Magical girl friendship squad

42561 and I got into it today.  I want her to change the way the thinks about magic.  Just because the bus was nothing mystical doesn’t mean we shouldn’t have stopped and looked into it.  I want her to know that there’s nothing shameful about magic.  That there’s nothing wrong with being born with a gift.  Leaning into it might be dangerous, but aren’t we supposed to be using whatever abilities we have to create the kind of world we want to live in?  If we want things to be better, we have to make things better. 

She told me angrily that I had no right to preach to her.  She said that I don’t know anything about magic.  Which is true.  It would be generous to say that I’ve been even half trained.  I said that’s why I want her to train me.  I asked her to think about what we accomplished in Needles.   

That was the wrong thing to say.  That made her shut down entirely.  She said that if I wanted to be a fucking magic private investigator and end up dead that was my business, but I shouldn’t try to drag her down with me.  She went on at length about how if anyone found out magic was real, we’d be fucked.   

I wanted to disagree with her, but a lady did try to stab me once because she read this blog and thought I was in league with the devil.  Things haven’t worked out for anyone else I’ve encountered that found out about magic.  But I asked her, if it’s so dangerous, why does she do it at all?   

If she was truly only concerned about staying safe and hidden, she wouldn’t do magic at all.  She would forget the entire thing.  It makes no sense to learn magic just so you can hide that you know magic.  She certainly wouldn’t have opened up to me about it even the little bit she has if the goal was to stay hidden.  I said that I felt like part of her wanted me to convince her.   

I expected her to say I didn’t know what I was talking about or stomp off, but she went the other way.  She said of course what I was selling was appealing to her – who doesn’t want to be a hero?  But that’s why it’s dangerous.  She said that becoming a victim yourself doesn’t help the people you want to help.   

Maybe that makes sense, but if we don’t do something, who will?  Who else is there?   

Speed 3 – Snakes on a Bus

42561 and I were outside of Plainview when I saw an empty bus by the side of the road.  It didn’t look like a Greyhound or other bus line but it wasn’t a school bus either.  Maybe it was a church bus or associated with a camp. 

If 42561 was driving she wouldn’t have slowed down, let alone stopped.  She lets me drive most of the time though, and I wasn’t going to pass that up.  I figured with my luck there was a cult nearby that had kidnapped all the bus passengers and was about to do a mass sacrifice.   A classic blood mage bus attack.

I don’t want anyone to be kidnapped by blood mages.  But.  There was a part of me that was excited seeing a spooky empty bus.  I’ve been feeling vaguely unsettled lately and the prospect of a mystery shook me out of my funk.  42561 was not happy about being “dragged into it” as she deemed it. 

I’m not sure what her issue is.  If there are people in trouble, why wouldn’t you help them if you could?  In the hotel last night, I watched that stupid Superman movie where he lets his dad die for no reason to try and understand him better.  It didn’t help.  Is there a Superwoman movie?  Maybe there’s a gender bias in Superman that’s messing up the lesson I’m trying to learn.

42561 wanted me to drop her off and then come back to check out the bus, but I bullied her into coming with me.  I did my finding spell to track down the bus driver.  We found him and everyone else from the bus a few miles away at Ma’s Café. 

The bus had broken down and they walked down to the café.  Nothing nefarious about it.  42561 gave me shit like she had told me it would be nothing, but that’s not what she said at all.  She didn’t care if it was something or nothing.  She didn’t want to get involved either way. 

Nice reminder that not everything that happens is a crazy magic conspiracy.  Sometimes shit just breaks down.

Why not SuperGIRL you traitor?

The sheer amount of information online with instructions on how to make friends or what to do if you have no friends is depressing in and of itself.  Are there really that many people out there that have no one?  I thought social media was supposed to be handling this?  Is it possible that somehow the superficial “single-serve friendship” of the internet is making people feel less connected and more isolated?  Nah, that’s crazy. 

42561 and I aren’t really gelling.  But she’s tolerating me.  Which is something?  It’s kind of like getting a cat from a shelter that turns out not to be very sociable.  You may want a snuggly cuddlebug but the best you’re going to get is aloof tolerance.  We’re both magic-using women wrestlers and we don’t seem to have anything in common.  How is that possible? 

What keeps striking me is that I feel that I’m on the other side of what it was like when people tried to befriend me.  It’s the universe is saying “how do you like it, Grace?”  I don’t like it, but it’s not the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.

