tramp stamp

Many of you don't know this about me, but I have two tattoos. I KNOW!!! I got both of them within a span of a year when I was 18. Both mistakes. Duh. The first one I got while still in Ann Arbor at a little cinder box place on the side of the road leading out of town. The guy who did was named painless John and he had no legs. When I told him I wanted Koi fish wrapped around my ankle he said "I can't do that, but I can do what's in that book over there." Did I back slowly out the door? Did I go research a better tattoo parlor with more options, or even say, the option that I wanted? Nope. I cracked open the book, chose a chain of flowers, lit a newport and prepared for pain. What a dumb dumb.

The next one I got in San Francisco my my freshman or sophomore year. The tattoo parlor was much nicer, but the tattoo was even worse than the first. It's a sun burst with a moon face in it. It's about early 1990's as you can get. Most of you probably owned the throw blanket version of my tattoo, and I hate it more and more every single day.

Whenever I see girls with tattoos I think "what a hussy". And then I gasp. Wait, I'm a hussy too! Geez. Sometimes I see girls with tattoos that they clearly thought long and hard about, and had someone with genuine talent apply to their bodies, where they will remain FOREVER, and I curse them for being level headed while I was on an adolescent hormone bender.

So this year all I want for Christmas is world peace, and end to hunger, and painless, scar free tattoo removal. Thanks Santa.