It was a mistake

It was a mistake. We had been seeing each other on and off for about 2 months.

I met her at a college bar, she was with her friend Clare. I remember I had broken my arm a week prior.  She saw my cast and immediately felt bad for me. Her name was Betty and we danced a few numbers and had some drinks and really hit it off. She was slight and had her hair pinned up. She had a terrific laugh and kept on giving me these real coy looks. She could really move on the dance floor.

Her friend dropped us off back at my place and I poured some vodka sodas and we chatted til the break of dawn. I started kissing her and things progressed a bit, but then she stopped me. She looked at me and got very grave and told me that she had a boyfriend. 

"Like you just broke up with him?"

"No, we're still together."

"At this very moment?"

"Yes'' she said hesitantly, "Does this change things?"

Well fuck yes it certainly changed things. I remember the first time I had ever messed with a girl with a boyfriend. It was back in high school. This girl was on the outs with her boyfriend and she decided to hook up with me to get back at him. I eventually felt so bad about it I straight up told him when I was drunk at a party. He didn't really mind that much. 

"No, not really. It's not like he'll ever know right?"

I knew it was the wrong answer to give, but she was there and looked very pretty.

I kissed her hard. 

We saw each other regularly after that. I took her out and she would sleep over. We never talked about her relationship. I never stayed at her place. When her boyfriend was in town, I wouldn't see her. I don't know why I kept up the charade.

"You haven't told any of your friends about me, have you?" she asked one night laying in my bed.

"No" I lied.

"What are we?" she asked.

I didn't know how to answer, I thought it was pretty clear. I was just the guy she was fucking her on the side. To her, I thought I was nothing more than a slab of meat.

"I dunno. I thought we were just hooking up. Just friends."

She seemed disappointed, but accepted it in the end.

"Just don't tell your friends about us."

"Okay." 

"You promise."

"Okay." I had my fingers crossed.

As things went on, she began to become more and more demanding of me. Nagging me about the food I ate, my study habits, the hours I kept, things of this nature.

"I'm not your boyfriend."

The statement upset her.

"I just broke up with him."

The statement upset me.

I knew how the conversation would go before it even began. 

"I'm not going to be your boyfriend."

"But I broke up with him for you."

"No, you didnt."

"I broke up with him because I thought we had something going."

"You broke up with him because you didn't want to be with him anymore. I'm just your excuse. You just used me so you wouldn't feel bad about leaving your boyfriend."

"Fuck you Elliot."

She had never cursed at me before. She wasn't really the type to curse so I knew she was real upset. 

"I thought we were just having fun. I know things shouldn't have gone as long as they have, but what did you expect? I told you from the start that I didn't want anything."

"You don't understand anything."

"I'm sorry Betty."

"Stop."

"I'm sorry" I said while trying to put my arm around her shoulder.

"I said stop."

She got up and went to the bathroom. We didn't see each other for awhile after that. Through the grapevine I heard she got back with her boyfriend. She started calling me again and things kept on going back and forth like that for a little bit. But in the end, I should've never really messed around with her in the first place.

fact or fiction

I don't really know why I write. It's therapeutic, like going in for confession. I've certainly gotten my fair share of concerns from family members and friends. But it is what it is.

For the most part, it's fiction. All the people and names mentioned are made up and just figments of my imagination. I know sometimes I bring up or write some shit that people think is too personal or too depressing or too much and that's fine. You can just stop reading my shit. Understandable.

I guess what I'm really trying to say is that I write because I have to. It's just something I do, in my diary, journal, blog, whatever you want to call it. It brings me peace. So don't worry. I haven't blown off my face yet. Really start to worry when I stop writing. Because I'll have given up by then.

On the Lam - Vancouver

We had been on a bender for a few days and I wasn't necessarily feeling all too good. We were sitting at a bar, the Cambie, in Gastown and watching the Canucks game. We tried to scalp tickets earlier during the night, but the idea of spending $100 plus on some game I could give less of a shit about was outrageous. We had an entire pitcher of Granville Pale Ale in front of us. I was feeling a little depressed and my stomach felt like shit, but I put on a good face. I was traveling with a mate in Vancouver for the holidays and didn't want to spoil the weekend.

