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Archive for April, 2014

The Ultimate Warrior and MME

April 9, 2014

I thought he was dead… Like up until five days ago when I worked as a loader for WWE’s Convention Center the past weekend for the 30th Annual WWE. I can’t remember where I saw it, maybe a list in the program of acceptance speeches for the Hall of Fame Inauguration, that he himself, Mr. James Brian Hellwig, was going to make a “speech”. Not to be remembered, but that he was going to talk. “Hey, guys guys, guys, umm, I don’t think the Ultimate Warrior is dead.”, I convinced my team. I now was promoted from pushing 3 tons carts into the building up to lighting rig. That’s an extra four dollars an hour. Loaders hardly have an education, and I’ll do anything to pick up extra gigs, being an artist and what not. “Man, let me see that.” My crew couldn’t believe it either. “He’s alive?!”… Now.
Growing up with a papaw who did nothing but drink beer, laugh, and make his grandkids watch WWF (it’s former name, thanks to World Wildlife. Save Pandas) EVERY Saturday night, EVERY Monday night, I think SUnday was Memphis Wrestling with Jerry the King Lawler hosting, my eighteen cousins and my older mean ass brother and I, well, when we weren’t in the dog bin digging holes to china with spoons, or slip and slide, we were wrestlers. Joey, my older brother, known as a trouble maker his whole life, was Hulk. I, on the other hand, no doubt, no question, or any hesitation, knew who I was and what I was in life; The Ultimate Fucking Warrior (sorry mom, meemaw swore. I think she’s smiling on me with the influential lad at me right now.)
Yes. I can vaguely remember much about life in our household. My brother kicking my ass, my parents yelling at him. Him yelling at me. Me kicking him in the balls and running real fast. It’s been thousands upon thousands of dollars on therapy, anger management classes, AA, and yoga retreats. The past in our family; not shiny. But the one thing, the one event, the one show stopping television show we could ALL get along and watch; Wrestle Mania. “Where is he, mom? Joey! Is he coming out yet?!” “Oh he’ll be here, little sis.” LIke, all of a sudden, we were like Leave it to Beaver or some shit. Bonding over sweat, steroids, and my favorite, neon tassels. Oh god I can remember him sprinting down the aisle. Shaking the crap out of the ropes. He drove me nuts (so nuts, I even learned stunts in 6th grade for Miracle Worker when I played Helen Keller, and continued to study in college under Lloyd Caldwell, and with a professional sword fighting and stunts team, S.F.I. in Los Angeles, CA under Brian Danner for two and a half years.) I’m NUTS about entertainers. NUTS about performers. NUTS about WWE Wrestling.
CRAZY NUTS for my favorite poofy mullet look-a-like, The Ultimate Warrior.
Bonding over the lights. Macho Man and Elizabeth (every single one of my baby dolls was named “Elizabeth”. Ask my mom.) My family ate popcorn, and for those 2-3 hours, we got along.
AND.
I’m seriously a red neck. I’m the only one out of 23 who went to college and can imitate any accent. Thanks, acting classes! So, I sound sophisticated to most even though deep deep inside, I’m white trash. Big time. And I love my family so so so much, cause we are all happy and love each other. Granted, they sound like po-dunk “Yous ain’t pertin dat moo-vie on no yer-tuerb or nothin, err ya?” like yeah. Everyone smokes cigarettes all the time and they have this ability to speak as it sits on their bottom lip for hours. Unlit.

So, that’s my past. Here’s what went down this past weekend after rigging lights at the convention center and on to the Super Dome(and if you don’t believe dreams come true, then this blog will do nothing for you because you have no soul and I don’t want you near me with your negative energy)
Dreams come true.
Not only did my beautiful white trash man friend and I look up and research Mr.Hellwig that he was alive (OH MY GOD!) I saw with my own eyes that he was alive! (cause I doubted), i GOT TO SEE THE MAN ON STAGE AT WRESTLE MANIA!
Yes, he was the size of lice I had in second grade, and the ones I got back from my Philippines trip (another story), but there he was. I was so excited because this cute ginger I was setting up lights with at the convention center and I got off work and wandered around this epic creation in the convention center of this marketing for the main event. There he was. In the Hall of Fame, “Excuse me, you to need to get out of here.” The lady in the glasses wouldn’t let us get a picture. BUt I knew I was going to see him.
There’s no other option for me. I AM him.
By luck, my great friend works on a reality TV show, “Total Divas” and asked me to be a production assistant aka, take out garbage task, airport runs, file paper, get organic milk for Brie Bella, drive Bria Bella around to tanning and pick up sushi. Yes, the dirty work. But oh my god, I don’t really know Brie Bella, but I will forever be her fan after meeting her and her brother and dad. All in production’s van carting around to here and there. (I was singing for her dad after picking him up from the airport and missed my exit. this performance moment lead me 30 minutes late for the rest of the day. It was worth it.)
So, next thing I know, I’m done for the day, I think I’m getting off work, and BOOM, “Get the walkies and get in the van.” Shit.What.Is.Going…..
VrooooooOOOOOoooOOOOoom….
“Uhm…. Hey….”
The van was intense. Everyone had their game face on. Putting black polos on. I was trying to mot have my eyes so red. I had three hours of sleep the day before……
“Uhm, where are we going?”
“You don’t know.” the camera guy says.
“I just got in the van….”
“seriously. you don’t know.” the producer says.
“No.”
“Hall of Fame.”
Holy shit, I didn’t wear make up? I didn’t wear my nice dress? What?!?!

