270/365 New Tattoo
Please excuse my unpedicured foot. I know people will look at this and assume it is for the boys but it isn’t. I have something else in mind for them along with Mavis Emily. I’ve been thinking about this one for a long time but due to infertility expenses and credit card debt, I kept putting it off. These little frogs are for my nieces. The blue for Stretch and the red for Dollface. Dollface said she knew which one was “her” because it was a little smaller.
First of all, I think everyone should go hang out in a tattoo shop sometime just for the experience, even if they do not want a tattoo. It is such a creative, underground, headbanging, totally male vibe there. It was wildly entertaining and fascinating to me. So completely different from my work world of caring women and sweet, innocent children.
Everyone there was very professional about creating the perfect piece of personal artwork. My artist, who I chose because I loved the work of his I saw on others and thought he was truly talented. Later I found out he’d been to art school after being in the Marines, so quite a multifaceted guy. I would like to talk to him sometime when he’s not jamming needles filled with ink into my body while I keep myself from screaming.
Something really weird would happen too, my leg would sort of spasm. It was some sort of crazy reflex I could NOT stop. The guy had to actually hold down my foot pretty forcefully and at one point he said, “You know if you kick me, your tattoo is over.” and he laughed but after that my consuming thought was, “I cannot go home with only a leaf and an eyeball on my foot.” It didn’t help though…the leg and foot just kept twitching away so I have to hand it to the guy for his diligent hard work.
Anyway, I think I heard the F word more times in a few hours than in the last 6 months. I mean a sentence would be, “I’m going to Fing the Fy F F F take out food, Fing now.” At one point, they were discussing what a song that was playing was really about. Wow, then I heard the b word, the c word, the other b word, the p word…… I actually started to cover my face because I got a little embarrassed. I tried to meekly say, “I think it’s really just about honey, you guys.” My tattoo artist didn’t apologize…he only said, “Whoa, I know….shop full of dudes!” I had to laugh and admire these artistic men who are authentic to who they are. But then there would be a surprisingly sweet moment like when my artist came in from a smoke break and practically ran over to the other older, crusty artist and told him about the neighbors newly hatched baby finches. I mean, who would expect two tattoo dudes to go on and on about sweet, little baby birds.
So, to recap, it hurt like an F***ing M*th*r F***er but I do love it and I loved the experience.