So Ive been a little busy the past month or so. I was working on a commission, a new piece, and a custom skull for a show due next week. I don't have any info on the skull show yet. Pictured above is a small preview of a new piece I'm currently working on. Its a collaboration/ homage to an artist whose work has inspired me for many years. I will put together a small tutorial to go along with this doll when shes finished. I will debut her at the show I'm a part of in Dec. I'll keep people posted on exact date and time for both shows.
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One of those nights
I never set out to be a loner it just sort of happened. It was Saturday after payday and I was already hurtin’ for money man. It was 10 pm and my phone hadn’t rung in over a day. I sat around the previous two days with my sketch book trying to draw up some new ideas but the artist block not only frustrated me it depressed me and my gut began to ache for a beer. I decided to hit the Frolic room for the sake of getting out of the house. Their just isn’t anything better than getting lit when your down and out. So I searched for a clean pair of pants on the floor, ironed out a dress shirt, and jumped into my black lizard skin Lucchese Cowboy boots. You know, I’m proud of those boots. I saved them from being tossed in the trash on one of my various handy man side jobs. Some rich dude client of mine threw those things out ‘cause he had nothing to wear with them. I took them home painted them black and polished the shit out of them. Those are some cool boots man. Anyways, I hopped on my motorcycle and set sail towards Hollywood. The summer’s night breeze never felt better.
A heavy moon, full of butter fat expectations, begged for my bark and howl as I hit the Hollywood exit off the 101 at a quarter to eleven. Traffic was jammed and parking is just impossible to find around that time. Once the Pantages Theater lets out though, at about 11pm, you can find a spot right in front of the Frolic room, but that’s just a little secret between you and me. I stumble up to the bar and Ruben, my bartender, already has a Budweiser and a 7up waiting for me. He only serves me a 7up when he thinks I’m lit and looking to sober up. I find a stool and sit down; the Beatles are playing on the jukebox, and a big Texan that goes by the name Tex pulls up to the bar next to me. It’s a hot night outside and the dolls are all dressed for it too. Steve, the door man, makes his rounds around the bar picking up stray bottles as the jukebox now plays a little Stevie Ray Vaughn. I finish up my first round just in time to see Walter, an annoying drunk who frequents the bar, stumble in with a young girl. They grab a stool, a couple over from me, and order up a Chelada and a few shots of whiskey, Black Velvet. After a few, Walter makes his way to the restroom and leaves his trophy doll sitting alone at the bar. (Walter, you know better than that) She gets up and moves over to the seat next to me and says, “Hi, you having fun?” I look over at her with my eyes at half mast and reply, “well, now I am” She asks,”why are you drinking alone?” I told her with a half hearted smile, “Sometimes life will make you do that doll.” We laughed and flirted the whole time Walter was in the restroom but instinct told me to stay away from this doll. I knew she was trouble when ol’ Walter got up to take another piss and she began to tell me all off her wonderful achievements. She started off with her class action lawsuit and the affair she had with her lawyer. Of course she made me promises not to tell Walter (wink-wink). She had also been on the cover of Lowrider magazine a few years back, two times, and she was in the process of writing a book. She just got divorced and she hated her ex, but at least she got the house he had bought down the street out of it, ‘cause you know he’s a real estate agent. She was very depressed and just looking to have a good time tonight. When Walter got up to have a smoke she slid over one last time and for some reason, actually, I knew the reason; the conversation escalated towards sex rather quickly and out of no where came, “So how many girls have you fucked in the last month? Being the cultured, intelligent, and fine gentleman that I am I responded with, “Sorry doll but I don’t kiss and tell and where the fuck did that question come from?" ”Yeah you’re probably a Virgin”, she replied. Not losing my cool, I told her, “I probably am doll”. “Well I’ve had sex with only one guy and he had a small dick so my shit is still tight” I laughed at the size of the balls on this broad, I knew what she was up to so I stumped her with, “Only one guy; you sound inexperienced and you’d probably be lame in bed.” She was quick to reply, “Oh no I’m crazy and freaky. Don’t underestimate me baby.” As Walter made his way back I smiled at her and then went outside for some fresh air.
Well her story was very heart braking and of course, it hit me right in the heart. For a minute there I thought she was after my Lucchese boots but I recognized her tricks and if I where a fool I would have fell for it. I’ve had enough conversations with bar hookers to fall for this one.
A bar hooker works the bars and clubs and starts conversations with loner boner dudes who are desperate for a woman. They dress a lot less conservative than most dolls of course, and usually roll alone. They will sit at the bar and wait for any guy to try and start a conversation with them. Sometimes, well, many times they will have to approach a guy themselves, due to the fact that most dudes don’t know how to approach a woman. It works to the hookers’ advantage though. You see this way they can target geeky suckers with low self esteem who haven’t been laid in ages and would pay hundreds of dollars just to smell a woman for the sake of saying that at least they smelled her. They then ask you if you would like to go back to her place for some drinks and kicks or maybe just step outside and into her Corolla for a nice “conversation”.
I kind of felt sorry for Walter. Did he have any idea or was he just naive? Oh well he looked happy and I’m not the type to ruin a good time. So I went back in, closed out my tap and decided to call it a night. Come to think of it, I don’t think I even had enough money in my bank account to play around with her plus I wasn’t about to fight poor Walter for her. I was better off going home.
I hit “Tacos el Halcon”, the taco lunch truck over on Slauson and Broadway, on my way home that night. You know they make some of the best tacos in Los Angeles at 2am. The tacos are drenched with hot sauce, the meat is tender, and they always grill the onions. I walked up and ordered the usual; tres tacos de asada y uno de al pastor. One of the chefs was dragging on a cigarette off to the side of the lunch truck as all the Reggeton boys and their dates began spilling out of their Nissan Sentra cars with expired plates and pep boys spinner hub caps. The cops made their rounds once again shining the light on the crowd and another Mexican beauty began hiking up her skirt and sucking on the straw of her medium size Horchata in hopes of making her knuckle head boyfriend jealous. The sexy simplicity of her tube top white dress accentuated the curves of her child bearing hips in a way that only a tube top dress can. Her faced looked like a Bratz doll and her eyes had that look of longing with a dash of desperation, for something, someone, or anything new to come her way. You see this town will drag you down with false expectations if you let it baby and the rats that sleep in the gutters, well; they just lick their lips at the thought of your life ending up crumbled up in a taco wrapper, just off to the side of Slauson blvd.
I got home close to 3am. I took off my clothes and turned on the AC at full blast. I lay in the dark as a neighbor’s car alarm blasted all chances of me falling asleep within the following 10 minutes. The dogs down the street began to bark and some annoyed lady screams out her window, “Turn that fucken alarm off!” I chuckle at her. The street light shined down through my window on an old unoccupied cobweb that decorated the upper Westside of my room as I began to fall asleep………..Fuck, I should have brought Walters’ hooker home.
-Red Rooster (2007)