The crowd was young and lively and I scanned the room from one pretty face to another, but all I could think about was my ex girlfriend. My mind wandered and I thought about her with another man and I tried to take a sip of beer, but was afraid it might make me sick. Our waitress came over and asked if we wanted to order anything from the kitchen. She was slim with a tan complexion. She wore a black tshirt and jeans, and had eyes like a cat.

She took our orders and left.

"What do you think she is?" Benson asked.

"I was thinking hapa of some sort."

"She looks almost Indian."

We made small trivial talk and watched the girls sipping their beers.

The waitress came back and I asked where she was from.  Her parents were both Turkish, but she had travelled quite a bit growing up and spoke damn near perfect Mandarin and French. She smiled and was very charming and I was wondering what she was doing waiting tables at a shitty bar like that. We made some more small talk, but I knew she had to get back to work. I asked her name and she said it was Kathy and gave me her hand and I damn near told her I loved her on the spot.

After that I didn't feel so bad anymore so we ordered some shots. I went outside for a smoke and got a tip from a bum that a man in a black hoodie was selling bud if I was interested.

"Yeah, how will I know who he is?"

"You'll see him dealing to the kids."

"Aright, thanks man appreciate it."

"How about a few bucks?" I handed him a $2 coin, I tend to get pretty loose with foreign currency.

"You can't spare some more? Don't you have a five?"

"You've got to be fucking kidding me" I replied while walking away, looking for a man in a black hoodie. They were everywhere. I finally found him palming off dime sacks to hostel kids. He was about 40, well built and looked like he had been in a few scraps in his day. I bought an eighth.

I went back inside the Cambie and shared the good news. We stayed around a bit longer, but it felt like it I was at a college bar. We left abrubtly and I never got to say goodbye to Kathy properly, but she'll always have a place in my heart.

We took a cab over to Yaletown to find out what it was like partying with the rich kids. We went to a few bars, but really they were forgettable. We were throwing back whiskey sodas like our lives depended on it. I had a nice buzz going but felt underdressed and under classed everywhere I went.

The posh bars were littered with beautiful girls who's daddies had deep pockets or beautiful girls who were looking for a daddy with deep pockets. I could support neither and my paint splattered clothes were not really doing me any favors. They took took one look at me and assumed I was from the working class. They were wrong, I made less money.

Benson made friends with the bartenders and we got a few rounds on the house. I walked into the bathroom and rolled a few pinners. I went outside for a smoke and watched the couples walk by huddled together to fight the cold. The bud was pretty good and not very expensive like everything else in Vancouver.

I went back inside and Benson was best friends with everyone. The bartender poured us another round and took one with us. Two guys sitting next to Benson  invited us to a club down the street. I looked at my watch and it read 1am.

"Isn't closing time at 2am?" I asked.

"Yeah," one of them replied, "but this place is open til 4 and there's beautiful women.

No need for further elaboration.

We walked and bullshitted and I tried not to throw up. One of the two guys, Raymond, was a big, portly fellow and knew everyone at the door. They let us in without checking IDs.

Raymond ordered us another round and I just held it for awhile.

Raymond saw some more of his friends and introduced me and Benson to two Indian girls. One was short with curly hair and the other was tall with her haired pinned up, they both had on black cocktail dresses.

I didn't remember their names. I bought them some drinks, they bought us drinks, Raymond bought some more drinks. A lot of the in-between is blurred. We left a little after that. I don't remember what happened with Raymond and his friend. We walked down with the two girls and were gonna go grab a bite. The Short curly haired girl was talkative and funny. The Tall girl was a bit shy and started to lag behind, further and further until she was nearly a block away from us.

The curly haired girl looked back and was annoyed.

"What are you doing?" she shouted at the Tall girl. There was no reply. The Tall girl was standing there a block up with her  arms crossed and held her left hand to her face.

The curly haired girl shouted "What are you doing bitch? Let's go!" She turned to me and Benson and said "She always fucking does this. Drama queen."

