I have 0 gigs for September.
September already starts tomorrow. I need to book photoshoots, tours, or write articles to be published. Or I’ll starve.
I need to write. So write I will. My editor asked me to write about stuff. It’s stuff that I already wrote in my blog. I feel more flexible in what I can write and publish. I have grown. I don’t have to adhere to specific rules. I have a voice. And this is a different editor. The articles I’ve sent get a better and closer look than before. They get edited better. It’s not the same formula I used to repeat with the other editor. I knew what the other editor liked. I’m not sure what this new editor likes even though I’ve been submitting stuff to him for the past couple of years.
And I’ve had several cover stories.
I don’t know how I get away with it. I don’t write that much anymore. I like writing on my blog. That’s about it.
I like blocking people on social media. Especially people that haven’t really read me or like my shit. People that do me no good. People that get offended by something I posted that doesn’t fit with their ideals. People that suddenly comment or reply negative shit on something I do. Like… Read my books or my blog and get a feel of who I am before you comment on shit. If you have, then you know how I am.
You don’t have to follow me. You don’t have to comment if you dislike something. You don’t exist.
But then.
They do.
I was waiting for pupusas right outside my house when I saw someone I blocked. She gave me a friendly wave and I waved back from afar. I blocked her because I never wanted to talk to her again. She didn’t do anything to me. She’s just way too dramatic and I try to stay away from that. I don’t think she cared. She has a ton of followers. And the world of social media is a weird shitty world.
Block.
Move on.
If you blocked me. Then that’s great as well. I don’t find out anything about you. You are not in my mind. And I am not in yours.
Though every once in a while I remember people that I blocked and get curious. I shake it off. And forget. It’s better like that than to actually just keep following each other.
One of my exes blocked me. We barely even dated. I rarely think of her. Just right now that I was thinking of blocked people. A few weeks ago, I was walking on Avenida Revolución and I saw a poster featuring her. Some sort of fashion show. I was doing a tour and she popped up on the poster. Hey. I dated her. Weird. Tall and beautiful, but dull as f. I’m glad I’m not dating her. It was so forced just because she was hot.
I’m glad I’m dating who I’m dating. She also models. Though is shy about it. She hasn’t even shown me her pictures of the model agency that hired her.
But it all feels natural. Being with her feels natural. We get along in a ton of stuff. I love her excitement for new music and bizarre art. The only thing that we are broadly different is food. I like food adventures. She’s happy eating simple things with ketchup.
We went to Ensenada together. She’s from there and likes it better than Tijuana. But doesn’t want to live there. Doesn’t really want to live in Tijuana.
I don’t want to live in Tijuana.
I’m still here.
The pinche línea gets worse and worse by the day. I want to escape and I just can’t. Ensenada calls me. I want Ensenada.
Biden’s loan forgiveness does give me that bit of freedom. It wasn’t a major part of me being stuck here. But it was something I always kept in my budget. A thorn poking my ribs. If I move to Ensenada I need a certain amount of money to cover rent, my lifestyle, perhaps some savings, and my fucking student loans. Well, no more. There are still some to be paid. But not that huge fucking pain that I knew it would take me 20+ years of monthly payments to get rid of.
You see. I don’t make much money. I don’t monetize my blog. And I don’t have a large enough following to monetize my social media. It feels like I do. But I don’t.
I also fucking curse a lot and speak my mind. And again. I love blocking people.
I have little to no support on Patreon. But that’s my own fault. I’m not active there.
I have a lot of photo albums to post there as some sort of content. Especially of the latest drone pictures. Most Patreons joined because of the drone pictures. If you like my pictures and you want to get the full high-quality file, you got to subscribe to my Patreon.
Subscribe to my Patreon. HERE!
You can also see me naked on my Patreon. It’s too expensive to be worth it. Not that many people want to pay $20 to see a naked dude. It’s been a handful of gay guys. And I appreciate you guys. It’s weird. But hey. It’s money for me and I need it.
There’s a draft saved with what is meant to be the last naked pictures. Some high-quality ones (in the shower, ooeee). And some old ones. The exclusive Patreon will live. But there will be no new content. There is no reason to create more content.
That reminds me. I met all them people for the OnlyFans photoshoot I did. And I never posted the pictures. Here is an Instagram post:
Ugh. Fuck you Instagram bots. I just posted that and it already has comments that read: “WOW send pic to @ someone someone.” Who the fuck falls for these simple bots? Who thinks, wow, someone commented and liked my picture. I should send it to whatever this bot says.
Instagram is such a piece of shit now. And you can monetize it apparently. Monetize all social media. Post content. Create content. Post content. I have so much content. So much unused content.
