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Friday, September 30, 2005
Thursday, September 29, 2005
(a blank screen for two seconds, then a shot of a packed audience screaming, then pyrotechnics, then the song "Get Out" by Dane Cook, available for free on his website)
"Hello everybody and welcome to the inside of Golden Girls actress Bea Arthur's crusty vagina, which is located in the bustling, minority-filled metropolis known as El Centro, California ... and we are here live for another incredibly implausable episode of GVWA Deviance, our semi-weekly television show, and believe me when I say that you are in for an exciting night of entirely fake, semi-offensive professional wrestling. It has been over a month since we've last seen each other and for that the entire GVWA humbly apologzes ... we were unavoidably postponed for the month of September due to an extreme bout of with-child-edness, but now that that is done, we are back with a vengance and ready to cook us some beef, as the kids like to say.
There are a lot of questions that are waiting to be answered tonight. Last month's pay-per-view, GVWA Cheesy Pay-Per-View Title 2005, showed us the utter destruction of Satan's fledgling organization, the Ministry, and the Book Seller Order, the B.S.O., continued to grow in numbers in their mad quest for power. Can these renegade booksellers succeed in controlling the GVWA? Also, GVWA champion and tv horror host Mr. Lobo somehow managed to hold on to his title after a triple threat ladder match against "The Photographer" Greg Kaczynski and B.S.O. member "Mean" Michael Burns. Mr. Lobo has held on to his belt via a lengthy string of accidents and pure dumb luck, but when will his luck run out?
But the BIG question in everyone's mind tonight ... what does our new general manager, Albert B. Fall, the secretary of the interior during the Harding presidency who was responsible for the infamous Teapot Dome scandal, have in store for us tonight? Fall has promised that his first act as general manager would SHA-A-AKE the federation to its very core. What plan could he have in store for us tonight?
Well then, we're all set here, so let's stop all this pointless yakking and go straight to our first match of the evening, a one-on-one match between ..."
(then, out of nowhere, which is a phrase used A LOT in professional wrestling, the lights in the arena went out ... and the song "Cool as Hell" by Grand Buffet began playing ... and as the lights came back up, general manager Albert B. Fall walked to the ring and grabbed a microphone ...
"As your new general manager, it is my job to ..."
"...shut up. SHUT UP! Shut up, I say! I demand silence!" (chants grow louder) "As I was saying, as your new general manager, it is my job to make things exciting around here. Therefore, as my first act as GM, I have decided that tonight's main event will be a GVWA Championship match ... Mr. Lobo will be putting his title belt on the line against ... the winner of a randomly selected 12-person over-the-top-rope balle royale. And that battle royale will occur ... NOW!"
12 PERSON OVER-THE-TOP-ROPE ROYAL RUMBLE FOR A SHOT AT THE GVWA CHAMPIONSHIP:
This match started out with two randomly selected wrestlers in the ring ...
EDDIE IZZARD and JACK WHITE
Jack White, one time #1 contender for the championship, fought long and hard with British transvestite comedian Izzard, but Eddie refused to give up. They fought on and on and were soon joined by ...
"Pimpin'" JESSE CEE
... and, in his first ever match ...
"Intense" IAN MCEWAN
Jesse immediately attacked the former #1 contender while Izzard attacked newcomer Ian. But Ian showed intense speed and skill, probably a result of his recent quitting of smoking, and quickly injured Eddie's back. But Jack White, hoping to have another shot at the GVWA championship, broke free from Jesse and landed his finishing move, the Hotel Yorba Check Out, on Ian, then easily threw him over the top rope, elliminating him.
The crazed murderer and cult leader ran into the ring covered in blood, his long matted hair covering up his new tattoo of actor Abe Vigoda covering his entire chest. Manson ran into the ring, screamed something about taco shells, then dove over the top rope, thereby elliminating himself, a first in the world of fake pro wrestling.
Jackson and White made an unlikely team but nevertheless teamed up with each other, bringing the pain to Izzard and Jesse. Jackson, in a fit of child molester rage, tossed Jesse over the top rope.
The New York Times bestselling author, whose book "Killing Yourself to Live" is available at your nearest Barnes and Noble, ran in and started bodyslamming everybody he could get his hands on. But Izzard, showing amazing wrestling prowess, somehow managed to land a massive face kick on Jack White, throing him over the top rope.
JESUS H. CHRIST
The Son of God and long-haired hippie was met by an angry Klosterman and the two started trading blows. Then a revitalized Eddie Izzard picked up the feminine Jackson and tossed him out of the ring.
God, who has been trying to get his hands on his son Jesus for months now, finally saw his chance and ran to the ring. Jesus looked frightened and tried to hide, but God ran into the ring and immediately started punching, kicking, and chopping Christ. Klosterman managed to trip Eddie Izzard, sending him straight out of the ring.
Silent comedian Roscoe "Fatty" Arbuckle, whose life is brilliantly put into perspective by author Jerry Stahl's new book "I, Fatty" available now at your nearest Barnes and Noble, ran in and immediately started fighting Spin magazine contributor and author Klosterman as God and Jesus continued fighting one another. Fatty managed to land his finishing move, the Coke Bottle Bodyslam on Klosterman, knocking him out and making him easy to toss out of the ring.
Bookseller, large tittied sexpot and B.S.O. member Marisa ran in and immediately started attacking Jesus, then God, as Jesus saw this as a chance to escape his father and began attacking Fatty, who was too exhausted from elliminating Chuck to fight back and was easily tossed out by the son of god. Then, suprisingly, the last wrestler to enter the contest was ...
... so, the final four in the ring were God, Jesus, Lletterman and Marisa. God tried to continue his attack on Jesus but a frightened, cowardly Jesus jumped out of the ring, elliminating himself. God vowed revenge but as he was doing so Marisa and Letterman teamed up and began double teaming the massive deity. Then, in a shocking act, Marisa TURNED on Letterman, throwing him out when he wasn't looking. Then God, with the same brute strength he used on New Orleans, picked up Marisa and threw her out of the ring. AND THAT IS THE BELL! God wins! God wins! God gets a title shot against Mr. Lobo later tonight! Can Mr. Lobo somehow keep the belt after going toe to toe with God? We'll see tonight ...
