyes, me and Lillian re-uniting and sharing beauty tips. I'm sure I will get over this, but tonight I shall mourn this sea change. I shall look at my days on the RAW brand as a turning point in my career for Sherri Martel did not drop a single tear when she managed Harlem Heat. I must look up to her and see how the hand of fate can work in my favor as well.

xoxo,
Melina