The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo « Jodi Blase
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When I was a teen, tattoos weren t as prevalent with the younger generation as they are today. Anyone who dared sport a rose on the ankle or a bulldog on the bicep was promptly categorized into kids with tattoos , creating an instant demarcation between them and non-tattooed tattoo old school teens. You may have been a nice kid in the past, but now that you ve gone and gotten a tattoo, parents were likely to observe you more closely with a hint of stink eye.
I admired women who had the nerve to get a tattoo, tattoo old school and at 17-years-old, I created a just-in-case-I-get-a-tattoo tattoo old school short list: 1. No roses, tattoo old school unicorns or flowers. 2. Nothing too colorful. 3. I would have no part of a hidden tattoo old school tattoo; if the world couldn t see said body part, neither could the tattoo artist. 4. I wanted it visible, but not stun gun obvious. 5. Most importantly, I wanted the gain without the pain. The thought of injecting ink into my skin by puncturing it with an electrically powered dental drill-type tattoo old school tool didn t make the list of fun stuff to do.
It was during a weekend getaway with my husband. He had already planned on getting a third tattoo, so I figured carpe diem and seized the day! I maintained my 1-4 guidelines, dismissing 5 as wishful thinking. tattoo old school Besides, I was 19 years wiser and had given birth to 3 children. Surely, I could handle a measly tattoo.
I perused the artwork and settled on a dragon design for a couple of reasons; it would compliment one of my husband s tattoos, and I liked the fact that the dragon stood for courage, strength, and wisdom.
Best yet, it fit my newly added-on condition: I had a 20-minute needle puncturing limit. I filled tattoo old school out my paperwork and was seated in an open area. When the initial stencil was placed on my ankle, I felt a surge of tattoo anxiety. Not because tattoo old school I didn t want a tattoo, but because I knew this wasn t going to tickle and questioned my threshold of pain. I mentally planned an escape route. If it all went bad, a line or two could be chalked off as a birthmark, but once the outlining was well underway, I d be in it for the duration. I gave myself a pep talk and put on a poker face.
I looked at my husband for support. He merely smiled in a please suck it up, don t make a scene way. Dammit, why didn t I go with a girlfriend?! And just like that, my wish was granted. She was tall and blonde with a plus-sized body that was squeezed into biker chick clothes that were a size too small, her Dolly Parton s bulging out of a shirt that fit her like a condom. She was loud and raucous, and carried a tray of Jell-O shots that she had gotten from the bar next door. She heard my whimpering and rushed to my side.
You can do it honey, she smiled, tattoo old school her red lipstick framing tattoo old school perfectly white teeth. Look at my rose, she said, leaning her cleavage into me to reveal a blue rose. Her buxom bosom in my face momentarily distracted me. Here, squeeze my hand, she said, offering me an ivory hand with long, blood-colored nails. She was like the Jillian Michaels of tattoo coaching, and for the next 20 minutes, she was my BFF. When my two-inch long by one-inch wide dragon tattoo was complete, I thanked her for being my personal cheerleader. She laughed, tattoo old school gave me a squeeze and went on her way, Jell-O shots in hand.
Let s move ahead seven years, present day: To celebrate her 18th birthday, my oldest child, and only daughter, announced she was getting a tattoo. For the past two years, she had been talking about it, but I always thought she d do what I did – chicken out, rethink, and get one after she was married with kids.
My husband and I tried to deter her: You know that it won t wash off with soap and water, tattoo old school right? Don t get it on your waist or hip. It will stretch and look different when you have kids. Don t get loud colors, they ll fade. No shoulders, upper back, back of neck. No cartoon characters. We tried every means possible to dissuade her to wait a couple of years, but she was insistent. tattoo old school Sure, we were being hypocrites; the odd part was neither one of us regretted our tattoos. We just didn t want her to make a rash decision that she d be sorry for in a few years, so we pushed for her to wait until she was in her mid-thirties. We thought that was a reasonable request.
The tattoo parlor tattoo old school was dim with painted black walls and a heavy metal atmosphere. Men with wall-to-wall tattoos occupied the rooms. My daughter and her two friends immediately acclimated themselves, scanning the stacks of photos for sample tattoos. I thought I d be cool and hip, but this notion dissolved the moment I stepped foot in the door. I felt old, intimated and anxious. I sat pinch-faced in a chair clutching my purse for dear life. An automatic thought tattoo old school
Welcome! About Me My Articles Damaged Goods Book Club Discussion Questions Book Club Appearances Damaged Good Book Reviews Damaged Goods Book Signing Damaged Goods, The Prequel My Books Need a laugh? Read a blog!