Since there’s only so much time you can spend trying to force a friendship, I’ve continued with my journey of random online mental health stuff.  I found a “report card” you’re supposed to measure every day.   

Get at least 8 hours of sleep a night – I’ll rate myself good here

Stay hydrated and eat balanced meals – I’ll say okay here, my diet is kind of crap but I cheat with magic 

Exercise – No issues here 

Spend time regularly with people you enjoy – Needs work 

Build time into your day to rest and reflect – Since I only work a couple times a week for less than an hour, I feel like I have the opposite issue 

Have a purpose that gives your life meaning – WTF? 

This last one is a real kick in the good titty (right for me).  Just give your life meaning?  That is a huge deal, not a checkbox on a list.  I feel like having that on there could really depress people.  This happens a lot.  I think, hope maybe, that the people who create these things are well-intentioned but much of it really misses the point, boiling down to “are you sad?  stop being sad and be happy, idiot!”   

What’s weird is that my life does have a purpose.  I use my magic to save the world.  Somehow that doesn’t feel satisfying though.  Is there a comic book where Superman has a crisis and wonders what the point of saving the world is?  Maybe that’s what I need to read. 

OOC – Happy birthday

This blog is one year old. I don’t have much to say about that but it seems worth remarking on. I like writing this, I wish more people liked reading it.

When I started this blog at first it seemed like it was going to gain more traction than my other blog, but the first bug story really scared people off. Actually honestly what I think happened is wordpress deleted a bunch of bots.

I figured with the popularity of HEELZ on STARZ people would come flocking here wanting wrestling fiction but I’m still waiting for that HEELZ bump. I suppose the problem, if there is one, is that there’s too much wrestling for magic fans and too much magic for wrestling fans. It’s a classic conundrum.

This isn’t my first wrestling blog. I had several in college. Not sure they were blogs, but they were something. That was the late nineties when the internet really was a series of tubes so who even knows what things were. I’ve been a little short on inspiration for Grace lately so I wanted to go back and steal some of those ideas, but I think it’s all finally gone. They say nothing ever leaves the internet but it’s not quite true. I think I accessed one of those sites as recently as 2017, which is a pretty long life for angelfire or whatever it was.

Most of those stories were about lady wrestlers as well. Sometimes I wonder why I write female protagonists so often. I hope it’s not something gross. Some people REALLY don’t like that choice.

The other day someone was really laying into the Red Hot Chili Peppers and I thought “I guess they were kind of lame” but then I remembered that I really like the song Soul to Squeeze. So sorry, Red Hot Chili Peppers.

Where I go, I just don’t know
I got to, gotta, gotta take it slow
When I find my peace of mind
I’m gonna give ya some of my good time

Words as true today as they were when the movie Coneheads came out in 1993.

I used to not care about drinking room temperature beverages. Now I hate it. The world of my youth is gone. Things change. Life, you know?

The dignity of fake fighting

42561 is on a tour with Longhorn Wrestling, an outfit run by Chadd 2 Badd working the lucrative Amarillo-Lubbock-Wichita Falls circuit.  I basically invited myself to tag along with her and as soon as I turned up, they put me on the show with her as a team.  Literally tagging along.

I never expected to have any kind of professional pride, but I have to admit that jobbing to whatever strippers Chadd 2 Badd puts on the show against us does gall me.  I’m tempted to shoot on one of these glittery bikini wearers but that would be wrong because it’s not their fault.  They’re just collecting a check. 

So then I think, okay, Chadd 2 Badd is the one I want to take a piece out of, but he’s also just doing what’s going to make him money.  It’s not like he’s making me do this.  So who’s at fault then?  The crowd?  If I take them all out then there’s no money for anyone.  It’s a problem.

I pitched an idea to Chadd 2 Badd where I would “lose it” and pretend to shoot on one of these women and make it seem like I really mess her up, and then do a fake shoot promo about how I was tired of working with their kind and call out Chadd 2 Badd and we could work the old disgruntled wrestler against owner angle, but he wasn’t into it.  I think he’s still pissed at me because I asked why they didn’t hit Oklahoma City in their loop.  How was I supposed to know Texans hate Okies?

42561 doesn’t like to talk about magic.  She doesn’t like to talk about much of anything other than working out and nutrition.  She likes to talk about that way too much.  It’s weird to be on the other side of the equation of the person who doesn’t want to talk.  I tried to ask her about her mom once and being taught magic, and she reacted like I was a dude on the bus who whipped out their cock.

