I was looking something up for a customer today and she reached out and TOUCHED MY FACE. I recoiled violently, and she said "oh sorry, but your star is so pretty!" I said, I don't like people touching me! And she seemed to get the hint.
I've said it before: tattoos are not invitations to touch strangers. Especially their face!
So I got a tattoo on my face. Watch the videos (less than 2 minutes total) and notice how nervous I am before the needle actually touches my skin.
Watch video 1 here. (Either blogger or I am too retarded to upload or embed videos.)
Part 2 is right after that, except you missed me say "Wow, that doesn't hurt at all!"
Watch video 2 here.
And it's true, it didn't hurt at all. That's not me being all hardcore either - this is the first tattoo that I could have gone to sleep during. And the needle didn't go that deep into my skin either, so my skull was not rattling, which I was kinda worried about. I imagine there are some spa treatments or something that feel like that.Also: it barely bled and it healed in like 2 days. I just have to keep it out of the sun for 30 days as a precaution, but that's no prob.
About 10 days later, I went back to get it touched up. The color had faded a lot and lost a bit of its star shape. People didn't notice it unless I pointed out. (Damn my awesome healing power!) So I headed on back to the studio to see what could be done. Even Brian the artist was surprised at it's decomposition. Luckily he had an opening when I popped in (and remembered me), so we took about 2 minutes and worked on my face again.This time, it DID hurt. Not a lot, but more than the absolute nothing I felt last time. It made my eye water, which didn't happen before. The needle definitely went deeper into the skin, and he used a darker color. This time it should stick better, but if it doesn't, I am welcome to come back and get it retouched as many times as I need to.
So I went to a tattoo / videogame party last night. I watched people do DDR while I got this:
Here's a video of me getting it done:
Then I rocked out some rock band.
More on this later, maybe. I just wanted to share. :)
Several weeks ago, a flier appeared on the door to my apartment building advertising a craft / bake sale in the office, which is across the parking lot, about 40 feet away from my patio. When I first saw the paper sign taped up, the thought briefly entered my mind that I should sell my crap there. (By crap, I of course mean that jewelry I make.) Just as quickly, the thought left my brain never to return, even while ignoring the still-taped flier day in and day out.
Then yesterday, all these cars pulled up in front of the office (and thus, in front of my apartment). Even trucks and vans with company logos on them. It took us a second to realize that this was the fabled craft faire we'd heard so much about. We finished up whatever we were doing, no rush, and wandered the 40 feet to see what was the dillio.
The booth right next to the door was filled with some sort of hideous cardstock picture frames, with lettered beads glued onto them. Pass. There were several unimpressive jewelry booths. Not that they didn't have nice stuff, but as one who makes jewelry, I wouldn't have bought any of it. And I didn't. Then some lady ejaculated (!) that she loves my shoulder tattoo. This is perfectly normal, as I have random people in bars taking pictures of it and am always getting compliments on it. I smile and say thanks like the polite little girl I am. Then: "let me sign you up to win some free hand lotion from Mary Kay." I gave a long (valid) excuse involving sensitive skin, she tries to convince me that I still want horrible lotion, which I don't, so I walk away.
Pause: Craft faire? Since when is me helping someone get a horrible pink cadillac a craft? And the booth next to it was Cookie Lee, which is the ugly mass-marketed jewelry version of Mary Kay. So another non-craft. As for the "bake" part of the craft / bake sale, there was one booth selling baked goods. Even though I was hungry, I didn't look at it. Dismayed Satisfied, we made the long trek back home.
It worked out that I did not provide my services as an artiste. It was mostly a retirement-community crowd there buying things, and I have been told by potential mothers in law that my jewelry is "too young." But like everything, it made for a (semi) interesting story.
Apparently I need to be wearing tank tops all the time. I do, normally during the summer, but right now it is February in Michigan. Frickin cold. But that's why I have nice warm coats, so I can be toasty warm when I go outside, but remove my layers when I am settled at my destination.
The key is my super awesome tattoo. Tank tops have this wonderful ability to show it off, and I become Miss* Popular.