And two books.
And so many pictures. And dronve videos.
The 2022 photodump has 1536 pictures as of now. We still have a few months to go and I will be adding more. It has personal pictures. It has drone pictures. It has a lot of food pictures. Basically, it has almost all the pictures I take. If you see me posting one on social media, that means I took 100. You want to see more. You have to subscribe to my Patreon.
TikTok videos become YouTube shorts. And they also become Instagram reels. Content. More content.
Where is the world headed. Don’t like my content? BLOCKED!
Oh yeah. I’m supposed to be on a Podcast today. I get invited often to do podcasts. I don’t even listen to podcasts. There are too many in the world. But I guess I’ll go do one today. It should be more than anything about my books. And perhaps about my blog. Who knows. We’ll see.
Back to the Ensenada Camping Adventure.
We left Tijuana around 1 pm on Saturday and got to El Sauzal by 3 pm. My girlfriend’s mission was to be there Monday morning to fix some paperwork. My mission was to get some astrophoto while camping, eat seafood, drink my favorite beers, and enjoy Ensenada.
The plan was that Saturday I was to stay at my friend’s Szavio’s house and she was to do her own thing. She got invited to be on a music video of some dude. Sunday we were to go camping. Monday morning we go get her paperwork in order.
We got to Szavio’s place to find out he wasn’t there. He told me he had an event on Saturday, but I didn’t see the time. It was at 4 pm. That’s why he wasn’t there.
My first plan was thrown out the window. With not much to do and to figure out what was next, we went to my friend Kelvin’s place. He had a show that night but like always, he is the nicest dude and offered his tiny place in case we needed a place to crash.
And there… we decided to go camping on Saturday. Fuck the other plans.
I was still unsure where to go camping, I just heard that there were a bunch of campsites near La Bufadora. I went to one before called Puerto el Zeppelin. I wrote about that adventure before. HERE IS THAT POST.
The plan was somewhere similar. We went to Cardera for beers, food (they have tuna now!) my girlfriend got fries. Beers were perfect like always. We filled out a growler with their tripel. Asked for directions to a campsite. One of the assistant brewers told me about Campo 9 near La Bufadora. We opted for that.
Water, provisions, snacks, and more and camping we go. It was already getting late. We got to Campo 9’s entrance near sunset to find out that I still had a 20-minute drive of just dirt road. When we go to the campsite, we got informed that there was no camping there. It was getting late. It was that or go back to Ensenada to find a hotel. I think the dude saw the desperation on my face and said, “look, I have a spot, I can let you set camp there for the night. There are bathrooms and access to the beach and you can stay here tomorrow.”
I followed him to a little spot that was cleared out for what seems a future construction and told me that was it. It had great views of the beach.
I forgot to mention. It was my girlfriend’s first time camping. She did before when she was a kid and hated it. This was her first time as an adult. And with a boyfriend.
I never camped with a girlfriend before either. I have gone glamping, but never camping. I wasn’t sure if she was going to like it. I wasn’t sure how it was going to go. Camping in Baja is one of my favorite things.
When we finished setting up the tent it was already dark. We were the only ones on the not campsite. The rest were far away fancy houses that seem to be vacation homes for rich people. There was another tent not far from us, but it didn’t seem like it had people spending the night there.
The night and hill were ours. We drank. We were merry. No campfire. No time for that.
There was no astrophotography. It got way too cloudy. Way too cloudy. That was disappointing for me. But the rest of the night went smoothly. The ground wasn’t the softest so I tossed and turned a bunch. I also woke up to check if the stars were going to show up. They never did.
My girlfriend slept as if she was on a comfy bed. She was even barely on the camp pads that we brought. Oh yeah. All my camping shit is not mine. I borrow it from my brother. Gracias carnal. I need to buy my own camping shit. The ones I like are super expensive. So in the meantime, I borrow my brother’s shit.
The sun didn’t show up at dawn. It was a fresh morning. Neither hot nor cold. Nice enough to keep snoozing in a tent. We noticed a handful of people going down to the beach but we stayed at the camp for a couple more hours. Since there were no shots of the stars like I was hoping, at least I was going to do some drone photography. I flew for a bit.
At around 8 a.m. we headed down to the beach. It was a semi-difficult hike down. As we approached the beach, I realized we were in Playa Cocodrilo. Because there is a big rock in the shape of a crocodile.
There were three guys swimming and three people on a nice palapa someone built. We set up our chairs and enjoyed listening to the waves.
