Mock-Ups and Mayhem

What am I doing now?! Starting a new project, of course. But this time, it's serious! I'm still working on my video game, but with my newfound discovery of how easy Photoshop can be, I begin creating mock-ups for my potential channel on YouTube. Kill me! Why am I doing this?

Because I can, and I've always wanted to make content videos, but I was too scared before, and also, pretty much in the dark ages as far as video equipment goes. With my shotgun mic coming in the post today and my DSLR, I can finally make things without it sounding or looking like a giant mass of gross, uneditable crap.

And since the internet doesn't like blogs anymore (at least not the mass majority), why not switch to video format? It's not like anyone is really awaiting my posts here since they tend to be on the sporadic side. I just need to spend some time making content that won't make me look like an idiot in front of the camera, which is a real possibility because I am awkward as fuck.

If you're at all interested in what the content will be, I'll give you some details. Mostly, it'll be reviews on movies and video games, as well as me playing 'retro' games for the first time. But it's not completely planned out. I'll need to do some testing on the equipment when it gets here, and then some test runs of me talking to the camera so I can find some kind of groove with it.

So, if you're still reading and you have any opinions on this junk, just let me know in the comments. Tips, comments, put-downs, or otherwise.

I'll still keep the blog up. Who knows when I'll want to update Pill Collins? Maybe I'll add some progress pictures of Cool Naked Jim as well. Who am I kidding? I need this blog. :)

Okay, well, signing off, 

the Video Dame.

Knitting

What am I doing?

Yeah, I know I'm a complete failure at blogging. But hey, it made my Google+ views go way up without ever creating a Google+ account. And today, when I finally did, holy shit. Dem views. I'm, like, popular? No, not really. In reality, I'm an awkward, tiny-handed girl who works in a field in which questions like "Is there a man that could help me with this?" get asked every day.

I'm a girl. I'm a shitty designer. I take pictures and I start hobbies I can't finish. Is there a point at which someone like me finally buckles down and picks a hobby to get really good at, or am I doomed to roam the earth forever, spouting jokes and learning the bare minimum needed to talk about a hobby?

Lately, I've been thinking (oh, surprise, surprise). What should I be doing with my life? Working retail and thinking about what I want to do with my life? Watching videos of other people succeeding and sucking up their happiness like a sponge at the bottom of a draining sink? No, man! I wanna be hip to it! I want the good stuff and I want to be really good at something.

But what? I like designing this video game I'm working on.

Cool Naked Jim is too cool to go into right now.

I like photography, and I can do it while I do other stuff. Like traveling and hiking, which is also really cool. Or should I make a movie? I have an idea. Just like my millions of book ideas, or my many drawings, or singer/songwriting stint in which I called myself "The Seduction of Alien Tears" like I was a one-man band. Lots of potential, and lots of ambition, but with less than half the motivation required for me to keep at it.

Help? How do I do things like a real adult? How does one finish a project? I don't think I ever have.

There is a motivation inside of me, but it's fueled by competition. I like to be better than others at things. It fills me with weird accomplishment. But then there are those better than me. And they take away that motivation without ever knowing I even tried to beat them at something.

Maybe I should just take up knitting.

Not All Those Who Wander Are Lost

Wise words from some guy everyone likes to quote on the internet, often set to a beach or forest background, are the words that have come to shape my life. I have nearly always been a drifter in some manor, whether it be through friends, career ideas, or even my long-winded scheme to move everyone I knew across the country because other places sounded a million times better than my home town.

Actually, the phrase is from a poem for Lord of the Rings by J.R.Tolkien. In case you were wondering. Not Abraham Lincoln or Drake or some other popular internet meme guy who has little to do with the words strewn across his face.

Photo Source 

These words seem to appeal to many whose lives have been pretty lackluster, mostly as a future they picture themselves becoming a part of. Some never seem to get out of a rut they put themselves into, but some never seem to consider anything else but this current life as all they'll become.

Stop it.

You can't wait for this kind of life. You have to breathe it. You sometimes must be awakened at 3am by the urge to drive out of state and the passion to do so. The drive to your destination must be nearly as important to you as the place you're going. The little rest stops along the way are going to fill up your memories the same way the beaches of Tampa Bay, FL, will, so don't treat them as necessary evils. Treat each moment as something you'll want to remember when you can't drive away so easily.

If you want to be a traveler, you've just got to do it. Pack up some clothes, throw them in the back of your car, and don't worry about whether or not they'll look okay when you get there. Don't let anything hold you back. If you let it hold you back, it probably will.

Traveling is a passion. It's like painting. Sometimes you start out with the intention to paint fruit, but end up with something only you can interpret as an apple. You might set out on a hike, but end up finding a really awesome meadow to take a picture of. You set out for the hills, but instead you find a valley. You still went somewhere, but just because you didn't plan to go there, it didn't mean you didn't like it any less.

Don't just want to travel. Be a traveler. And be happy.

Abortions Aren't So Bad

If you have read this blog before, you might have noticed I don't think very highly of humans. So naturally, I have a shitty opinion of children. They're loud, disrespectful, and they never have anything interesting to say. Anybody that has kids will probably tell you differently, of course, but when you compare the amount of money, time, and emotion spent on children versus the literal day spent on an abortion, the latter might start to look at least a little appealing.

I don't know all the facts, but I'll start with some basic knowledge. At a clinic, an abortion runs around $350, while a physician will charge around $500 for the cut-snip-plop. Prenatal visits, however, cumulatively add up to about $2000, and that's not even including the cost of gas, maternity clothes, and baby shit you need to buy to get prepared for your little joy. Mmmm, this is where it gets exciting. When the day comes where the little life-sucker is finally ready to suck on your tits as opposed to your innards, you (usually) will go to the hospital.

Dependent upon individual health care insurance, your visit and subsequent stay will earn you a bill of, on average, around $9000 for a regular old vaginal birth. Just to push out that baby as God intended, in a safe, comfortable environment, you're doling out nearly a grand. So, let's reflect.

Abortion=$500 at most
Baby (at birth)=$2000 + $450 (for expenses like gas, furniture, clothes, etc.) + $9000 = $11,450

The numbers don't lie. They might make you sad, but they are somewhat honest. Unlike those fuckers that ask me, "Hey, Alexis, are you going to have kids?"

"Why no, dear coworker. I choose not to."

"Oh, you'll change your mind. You're young."

"Thanks for the input, you self-righteous cunt. Just because you had a baby on accident doesn't mean I will."

"You're welcome!"

Don't try anything, kid. I don't have any room for your shit.

Just your friendly PSA to not pollute the earth with your gross post-coital slop! :)

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.