'MATCH LENGTH: 21.13
"WHAT ... WHAT THE ... It ... it looks like ... it looks like Johnny Depp has been attacked backstage. We, we don't know the extent of his injuries or ... or who attacked him, but EMT's are helping him as we speak. And Johnny Depp is one of the three wrestlers who will be fighting later on in the triple threat guest referee match for at shot at the championship nect week. If he can't wrestle ... what happens then?"
Criswell VS "Pre-Marriage" Lance (of the B.S.O.)
Lance, one half of the tag team champions and one of the founding members of the B.S.O., came to the ring backed by his fellow B.S.O. member and tag title holder Jesse, who seemed intensely upset over his loss in the 12-man battle royale. And as the bell rang, in a shocking display of violence, both Lance AND Jesse ran into the ring and attacked Criswell with their heavy championship belts. The referee, Bea Arthur's clitoris, had to ring the bell and stop the match but that didn't stop the tag champions from attacking Criswell. To add to the carnage, fellow B.S.O. member and at one poing #1 contender for Mr. Lobo's title "Mean" Michael Burns, ran to the ring and helped Lance and Jesse in their attack on Criswell, eventually leaving him a bloody mess in the ring. Jesse, the apparent leader of the B.S.O., grabbed a mic and vented his frustration at Albert B. Fall for the "unfair" battle royale. Jesse then said that the B.S.O. was poised to take over and that soon, very soon, the Book Seller Order would be the holders of the GVWA championship.
MATCH LENGTH: 00.00
WOMEN'S TITLE MATCH:
CHAMPION Ed Wood VS Vampira
"I'm sick and tired ..." Ed said at the start of his match, "... of people telling me that I'm weak, that I''m a sissy, and that I'm only holding on to the women's championship because I'm cheating and weasling my way around. I'm sick of it. So no more. No more cheating. No more weasling. From here on out ... you're looking at the hardcore Ed Wood!" And with that, Ed threw the microphone at Vampira's face, causing her to bleed. Ed them went on a tremendous assault, attacking Vampira with a fury of kicks and punchesm causing the challenger to bleed even more, causing the ref to eventually ring the bell and stop the match due to extreme blood loss. Ed Wood keeps his women's championship. Can anyone stop this new hardcore Ed Wood?
MATCH LENGTH: 6.48
WINNER: Ed Wood
A TRIPLE THREAT GUEST REFEREE MATCH FOR A SHOT AT THE GVWA CHAMPIONSHIP NEXT WEEK:
Choir Boy VS "The Photographer" Greg Kaczynski VS Johnny Depp
In the interest of fairness, general manager Albert B. Fall came to the ring and announced that Johnny Depp was injured and no longer able to compete in the match. So, Fall decided in his abscence to replace him with the next to last person in the ring from tonight's 12-person battle royale ... and that just happened to be ... B.S.O. member "Angry" Marisa, who came to the ring with "Mean" Michael Burns backing her. What a suprise, the B.S.O. somehow finds their way into this match, but that's not the only suprise, because the special guest referee was none other than ... Reverend Steve! The bell rang and all three contestants ran at one another and exploded in a violent orgy of destruction, which sounds neat. But the real question here isn't who would win but would Steve side with somebody? Would he favor his old school friends Choir boy and Greg Kaczynski or would he help Marisa and maybe even join the B.S.O.? At the start of this match, old school friends Choir Boy and the Photographer teamed up against the weaker Marisa, injured and exhausted from the battle royale. But as the Choir Boy went for the pin on Marisa, referee Steve refused to count, picking up Choir Boy and giving him one of his trademark Reverend Steve Stunners, then giving another one to the Photpgrapher. Both men knocked out, a groggy Marisa stumbled over to Greg and landed a flimsy rear choke hold and, with shades of Earl Hebner screwing Brett Hart out of the WWF championship in Montreal, Steve rang the bell, ending the match and giving Risa the win. The B.S.O. then ran into the ring and started attacking Greg and Choir Boy. Jesse, happy as punch that th e B.S.O. were going to get another shot at the title, offered a B.S.O. t-shirt to Reverend Steve but he simply turned around and walked away. Steve refuses the B.S.O. shirt ... but he didn't say no, either. Hmmm ...
MATCH LENGTH: 11.21
WINNER: "Angry" Marisa
(a shot of the B.S.O. walking backstage celebrating with champagne and cigars and hookers ... "Intense" Ian McEwan walks up to them and begs them to let him join the B.S.O. but Jesse says that he doesn't make the rules, that he'll have to talk it over with "our leader" ... WHAT? Jesse isn't the leader of the Book Seller Order? Then, if Jesse isn't the leader of the B.S.O. ... then who IS?)
A HARDCORE SAVIOR CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH:
"CHAMPION" Jimi Hendrix VS Adolph Hitler
In another shocking turn of events, Hilter came to the ring accompanied by Shaun Morgan, the lead singer of the band Seether. When they entered the ring, Shaun grabbed the mic and said how he was a babyface, good guy, high morals, even dated that almost hot christian chick singer from Evanessence who looks like she'd have a furry snatch, but that being a good guy got him nowhere. Now that he was with Hitler, he would finally start going places. As the bell rang, Hendrix started decimating Hitler with his brute strength and superior guitar skills, eventually throwing him out of the ring. But that's where Shaun was waiting, grabbing a 2 x 4 underneath the ring and walloping Jimi with it, cracking the thick 2 x 4 and cracking Hendrix wide open, causing him to bleed profusely. Hitler capitalized, attcking Hendrix with such ferocity that you'd think Hendrix was jewish. THEN, out of nowhere, a MYSTERIOUS FIGURE in a long, dark cloak ran out amd attacked Hitler, causing all four wrestlers to battle it out outside of the ring. In the melee, Hendrix landed a running spear on Hitler, shoving him to the ringpost, then as Hitler was injured, he managed to land his linishing move, a modified suplex that he calls "The Experience," which led to a pin. Hendrix wins and remains the savior ... but who was the mysterious stranger who helped Hendrix win?
