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Friday, February 27, 2004

It's a beautiful sunny day outside, a well deserved break from the horrid storms of late, and I am comfortably sitting here in my kitchen typing on my computer and eating chocolate covered marshmellow eggs while my daughter plays with toys and my girlfriend makes pancakes and sausages and I take this time to think to myself what a wonderful feeling it is to finally hyave found happiness.


MOOD: teethhurtbuttheycanthurtmyhappiness

BACKGROUND: No Doubt "Tragic Kingdom"/Gameface "Three to Get Ready"


For most of my life I've always been haunted by my memories of the past and all my mistakes, as if there's a list of my stupidity that keeps appearing at random intervals of my day as a mental pop-up ad. It has always seemed that I've wasted a majority of my life worrying about the stupid, trivial mistakes I've made in the past that I just can't seem to forget.


But as I sit here, far away from my brother and even father from my mother and father, who are now yucking it up back in Phoenix YET AGAIN, waiting for breakfast and drinking some juice and staring at a beautiful woman who has allowed me into her life and act as both boyfriend and father, I thank the stars above that I have found someone who has allowed me to live in the moment and leave the past behind me.


And yet the struggle doesn't stop there.


There were these pants that I bought for myself roughly about two years ago in an ignorant, vain attempt to try to be what my mental image of a cool Californian guy was. They were thirty dollars and they were kahki and they had millions of pockets and despite the "ignent" reasons behind their purchase I feel in love with those pants. I did a Classic Steve and wore them every waking second of every day and it was great.


Then they developed a slight, small tear just above the left knee and my mother ... yes, I lived with my parents after my ex-fiance and I broke up, nothing I'm proud of but I paid NOTHING to live there so I can't complain ... had to throw them out because you CANNOT wear clothes with rips of any sort because then you look like a bum.


Other asanine Galindo rules incude not ever being able to wear a bandanna because someone will mistake you for a gang member and shoot you and you cannot wear a beanie, a knit cap, because then you look poor and you have to shave or else your job will fire you for looking like crap because no one wants a bum with facial hair working for them.


And so scene after scene of fighting progressed and eventually my mother reached a compromise wherein she would not throw the pants out and instead sew a patch over the rip so that people wouldn't see the hideous rip and think, once again, that you look like a bum. So she sewed a "U.S. Border Patrol" patch over the rip and everything seemed to be settled.


But that was back in a different time and in a different life and it's taking a lot of time and effort to try and get out of that "do as your told" mindframe. I know this paints me as a complete tool but it's taking a bit of effort to remember that hey, I don't HAVE to shave and I don't HAVE to cut my hair because now I am in my own house starting my own family and now I live by a new set of rules.


So the other day I ripped the patch off the pants and the world didn't end and I wore the pants to work and I wasn't fired and everything turned out okay. One small step for Steve, one giant leap for [insert funny statement here].