Nevermind About the Guitar

It's already leaving me after some lame jokes on Facebook were made about stickers.

Yay!

Shit, Another Amateur Photographer

I like taking pictures. A few of the pictures on this blog are actually from myself, and not just from the gross corners of the internet. I figured I might as well share them since a lot of my life is dedicated to photography. Also, if you're close to me, I do photography for pay on occasion, and I'd definitely love some more practice. Here are some examples, if you're interested.

Depending upon what you're interested in, I might be able to help you out. I've been told my fees are pretty low, and that's probably because they are. But I'm still a little photographer baby, really, since I haven't even created a photography business page on Facebook yet.

Also, I have another thing I need to do. I have a left-handed electric guitar I bought back in '07 and can't come with us on our journey. There just won't be enough room, and besides, I prefer acoustic anyway. So, do you want it? It's a Rockland, which is not a well-known brand. Just another Fender knockoff, I think.

I can add more stickers if that's a selling point. All that I ask is that it goes away. If you're concerned about the obscenities, yes, it does also say "Fuck New School" on the side. And enemas rule.

Also, I do realize the photos are nearly unbearable to look at for clean people. Sorry.

If you're interested in the guitar, and you're willing to pay the shipping, you can have it. Just like that. Just send me an e-mail at alexis.esteb@gmail dot com. We can set something up. Baby.

Merry Jizzmas and Happy Poo Year

I don't even know why you've chosen, on this, the day after Christmas, to look here for some inspirational words, but you're here, so let's get on with this mess. I'm currently riding the coat-tails of a two-day gas station beer hangover, listening to hipster music, and deciding what I can do now with my newly-found-again consumer freedom now that the stores are open once again. Should I go buy more, better beer? Nurse away the sickness with more poison? Or should I steer clear of WalMart and Kroger in fear of wasting the last few days of the year as some robot incapable of staying home on Christmas Eve because I can't drink and watch Trollhunter at the same time?

Maybe I should just try to curl up with my new camera and comfy blanket that I'm somehow dangerously obsessed with. Maybe I should clean my bedroom. I need to do that. But whatever. Where are my manners? I'm supposed to bring some inspiring words to this damp craphole of a blog. So, here...

That's as good as I can do. Jesus is born, so let's eat a fuckload! Ah, that's the American spirit. It's alive and well on this fabulous Boxing Day that no one here celebrates because it's weird and scary.

But you may be asking, "What, pray tell, is Jizzmas?" Oh, haha, let me tell you. Jizzmas is that special time of the year, after the hot cousins go back to Missouri, when your pent-up, unapologetic load can finally be released. It feels good, right? And why does 23-year-old cousin Becky have to wear a mini-skirt for every occasion? Fire off one in the name of the father, the son, and the holy fucking ghost watching you masturbate.

So, as you wind down from the gift high, drink your x-core black coffee with two shots of espresso with hope. Because I'm pretty sure it's gonna be a great new year. And we're all gonna get through it together. I love you. Happy Jizzmas and take an extra-large aspirin on me.

Et Tu, Amazon?

Ugh. Waiting is such sweet sorrow. No, actually, it's only sorrow. Amazon is seriously dicking around with my in-stock warehouse purchase from down the street. Oh, by the way, working there fucked up my ankle so badly that I couldn't walk on it for days, forcing me to quit and my days to be filled with boredom. Damn stupid concrete floors and ten-hour days. And "your breaks start at break-time, but you need to make sure you are leaving the break room five minutes before it ends so you can get back by the end of break." Shorting breaks by seven minutes because they can't have people dawdling while they fucking stall the hell out of my camera purchase.

The shipping problem has gotten increasingly annoying, according to a bunch of people on the internet. If you choose the Free shipping option, they stall your package even if it's in stock, and like I said before, you live a few miles away from the bullshit warehouse.

Yeah, this is super stupid. I figured that my camera would be here by today at the latest, but it probably won't arrive until after it's projected shipping date. But the thing I bought from some third-party company two days later through Amazon is already on its way. It was shipped out the night I bought it. I'd cancel the camera order, but it's the best deal by far, and they just really have me by the balls here.

In other news, it's been really snowy here in Indiana as of the last week or two. Enough to coat the ground and not melt even when it's warm enough to. It's like the mountains. And less people are outside being annoying because of it. Oh, joy, oh, happy times. I like when the people don't go out.

But what do I do until my camera gets here? I want to do things, but I don't know what they are. Yesterday I watched the first two Harry Potter movies, and I'm not really even a fan of the franchise. That's scary. I haven't seen past the fourth or fifth one, so I suppose it's about time to watch them.

Can't wait until I get the camera. It's a Nikon D5100 and it was, if I may, a steal of a deal. But it's really testing my fucking patience. Ugh. Fuck it. I'm going to do something else now.

Oh, Indiana

So, how is the world? I'm good, except for my ankle. Some sort of injury that has caused me to be unable to work, so now I'm at home, playing the Minecraft. Yep, pretty fancy living. Terribly phrased sentence structure, but who cares. I don't know if anyone reads this junk anyway.