MATCH LENGTH: 9.28
WINNER: Jimi Hendrix
"WOW, what a night! We've already had some intense action and some incredibly unbelievable and rather flimsy plot twists! Ed Wood shows his hardcore side, Reverend Steve screws over the Choir Boy and the Photographer, Johnny Depp is injured at the hands of an unknown assailant, Jimi Hendrix remains the savior due to the help of a mysterious stranger, and the B.S.O. lands a title shot next week at our next Deviance. It's already been an incredible night of fictitious professional wrestling ... but now we have our big main event for the GVWA championship. Can Mr. Lobo defeat God? We're about to find out ..."
OUR MAIN EVENT ...
A SINGLE MATCH FOR THE THE GVWA CHAMPIONSHIP:
"CHAMPION" Mr. Lobo VS God
God, at nearly eight feet tall, came to the ring first, stepping over the ring ropes in an impressive display of size if you've ever seen like Undertaker or Big Show do it, but you probaby haven't because you're not a wrestling geek in rehab like I am. Next was television host Mr. Lobo, who, always looking for a way to weasle his way into kepping his championship belt, came to the ring backed by son of god Jesus H. Christ! What a shock! Jesus is backing Mr. Lobo. God is shocked by this and Lobo has a shit-eating grin on his face, knowing that the advantage is now his.
At the sound of the bell, God charged Lobo, hitting him with a massive clothesline that almost sent Lobo flying out of his three piece suit that he ALWAYS wears. God followed that up with a bodyslam and a figure four leglock, hoping to make the champion tap out. Lobo tried to counter by bodyslamming the diety but at a full eight feet, Lobo could barely lift him, ler alone bodyslam him. God, angered at the champ's attempts to lift him, benchpressed Lobo and tossed him out of the ring like he did Marisa earlier in the night. Lobo flew like a rag doll, colliding with Jesus, sending the two of them to the hard concrete floor. Mr. Lobo doesn't seem to have a chance.
God yelled at Lobo, taunting him to come back into the ring. Lobo lifted himself up and entered the ring, this time with Jesus, and the two of them tackled God, sending him to the floor. With Jesus' help, Lobo was able to lift God up and bodyslam him down to the mat with shades of Hulk Hogan/Andre the Giant Wrestlemania match looming in everyone's mind. Then Jesus helped throw God out of the ring, where they set him up on top of the vietnamese announce table. And as everyone knows, announce tables exist to be broken in the world of professional wrestling. Could Lobo do it? The momentum has shifted in his favor boy could he drive the final nail into the coffin and slam God through the announce table?
Mr. Lobo climbed up to stand on the vietnamese announce table and picked up God, signalling for a piledriver. God seemed completely out of it. Jesus was jumping up and down, excited to finally be rid of his father. It looked like the end. Then, out of nowhere, down the ramp came running deceased comedian ANDY KAUFMAN to try to help God. Jesus ran to try and stop Kaufman and Lobo stopped his piledriver attempt, confused at Kaufman's interferance. That second or two of confusion was all that God needed. He reversed the piledirver position, sending Mr. Lobo falling hard through the announce table. Both men now injured and exhausted, God stood up and landed his finishing move, a deadly "Deity DDT" onto the hard, wood-strewn concrete floor, and the rolled onto Lobo for a three count. THE WINNER ... AND NEW GVWA CHAMPION ... IS GOD!!! God wins! God wins! God is our new champion!
MATCH LENGTH: 24.31
"Wow, what an incredible series of events! Jesus sided with Mr. Lobo to spite his father, but with some help from comedian Andy Kaufman, God is our new GVWA Champion! God has beaten all the odds and is our brand new GVWA Champion! But next week, God's first title defense will be against "Angry" Marisa and the B.S.O. ... can God remain the champion or will the B.S.O. finally rule the entire federation? And who is the real leader of the B.S.O.?
I cannot believe the incredible turn of events tonight. I cannot believe that we have a new champion. And I cannot wait to see what happens next week at GVWA DEVIANCE! Well, that's it for us. Hope you had fun and that you join us again next week for even more frightening fake professional wrestling. Thank you and good night!"
I've spent the last six months trying to think up some examples of the extreme level of stupidity that the opening credits of C.S.I. showcase. I have thought up a couple, not all of them are great, but they do a good job of illustrating my point. The first two are money in the bank, the rest are sorta clutching at straws ...
- if the theme song to Charmed was "I Put a Spell On You"
- if the theme song to the Denis Leary firefighter show Rescue Me was either "Light My Fire" or "We Didn't Start the Fire"
- if the theme song to Nip/Tuck was Motley Crue's "Dr. Feelgood"
- if the theme song to Queer Eye for the Straight Guy was the song that Scott Thompson sings in the movie "Kids in the Hall: Brain Candy" when he finally admits that he's gay
- if the theme song for Smallville was the theme song for Scrubs
- if the theme song for Lost was the Motorhead song "Lost in the Ozone" (I know that one's really reaching, but screw you, I used it anyway)
- if the theme song for Desperate Housewives was, oh, I dunno, some chick song about old bitches and how much they love botox
- if the theme song for the CBS missing persons show Without a Trace was the Dave Matthews Band song "Where Are you Going"
- if the theme song for Friends was "Why Can't We Be Friends"
I hope this list does a good job of explaining how the song "Who Are You" is an incredibly stupid, cheesy song to have as the opening credits theme song to a cop show. I rest my case. The opening credits to the show C.S.I. are totally stupid. I hope I've opened a few eyes. Go forth in peace now to love and serve the world.
