So, I did something this year that is either a pretty huge right of passage, a dramatic mistake or no big deal at all......depending on who you listen to. I got a tattoo. And I'm not even gonna lie. It hurt. It really hurt. Look at this picture. Do you see how hard I am trying not to cry, throw up or pass out? Can you see that here?
My husband, who has so many tattoos btw that we could not even count, accompanied me on this big first. He took this picture and then skidaddled out the door because he could not bear the look on my face. But I'm proud to say that I made it through without any bodily fluids flying and felt like I kinda learned a little something about myself. And about pain. Yeah, there was pain.
When my husband and I talk about it now, it's like we're in this little club with some other cool people. Now grant it, LOTS of peeps have tattoos now, so the club is not really small. But it is still kind of exclusive. Almost everyone I know has at least a few, whether you can see them or not. The day I was planning to get the tattoo, a few of my coworkers told me not to do it. Particularly two older men that I work with. I brought this up later to my ink artist, Randy, as he was gouging (yes) into my back with a machine needle. "Say they told you not to get one? Well, why not?" This started a whole off the to the races discussion that I was glad for him to rant on about while I was sitting there in pain trying not to cry out. At one point, I even remember singing outwardly and loudly to whatever crap bag 80's song was playing on the local classic rock station. I was going to get through this. No. Matter. What. Help me, Tom Petty, help me!
And when it was over, it felt really surreal. Like I had survived something. I felt strangely empowered and oddly close to the people in the room. They were cheering me on with their kindly jokes, and it made me feel protected. I thought of all the people I wanted to show it to who I knew would be strangely proud of me. Us weirdos know how to stick together.
And it wasn't a whim, for anyone that asked. I had actually been thinking about and planning it for probably 8 or 9 years. An online friend saw a picture and asked me what it meant. I've described it simply like this several times: The A is for my son Andy. The E is for my husband Eric. The B is for me. My son, husband and I all love music. I love books. The flower is a comical symbol that my husband has drawn since he was a teenager. The entire tattoo was designed by me and drawn by my husband. Even the B is the way I write my name. To be more succinct, this tattoo illustrates everything I love......including myself.
And even though I was excited to get it and even made a point of buying some tops that would show it off, not everyone has seen it. My boss and dad still disapprove. My sister tsks quietly. I don't think I've ever told my mother-in-law or my ex. But I showed my kid right away. And also some other friends who I knew would welcome me right into the ink club. I love my tattoo. I'm glad I waited until I was 43 to get it. I may not have known what I was all about when I was 25 or even 35, but I feel like I'm coming close now. This tattoo is only part of that.
I feel like the experience, and not just the art, is worth having. I did something that not everyone can tolerate and not everyone agrees with. I did it because I wanted it and not because someone dared me or because I was feeling rebellious. I did it because I could. And yes, I know for better or worse, I will always have it. And that is fine with me. It's one of the few experiences in life that will honestly last forever.
And yes, it was worth the 75 bucks.
And yes, it hurt.
And no, I think it will probably be my first and only.
Well......we'll see.
My husband, who has so many tattoos btw that we could not even count, accompanied me on this big first. He took this picture and then skidaddled out the door because he could not bear the look on my face. But I'm proud to say that I made it through without any bodily fluids flying and felt like I kinda learned a little something about myself. And about pain. Yeah, there was pain.
When my husband and I talk about it now, it's like we're in this little club with some other cool people. Now grant it, LOTS of peeps have tattoos now, so the club is not really small. But it is still kind of exclusive. Almost everyone I know has at least a few, whether you can see them or not. The day I was planning to get the tattoo, a few of my coworkers told me not to do it. Particularly two older men that I work with. I brought this up later to my ink artist, Randy, as he was gouging (yes) into my back with a machine needle. "Say they told you not to get one? Well, why not?" This started a whole off the to the races discussion that I was glad for him to rant on about while I was sitting there in pain trying not to cry out. At one point, I even remember singing outwardly and loudly to whatever crap bag 80's song was playing on the local classic rock station. I was going to get through this. No. Matter. What. Help me, Tom Petty, help me!
And when it was over, it felt really surreal. Like I had survived something. I felt strangely empowered and oddly close to the people in the room. They were cheering me on with their kindly jokes, and it made me feel protected. I thought of all the people I wanted to show it to who I knew would be strangely proud of me. Us weirdos know how to stick together.
And it wasn't a whim, for anyone that asked. I had actually been thinking about and planning it for probably 8 or 9 years. An online friend saw a picture and asked me what it meant. I've described it simply like this several times: The A is for my son Andy. The E is for my husband Eric. The B is for me. My son, husband and I all love music. I love books. The flower is a comical symbol that my husband has drawn since he was a teenager. The entire tattoo was designed by me and drawn by my husband. Even the B is the way I write my name. To be more succinct, this tattoo illustrates everything I love......including myself.
And even though I was excited to get it and even made a point of buying some tops that would show it off, not everyone has seen it. My boss and dad still disapprove. My sister tsks quietly. I don't think I've ever told my mother-in-law or my ex. But I showed my kid right away. And also some other friends who I knew would welcome me right into the ink club. I love my tattoo. I'm glad I waited until I was 43 to get it. I may not have known what I was all about when I was 25 or even 35, but I feel like I'm coming close now. This tattoo is only part of that.
I feel like the experience, and not just the art, is worth having. I did something that not everyone can tolerate and not everyone agrees with. I did it because I wanted it and not because someone dared me or because I was feeling rebellious. I did it because I could. And yes, I know for better or worse, I will always have it. And that is fine with me. It's one of the few experiences in life that will honestly last forever.
And yes, it was worth the 75 bucks.
And yes, it hurt.
And no, I think it will probably be my first and only.
Well......we'll see.