Hey Fandango!


Hey Fandango!

My vagina called and it wants you to come over for some tea and Downton Abbey later today. She thinks the two of you could do beautiful #Fandangoing together. Okay, maybe not beautiful, maybe more nervous and awkward, and probably bumpy and sweaty, but it would certainly be adequate Fandangoing.


An Introduction

I first started fluffing the kitty to wrestling when I was eleven.  Just kidding!  I didn’t know girls could do that until I was like sixteen.  But I lived a weird sheltered life so let’s move on.  I first started watching professional wrestling when I was eleven.  It was mesmerizing to my pre-teen self.  Sure, the fact that I hadn’t so much as kissed a boy and these men were shiny and perfect probably had something to do with it, but there was something extremely compelling about the energy of the show that drew me in right from the start.  The entrances, with catchy tunes and flashy lights; the wrestling attire, oh boy those tights gave me something to think about; and the moves – the high flying, the dirty tricks, the technical perfection, the occasional wedgie – it was all amazing.

As you can imagine, within my group of friends of tween girls, who consisted primarily of dainty girls who watched 90210 and liked to have sleepovers and talk about each other didn’t exactly want to talk about what happened on Monday Night Raw that week.  So I did what any girl in my situation would do – I pretended I didn’t watch it.  Just like I did with Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles when I was eight.

This brings me to this blog.  What did I accomplish by hiding my love of wrestling?  Well, I developed this association with wrestling being EVEN MORE exciting because it was my secret fling.  And this is a fling that continues to this day, just that we’ve gone public.  And oh boy this lover can still get my heart pumping! So this is a blog about my inappropriate feelings on professional wrestling.  These feelings are probably all going to be based on the wrong things, like singlet vs tights, or crappy entrance music, or a glob a spit stuck on someone’s upper lip…

But that’s okay.  This is a wrestling blog from a hot-and-bothered blonde.