I freak out about a lot of things. Like the fact that my apartment is always never clean. I never do anything about the chaos, but still, I sometimes walk in the door and I say, "God, what the fuck is wrong with me that I can't keep this space clean?"
Other things that freak me out: When I am sure that I left the bag of chocolate chips on my futon and they mysteriously end up on the counter. When I realize that I am fifteen minutes late to watching Criminal Minds and I have missed a very shirtless Shemar Moore. When I stick my feet into the wrong slippers, (they are dog heads, and the one that has one eye definitely goes on my left foot... I think.) When someone says, "Turn left," I look at my hands, see which way they want me to go, and turn right anyways.
Those things generally make me freak out, put my hands on my face and go, "Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh!" While others may find this reaction highly amusing, it is a true freak out on my part. Sometimes I go even farther and stomp my feet or grumble loudly but incoherently about whatever my problem is. I have even been known to smack my forehead and leave a veritable mark.
But the thing that freaks me out the most is when people send me text messages out of the blue with, "We need to talk."
There is NO point in time that that is a good way to start a conversation.
Dad: "We need to talk."
This was his way of telling me that we needed to discuss the fact that I was rarely ever home, and that if I want to keep using the car, I needed to buy it. That was a huge money suck.
Mom: "We need to talk."
This is her way of telling me that she might, maybe have skin cancer. That was a cool way of finding out. (Turns out she actually did, just not the super serious kind. It was just a few patches of basal cell carcinoma.)
Regina: "We need to talk."
Her way of telling me that she has done something that is possibly tremendously stupid and while her parents are in earshot.
Chris: "We need to talk."
His way of telling me that he wants to break up with me because he doesn't love me the same anymore. Then again to tell me after said break up, and while he is with a new girl friend that he definitely still has hardcore feeling for me.
Like I said, at no point is "We need to talk," a good thing.
So, please.... PLEASE don't preface any conversation with me as a "We need to talk," conversation because I can guarantee that I will be freaking out until you tell me what it is you wanna say.
And as an extra side note, if I say something like, "I don't like it when people preface a conversation with 'We need to talk,' because it is foreboding, and is relationship ruining words." Do not tell me NOT to worry about it, because I will worry about it until I have hair falling out, I am sweating all the time, I get a fever, and have chewed my nails down to nubs.
Seriously people. I am secretly neurotic!
Friday, February 10, 2012
Friday, February 3, 2012
The Macaroni and Cheese Alien
I am a full time student at the community college, and therefore I get to take classes I enjoy as well as the more difficult classes. Currently, I am enrolled in a creative writing class, (because in case no one noticed, I like to write.) One of our assignment was to recall our first writing experience, which I think is just humorous enough to be shared here on my blog.
When I was about six or seven, there was a competition from the Kraft Macaroni and Cheese company. Basically kids had to write a story the was one hundred words or less that incorporated Kraft Macaroni and Cheese into it. Feeling particularly creative, I sat down with a pencil I had to sharped, some wide-ruled paper, and got to work.
In my head, I had an elaborate story. The story itself may have spawned from watching one too many SyFy alien movies and television programs, but that was regardless of the point. In my little six or seven year old brain, sitting at the round table in the dining room, the sun streaming through the sliding glass door, I had dissertation to write for Kraft.
I began my story with an introduction of my characters. I was, of course, the star of the production. My friend Alyssa took the role of faithful side kick. I grew my setting, the peaceful Missouri countryside during a particularly hot summer. Finally, I dropped in my conflict: an alien invasion.
I can't recall exactly how dark this story was. Looking back on it now, I feel like maybe I didn't win because Kraft didn't want to be associated with an alien invasion. Nonetheless, it was still a fabulous story.
See, the aliens were invading because they were extremely hungry. And they weren't hungry for just anything. They didn't want sausage, not were they interested in bread. Pudding was not on the menu. (Coincidentally they were not after human brains, so maybe six/seven year old me didn't make the story dark enough.) These aliens were after huge bowls of Kraft Macaroni and Cheese, and would stop at nothing to get it.
Naturally, I realized exactly what the aliens were after. How story me knew this information, I don't know, but that is when I started to incorporate the resolution.