Before you go, though, I snapped these pictures yesterday afternoon. It's my wife and my new two week old daughter Isabela sleeping on the big ass lovecouch that we bought from Michael Sabatini. The sunlight from the blinds - they were both asleep at three in the afternoon, showing you just how fucking awesome it is to have over a month off of work - makes the both of these incredibly beautiful pictures.
I have a wonderful life. You should all be jealous.
GVWA Deviance posts tonight, my strange fake wrestling league. Get ready for it. It's one of the best GVWA events ever. It's funny, offensive, and it's got a great sound file in the beginning. Get ready for it, seriously, one of the best. Major changes in the way for the GVWA ...
Monday, September 26, 2005
the triumphant return of the GVWA!
At our last pay-per-view, GVWA Cheesy Pay Per View Title 2005, which came from the Eric Idle Memorial Auditorium in downtown Zanesville, Ohio, Satan's evil ministry had been decimated, the Book Seller Order (the B.S.O.) continued to wreak havoc in their attempt to dominate the federation, and Ed Wood and Mr. Lobo somehow both manage to hold on to their respective titles. And our new general manager was revealed as none other than Albert B. Fall, the secretary of the interior during the Harding presidency who was responsible for the infamous Teapot Dome scandal, the worst modern political scandal before Watergate.
With Isabela born, we welcome
the triumphant return of the GVWA!
Sunday, September 25, 2005
Her name is Lisa. She's short, skinny, kinda quiet, and she has the misfortune to be working in a ghetto Target with employees who look like they just finished looting New Orleans. She helped us at the register today. I like her. I snuck this picture of her and dare anyone else to find a more attractive Target employee.
We bought a washer and dryer from Craig's list. The washer worked. The dryer caught on fire, almost burning our house down. And the douchebag that sold it to us won't give us our money back. That's Craig's list. I hate Craig's list.
Nevertheless, this is fucking awesome ...
Saturday, September 24, 2005
Here's their web site with a lot of hilarious celebrity clips. They're a bit hard to understand without the individual episode's context, but they're all still funny as hell. Check it out.
Just don't enter the contest.
See, they're running a contest where they'll pick the biggest Cheap Seats fan and do a show at their house on their couch. And I just submitted my own entry. I told them about my couch, about my family, and mentioned that I have my own religion based on director Ed Wood and I think that last part is what possibly puts me in contention beyond your regular Joe Schmo applicant.
They also ask you to send in a picture of your couch, so here's mine ...
That's my pimp couch. And I'm crossing my fingers in the hopes that Randy and Jason pick me and come to my beaten up little trailer and grace me with an episode of the coolest show on television.
So during that whole kerfuffle over Hurricane New Orleans, a weapy Celine Dion appeared on Larry King and went on one of the stupidest emotional rants in the history of mankind, at one point saying that the rescuers should all get kayaks and start kayaking down New Orleans saving people, two at a time.
This is what that would look like ...
Celine Dion, that French Canadian bitchwhore. She's a zombie. I'm telling you. Look at her cheek bones, her arms, her face. She either has an eating problem or a LIVING problem because she's really a french zombie, the worst kind of zombie.
When she lost it on CNN, she was a speaking in the worst broken english ever. She said "I open up the tv" and "Yes, we gave a million dollar." That's a good one. The best one is that what she saw wwhen she open up the tv made her so emotional that she said "I barely can sing." Damn, bitch, I could have told you that.
Here is a link to a hilarious "Celine Dion loses it on CNN soundboard." Check it out. It's funny and also incredibly pathetic. For Celine.
Friday, September 23, 2005
Our last day there, as I was exiting the hospital for the last time, I knew I had to take a picture of this guy. So as I was walking out, I powered on my digital camera and tried to snap a shot. The only problem is that our cheap ass camera demands you hold down the shutter before a picture actually takes place.
So I'm holding the button down, waiting for a picture to eventually take place, and this crusty (how come there are so many crusty old people at every hospital just wandering around???) old nurse walk by and asks me why I'm taking a picture of him. I tell her that I pass his picture every day and that since my baby's getting out today, that I wanted to take a picture of his picture. This George W. Bush-voting bitch says in her most disapproving voice "I don't think he would appreciate that" to which I reply "Well, it's a good thing you're not him then" and I take a second picture ...
Thursday, September 22, 2005
One whole week. One whole week of crying, of tears, of depression, of trying to keep a positive outlook in the face of what sometimes seemed to be endless depression. One week of not being able to be home with our baby, of not holding our baby, of not spending the night with our baby, of not knowing how she was doing, of worrying ourselves to death just hoping that she was all right. One week. A gauntlet of a week. And it ended today. At around three pm.
People of the world rejoyce. Wood knows I am. I am happy, joyous, skipping, singing, with a shit-eating grin on my face. Today is one of the happiest days ever in my life. That's because we are now a family. The Galindo family, all new and better than the last model.
That's because baby Isabela is finally home.
We are complete. I feel complete. I haven't felt this complete since I said "I do" to my wonderful wife. I'm giddy. I'm nervous. I just took a breatjing treatment, I'm so nervous here. She's here at home. She's healthy and awake and squeaking and eating and moving and looking at her brand new home with the biggest eyes you've ever seen. She's beautiful and gorgeous and breathtaking and perfect.
And me, I've never felt better. I know I might change my tune when, like my director friend Mr. Michael told "Welcome to the no sleep club," I'm waking up ten times a night, I would like to think that I've fought so much to get my baby home that I will now face each and every obstacle with a smile on my face.
The rise of the Galindo family starts today. Beware, foolish mortals. Beware.
It's easy to get sucked up into sadness and negativity and depression. It's easy, too, to romanticize being depressed. Society and popular culture has taught us over centuries that it's sorta romantic to be sad and depressed and drinking a beer and smoking a cigarette and crying tears for your lost love.
But I'm here to tell you that's bullshit. Life is happy and it's our minds that make it depressing. Life is 10% what happens to you and 90% how you react to it. Life is infinitely awesome and filled with so much happiness that it's inconceivable. Even in the worst of situations, life is still amazing. You just need to search for it sometimes. Life is constantly excellent.
