I'm just back again, from another solo trip. Even though only a few weeks had gone by since I'd just abandoned my poor husband and children to run away to Burning Man, my first true solo vacation since meeting the Sober Husband, I once again callously left the poor things alone to fly up to Seattle (neglecting the poor old readers as well). This trip was poorly timed, given that poor Lola hadn't even recovered from her mother's Burning Man absence, but I felt obligated to make it. My mother (traveling from Texas), beloved aunt (traveling from Maine), and a friend from high school (flying up from LA) were all going to be in the Seattle area at the same time.
This trip was harder than Burning Man, paradoxically. I found myself missing the temperate influence of the Sober Husband, who truly does keep me on an even keel. I know it seems to so many people that the two of us are a pair of misfits, completely ill-suited to each other and constantly squabbling, but he truly is my security husband. There's a small, odd thing we do, where I put my hand on his bare stomach under his shirt, which calms us both down completely, even if we're so angry either of us could happily sever the other's carotid artery with our own teeth. We've been together now for about fifteen years, squabbling and stomach-touching and rolling our eyes at each other all the way, and for a mouthy independent feminist, I have certainly become pretty damn dependent upon him.
On the bright side, a trip away from my security blanket of a husband gave me a great opportunity to get an impulse tattoo. The man hates tattoos in general and mine in particular, but I really wanted one to cover up some scars. I browsed the art of an adorable young woman in a trendy tattoo shop in the U-district, but it was my mother who got a recommendation for a great old-school tattoo artist from someone in the International District. Luckily this fabulous artist had an open slot on a weekday, and soon I was under the needle.
I learned something which should have been blindingly obvious: I have a much higher pain threshold if I'm being tattooed by a dangerously attractive man, especially one who whispers in my ear while he's working that he's going to tear up the flash art for my tattoo so no one else can ever get that same tattoo again. Usually two-three hours under the needle is more than enough for me, but I spent nearly six hours, getting the new tattoo and also two old ones touched up, and I could have easily done more. "You thought I couldn't get this all done," I smugly bragged, and my artist sweetly said, "Sometimes you're surprised that a soldier walks in the door."
Back home again, the Sober Husband was a good sport about the extra art. "I can tell it makes you happy," he said gallantly. That was a far cry from his reaction several years ago when I got a piece on my right arm, when he was spitting mad. Absence must make the tattoo-hating heart grow fonder.
I just don’t. If they could easily remove it yeah, I'd have a flying hellfish on my arm, but as my body is perfect already why tamper with said perfection? Although I had thought a bar code on the back of my neck would be amusing, until I saw some skinheads doing that. My nephew and I decided it would only be cool if you could actually scan it and it would read as something like a can of peas. Getting one's blood type done under the Left arm is also cool, but that is kind of a Nazi thing now.
I don’t get your new one. Although I suppose as a follower of Darwin you could always say it is your uncle, or Anton. I have started to ask cashiers with tats why they chose what they did. One had two on one arm. A Mexican dancer and a leopard. She said she got the lady first as, well.... just because. Then decided to get another and liked the leopard. No reason at all.
I told her, in an obviously joking voice, "Honey, next times don’t go out drinking before you get a tattoo... she laughed.
Yesterday a pretty young thing had a snake on her arm. She said “I like snakes." No arguing with that.
the ink is perfect. i'm glad the sober husband was chill with it.
I'm currently re-reading The Passage, and this image is making me think of the virals! But I know that's not quite what you had in mind, and not really even what it looks like, just where my mind is jumping. Better go play more doodle jump.
I love tattoos, I think they're beautiful. Sometimes I wish I could be covered in them! So how many do I have? Zero. I know myself too well, what I like today I probably won't like 20 years from now.
I have considered getting a couple of Buddhist symbols in places I can see and enjoy them, just a little visual reminder to calm me when I start losing it. No way will I ever outgrow Buddhism! But meh, who knows. I figure if I can't commit to thinking about it long enough to make a decision it's probably best that I don't do it. LOL
I love the red touches in yours, just gorgeous!!
I just knew we could rely upon Goatse to take us there.
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