I need to write and I still don’t. I finished a Hunter S. Thompson book during my break. It inspired me to write. He repeats himself so much. I repeat myself so much. He made it seem easy.
Just write.
And that’s what I will do.
But I have my new job in my mind.
It happened!
I applied for a job and I’m getting it. I have to drive to LA this weekend. I will leave early Friday and get to Seal Beach for a pre-party for the new company. That way I will meet everyone. And the job starts that weekend. It’s training and only if I fuck up hugely will I not get the job.
So I’m certain it’s pretty much my job. And let’s see what happens. I’m excited about it. That’s the only thing in my schedule and in my mind.
Besides my ex…
I was also supposed to a do tour this weekend. But the job came first. Sorry Tony, really wish I could tour you around. I have fun doing the tours.
Out of nowhere, a Doctor paid me $100 for some pictures I took of her and her granddaughter. They were already paid by the office. I just did some easy extra ones. She must’ve liked them because she sent me $100 for nothing. And I am getting some extra money from a very old paparazzi picture.
What a weird way to start 2023.
Besides that, I’ve done nothing.
I arrived back at my Tijuana apartment almost at midnight for the New Year. Minutes after opening the door and kissing my cats, noise and fireworks started happening. It was a rainy New Year’s Eve. But people seemed to be in a very celebratory mood.
The flight and travel went smoothly. Way better than I thought it would be for flying on the 31st of December close to nighttime. I flew from Houston to Las Vegas. Before the flight, I got upgraded to a fire exit seat. Nice. On the flight from Las Vegas, I got three seats in the back all for myself. Nice. It was a very short flight as well. I played Street Fighter II Alpha. Beat it. And I landed. On the other flight, I played Luigi’s Mansion and read chapters of a book, and landed.
I landed and got picked up by a Reddit lover. Those are some words that should never be together. But that’s what happened. She wasn’t in a loving mood. I wasn’t much either. But to repay her back I would over and over (and worth it).
Sorry, ex. But also. Not sorry because you broke up with me. If you read this, you know I love you.
I got picked up and went to In N Out, and she wouldn’t let me pay. We talked for a while. And by 11 pm I was crossing by myself to Tijuana.
The first taxi wanted $20 dollars. BAHAHAHA. Fuck you, taxi. The second said $15. Yeah. This is why you have no business. The third said 250 pesos. That’s more like it. But I still didn’t. I thought about walking home. Fuck it.
But it started to rain. I opened Didi. 85 pesos to get home. Way easier. And it was fast. And the driver was cool.
Fuck you linea taxis. I’m glad I said no to all of you.
Houston was cool. Houston gets better every time. I slept a lot. Just like whenever I visited mom, I would sleep a lot. It’s the same when I visit my aunt. It must be human instinct. To feel safe. And sleep a lot.
I also got sick the morning after Christmas. I slept through the day and almost the next day. Being sick on vacation sucks.
It made Houston go quick. I didn’t drink as much beer as I wanted to.
I finally went to SpindleTap. I had it overhyped but it was very solid. I want to go back.
I repeated Holler Brewing. It was better the first time around. This time, three beers had dead yeast on them. Or that’s what they tasted like, autolysis. Not good. The other three were more than decent.
We also went to Cidercade. It confirmed what I already know about cider. I don’t like it as much. It’s too sweet. The place is awesome though.
And with my uncle, I went to Urban South and Bad Astronaut. I was impressed with both of them, but especially Urban South. It is probably my favorite Houston brewery so far. The variety was grand and the beers were exactly on point. They go for experimental beers and nailed them.
Houston beers definitely get better. And the growing scene excites me for more.
But, there were some disappointments.
On my last night, I bought a tall can of Saint Arnold’s and a four-pack of New Magnolia. Saint Arnold’s was supposedly a juicy IPA. It was just ok and not very juicy or hoppy like the can suggest. It was a bit dry with orange peel notes.