This happened last night when we ate dinner at the Black Lotus Brewery, which is my new favorite place. There was no live music like last time I was there, but I still had a rockin good time. Here's what went down:
When we arrived, the waitress came over to take our drink orders. They didn't have my new regular, the Honey Hemp Ale, which is very tasty even for a non beer-drinker like me, so I ordered something else. Apparently the waitress was spending more time concentrating on my pretty flowers than on the order because she went back and told the rest of the staff about me. I didn't notice this because I was busy concentrating on having to pee. However, on my way to the bathroom to take care of this urgent business, 2 waitresses (waitri) stopped me to "check out my ink." Dark Haired Waitress (names have been changed to protect the innocent) showed me her tattoos, which did involve the slight removal of pants, and tried really hard to convince me to go to the Motor City Tattoo Expo next month. Then she promised to give me the card of her tattoo artist. I took my chance to thank her and run away to the bathroom, before everyone was less impressed with my coolness because I was about to pee on myself.
I went back to my seat, and was periodically visited by Dark Haired Waitress, Blond Waitress (who also was in charge of bringing our food and drinks), and new addition to the group, Male Waitress, or "Waiter." They took turns swarming around us, until we had all shown each other all our tattoos. Blond Haired Waitress seemed a little reluctant to share hers because it was faded from her adventures in a tanning salon, but we saw it eventually. Waiter even took the liberty of moving my shirt strap a little so he could see the penguin better. Soon Dark Haired Waitress showed up and plopped her pink phone down in front of me. She didn't have the card for her tattooist, but here's his number. Then she walked away to continue working, and I remarked to my dinner companions how very odd it was that this chick trusted me, a complete stranger, enough to leave me with her cell phone.
I copied the number into my own phone, for when I do need to get more tattoos. Of course, that won't be for some time as I don't have a job yet. Why don't I have a job yet? Didn't I have an interview yesterday before the excitement at the Brewery? Why, yes, yes I did. However, it was the lamest interview ever. The Pharm Manager just recited memorized standard form questions at me. "What was your favorite job that you ever had, and why? What was your least favorite job that you ever had, and why? Tell me about a time that a customer asked you to do something illegal, and how did you respond. Tell me about a time that your supervisor asked you to do something illegal, and how did you respond." (At this point I had to deviate from my lame-ass standard form answers and break the news that none of my supervisors have ever asked me to do anything illegal.) There were several more questions along this vein, and then I had to take the stupidest skill assessment test ever invented. "If you need to give someone $7.68 in change, what bills would you use for this?" This went on for about 20 minutes, answering incredibly mundane multiple choice questions. By the end of the "interview" I had already decided that I wouldn't cry if I didn't get this job. Then on the way to funner and better things, I realized how damn far away the store is from my home, and decided once and for all that I would not be working there.
So in order for me to continue impressing my new besties at the brewery, I will have to find some other means of getting money so that I can get new tattoos. Oh and also to fund my eating and drinking at the brewery. It was made very clear to me that they expect to see me again very soon.
* Notice it's Miss Popular and not Mrs, because I did not marry into this title. I earned it all on my own. Go me!
Remember earlier when I was all braggin about the most beautiful tattoo in the world? Yeah, about that.
3 sessions, 8 hours, and more money than I'd like to admit:
Isn't it the most beautiful tattoo in the whole wide world? Everybody thank Claire at Fun City Tattoo, and go to her for your beautiful tattoo needs.
I'm awesome now, btw.
So here I am in Michigan. The trip was looooong, but thanks to some very good friends, I was all packed and fed and ready to leave Brooklyn and begin. We had reservations in a hotel on the PA / OH border, but thanks to a very long day (my Jason was up at like 4am to catch the flight to NYC), a little bit of snow, and a stupid Uhaul that took way more gas than one would think is humanly truckenly possible, we ended up stopping somewhere much closer. The motel had signs all over expressing their distaste for accepting pets, so my Jason did a little distracting while I snuck in with a (thankfully quiet) kitty. Oh, I mean that Jay was very interested in the free coffee and donuts that were offered in the morning and genuinely had some questions that needed answering.
The next morning we got up and continued our drive. I had bought some funny little herbal drops to calm the kitty, but thankfully I did not need them. Yay for Mecru being the best traveler ever! We arrived in Detroit around 8pm, unloaded the necessities (cat tower, food, litter, and our overnight bags) and went to sleep. Woke up the next day and finished unloading the truck. Thankfully we had a few extra days on the rental.
