Okay, no more music posts, I promise. Man, that one went over like a lead balloon.
Okay. I talked in my previous post about a story I was going to tell everyone about when I went and got my last tattoo(s).
I went on the evening of my birthday, because there is nothing interesting to do on a Monday in January in my town. My local tattoo parlor, or at least the one I go to – we have several in town, is in a little strip center in the middle of town next to a head shop, a leather store and a health food store. (In theory I could treat myself to a tofu burger, a new pair of leather pants, a tattoo and a hookah and incense to calm me with after I get it done all in one trip. Note: I do not smoke a hookah, just sayin’) You cannot make an appointment there, you just have to show up and hope.
I got there at about 4:00, at the time I got off at 3:30. I got there just as another guy and his buddy did. The guy looked really tough. His buddy reminded me of a human version of an Alaskan Malamute. Tall, shaggy black hair and cuddly. Tough guy wanted to get a tattoo with big gothic letters across his back. I settled in for a long wait.
Tough guy was apparently not so tough. 5 minutes into his work he stopped the artist and said he thought he was going to be sick. The artist kicked over the trashcan without blinking an eye and went back to work on him. Every five minutes for nearly half an hour this guy stopped the artist, claiming he was going to vomit.
In this time I learned several things. First, a group of about 6 “soccer moms” came in, looking very excited. And sober. (which surprised me) I learned they were a breast cancer survivors group and they were all getting pink ribbons tattooed on their chests or ankles.
I also learned from Malamute that Tough Guy had his nipples pierced and had passed out when he got it done.
Well, true to form, Tough Guy passed out just as the outline finished. When he came to he dashed to the back and threw up. We could hear it. Ick.
The soccer moms were looking a little concerned over the idea of tattoos now, because of this big baby. I told them they could watch me get mine and see that it wasn’t a big deal. I of course knew this meant I couldn’t move the entire time that I got it done, but sit there nicely and chat playfully to them.
Now, I won’t say I am tough, and I won’t say I have a high pain tolerance, but I managed to make it through with only one incident.
The one time I flinched the artist had hit a ticklish spot on my spine. I had him pull off, to the worried glances of the SM’s. Then I cracked up. It tickled so bad! I am not kidding! They looked a little puzzled and the artist said he had never seen someone laugh at getting a tattoo, but I made it through.
I even stuck around afterwards to watch he soccer mom’s get theirs done. It was a lot of fun.