It was another amazing day with baby Isabela at the Nick-You yesterday. She was taken off her nasal oxygen and is doing absolutely amazing, so good in fact that she was moved from the main Nick-You area into a nursery which is the last stop for all the babies right before they're sent home.
We're all very excited. There's a pretty good chance that after a week of struggle and tears and heartbreak, our baby Bela might finally come home today. Then we'll be a family.
Here are some pictures of the Galindo Girls plus their new addition at the Nick-You nursery last night ...
... and here's to hoping that Isabela comes home tonight. Cross your fingers for the Galindo family. And hey, did I mention that we have a baby registry at Target? And that you can buy something and automatically have it shipped to our address? Neat, huh?
Tuesday, September 20, 2005
Our little baby girl Bela is doing excellent. She's off her antibiotics, the tube in her belly button is out, she's been moved into a crib, the oxygen in her nose is now just about equal to room air, and she should be completely unplugged from all the machines tomorrow. It should only be a few days now and she'll be coming home.
Today was a massively productive day at the Nick-You. We finally got to hold the baby. Lots of happy tears. We also got to breast feed her for the first time. It was absolutely amazing. Here are a few pictures from today ...
... and did I mention that we have a baby registry at Target? Hint-hint.
Monday, September 19, 2005
However, of my wife and myself, I am the one that is feeling less not well. So I'm in charge. My wife and I have had an incredibly trying, incredibly sad, incredibly painfully three days. A lot of tears have been shed. But despite the numerous road blocks in front of us, we are going to fight this thing. We are eventually going to be okay.
Thursday night, immediately after her birth during the c-section while Natasha's stomach was still cut wide open, little Isabela was rushed to the nursery room where she was placed under an oxygen tent. Natasha never got to hold the baby, touch the baby's hand, or even look into her eyes. I, being the father, had to run past our families into the nursery and look on as they poked and prodded and went through the whole "intense scene from the show E.R." routine. It was almost midnight. I was in a room with twenty or so sleeping babies. Somewhere a little radio was playing "Tears in Heaven." I cried as I heard my newborn baby cry as they placed tubes and I.V.s into her.
I thought she was going to die.
Eventually, as things calmed down and Bela stopped crying, a really cute nurse with short dyed hair and thick glasses that suggested she once worked for Starbucks told me what was up. Our baby was sick. She told me the name of Bela's disease and I had no idea what it meant. I wished Natasha was there. She's so much smarter than I am. I wished she wasn't bleeding through her stomach and that she was right beside me explaining things in a simple way like she always does.
The following excerpt is taken from a medical web site called KidsHealth.org and it explains what Isabela has ...
Meconium Aspiration Syndrome occurs when a newborn inhales (aspirates) a mixture of meconium (baby's first feces, ordinarily passed after birth) and amniotic fluid during labor and delivery. Although meconium is passed in up to 20% of births, not all infants who pass meconium develop MAS. Of the babies who pass meconium, 20% to 30% either inhale the meconium in utero or with the first breath.
The inhaled meconium can cause a partial or complete blockage of the baby's airways. Air flows past the meconium trapped in the baby's airways as she breathes in; however, it becomes trapped in her airways when she exhales. In addition, the inhaled meconium irritates the baby's airways and makes it difficult for her to breathe.
The severity of MAS depends on the amount of meconium the baby aspirates. Generally, the more meconium a baby inhales, the more severe the condition.
Usually, the nice nurse told me, babies poop out this meconium during stressful events, so usually during labor. Well, Isabela pooped WAY BEFORE Natasha had the baby, so she was swimming in it for an unknown amount of time. Her fingernails were green. Her tongue was green. Her umbilical cord was bright green. I didn't even get to cut it. It was severe. But they said that she didn't seem to be too affected by it and that they were going to place her under 24 hour watch in the nursery under the oxygen hood.
They told me that she was fine, that she would be fine, that she was just having a little bit of problems breathing and that she would be alright tomorrow. I was able to hold her little hand. She gripped my finger with a strong grip and I could see her long green fingernails. They say that long fingernails is a sign of M.A.S. but I'd like to think she got them from me. She had black matted hair just like mine. She wasn't crying. She was looking right at me with massive hazel eyes, sometimes yawning, sometimes smiling. I felt bad that I was able to spend an hour in the nursery with Isabela right after she was born and Natasha had seen her for less than a minute, but I thought that everything was going to be okay.
I wasn't allowed to stay the night. It's customary for women who have had c-sections to have their own private room. But apparently a lot of women like to screw during December like us because the entire hospital was packed. Not a single private room was available so Natasha had to share a room with a skinny little mexican teenager who just had a baby and couldn't speak english. I was allowed to sit with her for a few minutes, then I had to leave. I had promised Natasha when were were married that I would spend every single night with her, that I would never sleep without her. This was the first time in over two years. It was two in the morning. And it was then, walking down a dark maternity ward, that I remembered that I was afraid of hospitals.
But I drove home happy. That's what came back to bite me in the ass, the fact that when I drove home I was smoking a cigarette and listening to "Layla" and drinking a soda and smiling. I had a baby, a brand new baby girl, and that she and my wife were going to be okay. In the literary world that is called setting one's self up for an ironic tragedy, like when Tom Hanks says "I'll be back" in the movie Castaway. I shouldn't have been happy that night. I shouldn't have drank half a bottle of Boone's in celebration and gone to sleep slightly buzzed sometime after four in the morning. I should have been preparing myself. I should have known.
I was woken up at six in the morning by my father in law. The M.A.S. was worse than they had thought and Isabela was being rushed from Mercy General, where Natasha was, to Mercy San Juan to be taken care of in their N.I.C.U. ward. The NICU, pronounced "Nick-You" in that one episode of E.R. where Abby and the terrorist chick do a rotation there, is the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit. It is where the really sick babies go, usually preemies that are many months early or are born with some rare sickness. In less than five minutes I was in the car and speeding to the hospital to be with Natasha. In less than a half hour I was by her side. She rolled her in to our room so that we could see her before she left. She was in one of those massive oxygen baby boxes. She was alseep. And because of how small Natasha's shared room was, she could barely see her newborn baby before they took her off to another hospital.
