BACKGROUND: Rolling Stones “Her Satanic Majesty’s Request”
Not that my 26th birthday was in any way disappointing for me. I had a very nice little time. I just can’t seem to get over the fact that as I get older, my birthdays become less and less of a big deal. The older I get the more people don’t seem to give a fuck about my birthday. And I’m not whining or bitching here. It’s just the truth. My birthday was more along the lines of a mellow day where I could try and forget about college and ex-girlfriends and the lovebirds and just hang out – no drama, no bullshit. Just mellow, positive thoughts all day.
I think in my head I still wish for the Chuck E. Cheese big birthday party with all my friends and everything every time my birthday rolls around, you know? That’s probably just my arrested development talking, the same voice that’s telling me right now to get off my ass and buy me one of the new Game Boy SP systems that were released today. But every time my birthday rolls around I expect huge presents and surprise parties and cake. And it just never happens. Not to say that my day in San Francisco and my new digital camera weren’t great presents - it’s just that I totally over-think and over-dream birthdays in my head and this year was no exception.
I stayed sober for my birthday, which I think solidifies the fact that I am now sober for good. If I stayed sober through the holidays, through New Year’s Eve, and through my birthdays, then I am now officially sober for good now. If I could refrain from drinking through all that, including all this lovebirds bullshit, then I can safely say that I can stay sober through any crap that god might throw at me, that sadistic little fucker.
Okay, I am just going to get this shit over and done with right here …
I did not quit drinking because I wanted to impress Collyne, show her that I’m a good, honest man. Fuck all that. I did not quit drinking because in my head I hold this dilution that I could become a successful professional wrestler someday. Fuck all that. That’s not it, either. I did not quit drinking to impress Deborah and I did not quit drinking because of some bullshit e-mail from Sarah and I did not quit drinking so that I could find me a new love of my life. Fuck all that. I didn’t do this because of any one person besides me. I did not quit drinking because of my weight, I did not quit drinking because some court is forcing me to, I did not quit drinking because of bullshit Jesus, I did not quit because of any self-help book or Dr. Phil seminar, and I did not quit drinking because of the freemasons.
Fuck all that.
I quit drinking because I didn’t like myself drinking anymore. It was fun for a while but it isn’t fun for me anymore. After years and years of hitting the bottle pretty damn heavily, I opened my eyes and realized that I didn’t like the drunk me, the wild me, the careless me, the don’t give a fuck me, the me that swims in bullshit drama every second of the damn day. As I got older, I found myself, because of alcohol, let into these petty, childish, stupid ass, high school patches of drama and I just didn’t want to do that crap anymore. No more hangovers, no more carelessness, and no more bullshit for me anymore.
I knew that I was better than that.
So I quit, just like that. And today’s day 116 of my sobriety and I feel fucking great, better that I’ve ever been before. Feel fresh. Feel wonderful. The only negative part is my weight – suddenly, I’m down to 120 lbs., which I haven’t weighed since high school. But that’s why I’m eating better and trying to work out. Just trying to better myself. It’s about goddamn time, too. Writing a book, one, which this time I actually plan on finishing. Writing music and singing with a few people. Writing poetry, too. Good shit. And I’m doing a few auditions here and there, nothing big or anything. Just trying to get out there and meet new people and find myself. That sounds like such bullshit but it’s the only way I can describe all this.
The thing that I’m really proud of, what I really feel great about, is how my viewpoint regarding drinking hasn’t changed. I still find myself at the bar, at the Maple Room a few nights a week drinking coffee, reading a book or writing in one of my journals, and singing kareoke. Talking with old friends. Being a wonderful designated driver. Being a sober example to all my friends at the bar. But not being preachy. My drinking viewpoint hasn’t changed one bit since I went sober. Drinking is wonderful. It’s fucking great. And if you want to do it, then more power to you, brother. Have fun drinking. And I don’t mean any of that in a joking, sarcastic sort of way. Drinking is wonderful. I loved my drinking phase. I really did. So, seriously, have fun drinking.
But I won’t and that’s that.
On a positive, albeit strange, note, this blog has been optioned for a movie. Yes, this blog, this story of my life, the life of Reverend Steve Galindo, has been purchased and may be made into a feature film. My director friend Michael Allesandro has purchased the legal rights to produce the film version of this blog for a whopping $0.35 and I'm hoping he gets Esai Morales, Richie's drunk brother from La Bamba to be me.
Went and saw WWE wrestling live yesterday, went to a taping of WWE Raw live here in Sacramento. I was like a child in a candy store, eyes all wide, my heart beating out of my fucking chest watching Stone Cold and my favorite, The Hurricane. I won't spend too long here talking about it but I feel really good from that. A little spiritual pick-me-up. Now I can move on with my life happier.
I received a delluge of e-mails regarding my last blog where I said, and I quote, "I don't give a fuck about Elizabeth Smart," the cute, doe-like, white girl that had the world on the dge of it's white girl missing-seats earlier this month. Many people were offended by the things I had to say and I just want to take this time to apologize honestly and sincerely to all of you out there who weren't offended in the hopes that one day I will indeed offend you, too. To those who were offended, you must admit, if Elizabeth Smart were black or yellow or brown, you wouldn't have gived a fuck about her kidnapped ass. You know that to be true.
And that's the end of that one.
Well, on the romance front, the shock and awe campaign of Operation Steve Romance has finally begun. I finally came to a point in my life where I liked myself and I was fine with being single. Reached a point where I realized that I needed to be alone now to fully understand who I was and who I wanted to be. Once I realized that, I found myself not giving a fuck about my hair or my weight or any of that bullshit. I stopped chasing women like a puppy dog and stopped pining over lost ones and just started to become comfortable with who I was and who I was trying to be.
Then I started seeing Carrie.
Just like that damn movie, The Tao of Steve, which is a damn fine film by the way if you haven’t seen it. You have to convince yourself that you don’t want what you want in order to get what it is that you want. That always works, always. And once I was happy with being single, in comes Carrie. We’re not together as in boyfriend and girlfriend, at least I don’t think. We’re two people who have been hurt so much that honestly like one another and are slowly seeing how things go. Testing the waters. Seeing how things blend between us. Having fun. I honestly like this girl and I hope this all goes well.
There’s just one problem.
Someone has been calling me. Someone has been talking to me on the phone these past few days. Talking, joking. Almost like before. I won’t say who it is because I promised them that I wouldn’t tell anyone about this. And I’m keeping my promise by not telling you who it is that has been calling me. But let’s just call her, for absolutely no reason whatsoever, let’s call her the cable guy.
The cable guy has been calling me. It’s been months since I talked to the cable guy and now out of nowhere she just starts calling me. I can’t tell you much but I can tell you that I’m scared. I’m frightened. I’m supposed to see the cable guy soon because she has some stuff that she wants to give to me. Calling to see how I’ve been doing. Calling for my birthday. Calling just to talk.
I miss the cable guy. I do so badly. But the cable guy will not fucking hurt me again. No.