Yesterday we ignored the boxes everywhere and went grocery shopping, returned the truck, and went out to dinner. The Brewery we ate at had a very yummy vegetarian friendly menu, and there was an awesome live band performing with 2 acoustic guitars, an upright bass, and yes, an accordion. Is it correct to say that that guy rocked the accordion? I think it is, and if you had been there for the performance, you would agree. Today is a day of unpacking, but my mood was ruined when I saw my last work check had been deposited. Oh good, my $46 came in. Yeah that's right. Apparently I worked for 2 weeks and got less than $50 for my effort. You can bet an email went out post-haste. If this doesn't pan out, someone in NYC is gonna have to go firebomb something. Just sayin.
But so yeah. Unpacking, more blog updates, and at some point, a job. Neato.
ps - the most beautiful tattoo in the world is almost done with the peeling stage, so pictures will come soon.
Also, stay tuned for the story of Mecru Meets His First Dog, who is also his new roomie.
After 3 sessions, 8 hours, and more money than I'd like to admit I spent, my pretty flower tattoo is done!
DONE!
You can't see any pictures yet, because the bandages are still on. Also, because it is the most beautiful tattoo you will ever see, I want to wait til it's totally healed until I reveal it to the world. So give me a little while for that to happen, and to relocate myself, and I promise, I will post amazingly beautiful pictures of my amazingly beautiful rainbow flowers.
And, bragging rights:
My artist, Claire at Fun City, liked my tattoo so much -her own work, mind you- that she had me pose for pictures. Her camera made funny shutter sounds. Instead of the normal little click, it went "ptchoo" like I was being shot with a tiny ray gun. That made me laugh.
The fact that I was laughing was proof that I had a much better experience than last time. No berries, so there was not the massive blood loss. I still bled of course, but not nearly as much. Apparently the bony part of the shoulder where the tattoo needle rattles your whole skeletal system is also a bloody part. But no problemo. And then I was in an extra super mood because of my newfound beauty.
Yes, I've already settled on a possibility for my next tattoo. Something simple. 1 session. an hour. But no, it won't done be for a long long time. I am done with being tattooed for a while. I say this every time, and usually it takes a year for the inky itch to develop again. So don't hold me to this. But for now, no more tattoos.
Pictures to follow soon, I promise.
I'm moving. In 5 days. To Michigan. Away from NYC.
Because of this, I feel the need to represent. Brooklyn, yo!
So I went on a tiny excursion to find things made in Brooklyn. I bought this awesome weekender bag made by a Brooklyn company, but it doesn't actually say Brooklyn anywhere on it. So when I'm off on a weekend jaunt, nobody will be like "Brooklyn, huh?" so I can brag. I briefly looked at Brooklyn Industries, which I pass every day on my way to work (no matter which store I'm working at) but they didn't have anything I wanted needed and could justify buying. So I half-heartedly gave up my half-hearted attempt at representation.
Then the other day, walking to work, I saw a store selling $3 t-shirts that said "Brooklyn Girl" on them. Um, hello? Perfect. However, I was worried about being late to work (why? they don't care about me! but that's a whole 'nuther rant.) so I did not stop. Because my Jason telephonically walks me to and fro each day, he got to hear about this store. And he got to hear about the subsequent journeys around the 'hood trying to find this store that I don't know the name or exact location of. And the follow-up attempts were not half-hearted. But I have not been able to find it, this mystery store. I'm becoming more and more convinced it was a figment of my overactive imagination.
But I have 5 days left. 2 of those I'm working, 1 I have to get a tattoo finished (yes!), and the other 2 involve me sitting at home possibly because it's snowing outside. But dammit, I want a $3 tshirt!
Remember how I had that job before that I absolutely hated, yet stayed in because I needed the money even though they treated me like crap? Then I found my current job and I thought everything was super because I liked my coworkers and didn't mind working my magic on the customers?
That was when I was hired, and I was under the assumption that my job would include management duties and a pay raise. Why would I assume this? Because they told me when I was hired that I was hired specifically for these things. I was also hired for this position at the store in my neighborhood.
So things are going along great for a while. I still haven't gotten my title and pay raise, and they keep making excuses and putting it off. (The latest was "everything in all the stores is staying exactly the same until after the holidays.") I keep trudging along. Then the news breaks that one of our employees is going to transferred to the other Brooklyn store, further away from my house. As the Store Manager is telling me who they want, he is describing me. "They want someone energetic, and good with the customers, a good reliable worker, etc." Me. And he said it in such a way that he wanted me to know it was me without having to actually come out and say it was me. Not to mention listing all the other employees and the reasons they wouldn't be the ones. Me.
