The Show

TM's third art show was on the 22nd. He's had two others, one in June of 2005, and another in November of '05. I was excited since it was the first one that I was actually able to go to.

I'd heard lots of stories about the past shows, and was a little scared to go to this one. I'd heard that the people there went nuts for his work. (Which I knew would happen, but I didn't realize to what extent some would go)

Stories of people stealing prints from eachother and guarding paintings had me a little nervous. The level of my nervousness only escalated when TM asked me to work the cash.

The show was slated to open at 6pm sharp. It was calm from about 5:30-5:45pm. Then, all hell broke loose.

I'm serious.

People started streaming in early and hunting for their favorite painting(s) or print(s).

The bigger crowds came at exactly 6pm. It was nuts. People were running up and down stairs yelling the names of the paintings out, telling people to stay away, yelling at me to mark it sold. There was nothing I could do. I was merely the money taker.

2 hours and 15 minutes later, all was over. It felt like a big ball of tumbleweed should have rolled by. He had sold almost all 60 pieces that he had there and the majority of his prints. It got to be so that I couldn't close the cash box.

It was nuts. I loved it.

So proud TM, I love you.

(P.S: I'm famous by association....)

www.scottpynnart.com

Vaca Time....

I'm on vacation. A spontaneous one at that. A few days after TM left to go home for his art show, my father made me an offer I couldn't refuse.

He asked me to come home for a week and to surprise my mother in the process. I came up with every excuse in the book why I couldn't, but in the end, with very little persuasion, and an offer for monetary assistance, I accepted.

I switched around the schedule at work, organized a kitty sitter, packed, did all necessary car adjustments, and got myself on the road.

That's right. The road. It's approximately a 16 hour drive to get to my home. 7 of them on a dirt road.

I was skeptical about whether my tuna can would make the trip, but alas, he did. Without failure I should add.

I arrive in my hometown, (While driving a wee bit above the speed limit because of my excitement) and whip around the corner to my cul-de-sac.

The music was really loud so I thought I would draw some attention to myself or that someone (Mem) would see or hear me pull up. She did not.

I get out, go to the door, knock loudly, and hide behind the mailbox. I hear the dog barking in a frenzy. Mother opens the door while trying to hold the beast back, looks out but doesn't see me. She peeks out a little farther and catches a glimpse of me. All the while, the dog barking and shaking all over the porch.

Mother then reaches out from the doorway, her wingspan terrifying, grabs me by the collar, and pulls me into the house.

Thus begins a fantastic but all too quick week.

Lonely Days

The man left me a week ago today to go back to our homeland to have an art show. I drove him to the airport last Wednesday and gave him a goodbye kiss. I may or may not have shed a tear or two.

TM crossed through the security gate without incident and a few minutes later, boarded a plane that would take him away for almost three weeks.

I'm bad when I'm alone. Very bad.

I'm living like a bachelor. I now know what it's like to be a single man.

I swear, if I were a man and I were single, I'd be living like I am at this very moment.

For one, the bed isn't made. Well, my side isn't.

My side looks like I have rehashed the best fight I have ever seen.

In my sleep.

Then, before I go to work in the morning, I tidy the covers so that it looks barely slept in. (Because you never know when someone might be there to look in your bedroom right?)

I've been eating chips in bed, ( I know, sad...) Pepsi cans litter my computer desk, a wide array of granola bar wrappers and books are also strewn about.

The cat won't even hang out with me.

He hangs out in the kitchen hoping to catch a glimpse of the neighbour's cat so that they can stare and meow at eachother.

It looks like a scene from a prison movie where the couple has to touch palms through the bulletproof glass to prove their love to one another.

I play computer games in my underwear and dance in the living room in a wife beater. I also burp really loudly and then laugh.

At myself.

Then last night it hit me...

When you burp really loud and it's a good one, (we're talking Richter Scale quality), and there's nobody around to hear you, it's not funny.

In the least.

Last Call....

Me and the man went to the wedding of some good friends of ours a couple of weekends ago and had an excellent time. The man was a groomsman, I was a spectator, and we hooked up with friends we hadn't seen since our high school graduation. It was a blast.

Cut to the reception.

We were all having a grand ol' time, reminiscing, drinking, laughing, smoking, the works. A few of us even got up and cut a rug.

The man didn't. He doesn't like to make appearances on the dance floor with me. But I digress....

Cut to "Last Call"....

A bunch of us are sitting around the table chatting it up when the DJ announces that it's last call. I should tell you that this announcement came at approximately 12:30 am and that none of us were prepared to call it a night.

After multiple moans and groans, most of the boys went up to the bar to collect what would be the last paid drinks of the evening. The man followed suit.

I had a couple of sips left of my beer and anticipated that the man would grab me a couple of drinks as I knew he would do for himself.

Well...

I got a drink.

Singular.

Uno.

The man had so generously purchased me one cool glass of Budweiser beer. He, with full hands, put his 4 double rum and cokes down on the table in front of him.

What?

That's right folks. You give a man the best almost three years of your life and what do you get at one of your best friends' weddings?

One fucking Bud.

Love you TM. Love you