After everything that’s been going down, it was a fortunate thing that this last Sunday, Kayphore and Cookie and I had planned a little night out for ourselves. Of course, we had the typical evening of female bonding and enjoyed the traditional entertainment for such an occasion … Professional Wrestling. WWE Smackdown to be exact.
I am not a regular girl who likes regular things. I attract other girls with eclectic tastes. And by eclectic, I do mean, “of course I want to see overly muscled, nearly naked, poorly acting, greased up dudes roll around on the ground with other similar dudes.” Because really, who doesn’t love that?
Now I know what you’re thinking. I know because I hear it often enough. And I hear it often enough that I usually don’t mention that I enjoy the wrestling, like, ever…. to anyone. This has been a carefully guarded, deep, dark secret for quite some time. I’ve decided to bring it out into the light and show it off a little, because it really doesn’t make any sense to me that anyone could be befuddled by my enjoyment of such a thing. I mean, it’s gaudy. It’s ridiculous. It’s goofy. It makes no sense at all. It’s over the top. It’s laughable. It’s horrible. And damn it’s funny! I like professional wrestling like I like all those damn Bring It On movies. And The Cutting Edge franchise, as well. I’ve paid good money to go see Cool as Ice starring Vanilla Ice. And I’ve read those damn Twilight books and seen the movies, not because I’m on Team Jacob, or like things that Sparkle, but because they’re just bad.
Why, you ask? Because I’m a unique sort of person who gets enjoyment out of things that are, by definition, god awful. I love the things that are so bad that they’re good. I like not liking them. I like not being the least bit fooled by the pratfalls of professional wrestling. I like that Stephenie Meyer can’t write her way out of a paper bag. And yet, there’s something about it that’s sort of pure. I think that what really draws me to Crap is its lack of pretension. Bring It On is not aiming for high-brow, not trying to win a seat at the cool kids’ table, or looking down its nose at anyone. It just is what it is, and its ease with itself is infectious. When you’re watching WWE Smackdown at the Arco Arena, screaming at the Villains and hollering for the Good Guy, well, you can just be who you are.
All the better if you’re able to be with two of your best friends in the world, too. Two girls who love me for who I am, all my imperfections, my insecurities, my loud mouth, or my quiet, bashful, and nervous times. The ones who not only understand, but who share a few of my idiosyncracies.
And above all else, they can tell when I’m Acting Normal from when I’m being myself.
Of course I love professional wrestling. It’s so fake that you can’t help but be yourself when you watch it.