"Fuck You!" Tall girl shouted.

They went back and forth for a little bit and I decided to walk back to Tall girl to see what the problem was. I walked up and could see that she was sobbing.

"Hey what's wrong?"

"I hate her." She sobbed some more. "You wouldn't understand." She said between sobs. She said some more shit but she both she and I were incoherent so I just shook my head and said that it was going to be okay.

I didn't really know what to do. I didn't even know her name. I looked back at Benson a block away and motioned my hand back and forth across my neck indicating that we were done, I watched him walk across the street to grab a cab.

"Hey listen, I don't know what's wrong, but I hope you guys really work it out."

As I jogged across the street I could still hear them shouting up and down the street. I looked at my watch and it was nearly 4:30.

I hopped in the cab Benson had hailed and we asked if there were any spots that were still open where we could grab a bite. The driver replied in the negative and some words were exchanged and we got kicked out of the cab. We had only gone two blocks, but found another cab quickly.

It was 5 by the time we made it back to the hotel. We polished off the rest of the fifth of Jim Beam we started the night with and toasted the Vancouver sunrise. We were trying to get back home to the states by 1 to watch the niners in the NFC championship. It was going to be a long drive back.

studio visit

I am suppose to meet my curator in a few hours for a studio visit and have been a little bit of a nervous wreck. I absolutely abhor talking about my work, to anyone really. I've been thinking about it for a solid month now and in the end I feel like it's better to just tell the truth even if it means taking some criticism. The current work is there, but what I need now is some showstoppers.

I've been going to the studio nearly everyday, weekends included, and when I showed my mom a picture of my work in progress, she replied "That's it?" I guess sometimes, it's nice to take a reality check.

A lot is riding on this meeting today. I hope they like my shit.

5 hours pass:

The curator came by today and I had been drinking a bit. I stopped painting around 5 because that's all I really could take for the day. I went and bought myself a six pack and a flask of jack. I started drinking just to take the edge off, but it seems I've been doing quite a bit of drinking nowadays.

She liked my shit. Which I think is a beautiful thing. I handed her a beer and she took a slug out of my flask. She asked about my show and I asked about selling points. I really just want to do well this next show. For me, it's kind of a make or break situation. I've thought quite a bit about going back to work, entering society, doing the 9 to 5. But I'm really hoping it's not so. 

All I can do is keep painting, to keep working. The work is going well, stop forcing shit, keep going, everything will be okay.

5 hours pass:

The curator came by today and I had been drinking a bit. I stopped painting around 5 because that's all I really could take for the day. I went and bought myself a six pack and a flask of jack. I started drinking just to take the edge off, but it seems I've been doing quite a bit of drinking nowadays.

She liked my shit. Which I think is a beautiful thing. I handed her a beer and she took a slug out of my flask. She asked about my show and I asked about selling points. I really just want to do well this next show. For me, it's kind of a make or break situation. I've thought quite a bit about going back to work, entering society, doing the 9 to 5. But I'm really hoping it's not so. 

All I can do is keep painting, to keep working. The work is going well, stop forcing shit, keep going, everything will be okay.

Hello Again

I was hanging with my boy Benson last friday in the mission. I met Benson in college through my girlfriend at the time and I distinctly remember telling her that he looked like a nerd. We caught up over some drafts and a few shots on 24th and then walked over to meet another friend at Rosamunde. We had a few pitchers and brauts and life was good. Our friend had to leave for a dinner party in the Marina so Benson and I sauntered over to Cafe Revolution where I picked up a dime sack off a black kid who introduced himself as Jmobb. Benson had promised his girlfriend that he would get back home early, but the night was still very young.

I rolled a pinner at the table while Benson struck up a cute looking latin girl in the cafe. I motioned to Benson I was going to go outside for a smoke, while he continued chatting up the girl. I lit up outside struck up a few conversations with meandering drunks which left no solid impressions. I stepped back in and grabbed a few more beers. Benson introduced me to Alejandra, the latin girl, who turned out to be a violinist preforming with her band at the cafe. She was very friendly and had very pretty eyes. We chatted a bit and I fell in love, but I had promised myself never to date another artist again. We stayed around for a bit and listened to a few numbers, but I was getting bored so we took off.