Enter sadness. Enter depression. Enter crying and holding each other and talking and wiping away tears and trying to eat when all you can think about is your sick baby. I had very little sleep and had barely eaten in the last two days. I was a mess. My parents, who are now officially cool, came in to see us sometime that friday afternoon. They took me down the the cafeteria and got me lunch. I pigges out in a way that I didn't know possible. I talked to them about everything that was happening and it was agreed that after lunch we would go see Isabela at San Juan.
My parents, being my parents, got lost on the way to the hospital. And I had Natasha's breast milk on ice. And it started melting. I had to run into a Circle K and steal ice from their soda fountain. That's something to laugh about later. My fucking parents, man.
But after seeing Isabela in the Nick-You, talking to her doctor and her nurses, after seeing the place they have down there, the people that are there to take care of her, after being there for a few hours and touching her and talking to her, somehow everything felt better. I felt better. I talked to Natasha and she felt better. People from work like Jessica and Amanda came to visit and we felt better. Marisa and Nikara came over and we felt even better. We were laughing. Things felt awesome. Isabela was getting better. And so were we.
After that, Natasha made it her mission to get better enough to get the hell out of the hospital. She started walking. She started eating. She smiled. She joked. She looked awesome. She felt awesome. She was getting incredibly better and wanted to get out of there fast. A private room became available and friday night I was able to stay with her at the hospital. I scrunched up next to her on the hospital bed and slept in impossible positions, some including a steel bar in my arms and back, but despite it being the most painfull sleep I ever had, it was also the greatest, most painful sleep I ever had.
And on friday night Natasha was out of the hospital. We had the baby right after 11:40 pm on thursday night and by 6:00 pm saturday night we were getting ready to leave. C-section women are supposed to stay for a minimum of three nights. But not Natasha. Anyone who knows her knows that you cannot make her do anything. And she wanted to see her baby come hell or high water. And driving straight to San Juan fron Mercy General, that is just what she did.
We spent all of yesterday at the hospital, save two hours where we were not allowed there due to a shift change during which we went to Target and made a baby registry. My feet are fucking exhausted from standing up all day at the Nick-You, but considering all that Natasha and Bela have been through, I would stand from now until the end of the world to prove my love for my family.
Yesterday Natasha and I were there with Isabela. And we were there to see her amazing transformation. We were there when they took off the oxygen hood and put little breathing tubes in her nose. We were there to bottle feed her for the first time. We were there to touch her face and give her a pacifier and hold her hands and talk to her and sing to her and tell her everything is going to be okay. We were there when she first met her big sister Emerald. In fact, Isabela is the queen of visitors. She's seen my parents, my brother, Natasha's parents, her cousin Deinna, her big sister, and her godmother Nikara. I think Isabela is going to have both godparents and Woodparents. I would really like that and Natasha doesn't mind.
She's doing better every day. She's doing great at the same rapid speed that her mother got better after being sliced at the hospital. Every day we watch as she gets better and better. In fact, we JUST got a call from Bela's doctors who say that she's no longer on the antibiotics and in a day or two they say that she's getting better so quick that in a day or two they should be able to take all the tubes out of her.
We haven't even held her or taken her home and already Isabela is completely and absolutely amazing. She's incredible. She's kicking ass and taking names. Soon she'll be home. Soon Natasha will be up and feeling better.
And soon we'll be a family.
Did I mention Natasha and I have a baby registry at Target? Look under Galindo, Natasha and Steve.
Friday, September 16, 2005
Born September 15th, 2005 at 11:35 pm. Isabela weighed 7 lbs. 6 oz. with a thick mat of black Steve-ish hair and long Steve-ish fingernails. Natasha's mother and father, along with her brother Duane and his fiance Lauren were there, as well as the Galindo family, who, it should be no suprise to anyone, were all drunk.
There were some complications with the birth that I do not feel comfortable at this time to discuss. But Natasha is doing absolutely fine after the c-section, Steve did not faint at all despite the cutting and the crying and the blood everywhere, and pretty soon Isabela, or "Bela" for short, will be charming everyone with her big beautiful eyes.
She is the most beautiful woman in the world. She is a sight to behold.
I'm off to pass out now. Peace, niggas!
Thursday, September 15, 2005
Nervous as all hell. Wish I hadn't quit smoking. Wish I had a cigar for when this baby finally drops. I called Marisa first before I called my real family. Hell I haven't even called them yet. That's punishment for not going to my wedding.
So this is it. If you pray, pray. If you believe in luck, cross your fingers. If none of the above, then just try to send your positive vibes this way. My wife and I need all the positive vibes we can get.
Hopefully, next time I post I'll have pictures of my new baby.
Abe Janitorial Supply. When I used to work with my wife, she used to get constantly annoyed every morning with tales of Abe Lincoln impersonators cleaning toilets and saying things like "Four score and seven years ago, your shitter's clogged."
Wednesday, September 14, 2005
The Pettigrew and Sons casket company. It's morbidly refreshing to be greeted every morning with a sign of one's own mortality. Yay mortality!
Marisa moves her feet in her sleep like she's dreaming about running the New York City marathon.
This morning my wife was sick of it all, sick of having this huge belly, sick of having to pee every five seconds, sick of the back pain and the headaches and the everything that comes with having a baby. So we tried everything. We tried tricking the baby to come out. We tried enticing the baby to come out. Marisa yelled at it, telling the baby to come out here and kick her ass. Then finally I chimed it. "If you want the baby out, I could always do you." My wife agreed and Marisa looked after Emerald. Natasha and I went into our bedroom and I told my wife to drop 'em.
