Somebody once told me that I was "all show and no go". Of course, it was freshman year of high school, and he was referring to me being a severe cocktease, but hey, the phrase stuck with me for the last *ahem* "10" years or so, and I've never quite forgotten it.
I'm happy to say that I can indeed say that I got a tattoo last night.
Oh yes, I did.
I'd like to say that I was eagerly skipping to the chosen place, with a happy smile across my mug, but sadly, this was not the case.
I was pretty much near hyperventilating when I met Kristen on 2nd Avenue, scared shitless and ready to run far away. What the hell was I doing? Why was I going to put myself through this? Has anyone ever died from tattoo ink? Or had a stroke? Mooommmmy!
When we walked inside, we discovered that my artist was running a half hour late, which turned out to be a good thing, because, did you know you're actually supposed to EAT before purposely losing blood? ha. Yea, eat..not doing that so much anymore
(10 pounds and counting!)but the tattoo artist was nice enough to point us to a place on St Marks for a slice and soda special. "Why not the place across the street?" we asked. "Bad sauce," she replied. 'Nuff said.
Once I filled my tummy with a slice and a Dr Pepper, we made our way back to our final destination, where I met with Dan, my artist. He sketched out my design, and we followed him back to his station.
I don't know what I was expecting..but I kept picturing me, topless, lying on my stomach on a bench, or on one of those comfy massage tables with the hole where you put your face, you know, kind of sensuous..not so much. Instead it was me, topless, sitting in a straight back chair like what they put in high school auditoriums, poor Kristen holding my hand really tight while having to be subjected to my lily white fishbelly.
Dan started to apply the stencil, and I already started wincing, expecting the worst.
Kristen politely pointed out that he hadn't actually started using any needles yet, which I became relieved about, until suddenly..
whirrrrrrrr the sound of the needle, and a slight, annoying pressure. After a few minutes, I sort of got into it. Might I dare say that it was a pleasurable pain. It was really sexual. Damn sexual. It made me feel more alive than I've felt in a long time.
So for twenty minutes or so, I sat there, feeling sort of sexy, sort of turned on, sort of repulsed..it was kinda like a one night stand with someone you met in a dirty bar, you know exactly what I mean. I only had to stop once and have some Gatorade, but all in all, a mighty success, if I do say so myself.
When the ordeal was over, I took my brave friend (more for having to see me topless than anything else) for a glass of wine at Von, and we celebrated feeling alive.
And now I walk around smelling like diaper rash, thanks to this lovely A&D ointment I must keep applying to my left shoulder blade.