I said no. I was hired for this position and this store and blah blah blah. Then when I came back from xmas, I found out I was working the entire week at the other store. I'm still technically an employee of store #1, I just don't spend any time there. I imagine that soon they'll make it official and take me off the schedule and payroll of my store. I continually let them know that I hate what they're doing, but my complaints fall on deaf ears.
So today was the beginning of my "week" at store #2. When I got my schedule (yesterday!) I lessened my complaining just a bit, because I ended up getting 3 New Year's -era days off in a row. Last minute, I decided to spend my New Years in Detroit because I found a cheap ticket. Unfortunately, the condition of the cheapness was that I had to leave an hour early from work in order to catch the flight. So when I went in today, I let them know this first thing. There were 3 other people there to close, so my missing an hour wouldn't hurt them. If I'd had to miss more than an hour of work, I wouldn't have done it. The store manager seemed ok with it.
She calls my store manager to let him know (not to complain about it!) and he wants to talk to me. He proceeds t give me a lecture on how much work I've missed, and how many days I've asked for off, and how often I leave work early. Then he tells me to just go home now, they don't need me to work.
How much work I've missed? I've never once called in sick or come in more than a few minutes late.
How many days I've asked for off? Do they mean the 3 days I just took for xmas so I could do my once a year trip to see my family, that I told them about when I was hired because I already had my tickets? Or do they mean when I request a certain day of the week off because I'm getting a tattoo or have some other pressing engagement? I admit, I have done that several times, but last time I checked I get 2 days off a week. I'm not requesting any extra days off, I'm just ensuring that one of my days is a day when I have things to do. I was also told that flexible schedules were part of the job here because everyone has other things to do besides work.
How often I leave work early? Most of the time when I leave work early, it's because the store is dead and I am told to go home by the store manager. You can't hold it against me. As for the other times (what, maybe 2?) that I left early, it was because I had appointments or something. So they don't want me to ask for certain days off, and they don't want me to miss even an hour of work on days when I have previous engagements. Good logic they have going there.
If you don't know me, it might sound that I'm asking for a lot. But I really amn't. It's a stupid retail job. I don't have a set schedule like an office job, so I need to ensure that the non-job-related things in my life can happen when I'm not at work. When I am at work, I'm the best customer service person they have. Even the store owner has commented that.
So even though I don't mind the actual work of this job, I hate it. I'm back to daydreaming about a life where I don't have to work for people that treat me like crap. Someday I will find my perfect job, which as I've said, involves me setting my own schedule and making my own rules. People say it can't be done. But I'm different. I am not cut out for this kind of life. Something better this way comes. Or, I end up in a mental institution because I stabbed someone. Either way, I'm running away from the working life.
Remember, it will still get cooler, once I have the flowers colored. And the bruises are gone.
Thanks to Claire at Fun City Tattoo for bein all awesome n shit.
1. So did you know that berries have a chemical in them very similar to aspirin? Aspirin makes your blood thin, which means you will bleed more if you are cut, or say, get a huge tattoo on your shoulder. Did you also know that I love berries and may or may not have had a berry smoothie from Jamba Juice immediately preceding and (a little bit during) such a tattoo?
So while the constant influx of sugar stopped me from passing out, and the straw in my mouth gave me something to fixate on, I was really damning myself to a day full of blood loss. Next time? (And yes, there is a next time 
) I guess I have to skip the smoothie. Oranges have the chemical too, so I can't go to my second fave as a last resort even.
2. We started playing xmas music in the store today. The big boss man was "giving us a break" by delaying it from the day after Tgiving, but not much of a break since we still have to actually hear it. All day. Every day. Until xmas. 
The first thing we heard was a promo cd featuring all these tv stars singing. OK, some, like Bebe Neuwirth, can carry a damn fine tune. However, others, like Sean Hayes, cannot. And I mean Can. Not. Yeah, that cd didn't last long before my other coworker and I tried to impale ourselves on expensive luggage to end it all.
Then I used the magic of XM radio to find us a suitable station. The good thing about them is that they try not to repeat things too often. Sadly, though many people have recorded xmas music, there is only a very small selection of songs from which to choose. I hate that song Santa Baby, btw. I liked it at first. Sure, the baby doll woman singing is extremely materialistic and shallow, but that's what xmas is all about right? But after about the 5th time hearing it by varied artists, it became the worst song ever. Worst. Ever. Even my love Madonna did a version that was so bad I wanted to stick my fingers up my nose to jab my brain so I wouldn't have to hear it anymore.