Lately, I've missed a lot of the news, so any time I get the chance to read it, I do. What's in the news today? Here in Indy, it's the snow. Joyous Christmas-lovers are bragging to their Southern family members that this year surely will be a White Christmas, and I just don't give a fuck. Maybe it's that good old Indiana blood apathetically sloshing through my veins, but I could not care less about Christmas. I'm not religious (again, I just don't care), and I'm not a 'family' person. If you are a part of my family, don't take this the wrong way. It simply means that, if I don't like you as a person, I won't consider keeping in touch. Just because we have the same blood, it doesn't mean that we should be fucking best friends.

But back to apathy. If you have ever been to Indiana, you might notice that one of our trademark auras is that of indifference. Our flag should just be a guy shrugging his shoulders.

Stylish.

Now, if you have not been to Indiana, good. Don't come. It's mediocre at best, and at worst, a redneck-infested swamp clouded by truck exhaust and shootings like clockwork. Yeah, the hipsters are here now, but even they are an off-breed of their Hoosier parents. "Wanna have kids?" "Yeah, I guess." Then they fuck and watch television at the same time.

By no means is Indiana the worst state, however. Once, during a heat wave, I was in Alabama at a WalMart (oh, the choices I make), when, over the intercom, a voice loudly proclaimed, "Attention, guests! Someone left their Bible in a fitting room and now it's gone. If you've seen it, please bring it to the front." With that lovely Southern accent. Honestly, it was almost cute, except that it was hot as balls, and the van was in mid-breakdown from evaporated antifreeze, and we were in a hurry. So, cranky as I was, I laughed a bit and left.

If something like that happened in Indiana, the first thing they would do is say, "Oh, fuck it." Well, maybe not word-for-word. Christians don't say bad words. They're better than me. Then, they'd go home and find the other ten Bibles they have. Even I have a Bible! Granted, we only kept it to tear pages out for a video we did, but still. Leviathan can be read in a million other books.

Okay, mostly I'm just rambling, as usual. So, what else is there to know about Indiana? I think they finally got over Peyton Manning leaving. They got some other guy named Lucky or something. He does fine, I suppose. I'm not a football supporter. Anyway, every time I've seen Peyton Manning in a photo, he's always got some dorky-ass expression on his face. He's not even playing in this picture! Why is he making that face?

Gorgeous. They plaster that all over WalMarts across the state, and eventually you just kind of get sick of the guy. Sure, he did some funny skits. Yeah, he helped win stuff. But I didn't need my taxes to be raised because some dick decided it would be in Indianapolis's best interest to build a new monstrous stadium.

Indiana used to be a forest, but since they tore through a lot of that, it's turned into something of a swamp. Mushy ground and mosquitoes everywhere. I'm allergic to mosquitoes and terrified of tornadoes. Which happen pretty frequently where I live. I can't think of a time in my life where I haven't thought, "Hey, wouldn't it be nice to take everyone I know and move us to some other state?" Yeah. That would be wonderful because nobody wants to leave! What is wrong with you people?

Like I said: it's the indifference. They don't need to leave, so why should they? Well, fine. More other better states for me. I'm glad they're staying.

Working Post Again?!

More working posts! I am currently a picker at one of your favorite shopping sites. I don't know if I'm allowed to disclose which one, but I work at the largest warehouse in the country for this specific website, and boy, is it fucking huge. I managed somehow to hurt my ankle in the first two days of work, so I actually had to call off today just to make sure it's not going to get worse. Ugh. Picking is hard manual labor. Just walking around for ten hours a day, pulling items off of shelves and putting totes on conveyor belts.

For some reason, they don't allow girls (or long-haired dudes) to wear their hair down at all, so I'm forced to put up my hair and wear shoes that are a half-size too big, simply because women's feet tend to swell after ten hours of walking. Apparently. According to AMCare.

When we're not working, we're either driving home or sleeping, since that's all we seem to have time to do now. We're hoping to make it through the next few weeks, and then we'll most likely have enough money to get out of this damn state. Oh, Washington/Oregon! I can't wait to see you. I can't wait to live a state with a 20% liquor tax! Oh, yeah, that's why we'll be living on the border of Oregon.

(Me like, "OMG, why are we not leaving yet? Oh, yeah, because Christmas.")

We're trying to make it to Christmas so we can be dutiful children to our parents, since they all love us some much and want to buy us gifts. Well, not so much my broke parents, but more Brandon's parents. My parents tend to not talk about Christmas until it gets here. "Oh, we would have gotten you something, but we're low on funds this year." That's every year. But it's okay, because most of the time, I don't even have a Christmas list. I don't really mind if nobody buys me anything. The things I want aren't really gift-type things.

Also, I don't want to have a lot of material baggage when we travel. It's not feasible to ask for apartment gifts and then transport them across the country in the van. Poor van. In the nearly year that we've had it, we've racked up almost 50,000 miles on the thing. It's held up quite nicely. Not so much as a breakdown.

Why am I treating this blog like a diary? Mostly because I'm just killing time. I probably have opinions that need discussing, like my unfinished post about 4chan or the bill that's pretty discreetly being pushed and Verizon suing for the end to net neutrality, which I need to fucking discuss because it pissing me off, but I'm just happy to have an extra day of rest until work once again tomorrow.

I guess I'm just happy to live in 2016 Obama's America, really.