Thursday, April 23, 2009

"The Tears Dry On Their Own" -Amy Winehouse

Dear Diary,

If feelings are the weather forecast of life, then my soul is currently turbulent with a chance of sunshine.

I am not a religious person by any means, but if Jesus Christ himself came back in human form I'm sure he and I would have more similarities than differences, although I don't think I would be able to have sex with him (the chance to yell his name in a literal sense would be tempting, however).

My tears have had their sincerity questioned, mocked behind my back. My feelings misunderstood as a prima donna's manipulative strategem. It makes me feel like I'm in high school again, as if life is a continuous struggle to survive but not live. I think back to the "Footsteps in the Sand" parable, about how one of Christ's followers only saw one pair of footprints during his tryingest times and Jesus had to explain that it was because he was being carried by the Lord. I did the same thing with Joey Matthews and John Morrison in MNM, and like Jesus, I have been martyred back into the realm of Smackdown.

Between now and my last tawdry escapade with John Morrison, he has grown as a man and as a worker. I feel a kinship with him that could only have been cultivated through the kismet of destiny. It was this kinship that had me relieved as well as joyful that he is back with me underneath the blue lights, the most incendiary color a flame can be. I had relentlessly hit the F5 button on's supplemental draft updates to make sure it was not a hoax but a confirmation of fate that one day he and I would return on the same brand and continue a love that leaves no sexual positions undiscovered.

Sure, Dave's love was one of unbridled passion and maturity but it wasn't without its negatives. He was Ibiza and I am LA and no matter how similar we were there was always a figurative ocean between us. Staring at his belly-button tattoo was like staring into shallow water, just enough depth to take a dip but never enough to satiate my heart. It is a love that I will hold onto. But with John, this is the real deal. He wouldn't be with me for politics because I am the Sham-Wow for the puddles of haterade that surround me. He loves me for me and the way my vagina goes hyphy.

Smackdown is what I'll make of it not what they expect of me. I will be the greatest Women's champion for a large Mexican audience, for John Morrison, and above anyone else -- for me.


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