We got asked to leave after a few minutes being there. WWE is not too keen on tv crews crowding the hallways. We’d be in the locker room for three hours if we stayed. . BUt I walked up and down the Smoothie King Center on missions. Grab a walkie. Direct a vehicle. Grab the bag I left on the ground. Wondering around. I was a mess. I’m a freaking FAN. Hulk Hogan just gimped past me. I am DOING MY BEST NOT T FREAK OUT AND EMBARRASS MY HOMIE WHO HOOKED ME UP ON THIS GIG. KEEP IT TOGETHER, ANNIE YOU ARE A PROFESSIONAL.
I keep walking, see Jerry “The KIng” Lawler.
“Hey, jerry, it’s me, Annie! We did “King of the Ring’ together.”
“Oh yeah…!” He recognizes me.
“I’m the chick with the long blonde wig and you told me in the most professional way to, ‘rub my chest hair’.” https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hqHmwZa4RJY

“Yes, hey how are you?” He realizes I’m crew by the walkie filming out of my ear. Crew. His eyes gaze around, shaking my hand, making sure no one spots him talking to a crew member. I know I look shitty in these too big black pants I got at a clothing swap, held by a rusty safety pin. My hair is a mop, my eyeliner running. You can tell when your exit cue is. But he acknowledged me, just in time for a line producer to put my ass in check. I’m telling you, I was not a sane person to depend on. I was a million annies scattered amongst legends. Beaded gowns and botox, peacocks ready for the lights. “We don’t do that here,” I could tell the producer was trying to be nice, like I didn’t know, but I knew not to talk to the talent.
“Oh. It’s not like that. We did a movie together. We are from Memphis.”
“oh. Yeah?…ok.” Jerry sort of smiled at her, reassuring that I wasn’t a weird fan. Which I am. As long as I didn’t do it again, I’d be fine. Which I didn’t, cause none of the other celebrities did a 5 minute short film with me for Live! From Memphis short film competition (which my film Spirit Guide won, uh umm) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_hqHFHVXa-s the them was “Ryhmes with Pelvis”

Wow, you’ve never seen such plastic upon boob jobs, upon spray tan, upon real leather tan, upon lips out two inches, sequins, and dudes actually shorter in real life… No one smiled, I think they were saving their face muscles for the ceremony.

Needless to say.
I was very moved my Brie’s family, motivating me to go for my dreams on the van rides “You are Beautiful. I tell my daughters that every day, you should tell yourself that, too.”
I am beautiful.
I am a singer.
I can’t wait for one day to be the talent that the crew is so excited to see.
We left Hall of Fame. I still couldn’t speak.
And then, the following night, I went on the best date ever, parked under the overpasses, walking next to the freeway on a pedestrian walk, going up the ramp a few stories, and landing in the nose bleed seats. My date went for nachos. Hall of Famers came on. Mr.T. The Undertakers’ manager. Jake the Snake. Razor Raymond. And. My hero. The Ultimate Warrior.
Behold the sight of light and life. My childhood fantasies. All our fantasies in the crowd. We were all there. We were all moved. Black, white, poor, poorer, ugly, fat, young, beautiful, snobby, a stick up their ass (thanks couple in front of us), all of us. Mexicans speaking behind us, world travelers.
I was there. This was magic. This was history.
“I’m about to be twelve again,” our random buddy we brought along squealed to me. This guy is a cook who drinks and says nothing at the bar, always at the bar watching tv… Now, he is my brother. Now. We are like kids. Now, we are legends. High Fiving. “The Undertaker LOST!?!?” Even the stick up her ass chick in front was booing….
Best night of my life.

Next day on facebook, my friend and local news reporter, Kenny Lopez posted a pic of him and the late Hellwig’s daughters and wife, “I use to babysit Ultimate Warriors kids in summer camp in Santa Fe” I was excited!! “Amazing, I’m so happy!”
And the next post, “R.I.P., Ultimate Warrior 😦 😦 :(”
No.
It can’t be.
A tale that has been buried for twenty years and up from the grave is placed back down?! I called my reality tv buddy, “Yeah, it’s real. We thought it was another Undertaker fake death, but the executive producer told me, ‘no, it’s for real.’
2 days after wrestle mania. This was the most memorable ever.”

I can’t believe it.
BUt I do. Maybe my energy of him being deceased had already caused it. Maybe not. Maybe my mind is more powerful that this doubt that has been soaking it. Maybe I am that strong. Maybe I can fight. Maybe I will.
Maybe I’ll become my OWN warrior, my half Italian, part Irish Cherokee mutt inside of me will ROAR and run into the hearts of fans. Maybe if I believe in myself enough, I can jump start heart beats, slinging the ropes up and down. Maybe, just maybe, I can have my own reality TV show and marry a hot hippy guy in New Mexico (or leave that with Brie, that can be hers) http://www.eonline.com/shows/total_divas/news/519924/total-divas-brie-bella-talks-bohemian-wedding-with-wwe-superstar-daniel-bryan Maybe just maybe, I’m tough enough for this destiny, whatever it maybe to my choosing.
Maybe I will sing. Maybe I will rule the world with stunts and compassion. Maybe I will finish this web series and musical afteral. Maybe I can achieve it. I think I can.
Inside of us is a warrior, dancing, sprinting out like a dark horse into the hearts of all people. Maybe I can entertain just as deeply with my eye glasses and 13-year-old-boy hair cut, ready for hairspray and hot pink strings. Small boobs, and big mouth.
Maybe just maybe.
The Ultimate Warrior is in me. And in you.
Maybe, just maybe, we can go back to the days of being kids, getting dirty, not worrying about college or which husband will make me happy, no money, just beating each other up and icing the bruises down as meemaw bakes more cookies in the oven.
Maybe, just maybe, we can go BACK to that memory, and not go back, but let it take us forward.
Maybe. If we believe. We can fucking do it.
Just got work.
And keep the dream alive.