Holy mother of God and Jesus H. Christ….my leg is on FIYAH.
No, not fire.
If I could get away with it and no one would ask me a single question – I would use crutches.
Pink, bedazzled, blinged out crutches to be exact.
You see, I got my tattoo done last night on my inner left ankle. It was a cover up so it’s way more painful than a new tat. Then I got a small one on my wrist too. I sat for four hours and towards the end I said to my artist, “This stopped being fun about 2 hours ago and I’m about to punch you in the throat, mkay?”
She laughed because she thought I was kidding.
For the record – I was not kidding.
4 freaking hours. I didn’t even sit that long for my back in one session because we did it in multiple sessions. Thank God for Rambo because he made a french fry and vanilla shake run halfway through so that I didn’t pass out.
And now it’s the hottest week of the year and yours truly can’t even go swimming. Sometimes I’m so smart I amaze myself. Geez.
Thank God it’s probably my prettiest tat yet or I’d be kicking my own ass.
Also – let me just say that people can still amaze the shit out of me.
During my tat, a man and woman walked in and the man was – um – well…not a manly looking dude. Very thin, not a single tattoo, pale skinned, preppy-ish looking. Jeans and t-shirt. Glasses. He looked sooo out of place in the shop but he walked right up to the counter and said “we need a nipple ring replacement”…to which the owner said, “Is it for you or for her?” It was for him.
No shit, huh? He walked back and got his nipple ring replaced.
Later a 68 year old woman came in to pick up her $2100 solid gold + diamond nipple rings. That woman is my idol. I want to be just like her when I grow up. I didn’t say that out loud because it seemed a little creeper-ish at the time, you know?
In my head – I was secretly impressed by both of them and doing the whole “never judge a book by its cover” lecture in my head.
Later on 3 guys came in who were in their early 20s. They all three got the same tat. Three tiny numbers on their upper thigh. All black. Took all of 10 minutes each and they were whining and crying and it took everything in my not to shank every single one of them. I almost screamed – ARE YOU KIDDING ME? That’s not even a tattoo. Try 4 hours you f*cksticks….then come talk to me.
So yah – that’s the only thing new in my life. This week is filled to the brim with board meetings and volleyball league and family swim parties. Rambo is on vacation again so life is 50 bazillion times better than usual.
Banana came in the house last night to tell me that the neighbor kid’s mom said they couldn’t go swimming because they had just taken baths. She was angry and she came rushing in and said, “Mom. It’s fricking 90 degrees out and I’m sweating my bag off and their mom said they can’t swim.”
Yup. I’m not sure I should be mad that my 7 year old said “fricking” or proud that she didn’t say “f*cking”. I’m also not sure if I should be shocked that she is sweating her bag off when indeed she is a girl and has no “bag” or if I should take the time to explain to her that she has no bag or if I should stop rolling on the floor laughing my ass off.
Yup. Mother of the Year here. This year the award is gonna be mine again.
I try not to win but it’s inevitable.
Try not to hate me.