Follow me on Instagram for more pics:
I like swimming in the ocean. But this is not the best beach for that. The waves are small and the beach is very rocky. And the water… the water was cold as fuck. Colder than any other Pacific beach I ever swam in. And there wasn’t much sun.
It took my girl a while to finally get into the water. She wanted to climb the crocodile rock. That was her mission. She went in with her dress and underwear because she doesn’t really have a bathing suit. She was trying to not get her dress wet. It was an utter failure. And suddenly, one big wave when she was near the rock. In a mixture of trying to grab the rock, trying to grab me, and not getting her dress wet, the wave crashed directly on her, sending her to the rock.
It was gnarly.
She was bleeding from two fingers. One of them got really deep cuts. Little chunks of skin fell off. She thought it was gross and it hurt her. But there were no complaints. We kept enjoying the beach.
An hour into being on the beach, the sun came out and the people that were on the palapa left. We moved the chairs to that cozier spot. The other guys swimming around also left. I took pictures. I asked her to take pictures of me. And then I took a picture of us together kissing on the beach. Super cheesy. Cursi. Romantic to the extreme. She got super shy about the picture. She’s never taken a picture like that with anyone before. I haven’t either. I have some together with my ex from years ago. But not that cheesy. Not that cute.
I posted the ones she took of me and some others. None of her. Not the cheesy one.
We had the place for ourselves. She took off her dress and hung out it to dry. Virtually naked on the beach for a while. Liberating with my babe. Felt great.
When the dress finally dried and clothes were back on, people showed up. Just in time. At around noon, we got up to leave. Leaving Playa Cocodrilo behind with the sun finally blazing.
On the hike up, she tripped and scraped her right leg and knee badly. Again, she was bleeding. The camping trip kicked her ass. And it kicked mine as well. Camping can be exhausting.
We were undecided where to stay next. We went to La Carreta Street Food for ceviche and mariscos.
Camping again was a choice. But it was getting late and she needed to be at some office in the morning. We found a cheap motel downtown and went for it. 850 pesos the night, roughly $45 USD. We took it. It came with free porn and shitty movies dubbed in Spanish. We napped. And then we went out to drink beer. Chikilla and then margaritas at Hussong’s. Supposedly, the place that invented margaritas.
Back to the hotel, to wake up early morning to go fix her paperwork. I had a shitty burrito while she did her thing. I thought it would take her hours. By 10 a.m. she was done. With not much to do in Ensenada, we headed back to Tijuana. Before 1 pm we were back in my place. Then I dropped her off back at her place around dusk and I hurried to meet my friend Tony Tee to go to Toros Baseball Stadium. Yep. After all that I still went to the stadium.
Here’s how that went:
Welp.
Wtf.
I typed a lot about how I like blocking people. I wanted to check on my girlfriend to see how her finger was doing…
And…
She disappeared.
We mostly talk on Instagram.
And she disappeared just this morning. As I’m writing this. Not sure if she blocked me or deleted her account, but I’m leaning toward she blocked me. I’m not sure why. I thought we were doing great. I told her I was going to write a lot… She gets shy. I want to post the cheesy picture. I know she doesn’t want me to.
I feel like Ron Burgundy after being with Veronica Corningstone:
Hah.
Ok.
She says she didn’t block me. Her Instagram account got canceled for some reason…She scared the fuck out of me. She posted some sexy stories and there’s some content like that, but nothing raw or that provocative. And now, her Instagram is canceled. She says “ni fish.”
Love…
It’s complicated.
And this is a different type of love unlike I felt before. Well… Once, when I was 19. It was the roughest heartbreaking thing I ever lived. To love that much. And this feels similar.
I feel like a kid again. I’ve felt numb for three years now. I’m reaching 40. And it’s good to know that I can love again. It’s a different life.
September starts tomorrow. I need to get gigs. I need to pay rent. I need to pay bills. And I don’t want to cross the border ever again. That shit is getting insane. My SENTRI appointment is for July 2023… No other appointments are available. I need to make all my money online and south of the border. Or get a real job and relocate.
No. Ensenada will be my destiny. And the internet will give me money. Give me money. Sign up for my Patreon. Subscribe to my YouTube, I’m 20 subscribers short of 1,000 and supposedly I can monetize after. Follow me on TikTok and all other social media. Buy my books. I should post more about my books.
If you read this much of my blog. Then whoa. Leave a comment at least. Or buy me a beer.
I appreciate you.
Thanks.
Now I should do some real work. My photography student is a block away doing some photo work. Fucker is making more money than me already. And he doesn’t have to cross the border. And has half the gear and half the talent… But has twenty times the ambition.
Matingas 