... last weekend, the world lost its finest professional wrestler, "Latino Heat" Eddie Guerrero. Regardless of if he was a bad guy or a good guy, he always entranced you. He could make you impressed, make you angry, and make you smile, all in the same match. No one has ever made as many people laugh in the ring like he did. I still can't believe that he's dead. Never has a professional wrestler's death affected me so much. I just can't believe he's gone.
I saw him live three times ... once in Phoenix, Arizona the day after WCW Halloween Havoc 1998. He was with the LWO, the Latino World Order, and my friend Tom and I were the only two people in the arena cheering him on. Since I heard about his death, i've been wearing my LWO shirt. I've worn it for three days now and I don't want to take it off.
The second time was at the Cow Palace in San Francisco win the WWE Championship from bulky heavyweight asshole Brock Lesner.
I didn't think he would win, didn't believe that they would let him carry the belt, carry the entire company. I never thought they'd let a mexican hold the championship. But they did and he won that night. I remember crying when he won. I guess that makes me a complete fucking nerd but I'm just being honest. That's how moved I was that he had won. Driving back home, I felt like I had won, too, like somehow we all had won because he did.
Then I saw him live in Sacramento at a Smackdown taping wrestle overrated dickhead Kurt Angle in an amazing match that made me laugh as much as I was impressed by his intense wrestling skills. Usually a wrestler can make you laugh outside of the ring but can't wrestle worth shit (see Goldust) or it's the other way around (see Steve Blackman). Not with Eddie. He had the ability to make you laugh and he also had the heart of a true champion.
And now the world has lost him. He was an idol of mine and I cannot believe he's gone. I, and the world of wrestling, will spend our lives missing him.
Monday night, after watching the tribute episode of Raw for Eddie, I noticed that Isabela was feeling hot. She had a temperature of 101. The 24 hour nurse hotline told us we should take her in to the emergency room since she was only two months old. So we took her in. It was tough for me since Emerald woke me up at 7:30 that morning, so as we drove to the hospital I was pretty out of it.
We got to the emergency room at 11:15 at night. We were seen right before midnight. It was a pretty hardcore night, especially after the Eddie Guerrero tribute because we were already pretty emotional. I was running on so little sleep that by the time we got out of there I was drunk on sleeplessness. Make matters worse, the douchebag doctors couldn't find a vein to put an IV into Bela, so they ended up sticking her 11 times. By time eight or nine, she was so exhausted from crying bloody murder that she just passed out. Isabela was crying like she was dying, Natasha was in tears herself, and I was just nodding off. It was bad biddy, to quote Pootie Tang.
The doctor, who must have read the book "You Are Worthless" by Oswald Pratt, told us as he was dismissing her "Well, I don't know. Maybe she had pneumonia, maybe she doesn't." What kind of shit is that? When we asked her if she'll be safe, he said "Well, I don't know. Safe is a relative word. I mean, you could get hit by a car on the way home from here." WHAT THE FUCK?! We just spent over seven fucking hours here in the fucking emergency room and we get Marvin the Paranoid Android as our fucking doctor? Jesus Tap Dancing Christ! When we got back home, which was sometime around seven in the morning, we slept for almost the entire day.
It was frightening. It was insaine. It was crazy. I had the most stressful three days off in my entire life ...
... but it was all worth it to know that Isbabela's alright.