We did it and now my wife is alseep. No baby. Just sleep. And Emerald and Marisa are playing with Barbie dolls and My Little Ponies in Emerald's room.
Marisa just woke up about an hour ago. She's wearing a long nightshirt of Natasha's and I assume some panties. No pants. That's so fucking hot.
But no baby yet. We'll see if the baby comes out after a day of hardcore sex, though. Stay tuned ...
Tuesday, September 13, 2005
The strict on-sale date for this fetus is TOMORROW, so we are on pins and needles waiting for the last shoe to drop. Well, actually, we're hanging out, playing video games, listening to mellow music on my iPod, watching our cats kill each other, and pretending that we're both not nervous as fuck. And it seems to be working. We just had some breakfast and now my daughter is playing "Animal Crossing" and all is well with the world.
It's a beautiful fucking day today. The Rutles are playing on my iPod. "Let's Be Natural." Amazing day. I look outside the window and I can see some roses swaying gently in the breeze. I'm feeling fucking great. Just took a breathing treatment. I think I'm going to put my contacts on. Feels like a contacts day. Right now I'm missing storytime. This is my first day off during a storytime. I used to do storytimes every tuesday and saturday, and it's taking all my inner strength not to call work and ask how it's going. But I'm not going to do that on account of how pathetic it would be. Instead, I'm just mellowing out, having fun, feeling the breeze and having myself a mental cigarette. Great fucking day.
So my mother came down yesterday. She came by our house, dropped off a ton of crap (including this sweet chair), made with the small talk for a few minutes, and then had to rush because my brother had a kakeoke show and she couldn't miss it. We asked her if she wanted to go out tomorrow and do something with us and she said that maybe we could do something after her and my brother go to the movies. Whatever. I have so much baby stuff from my parents that I don't care how they treat me.
Nice chair, though. My wife is all about the chair. It rocks, literally, and so does the little footstool thing. It's super comfortable. She also brought us a ton of other stuff. My parents actually bought us almost everything we need. Which is pretty surprising. I didn't think they would come through for us but it looks like they did. Now we're unpacking, chilling out in the new comfy chair, and waiting for my dad to come down this thursday. He's pretty hardcore, so wish me luck on that.
I posted this picture the other day but I have to say something about it ... this picture was taken yesterday with our brand new digital camera which cost us a whopping $39! I can't believe that such damn good looking digital pictures can be taken with such a cheap ass camera, but they can, so all y'all with $300 digital cameras can kiss my black ass. We all woke up around ten in the afternoon and ate a massively huge breakfast. Natasha makes the world's best eggs. They are awesome! And in the piture you can see me looking for some music to listen to and Emerald is wearing her nightshirt.
And who is that on the nightshirt? It's Ed Wood. I have the greatest life in the world. And the world's greatest daughter.
Monday, September 12, 2005
This is a RARE picture of The C.N.G., the creepy neighbor guy, a weary old man with thin eyes and skeletal hands who, I am absolutely positively 100% sure, is killing drifters and using their bodies to fertilize the soil of his massive garden. Yes, scoff at me now ye blog-scoffers ... but when the world finally learns of the C.N.G and his hideous reign of terror, the world will flood this blog like shit through geese and I will be here in front of my computer laughing because it was I who was right all along.
Look how my cat Moody LOOKS ON IN HORROR as the C.N.G. "fertilizes the garden" again. Cats have mind powers, like when a storm's about to come and the animals freak out. Right before Katrina hit, all the cats just ran like hell. "MEOW, MEOW, MEOW, ME MEOWING THE HELL OUT OF HERE!" all the cats shouted.
This, though, is the clencher ... one day we got his mail by mistake and I frightfully had to go to his trailer and knock. He came up to the door and what was on his chin? Tiny droplets of blood.
The C.N.G. is the next Gacey. Or Manson. Or, who was the one who dressed up like the clown? He's the next H.H.Holmes, I tells ya! People of Sacramento, beware the C.N.G.!
Saturday, September 10, 2005
I absolutely wasted right now, after drinking only five or six beers ... my family would be ashamed, being hardcore mexicans, they would be ashamed that I would be drunk after drinking so few beers, but I have to admit that I am ... I have to go to sleep now. I am so totally wasted. I am sorry.
I am now OFFICIALLY on paternity leave, so that means I have the next six and a half weeks off, so more info. tomorrow!
Two of my friends are getting married today. Not to each other, though. It's a war deciding which wedding you're going to go to. But not with me. I have a huge storytime at 2 pm this afternoon so I can't go. I'm secretly pleased with not going to any of the weddings. I'd much rather do storytime. It's a big character storytimes with Buscuit the Dog and then we're all going to take pictures with him. It's also the last storytime I'll be doing for almost seven weeks as I go on my maternity leave to take care of my "about to drop" wife.
Is it stupid of me to be sad, to not want to leave, to miss work and storytime and all my kids so much?
One of the "MOMS" ... I have this chorus of moms that always comes to my tuesday storytimes ... one of the "MOMS" laughed at me when I said that I was nervous to be leaving work. Made me feel like such an asshole. She laughed and said "That is so like a man." Now not only do I feel bad but I feel bad for feeling bad.
Friday, September 9, 2005
Thursday, September 8, 2005
This is a picture of the answering machine at the old house my mom and dad and brother and I lived at in Sacramento. This picture was taken right before I moved in with Natasha and my parents moved back to Phoenix. My brother had a nag of a girlfriend named Dawn. They broke up and got back together something like thirty times in the few years that they were together and she would call Joe constantly, so much so that our answering machine would be flooded with calls that always started with "Jose, are you there?" So I started collecting them. This is the result, 32 "Jose, are you there?" calls, all from Dawn, all annoying.
Speaking of Joe, speaking of marriage, speaking of having a baby, there's a story we don't talk about, a story that hardly anybody knows but something that's been on my mind a lot lately, especially since I'm about to have a child. This is a story that brings a lot of pain and sadness and heartbreak to my family and it's a story that might get me seriously in the doghouse but I still want to tell it.