At least I’m not alone though.  I never thought I would want friends.  Certainly I never thought I would need them.  But here we are.

There was a tag team called the Headshrinkers once

I took a PHQ-9 questionnaire online and I got 9 out of 27 which means I am mildly depressed.  Which is good news, I think.  That it’s not higher I mean.  It says it’s not a screening tool for depression though.  So why is out there?   

Kim has a friend who’s become a therapist since retiring from the ring and he specifically tries to help wrestlers.  Wrestlers are all crazy so it probably helps to have someone who knows about that going in trying to help them.  I could probably talk to him for free.  But if therapy works, which I don’t know if it does, you probably have to be honest.   

It’s not like I can say “yeah, I haven’t been sleeping lately but that’s because I keep thinking I’m going to be attacked by a guy with a beetle head and the claws of a praying mantis”.  A social worker told me that I had PTSD once and that was before all this magic shit.   

I wonder if there are enough magic people out there to have developed a support system.  On all the stupid magic shows, there’s a goblin or something that runs a magic shop with wands and shit but you never see any health services for magic users.   

Maybe I should give 42561 a call, it might be nice just to talk to someone else who knows what I’m going through. 

It also would be nice if everyone I ran into that knows about magic didn’t kill themselves, or get murdered because of me, or wasn’t a violent psychopath.   

War & er, well, more War

I heard a wrestler called War Machine (not that one, and not the other one, but the other other one) once talking about how casual sex had lost its luster for him.  He was lamenting that he no longer got much of a thrill from banging some rando after every show.  It was still fun in the moment but ultimately left him feeling empty.

Based on that, I now think that maybe saving the world is like casual sex.  It seemed important at the time, but after the fact it feels hollow.  Maybe it’s more like flossing, something you know you should do but it’s hard to really care about.  

I wonder how many existential moments have happened in a wrestling ring.  I was in there with a woman calling herself Wargasm who not only was stiffing the shit out of me but also has the worst BO I have ever had the misfortune to encounter.  I think there was something wrong with her, I don’t think a healthy person can manufacture a smell like that.  

And I wondered “is this what life is”?

Maybe saving the world is just too big.  I bet when a doctor helps a kid with a broken leg, that feels great.  But saving the entire world?  It’s too much.  It’s like that thing where your neighbor getting mugged freaks you out more than 40,000 people getting killed in a monsoon in Kuala Lumpur.  At some point the scale is just too much for your brain.

I don’t regret saving the world from being taken over by bug monsters.  I’ll save the world every chance I get.  But if that doesn’t make me feel good, what will?  

Is there more to life than saving everything and everyone?  What a fucking question.

Big Damn Hero for Hire

I wonder how many police reports I’m in.  Deceased last seen with unidentified person.  Caucasian female, approximately six feet in height, unflattering mannish build, short blond hair, ratty clothing, scars on face.  Probably in the margins they write “lesbian?”  And in their notepad they write “bangable, but just barely”.   

When I was driving Christie Lane’s Malibu back to the club to get my car, I thought “I’ve never driven in a dead man’s car before”.  I quickly realized that’s not true.  Most of my cars have been over a decade old.  Surely some of the former owners of those cars were dead.  It’s not a sobering thought.  But it’s something.

It’s hard to get worked up about Christie Lane dying in a toilet.  Since he was a serial waitress murderer.  I do feel a little bad.  I was talking to someone and he got up and drowned himself in a toilet to get away from me.  I can’t help but feel somewhat rejected.   

I wish I could have learned how he spotted the bug people.  It didn’t seem to be a spell.  It seemed like something he could just do.  Maybe I’ll give 42561 a call and see if she has any thoughts on that.  Maybe it’s an internalized spell like she does.   

I looked through all of Royale’s notes.  Skimmed them is more honest, there’s a ton of stuff in there.  I didn’t find anything about these insect spirits.  Does that mean these bugs are not the world ending threat they seem to be?  Or does it mean that it’s something new?  Or does it mean it’s just something that Royale never encountered?   Does it mean anything?

If you’re reading this and you don’t think I’m insane, keep an eye out for people getting buggy.  Give me a call if you see anything like that.  

And after I save your town from bug monsters, if you wanted to pay me, that would be cool.

