My Pants Ripped and other stories

     My pants ripped when I was mounting my bike last night.
     'sczrrrchizzrrzzzzz' I heard a big ripping sound right down the seam.
     "Fuck....not again."
     You see, I've had problems with pants for twenty years.  I'm active and physical and I always get into odd positions doing all kinds of things that barely a pair of pants exists that won't get completely fucked up by me.
     Having no time this morning, I just wrapped a long-sleeved shirt around my waist and said, "Fuck it."
     My crotch is going to get air-conditioning today.
     It is just one more thing that went wrong last night.

     Anyway,  I bought a 24" x 36" canvas for around $25, and I biked over to Cafe Prague to deliver the canvas, and the joint was closed.
     "Fuck!"
     So I had to lug the canvas to the bar, and then all the way home.
     They took an extra day after New Year's for vacation.
     I'll have to call ahead and see if they are open today so I won't make the same mistake.

     I painted at the bar.  I did some portraits and couldn't charge people for them, though, I accepted beers as payment.
     I have a problem charging people.  I feel guilt and shame about money, and I don't know what that is about, especially as I need money.  Sometimes I just don't feel I can do it.  Sometimes I do imply that it will cost money.
     Recently, for the work I do at the bar, I decided to give it all away and see what comes back.  It is better that way, at least for now, until I am famous.  Then I can charge up the yin-yang, and quite honestly, I won't give a fuck.

     Anyway, it was another slightly drunken night.

     Well, maybe it was more than slightly drunken.  I had to deal with Justin, who was messing around with the Russian girl's photographs.  He is so difficult to handle.
     Another thing happened at the bar last night.  'Fred', we will call him that for now, well, he ordered a bunch of drinks, and he didn't have the money to pay for them.  He racked up $50.  Ooops.  He got physically thrown out.  You would think that would be enough.  No.  He came back in twice with something to say.  He did not make the bartender happy at all.  It was not pretty to watch that level of drunkenness.  Plus, he was just going around how he was sober for thirty days.  He really fucking let loose.  Damn.  He might really have a problem.
     There is nothing wrong with one or two drinks, but when you are having ten drinks and you don't pay for them, well, you are fucked.
     I make drawings in the bar and people buy me drinks, so I don't have that problem.

     I wonder where M. is today?  I haven't seen him.  He is probably out playing guitar in the Haight-Ashbury.

     Well, the photography exhibit finally came down.  I was getting really sick of that art show.

     N. had me take my painting down.  Another show is going up.  I guess I won't be having a turn anytime soon. 
     Shit. 
     I really want to show here.  It is a great place to exhibit because of the extensive wall space they have.
     Well, at least I finally got a painting up, if only for two days.  Better than nothing.

     Then, as if that wasn't enough, I got into it with guitar guy, and I filmed him fucking up.  That shit is going on to youtube.  Fuck him.  I hate when he gets so fucked up that he can't even play.  That fucker needs a wake-up call.

     There were some nice college girls from upstate New York at the bar last night.  The girl with the bangs who was twirling her hair like an egg-beater...never saw anything like it before except with crazy hand gestures from the insane, well, she was showing off some leg.  She was dressed with a lot of clothes, but she hiked up her dress and was showing her legs off.  My god, her legs looked great.  No one could see that she had some action going underneath that dress, but I got to see a little.  It was a marvel to behold.

     Then I painted a portrait of this French couple.  We talked for a while.  I painted their picture.  It came out good.  It was different than anything I've done in years.  I guess they were so cool that it brought something different out. 
     Who I am painting sometimes has a profound effect.

     N. is arabic, and when they get into heated discussions, it is like two Arabic Yentas going at it behind the counter.  It is amazing to hear.  I would love to record that.
     The women that work at this cafe is one of the reasons for coming here.  I can't understand a word they say.

     So, anyway, I got a Subway sandwich on the way home.  Two guys with three dogs came into the park area in front of the Jewish Contemporary Museum.  I always expect that I will be alone, sitting in that spot, but something always happens. 
     I was halfway through my sandwich, and they bring their dogs in, and one of their dogs took a shit.
     So I yelled out, "Look around you, there is no one around here, and you have to bring your fucking dogs, and have them take a shit right in my view.  I'm fucking sitting here minding my own business.  Thanks a lot."
     That was kind of what I said.  They laughed and were humored about me complaining.
     It was two o'clock in the fucking morning, and I couldn't even enjoy my sandwich for ten fucking minutes.

     Later, at 4 in the morning, I was out there looking at what was going on outside, and I crossed the street, and some guy gave me half of his burrito.  It was really damn good.
     A woman near by said, "Lucky".
     I thought about giving her half, then after thinking that she would not give me half, I said to myself, "Fuck it" and I happily ate it.
     Mmmmm, it was damn good.

     So there was my night.  It was a lot of fun, actually.  The alcohol isn't doing me much good, and neither is the smoking, but big fucking deal right now.  Those are the least of my problems.