My first tattoo is nothing special. It's a small and insignificant thing placed on my hip. It was one of those 'picked from the wall things' that I got when I was 18 during the summer before I left for college. It was the whole of the experience that made it for me, that left me wanting more and more. This is a desire that continues to this day. It was the day I got tattooed that I discovered I liked the sort of pain that came with the art itself. I liked feeling the needles in my skin. I liked the burning sensation. I liked the rush.
And I liked the idea that I was a different person after I got it, as I am a different person after every tattoo I get.
I remember when I went into the shop I was obviously a complete tattoo novice, as most 18 year olds usually are. I was so intimidated by the people there, who were all lovely and covered in tattoos. I can be a bit of a spaz in general (shocking I know! hehe) and I was extra spastic that day because I was so utterly nervous. (This is a feeling that is carried with me to this day when I am in a tattoo shop. Normally, I am a very confident woman, but as soon as I enter a tattoo shop those same feelings of youthful inadequacy re-visit me. It's hilarious, really.)
I was there with my boyfriend at the time, who was an abusive prick that I have talked about in past blog entries. We got tattooed together. No, we did not get the same or even similar designs. He got a small lizard and I got what I call my 'baby vegan chupacabra' (because, really, that's what it looks like.) The artist who tattooed me was named Jen and she was utterly beautiful. As if you all don't already know, I am fifty/fifty right down the middle bisexual. I like to refer to myself as a tee shirt, "unisex, one size fits all". She had short, choppy hair and a husky voice. I crushed on her so hard. I felt the odd and vaguely inappropriate sensations of desire the more she pressed the ink into my hip.
My boyfriend then could tell I held some momentary puppy love adoration for her. This pissed him off, as did my sexuality in general. Men can be so intimidated by bisexuality. I have found that the more intimidated they are, the more insecure they are.
A month or so later, I broke up with him and the real fun began. And by fun I mean not fun at all. Restraining orders and death threats against my dog are never fun.
The tattoo is old and tired now, though doesn't look half bad. It could use a touch up one of these days. I'm just lucky that my body size hasn't really changed much since I was 18 so it didn't stretch out to something monstrous. It is definitely not a design I would get done today. In fact, I don't think I've picked something off the wall since I was 19. But I will never get it removed. I leave it there as a reminder of who I was and who I will never be again. I leave it there to remind me of the pain I will never feel again. I leave it there as a reminder to keep moving forward.
I took an abysmal picture of it. If you want to take a gander there are a few good shots of it in my 'Globe' set.
Anyway, that is the story of my first tattoo.
And now...Sunday Sundies!!!
Also, @ameline and @rocket made my bitter little heart melt just a bit. I wish I lived closer to those ladies.