Bright Lights, Bug City Part 8 – Over

Grace and Christie headed to Galesburg on the hunt for the customer service center manager at the middle of this inspect spirit jamboree, but he was long gone.  Along with several other employees who are likely his insect-infected minions.  Did the doctor warn them before Christie magic-mouthed the bug juice out of him?  Or does the “master” insect guy somehow know what happens to his progeny?  Grace and Christie sure as shit don’t have a clue.   

There’s no Denny’s in Galesburg sadly, so Grace couldn’t celebrate in style, but there is a Perkins.  Grace was enjoying her Magnificent Nineteen (that’s when you order a Magnificent Twelve and a Magnificent Seven) while Christie listlessly poked at his phone and drank coffee.  Grace took a big gulp of horrible orange juice and then frowned at Christie. 

“What are you so fucking glum?  We kicked ass.” 

He didn’t look up from his phone “So do you want me to drop you off back in La Fayette?  Shouldn’t take long, it’s less than an hour away.” 

“Why would you do that?  We still need to find the guy, the egg laying queen in this scenario.” 

Christie finally looked up “I thought you said that your finding spell didn’t work.” 

“It didn’t.  I assume any competent wizard can scatter a spell like that.  I’ll keep trying but in the meantime we’ll just look for him the old-fashioned way.  Interview people, ask around, something with credit cards maybe?  Whatever they do in the cop shows.  TARU?  I don’t know what that is but the police are always getting answers from TARU.  Maybe it’s a search engine for criminals.” 

He shook his head tiredly “I can’t fuck around with you on this anymore, I have a show in Milwaukee.  And I need to get home.” 

Grace jabbed at him with her fork for emphasis “You’re the one who told me that this was a matter of world ending stakes.  Are you saying that a hundred buck show in Wisconsin is more important than the entire world?  Wisconsin is part of the world.  Spoiler.” 

He looked around as if someone was coming to help him “I can’t . . . I can’t . . .” he threw his hands up “I have a life!  I have . . . stuff . . . I can’t chase monsters around the country.” 

Grace snorted “Fuck your life buddy.  This is more important than your shitty career and your idiot girlfriend.” 

His face turned hard “Don’t call her an idiot.” 

Grace gave him a level gaze “If she’s buying your bullshit, she’s an idiot.  We’re talking about the fate of the world here, Christie Lane.  What don’t you understand about that?  Not to mention you’ve murdered at least four women right?  Probably a lot more.  You don’t get to walk away from that.  This isn’t Dexter, champ, there are consequences.  This is your penance.  Save everyone in the world a few more times and we’ll talk.  Maybe God forgives, but I don’t.  Not that I believe in God since that social worker stabbed me when I was a kid.” 

He slumped in the booth “So what?  This is my life now?  Traveling around with you and your abuse?  What about money?” 

“All we need is gas money and a little food.  Do a show here and there, pick up a little cash.  It’s not like we’re going to be on a bug hunt all the time.”  

“Comedy doesn’t work like that.” 

“You can come to wrestling shows with me, be my manager.  Piss people off, you’d be good at that. You have a natural talent for it.  Don’t worry about money, it all works out.”  She plucked at her ripped and bloody eight-dollar Wal-Mart shirt “You ever see me change clothes?  People don’t need ninety-nine percent of the crap they have.  You can get by fine without much.  You’ll learn.  I can tell by your shitty little kid brat expression you’re about to say something about how you don’t want to do this.  Too fucking bad.  This is what it is, just accept it.” 

Christie wrote something down on a napkin and passed it over “Here.” 

Grace picked it up “What’s this?” 

“That’s my girlfriend’s number.  I want you to call her if anything ever happens to me.  I don’t care what you tell her. I just don’t want her to worry.” 

Grace huffed “Don’t be so fucking dramatic.  Nothing will happen to you as long as you’re with me.” 

Grace would have been worried about him ditching her when he went to the bathroom if she didn’t have the keys to the Malibu.  But she did so she wasn’t.  She wasn’t worried when he was in there more than half an hour either.  She figured he was pouting.   When the EMTs came in with a gurney, that’s when she got worried.  She joined the gathering crowd around the bathroom door and asked what was going on.  A trucker with long wild hair around a bald spot and dirty saggy jeans answered. 

“Some guy tried to drown himself in the toilet.” 

“Tried or did?” 

Bright Lights, Bug City Part 7 – Fool me once shame on you, fool me nonce, eh, good for me I guess

Did you know that when Grace is not doing magic stuff she’s a pro wrestler?  She actually does that a lot more than she does magic stuff.  Crazy huh?  It doesn’t pay well but at least it’s really bad for you.   