Also? I hate Mannheim Steamroller. Who was the ad wizard that came up with that one? "Hey you know what would be the best thing ever? Xmas music pretending to rock, but comprised of tens of thousands of synthesizers!" No, Chip Davis. No. That is not the best thing ever. In fact, it is one of the least awesome things ever conceived, regardless of what millions of record sales say.
So yeah.
ps - there are no pictures yet because my pretty leaves are still marred by redness and ugly ugly bruising. Gimme like 1 or 2 days ok, all you impatient little monkeys?
pps - I have, and will continue to have, Santa Baby in my head for the next 2 months. Suck.
ppps - I do like that video of the house lights synched to MS's Carol of the Bells that I'm sure you've seen and I am too lazy to look it up anyway. But that's not because of MS. Carol of the Bells is my fave xmas song.
So yeah? Blood loss? I got that. Not good.*
As I write this, a large portion of my upper half is covered in blood soaked bandages. And no, it was not a gruesome tractor accident. In an ongoing effort to make myself more beautiful, I got stage 2 of my tattoo done today. So now instead of a black outline, I have green leaves. The flowers, well they are still black outlines.
Why? you may ask. Why? Because apparently I enjoy torture. Oh and also I bleed. A lot. Like so much that the artist has to stop inking and apply pressure to my neck with a cloth. And when she moves on to another part, the blood 1) ruins the freshly inked colors and 2) drips down my arm / back / chest. Then she has to go back over the same spot again because all the bleeding pushed out all the color. Fun right? Another 2 & 1/2 hours under the gun and it's still not finished. But towards the end there, I was like I don't even care. I'll come back. Just stop this painful process (which included the soapy water that she used to wipe all the blood away which stung so much I think it hurt more than the inking).
You know what? Writing this is making me ill. Plus I haven't eaten since I finished, other than a grilled cheese from the automat. You remember that I love the automat right? Well I love it even more now because while my no-blood-addled brain tried to figure out the conundrum of what to do with my $5 bill when the quarters machine was broken and I didn't want to carry around 3 dollar-coins (I didn't want to carry around 12 quarters either, but that didn't occur to me til later) the nice Japanese boy at the counter was like, I can give you change! And I was like Yay! Thank you for saving me. Anyway, Chinese food is en route to mi casa, so soon I will have sustenance, rest assured.
On the way to my expensive blood letting, I had 2 things of note. The first was that a guy on the train trying really hard to be P Diddy had his fly open. And he had no idea. I think I'm the only one that noticed, but I'm not sure as to why I noticed in the first place. I was going to do the polite thing and tell him, but I couldn't just yell, hey guy , zip the fly! And I couldn't make eye contact, look at his crotch, and give him the nod, because I'm absolutely certain that would be taken the wrong way. So I gave up on telling him and just laughed at how ridiculous it was that Mr. Expensive Glasses, Matching Sneakers, and Designer Clothes was also Mr. Hey Look At My Weiner.
Then walking up 2nd Avenue, a guy carried an uncovered bucket of water on his shoulder. Then he dropped the bucket, which should have been no surprise, given the way it was carried. The shock came when suddenly both my legs from the knee down were covered in cold water on an only slightly warmer than freezing day. Oh and jeans don't dry very quickly, even under the best of circumstances. So I said a few choice words to Mr. I Drop Buckets All Day and continued on my freezing way to get colored.
So yeah. That was my day. I'll get around to posting pictures of my pretty leaves soon, but definitely not yet because they are far less pretty when soaked in my own blood. (I think that could be said for anything, though.)
* It's kinda like I'm drunk, so if my words make no sense, you know. I have edited it down for saneness too, but if I missed something, bear with me.
Yeah I know I'm late. But my real Halloween adventures weren't until the day after... so.
First a picture of the Devil in a Blue Dress and her junkie boyfriend.
I want to point out that my new tattoo matches the design on my dress. Nobody is more coordinated than me!
I also want to point out that while doing C's makeup, I actually got a little sick from the track marks on his arm and the fake blood. I know I'm squeemish, but damn, that's a good job to make the makeup artist sick. On the way to the party, C kept getting double takes. We live near a hospital and passed a few people in scrubs who looked seriously concerned. But I assure you, it's every bit a costume. I guess it's a compliment that it was so realistic?
