Holy shit! I'll be getting married. Holy revolting crack popes! I'M GETTING MARRIED! Can you believe that? In three years I've gone from crying drunk at the dirtbar to getting married and expecting a baby in September. Wow, my life just keeps getting better and better.
Natasha and I were originally planning to have a huge Woodian wedding in September of 2005 but then one of Natasha's friends decided to get married, scheduling her wedding a few days before ours, purposely stealing all of our thunder. So, we decided to push our wedding back to May of 2006 but, to take any pressure off, we decided a few months ago to go down to the courthouse and get married on May 2005 so that our big ceremony will mark our one year as husband and wife.
I'm not scared, not too nervous. I don't see this as being some major step. I mean, it IS a huge step but Tasha and I already love each other and want to spend the rest of our lives with each other. That's the hard part. I never wanted to have a child and she never wanted to get married. I saw myself just fucking and drinking my entire life away and she saw herself as a single mother, never finding someone who would accept both her and her daughter. But once I sat down and started talking to Natasha, I fell for her so hard it was silly. I fell even harder when I finally met Emerald for the first time. It was magic. It was fate. Now it's two years later and we're going to get married and we're expecting our first child together in September.
We are already a family. We've been one for a long time now. The all new Galindo family, version 1.0 - now with 60% less alcohol! We're already a mother and a father. Marriage is nothing more than a change of terminology for us.
The only negative part of paradise is that my parents are not here. I told them about the wedding. I told them a long time ago that we were going to go to the courthouse and get married. I told them wa-a-a-ay in advance with ample enough time for them to get out of work and get their butts out of Arizona and into Sacramento. I fucking told them! But apparently my father's work is much more important than his son getting married. His job is more important than me. I'm trying really hard not to be bitter about this but there's really no way for me to see this other than as a middle finger raised right in my big brown face.
What's helping me to deal with this is to see it in terms of Star Wars mythology.
A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away my mother and father were young and planning on getting married. But my mother's father, hereby named Tata, was too busy at his job at the smelter to go to his own daughter's wedding. And my father spent the rest of his life secretly hating Tata for not going to their wedding, carrying a lifelong inner grudge against Tata that lasted until less than a week ago when my father told me over the phone that he just couldn't get out of work.
Much like Darth Vader's trip to the dark side, I believe that my parent's inability to love me enough to come to my wedding was unavoidable. It was forseen by evil old men with dark robes who look like Ozzy meets the new pope and finally the circle is now complete.
I imagine in my head that the next time I see my parents that my dad will have the black Darth Vader helmet on.
So here I am, just now starting my third cup of coffee at my mother-in-law's house, just updating my blog and downloading Lazyeye songs for my ipod. Their song "High School Girl" is the shit. And in about an hour I have to get dressed in the new shirt and pants that my new mother bought me. I'm going to get married on a rainy Cinco de Mayo. I tell Natasha that us getting married on Cinco de Mayo is an integral part of her entrance into my mexican family. If we get divorced, it will have to be on the Day of the Dead. Natasha is right next to me on her cell phone breaking the news to her thunder-stealing friend who is the reason why we kept this whole thing secret in the first place. She's taking it quite well.
I'm trying to be positive, not get lost in parental negativity. I'm not going to let my parents ruin my wedding for me. It sucks that Natasha has like thirty million people coming with us to the courthouse - in actuality, more like twenty people - and all I have is Marisa. I guess I could have asked my brother to go but somehow I feel like he would have come merely out of pitty. No, I'm not going to think about all that stuff because those thoughts lead straight to depression. I refuse to let my brain ruin this day for me. There's a handfull of people coming from our work and I need to remind myself that they're coming for US and not just for her. That's the sort of worst case scenario mentality shit that I was raised with. Thanks, Darth.
In my head I can hear my father yell at me to cut my hair. I can hear him right now. "Stevie, you are NOT getting married with your hair long like that! This is an important day and you can't go get married looking like a bum!" It alternates between my father and my mother. I'm combatting those thoughts in pure geek style by slicing them in half with a lightsaber. A purple one like Sam Jackson.
I've been blessed with a really amazing life. It amazes me to think back at the skinny little drunk guy who used to get pissed drunk at Bennigan's at Metrocenter in Phoenix. He was lazy and stupid and careless. He was drunk and stoned and ignorant. He seems like a completely different person. The Steve in Phoenix was a different person from the Steve in California. I'm coming full circle. It's amazing. I wish to Wood that everyone's life could be as happy as my life is.