Wrestlers who are any good develop two very strange skills.  One is selling.  Not like Glengarry Glen Ross ABC selling, but acting like you’re hurt when you aren’t.  They don’t call it acting though, they call it selling.  The flip side of selling is that they also learn how to act like they’re not hurt when they are.  When you’re really hurt you need to act like you’re not.   

The good doctor, or the bug in control of him maybe, was able to fool Grace with his words – it’s not hard to do that, truth be told – but he couldn’t fool her with his body.  As she was “helping” him out of the hospital to meet up with Christie, she realized he was faking being all weak and drained.   And he, or the bug in control of him, was a good faker.  But not good enough to fool her finely honed weird wrestler instincts.   

Grace had asked where they could go for some privacy for the anti-bug magic spectacular.  And if they had gone there, the doctor had another ambush waiting for them – one with shotguns and automatic weapons.  And that probably would have been the end for old Grace.   Magic or not, an ambush and a bullet to the head are hard to defend against.  

But since she was onto him, instead when they reached the car, she got him in a choke hold.  Christie, being pretty frazzled at this point with yet another change in the plan, exclaimed “What are you doing, I thought you said he needed help!” 

Grace grunted as the doctor’s arm turned into a freaky bug-scythe and impaled her through the thigh “I am helping him.” 

Grace wasn’t sure if you could choke out a bug spirit possessed person.  Would the bug spirit keep the body animated even if the host was unconscious?  Turns out no.  Thankfully.  Grace dropped/shoved/threw the old man into the back of Christie’s Malibu and fell/slumped/lurched into the passenger seat herself.

Christie leapt into the driver’s seat trying to staunch the copiously bleeding wound in her gnarled leg with crumped and soiled Burger King bags “Jesus, heal yourself, you’re getting blood all over my car!” 

Grace tried to take a deep breath but was having trouble pulling in air so it sounded more like a reverse hiccup “I can’t heal myself, Gary, because I’m running low on magic over here.” 

“Who the fuck is Gary?!  I’m Christie Lane, damn it!” 

Grace laughed hysterically “All the boys love Christie Lane.” 

Christie scowled so hard his face almost slid off “What are you talking about!?  What are you ever talking about?! 

Grace waved her hand tiredly “Just drive to someplace secluded, somewhere where no one will you see you making out with an unconscious old man.” 

Someplace secluded was a tourist trap-type scenic bluff overlooking the city lights at night.  It was called Holding Hands Peak in the fifties, then Make-out Point for many years, then Third Base Cliff for a while, in the 80s it was briefly known as Murder Point, some folks called it the Bone Zone after that, then it was called No Seriously Three People Got Murdered Up There for a couple years, before finally settling into its current nickname of “that place where people illegally dump trash”.   

Grace had just enough magic to keep herself from bleeding to death on the way.  Not healing so much as just slowing down the inevitable.  Once they rolled to a stop, Christie saw she was as pale as the whitened teeth of a smarmy car salesman.   

“Are you fucking dying?!” 

Grace couldn’t open her eyes “Yes.  Give me the old man.” 

“What do you mean, give him to you?” 

Grace wanted to shout but barely managed a loud whisper “Put his hand in my hand.  I’ve never done this before so if it doesn’t work and I die, I just want you to know that you’re a horrible person and I hope you get rectal cancer.” 

Christie slapped the limp hand of the unconscious man into Grace’s barely livelier hand.  No one ever wants to do magic with Grace.  Which is a shame because she’s actually really good at communal spellcasting.  Royale and Obalyuane both trained her that way and despite her lack of magic friends, she’s got a real knack for it.  Taking the magic from someone rather than having them give it to you isn’t the same, but it’s close enough.  Bleeding to death is a good motivator.   

Grace pulled magic energy from the doctor.  It was like nothing she had ever felt before.  It was like an enema of ice-cold water.  It was like suddenly being able to feel your organs – and knowing that some of them don’t like you.  It was something alien and vast and ugly.   

But it did the trick.  She was able to heal her leg.  And she was able to pass through enough energy to Christie for him to work his magic and remove the spiritual bug infestation from the doctor.  Grace was sitting in the car, exhausted and slick with sweat and Christie was puking noisily into the bushes when the doctor came around in the back seat and sat up.   

“Where am I?” 

“The sign says Snell Scenic Overlook. I mostly see bags of garbage.  Doesn’t seem very scenic.”