As for me, you know I just wanted an excuse to wear that dress, which I still love. And since I had coated my devil horns in glitter (because glitter makes everything better) they ended up matching my dress as well.
I'm sure there's more I can write about the party, but fah. The important thing here is the picture.
So all you non-tattoo people know, tattoos peel when they are healing. Like a sunburn, but less gross. This is why you put lotion on it. My tattoo is at that stage right now. For some reason it fascinates me because the peeling skin is colored. Since my tattoo is just a black outline right now, the skin flakes are black. It looks like someone chipped paint and the chips fell onto my shoulder. When I get the tattoo finished, I'll have a rainbow of blues and greens and purples and pinks, which is slightly weirder.
So if you see me rubbing my shoulder like I've got dandruff, that's why. Black shoulder dandruff.
The Saturday before Halloween? Always the best parties ever. After sorting out my many options (yes, I actually had options!) I ended up at a bar with lawyers. Surprise. So to amuse myself while they talked shop, I made up games to play. The best one was quizzing random people on the first word in the song "Living On A Prayer." I'd say "who used to work on the dock?" And they'd try to sing it to themselves and not remember the name. This was really funny to me because I arrived to the party late because I had to work. So these people already had much more alcohol in them than I.
After I got a few random strangers involved in my game, they all *had* to know the answer. So I commanded my minions to find me someone from Jersey. LOAP is New Jersey's state song, which makes Bon Jovi their state bird or something. Anyway, first Jerseyite we found knew the answer was Johnny. Johnny used to work on the docks. The union went on strike. Well, you know the rest. That cracked me up to no end.
We were kind of standing near the bathroom, so we could see the various groups of people going in together. At first we assumed they were just having sex, because that's what people do in bar bathrooms, but when enough of them came out twitching and rubbing their noses, it dawned on us that these lawyers people were doing coke. That also cracked me up so when I had to go in and actually use the bathroom for it's factory-designated purpose, I said I would also come out twitching and rubbing my nose, you know, to fit in. Then when a lone guy came out of the girls' bathroom and told me not to tell anyone, all my brainpower was used in trying to figure out what it was I shouldn't tell (like I've never used the guys' room at a crowded bar? and he didn't pee on the seat even, so what do I care?) so I forgot to pretend I was doing coke. One of my newfound bar friends called me on it and made me look quite the fool. And that made everyone laugh hysterically.
At one point I saw a guy dressed like a cow (which was funny in of itself because cows are always funny). The back of his costume was open (he was wearing clothes underneath) so I pulled back a flap and had myself a peek inside. I was really checking to see if there was a zipper or something that he forgot to use, but it totally looked like I was checking out his goods. The great thing about drunk people is that you can do stuff like that and they won't notice. However my friends and the cow's girlfriend all noticed, and each one of them died laughing. I admit, I'm pretty darn funny when I do impulsive crap like that. (Which is often.) And nobody cared.
I also spent a large portion of the night convincing people that my new tattoo is real. It was a very non-tattoo crowd (I didn't see a single other person with ink) and they all were mystified by my enchanting array of flowers. Random people would approach and say things like "tell the truth - that's fake, right?" I don't have the kind of time or energy needed to draw something so intricate on myself with a sharpee. Or have it drawn on me, more likely, because I couldn't do that on my own shoulder. I let people touch it and everything, and word spread, and I was instantly the coolest person there. It helped my superiority complex a little.
So that was my fun night. On the subway ride there, some guy actually lit up a cigarette and was smoking away. Yeah, there's a reason that smoking is illegal on the subway. The whole car fills with smoke and nobody can breathe or see. Someone finally told him to stop because there was a baby on the train, which may have been untrue, but it worked. I still got off at the next stop and switched cars because I like that whole breathing thing. Everything after that was super fun though even though I was in a loud crowded bar (and y'all know I avoid those places).
Due to the generous public outcry of my lack of pictures of my much-talked about new tattoo, here is a picture. When your fans demand it, ya gotta listen!
For your reference, here is what I looked like before.
Ok, here is what I look like now.
Keep in mind that in a month that will be filled in with all sorts of pretty colors. But it's pretty freakin awesome already, you have to admit.
