Thursday, July 30, 2009

TATTOO YOU!

Today I did something I've been threatening to do for practically half my life. I got a tattoo. I decided to finally take the plunge after my friend Cara finally took hers last week. Almost as soon as I knew that I was finally going to do it, I had an idea for the perfect image: the representative symbol of my astrological sign, Taurus, the bull. El Toro. Strong. Masculine. Totally cool. I looked online for the perfect bull, and the first one I found (above) was the one I knew I wanted.

Ironically, I once broke up with a boyfriend over tattoos. He and I were on our way to see The Stepford Wives (the Nicole Kidman version), and somehow the subject of tattoos came up. He was vehemently opposed to them and emphatically said as much several times, as if he were daring me to disagree. I took the bait. I find tattoos to be incredibly sexy on guys, and I stated my case just as passionately. Enough said.

Not so fast. After one week of peace with no mention of tattoos, I woke up to find an email from my boyfriend ripping me apart for my tattoo views. He accused me of expressing my thoughts in such a "vulgar" manner, as if I had been mid-orgasm in the middle of the street. How dare I, he asked, even consider finding guys with tattoos sexy when I knew he would never be one of them? The nerve! Taken aback by this out-of-nowhere rant, and seizing the perfect opportunity to exit a relationship that wasn't exactly working, I rolled my eyes, sighed and kindly let him know, in a response email, that I would no longer be needing his presence in my life. Now enough said. (Maybe I'll send him a photo.)

Five years later, here I am, with a huge tattoo on my right bicep. One of the things that kept me from getting it a long time ago was the pain involved, not to mention that I could never think of a great image that I would want to wear on my sleeve (literally) forever. I'd always heard that the inking process is excruciatingly painful. Not so. The worst part is knowing that you're in the process of defacing your body irreversibly. Once that idea has settled in, it's a total cake walk. Now I can't wait to reveal my body art to the world. I'm convinced that the sudden urge I have to get several more is my mid-life crisis once again rearing it's ugly head. I'm sure I'll eventually come to my senses. Until then, I'll be counting the days to summer when it's once again sartorially correct to wear shirts without sleeves.
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