Generally Discontent

Tattoo!

Well, I should have posted this on Friday. Or Saturday. Or Sunday. But I didn't, so there! I'm posting it now, and there's nothing you can do to stop me. Y'hear me!?

Hm. Yes, so, I got a tattoo on Friday. Wow, was it really Friday? For some reason I keep thinking it was Wednesday, but this past week has been kinda crazy, so I've lost track of time. This week, I did a bunch of stuff! Let me do a quick recap of that.

Monday, I...uh, okay, I can't remember what I did on what days. I went out on a date, that much I know! I'm not going to talk about that here, really, not right now. But it was a great time, I'll say that. Another night, I went Christmas shopping with Mike and Becky, and another night I...uh. Okay, my brain just isn't working. I took some Nyquil about a half hour ago, and now I'm kinda drugged up. Did I mention I got a tattoo on Friday? OKAY LET'S TALK ABOUT THAT!

I wasn't planning on getting a tattoo when I thought about this whole trip, but I've wanted to get one for a long time now. I'd promised myself that I would get it when I finished the first draft of the book I'm writing (or was writing...I seriously need to get my ass back in gear on that), but when I finally got that draft done, I never got the tattoo. Then I thought: Hey, Mike and Becky and tattooed up, so they're bound to know some good tattoo places, right? Well, hell, why don't I do this thing that I've been wanting to do? Well, okay!

What's the design then, this thing I wanted to get? Well, it's something I designed years ago, and I guess the explanation might sound a bit pretentious, but here goes. It's a broken cog, or gear, busted in half. The general idea is an acknowledgement and reminder of where I view myself in terms of society and maybe humanity. I ain't right in the head. Not that I'm batshit insane, but I know that I don't generally think or act like most people. And I'm not saying that makes me special or unique or anything, it's just how it is, really. And I like it that way. One thing I do fairly well is make life interesting for myself, usually through bizarre decisions and whatnot. So, um, yeah. So there.

I wanted to get this design in black on my left forearm. I got the idea for placement from this guy I used to work with who had a tattoo on his forearm of one of those plastic things that you would fit into the center of a 45 record in order to play it on a normal turntable. Funny thing is, when Jessica saw my design, she said it reminded her of one of those very plastic things. Weird, huh?

Anyway, that's exactly what I got. It's about 2.5 inches or so in diameter, maybe a little bigger than I originally envisioned. And it's black, and noticeable. I've gotten some mixed reactions on it, and though it still hasn't quite sunk into my slow-ass brain that this shit is permanent, I like it. It's exactly what I wanted, and I don't give much of damn if nobody likes it. Besides there are tattoos out there that are a gazillion times worse. Ever see that one of the two giant penises spewing manmilk tattooed on some guy's back? No? Google it, I dare you.

Okay, that's out of the way. Now for the actual experience. Mike and I went to Atomic Tattoos around 6:30 p.m., after grabbing some grub at the original Hooters restaurant, which was pretty cool. We met our tattoo artist (Mike wanted to get one, too), whose name was Jason, and who turned out to be a pretty swell guy. He looked at my design and seemed disappointed that I wanted it all black, saying that he could have fun with it if I wanted color. But by that point I was so goddamn nervous that anything straying from the rigid path set in my head was heresy. So black it was.

It took a couple of tries to get the thing lined up right on my arm, and while we did that, I stuck my nose into the middle of a conversation that Jason was having with his friend, helping to prove Jason wrong on the point that James Caan was Sonny in The Godfather and not the lawyer, and that the lawyer was, of course, Robert Duvaal. It instantly dawned on me that maybe it's not a good idea to prove wrong the guy who was about to brand you with something for life. But he was cool about it, and the whole thing went off without a hitch.

So here's how getting a tattoo goes, for those of you who haven't done it. If you've done it, please skip this part, as I will be speaking as if it I'm the only person in the world who has ever done it, and I will also imply that I am the center of the universe. So. We start off with the artist transferring my design to a piece of magic paper that leaves a perfect copy of the design on my arm when he rubs the paper onto my skin. Except the thing was crooked the first two times, but the third time was the charm, so away we went!

Oh, first he had to shave the area to be tattooed, that area being my left forearm. Being a hairy bastard, Jason saw fit to crack jokes about how I should get a tattoo of a hairless Sasquatch, confident that my natural fur would fill in the nude man-beast's bare spots. Which was pretty funny, so I didn't take offense. Anyway, on to the tattooing!

First he had to do the outline, which involved a single needle and black ink. Mike said it felt something like scratching yourself with a fingernail as hard as you could. Not a world of pain, but not exactly a planet covered in comfy mattresses and pillows, either. I, however, can't really say what it felt like aside from "having a needle stabbing you a bazillion times a second". That's how it felt, but it wasn't so bad. Occasionally he'd hit a more sensitive spot, but for the most part it was fairly easy to ignore the pain, especially since it was so interesting to watch the guy at work.

Fifteen minutes later or so, the outline was done. Now, I had no idea how he was going to fill it in. I was still okay, but my mind conjured up the image of this guy going millimeter by millimeter with that one needle, filling in the rather large black areas. I wasn't looking forward to that, but then Mike explained that he was going to switch to a multi-needle, brush-like thing, and he did! It looked like a very tiny beard trimmer or something, just a big pen with a bunch of needles jutting out of the end.

The fill portion of the tattoo was a little worse than the outline, especially since the aforementioned sensitive spots get a blast of needle and ink. I wasn't dying yet, but was kinda hoping he'd finish soon. Fortunately, my tattoo didn't require much in the way of detail, so the filling-in part didn't last too long. Finally, he wiped the tattoo down, and announced that it was done!

I got up and looked in the mirror. Despite the fact that it looked exactly as I had envisioned it (maybe a little bigger, but no biggie), I was instantly and calmly wondering, "OH HOLY FUCK, WHAT DID I JUST DO!?!??!?" But I knew it was too late. I knew that fifty years from now I could look down at that same arm and see that same tattoo. Unless I'm dead in fifty years, or have my arm blown off during World War III, which is going to happen sooner or later if I have any say in the matter.

Uh. Yeah. He bandaged it up and gave me the spiel on how to take care of it, then I sat down and relaxed while Mike took his turn. He was getting the Latin version of "In Use" on his wedding ring finger, a sweet testament to his marriage to Becky. It came out really neat, though it seemed far more painful than what I had gone through, as there isn't a lot of anything on a finger between the surface of the skin and the bone beneath. But soon enough, he was done and bandaged, and we took off.

We headed to Jessica's place, where she and Becky were supposed to be setting up Jessica's Christmas tree. But they only got to the lowest level of branches before giving up and just having fun with some beer. Mike and I showed up, a little haggard, and had some beers and pizza while talking to Jessica's downstairs neighbor. A very nice way to spend the evening after being scarred for life, if I do say so myself!

As for the tattoo: it's gotten mixed reactions. Becky said it looked "tough", so I'll just go by her opinion because she's pretty smart and hip and all. Others have been less-than-enthused, but that's okay. The important thing is that I like it, I guess. Besides, if I grow to hate it, tattoo-removal surgery will probably be pretty cheap ten years down the road. My only real concern right now is that I'm now going to have to explain to everyone I meet what it means. But I think I'll just make up a band name and say it's their logo if I don't feel like going into detail. Yeah, that'll work!