And of course there will be more pics when it's done... and every single picture taken of me ever again.
Since my new tattoo is still healing and covered in ointmenty goo, I have been wearing an old t-shirt to sleep instead of my nice satin pajamas. This is also why there are no pictures yet, btw. But my old t-shirt that I have chosen is one I got from working in the drugstore so long ago. Most people got shirts from the drugstore that were hideous and itchy polo shirts. However, because I am special and tiny, none of those fit me and the bookkeeper, god bless her soul, dug deep deep deep in the closet until she found an awesome green t-shirt that I swear is from 1985.
The shirts were generally worn about once a year, at an event called Dinner at the Dump. Basically the whole town of Davis would show up to the recycling facility, pay a $7 entry fee (which at the time seemed outrageous to a poor college student like me) and then enjoy free food and drinks supplied by local vendors. There was a stage for music, and beer, though I don't know if that was free like everything else because a) I was never old enough and b) I don't like beer anyway. The drugstore was always in charge of handing out water, and if you volunteered, the store would pay your entry fee. Of course me and my friends volunteered every year.
It was a chance to hang out with tour coworkers outside of work. I hung out with a lot of them already, but this was somehow different. Often, the night would end in a water fight with the leftover water between me and some of the more "mature" boys. But since it was the middle of Central Valley CA summer, it was all good. Sometimes the party would move to a different locale after the actual event ended.
Looking back, it kinda makes me miss that job. Sure, the once-yearly event had absolutely nothing to do with my actual work, and later the horrible things that corporations do, but they are good memories nonetheless. I'm glad I have this t-shirt still and it makes me think of fun times.
Hey know what? Sleep is good. And full amounts of blood are good. And eating is also good.
I have been less than generous with myself concerning these 3 things in the past coupla days.
I got my tattoo yesterday. Well, I got half a tattoo. Right now it's just black outlines of pretty flowers and leaves, and in a month it will be colored in real nice. It still looks totally awesome though. And it didn't hurt as badly as I thought it would.
Here's the kicker: I got all dizzy and hot before the needle even touched my skin. And it's not like she was about to start when I almost fainted. No, she was touching up the outline with a pen. I think my body just psyched itself out, because after she actually started I was pretty fine. (Not to mention that the hero of the day, Suzanne, brought blood sugar reinforcements that took the form of a strawberry popsicle and lifesavers. And also not to mention that I proceeded to choke on the very first life saver I put in my mouth. Good thing they have those holes in them.)
So after a few hours of fanning myself while having blood slowly scratched out of my shoulder, Suz and I left to go back to my place. I was in dire need of food. So what else? Diner. Except that I got lost on the way. You know, because it's less than 3 blocks away in a straight shot. Yeah, my brain was broken and I felt like I was floating. Remember this: food = good.
After diner dinner, we went back to my place for Writing Group. Because we are such a fantastic gang of girls, they didn't leave my house til almost 11. And then there were things I needed to do, but I went to sleep shorty after that. Then I woke up at 5:45. That's right, 5:45. In the morning. Because my alarm went off. Because I had to go to work.
I got to work and had to set up some logon information for myself which I hadn't needed yet. Most people use the last 4 digits of their social security number. I couldn't remember mine, so I entered a number that I thought was it. Now that I have my cognitive faculties back, I realize that in reality world, I made up a number that was kinda close but not exactly right, so I will never remember it. Also I forgot my phone number at one point.
Then the day was crazy busy because of Julli*nne Moore's visit. They had to put out like all these chairs, taking away our precious floor space, and even putting some of our bookshelves in the break room where we couldn't get to them. Then they had to build like a micro-stage so that the press (you know, Entert*inment Weekly, CBS, etc) could take pictures. So after running around the store more than normal, since I couldn't actually run a straight line that didn't involve knocking over chairs, I was plenty relieved when someone was like "aren't you leaving soon?" And I was like no, at 2. They they said "but it's 2 now" and I was off like a prom dress. But 2 people did independently notice my new tattoo so that was cool.
Then I came home, barely ate, and ran off to my second job. I have 2 jobs now. Lucky for me I was only there a coupla hours, learning about the fancy we crap we sell. Then I came home, ate my mac & cheese, and all was well and right in the world.
ps - you can't tell, but I'm still not quite 100% brain usage. I made sooooooo many typos that a lesser man would be embarrassed. And I don't think this post made any sense and I don't care.
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