We rode the Bart downtown and started walking to Jones when my phone rang, the number was blocked, but I answered anyways.

"Hello?"

"Hey" A voice I hadn't heard from in years, but could recognize anytime. Memories floated to the surface that had been swept away long ago. It was her, Tammi. The ex girlfriend I met Benson through. Her voice soft, alluring.

"Hey Tammi, how are you?"I asked. Benson looked over at me, perplexed.

"I'm good" she laughed, like the tinkling of bells.

I was at a loss for words. The last time I had seen her I was still in college. At that time she'd already been dating her future husband, but stopped by just to say hi and visit. We had a very tumultuous falling out. I don't know why I ever bother with girls from my past, they're nothing but trouble.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm actually out with Benson right now."

"Oh, no shit. Let me talk to him."

They chatted a bit and he handed the phone back to me.

"This is so strange, why are you calling me out of the blue?"

"Are you drunk?"

"No, I've had a few, but I'm alright."

I knew there had to be a reason she called me, but it was a terrifically bad moment to take a call like that. I was not ready for it. We neared the bar.

"Sorry Tammi, but I've got to go, I just can't talk right now. Maybe you can give me a call another time?"

"Yeah, maybe."

"It's really nice hearing from you. I hope things are well."

"You too"

"Bye Tam."

"Bye.

I had been waiting for this phone call for a long time and part of me wished that I had just stayed on the line. I looked at Benson, still in a bit of awe and said, "Weird."

Jones was empty, but we bumped into some friends and had a few more drinks at the bar. We tried to cross the street to Swig, but they had already shut down their doors. Benson tried to bribe the bouncer, but people were already pouring out. We met a few girls from North Carolina walking out of Swig and they had those very sexy drawls. They were visiting from Raleigh and were doing the tourist thing, which I'm sure included "hook up with an asian artist".

We walked over to the Nite Cap and closed out the bar. It was too late for Benson to head back on Caltrain so instead he left his girlfriend a drunken apology on her voicemail at 2:30 in the morning.

I woke up the next day with a headache and Benson asking if he could borrow the computer to check train schedules. Her voice still chiming in my head.

Leveling Up

I'm slated to have my first solo exhibition in May of this year. It was more of a "my word is stronger than oak" type deal so shit's really just hanging in the air. I feel a mixture of things about the show, anxiety, fear, elation, affirmation, like I just leveled up in a video game but there's still another boss to beat. If this show does go through, I'm going to smash it's fucking head in yelling fuck the world like tupac.

The last time I had a show was a little more than a year ago at a very reputable and fancy gallery downtown. It did not go well.  After that I felt like I didn't want to show at cafes, or lounges, or any other venue that wasn't specifically designed for just a gallery space. At the time, I felt like my work was there and that all I needed was a chance. It was a very bitter awakening to have my work rejected from every gallery/show/contest I submitted to.

I felt like I had just wasted 6 months of my life creating work which meant nothing to no one. So much to the extent that I didn't sell a goddamn single piece of the series. For a long time it was hard for me even to be in the studio. I reeked of failure, like a punched out boxer who never made it in the pros. It was a miserable summer.

It's merely a stroke of luck that I even got considered for this show in May. I was in Thailand and met an expat and friend of mine out in Bangkok for drinks and general debauchery. It happens that one of his ex gfs is a curator in San Francisco. He told me he'd drop her a line and see if we could work something out. I've been promised a lot of things by a lot of people, for the most part, things just don't work out as planned. I really didn't think too much of it.

Fast forward a few weeks and I'm back in the states, about to meet the curator and gallery owner at the space. I was pretty nervous, so nervous in fact that I went across street to probably the grimiest dive in the Tenderloin to toss back a few before the initial interview. When I met them the curator kept saying that "there was a buzz" about me. I was thinking, what fucking buzz? I can't sell dick and I haven't painted properly for months.

For some reason or another they liked me, so much so that they verbally promised me a show. And all I can really do is just keep my fingers crossed and just keep working.