When I was a teen, tattoos weren t as prevalent with the younger generation as they are today. Anyone who dared sport a rose on the ankle or a bulldog on the bicep was promptly categorized into kids with tattoos , creating an instant demarcation between them and non-tattooed tattoo old school teens. You may have been a nice kid in the past, but now that you ve gone and gotten a tattoo, parents were likely to observe you more closely with a hint of stink eye.
I admired women who had the nerve to get a tattoo, tattoo old school and at 17-years-old, I created a just-in-case-I-get-a-tattoo tattoo old school short list: 1. No roses, tattoo old school unicorns or flowers. 2. Nothing too colorful. 3. I would have no part of a hidden tattoo old school tattoo; if the world couldn t see said body part, neither could the tattoo artist. 4. I wanted it visible, but not stun gun obvious. 5. Most importantly, I wanted the gain without the pain. The thought of injecting ink into my skin by puncturing it with an electrically powered dental drill-type tattoo old school tool didn t make the list of fun stuff to do.
It was during a weekend getaway with my husband. He had already planned on getting a third tattoo, so I figured carpe diem and seized the day! I maintained my 1-4 guidelines, dismissing 5 as wishful thinking. tattoo old school Besides, I was 19 years wiser and had given birth to 3 children. Surely, I could handle a measly tattoo.
I perused the artwork and settled on a dragon design for a couple of reasons; it would compliment one of my husband s tattoos, and I liked the fact that the dragon stood for courage, strength, and wisdom.
Best yet, it fit my newly added-on condition: I had a 20-minute needle puncturing limit. I filled tattoo old school out my paperwork and was seated in an open area. When the initial stencil was placed on my ankle, I felt a surge of tattoo anxiety. Not because tattoo old school I didn t want a tattoo, but because I knew this wasn t going to tickle and questioned my threshold of pain. I mentally planned an escape route. If it all went bad, a line or two could be chalked off as a birthmark, but once the outlining was well underway, I d be in it for the duration. I gave myself a pep talk and put on a poker face.
I looked at my husband for support. He merely smiled in a please suck it up, don t make a scene way. Dammit, why didn t I go with a girlfriend?! And just like that, my wish was granted. She was tall and blonde with a plus-sized body that was squeezed into biker chick clothes that were a size too small, her Dolly Parton s bulging out of a shirt that fit her like a condom. She was loud and raucous, and carried a tray of Jell-O shots that she had gotten from the bar next door. She heard my whimpering and rushed to my side.
You can do it honey, she smiled, tattoo old school her red lipstick framing tattoo old school perfectly white teeth. Look at my rose, she said, leaning her cleavage into me to reveal a blue rose. Her buxom bosom in my face momentarily distracted me. Here, squeeze my hand, she said, offering me an ivory hand with long, blood-colored nails. She was like the Jillian Michaels of tattoo coaching, and for the next 20 minutes, she was my BFF. When my two-inch long by one-inch wide dragon tattoo was complete, I thanked her for being my personal cheerleader. She laughed, tattoo old school gave me a squeeze and went on her way, Jell-O shots in hand.
Let s move ahead seven years, present day: To celebrate her 18th birthday, my oldest child, and only daughter, announced she was getting a tattoo. For the past two years, she had been talking about it, but I always thought she d do what I did – chicken out, rethink, and get one after she was married with kids.
My husband and I tried to deter her: You know that it won t wash off with soap and water, tattoo old school right? Don t get it on your waist or hip. It will stretch and look different when you have kids. Don t get loud colors, they ll fade. No shoulders, upper back, back of neck. No cartoon characters. We tried every means possible to dissuade her to wait a couple of years, but she was insistent. tattoo old school Sure, we were being hypocrites; the odd part was neither one of us regretted our tattoos. We just didn t want her to make a rash decision that she d be sorry for in a few years, so we pushed for her to wait until she was in her mid-thirties. We thought that was a reasonable request.
The tattoo parlor tattoo old school was dim with painted black walls and a heavy metal atmosphere. Men with wall-to-wall tattoos occupied the rooms. My daughter and her two friends immediately acclimated themselves, scanning the stacks of photos for sample tattoos. I thought I d be cool and hip, but this notion dissolved the moment I stepped foot in the door. I felt old, intimated and anxious. I sat pinch-faced in a chair clutching my purse for dear life. An automatic thought tattoo old school
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