New Magnolia also said it was a juicy IPA. Their WYSISWYG (What you see is what you get). And what I got was bad. The can boast three classic hops: Camarillo, Citra, and Mosaic. It tasted like soap. The foam was heavy and the lacing wasn’t much there. And it just tasted bad. I threw it away. I haven’t thrown a beer away in a long time. That’s how bad that New Magnolia IPA was. Maybe they are better at the brewery. But that was just sad.
To get rid of the bad taste we went to Kroger for more variety. I already had a headache and drank too much, but bought another six-pack. I only tried four, a couple of Saint Arnold, one SpindleTap, and one seltzer. All were forgettable.
And that was beer in Houston. I still need to try way more.
I matched with a girl on Bumble. She said she follows me on TikTok. My TikTok keeps growing in popularity though I still haven’t reached 10k yet. It will only keep on growing.
Follow me there. I narrate paparazzi bullshit 10 years later and people love it. Some hate it. But fuck them. There is a girl out there defending Kanye West. Fuck her.
Now I get recognized for TikTok bullshit. Great job me. There’s a dude with like 10 million or more followers. He started following me. He does comedy dressed as a woman. I’ve barely watched his videos. But people love that stupid shit.
TikTok fame is dumb and weird.
This is me and my aunt in front of what used to be my grandma’s house:
I have the old layout of that house memorized just like I have the layout of all my past houses memorized. I missed this side of Houston. I missed my mom. And my uncle and grandma.
It’s silly to realize your childhood is way gone and you are now an adult of thirty-six that ignores his student loans and is marching forward with the nothing-burger that is life.
I’m tired of being broke. Hopefully, 2023 won’t continue on the broke path. I want to move out of Tijuana like I’ve said multiple times. And I want to work more.
I hate having nothing to do. 2023 starts weird and empty, soon the job, and who knows what will happen after. I can’t wait to get busy. Making TikToks to keep me busy is not enough. Fucking TikTok.
For a long time, it was Instagram. It occupied my mind like it’s work. People do message me that they like my content and shit, but it makes me no money. I want money. Not fucking likes.
I have four articles in mind and I don’t write them. I just think about them. That’s not a good writer. Writers need to put words into the void and make money. I should finish them soon, but all I can think of is the new job.
Some sort of Gonzo shit. That’s all I have so far. And the idea of where to go with it.
Some sort of top 10 for someone. I have more. I have it all laid out. I just don’t write it.
The last of the Curios. I started writing this. I’m not sure what happened, but the document disappeared. It was going alright but still needed so much work.
The life of a taco truck. I haven’t written shit yet it is still all in my mind. And I still don’t write it. This will be a fun story. They are all fun stories.
I just need to write them.
Writing is tough.
I try to set myself hours and end up doing nothing but TikToks. I need the whip behind me to write like a monkey. The whip is the lack of money. I somehow will have to finish all these articles and make money appear.
Tired of being broke.
I’m still a writer. It’s just rough to do so. I finished my book in Español last month. I have a box of 50 copies arriving in the following days. I need to sell that and clear my mind. Then I’ll start writing again. Though I need to write now.
50 copies of my book in Español will be for sale in Tijuana, mostly in Pasaje Rodríguez. I’ll be there as soon as I get them. More than anything I plan to be there on January 13th and January 14th for a few hours trying to sell them all.
Amazon didn’t charge me for the books until weeks after purchasing them. It also hurt my bank account. To think that you have a certain amount of money, then Amazon pulling the punch really late. $245 for 50 books. Selling them for $15 to make a profit of $505. I have to sell 50 every week to make a living. Let’s see if I can sell the first 50. Then I will order more. And that, plus the new job, and plus all the other shit I do should save me from being broke.
And writing another story.
I have to write those fucking stories.
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Thank you for reading whoever you are. And I hope 2023 keeps being weird and good.
Matingas 