So basically read it now before my parents bitch at me to delete it.
My brother got married on October 25th, 1998 to a high maintenance but pretty cool girl named Heather. This was back in my Arizona days. They were married in the Elvis Wedding Chapel on the Las Vegas Strip coincidentally during the same weekend that "WCW Halloween Havoc" was at the MGM Grand casino, so all weekend we were bumping inro wrestler after wrestler. My dad met Diamond Dallas Page in an elevator and had a conversation with the guy, my brother met Juventude in a hotel lobby and Juvie posed for the picture by standing on a chair so that he wouldn't seem so small, and Big Poppa Pump pushed me aside on a moveable sidewalk. It was awesome, all the wrestlers and the booze and the strippers and the gambling. It was the Galindo family and various relatives, all assaulting Vegas in a hazy all weekend massive drunk party, capped off by my brother marrying Heather. I still have the video. It was incredible.
Shortly after the marriage, Heather became pregnant. Joe couldn't believe that he was going to be a father and my parents, who, since Joe's the first born male, love Joe more than they love me, showered a ton of love and affection on Joe and Heather and the soon-to-be baby. Me? I was afraid of children. Hell, I didn't want fucking kids. I spent most of my time drunk with Tom, trying not to think of the new Galindo that would soon be in our house.
Heather had that baby. It was a girl. Joe loved that baby and so did the rest of the family. I was weary of it, frightened, and as such I found myself spending most of my time playing video games, watching Ed Wood movies, drinking, popping pills and staying as far away as I could from Joe's baby. Joe was happy. Our parents were thrilled. Everything was good.
Heather, though, wasn't happy. In retrospect I guess she had a case of Post Pardumb WhateverYouCallIt, the Brooke Shields disease. She became loud, erratic, bitchy, and she complained about not getting enough sleep. That was her tune like a broken record. She needed sleep, more sleep, wasn't getting enough sleep, wasn't getting ANY sleep, and if only she could get more sleep ... so she started breast feeding the baby while she was asleep. Which the rest of the family didn't approve of.
I mean, not to knock the guy but my brother snores like thirty-three chainsaws cutting down the biggest tree in Treesville. The dude snores like rap music rattling your windows from some near deaf gansta's stupid niggamobile. And the way we saw it is that if Heather had gotten used to sleeping next to the mount saint helens of snoring, she could inflict serious pain on that baby. Not to mention Heather rolls around in her sleep like a spastic seventh grader with A.D.D. doing interpetive dance in the church's rec hall.
And that's how the cards were set up. We were worried, Joe was happy, and Heather didn't give a shit.
One day the baby was crying and Heather took her to the hospital. The baby had internal bruises all over her body, including some that were a month or two old. Instantly, Child Protetive Services were called and launched a half-assed investigation on my brother. Do you want to know HOW half-assed it was? The baby lived in a house with Heather, Joe, me, my girlfriend at the time, my mother and my father. And CPS's investigation interviewed only two people ... Heather and her racist mother who always hated Joe.
I will not go into any further details. They are all too painful. But I can tell you the results. Heather, after being brainwashed by her parents, began to agree with them. Things got bad, hearts were broken, and now here we are. Joe is single, brave, and has moved on with his life. He doesn't talk to Heather at all. She still stupidly believes that Joe hurt the baby and made all of Joe's old friends in Phoenix believe so too. It hurt to see Joe's lifelong friends turn on him. It hurt to hear Heather's blind acusations. Everything hurt back then. Shortly after that Joe set out to Sactown to start life anew and he's done an amazing job with it. He's been here something like five years now and things have never been better for him. His smiles are real. It's incredible. And yet, somewhere in the back of his mind, he has to be thinking about the daughter that he will never see again.
And now I'm having a baby. I am so incredibly excited. I am going to be a father. I have been a "daddy" to Emerald for almost three years now but I couldn't be a father to her. Now I am going to be a father and I just can't believe it. But things are different. I assume my brother is excited for me but he doesn't show it. It must hurt him. And my parents, who are an entire state away, haven't even seen Natasha or I this entire pregnancy. They barely call us, barely check on us, send us almost no money, and offer almost no support. They say they'll be here next week to be with us but a part of me doesn't believe them.
And there's this small little part of me that thinks about the Galindo that nobody talks about. Like all good Mexican families, instead of discussing our feelings we just don't talk about them. If something bad happens, our family just locks it in a closet and doesn't discuss it. She is the Galindo that nobody talks about and she's been tugging at my mind these long late nights and early mornings. I feel so bad. I never held her. I never spent any time with her in the small period of time that she was in our lives before that dumb whore took her away from us. I don't know how old she would be now. Five, I think, probably going to school.
Hell, I don't even remenber her name.
I don't think there's a happy ending I can pull out of this story. I feel bad for what happened. I wish things had gone differently. I wish I had fed her and held her and played with her and rocked her to sleep. Having this baby must really frighten the rest of my family.
But at least this time I have a woman who will never leave my side. My wife. My wonderful wife. She holds my hand and tells me she is not a Heather. SHE isn't having a baby ... WE are having a baby. I try to do everything I can for her and she tries to do everything she can to let me know that everything is going to be alright. And despite the bitchwhore Heather, despite the Galindo nobody talks about, despite the heartbreak and the tears and the loss, I am absolutely positive that this time things are going to be alright. Things are going to be just fine. This time.
Wish me luck. Less than one week away!
Wednesday, September 7, 2005
Here's some pictures for you ...
Hillary Duff is fucking. Wow, America ... it looks like our dumb whore is finally growing up (sniffle, sniffle).
Blood schmud, New Orleans needs Snickers! Send more candy bars now!
In honor of the wet looters of New Orleans, I offer up to them this absolutely free MP3 from the greatest white rap band that Pennsylvania has to offer, Grand Buffet! Saw them open up for Wesley fucking Willis in Tempe, Arizona in 2001 and they rocked my ass. Share the love!