Alyssa and I quickly went into the kitchen and started cooking up a storm, making bowls and bowls of the tiny elbow macaroni, coating it in the weird cheese powder and milk substance, and delivering it to the aliens' disc shaped ships. Finally, after our shirts were stained with cheese, empty blue boxes covered the floors, and our stove had run out of gas, the aliens had enough macaroni and cheese to be satisfied for a lifetime.
The thanked Alyssa and me in their weird alien way and their ships took flight into the dark expanse called the Milky Way. The world was saved, and I was to thank.
When I typed up the story, (and was four words over one hundred,) I asked my mom to help edit it. She read the story though, shortened it to ninety-six word because there were some obvious redundancies, and we mailed it to Kraft.
They sent back a letter several weeks later explaining that while they liked my story, it wasn't what they were looking for.
I didn't know what that meant at the time, so I was a little verklempt. I eventually got over the snub deciding that Kraft was full of crazy people and went on to write several short stories for school and myself. I have yet to have another alien invasion, but I am sure I have one up my sleeve.
That would have been me:
When I was about six or seven, there was a competition from the Kraft Macaroni and Cheese company. Basically kids had to write a story the was one hundred words or less that incorporated Kraft Macaroni and Cheese into it. Feeling particularly creative, I sat down with a pencil I had to sharped, some wide-ruled paper, and got to work.
In my head, I had an elaborate story. The story itself may have spawned from watching one too many SyFy alien movies and television programs, but that was regardless of the point. In my little six or seven year old brain, sitting at the round table in the dining room, the sun streaming through the sliding glass door, I had dissertation to write for Kraft.
I began my story with an introduction of my characters. I was, of course, the star of the production. My friend Alyssa took the role of faithful side kick. I grew my setting, the peaceful Missouri countryside during a particularly hot summer. Finally, I dropped in my conflict: an alien invasion.
I can't recall exactly how dark this story was. Looking back on it now, I feel like maybe I didn't win because Kraft didn't want to be associated with an alien invasion. Nonetheless, it was still a fabulous story.
See, the aliens were invading because they were extremely hungry. And they weren't hungry for just anything. They didn't want sausage, not were they interested in bread. Pudding was not on the menu. (Coincidentally they were not after human brains, so maybe six/seven year old me didn't make the story dark enough.) These aliens were after huge bowls of Kraft Macaroni and Cheese, and would stop at nothing to get it.
Naturally, I realized exactly what the aliens were after. How story me knew this information, I don't know, but that is when I started to incorporate the resolution.
Alyssa and I quickly went into the kitchen and started cooking up a storm, making bowls and bowls of the tiny elbow macaroni, coating it in the weird cheese powder and milk substance, and delivering it to the aliens' disc shaped ships. Finally, after our shirts were stained with cheese, empty blue boxes covered the floors, and our stove had run out of gas, the aliens had enough macaroni and cheese to be satisfied for a lifetime.
The thanked Alyssa and me in their weird alien way and their ships took flight into the dark expanse called the Milky Way. The world was saved, and I was to thank.
When I typed up the story, (and was four words over one hundred,) I asked my mom to help edit it. She read the story though, shortened it to ninety-six word because there were some obvious redundancies, and we mailed it to Kraft.
They sent back a letter several weeks later explaining that while they liked my story, it wasn't what they were looking for.
I didn't know what that meant at the time, so I was a little verklempt. I eventually got over the snub deciding that Kraft was full of crazy people and went on to write several short stories for school and myself. I have yet to have another alien invasion, but I am sure I have one up my sleeve.
That would have been me:
Wednesday, February 1, 2012
A Little Dark
So, as girls often do, I decided to dye my hair yet again. This time though, I decided I should try to get back to my normal color. To say that it didn't work is a bit of an understatement.
The story really begins with me in Target picking up boxes of hair dye and holding the various colors to my roots. "Is this close?" I would ask Gina.
"It's still too light," She would answer until I held up the right box. I think it was labeled "really dark brown." Which is what my hair is.
So I brought the new hair dye to Gina's. Originally, Gina was going to dye it, but we didn't have enough time before dinner and Gina's late church time, so I headed home. Mom was cooking me dinner, so I asked her to do it.
"Tomorrow?" She asked. She was too busy tonight. I agreed, but when I showed up the next night for chinese food, I had completely forgotten, and therefore had left the box of hair dye at my place.
"Tuesday," I suggested, forgetting I had Glee night to attend at Carl's house.
After class on Tuesday, remembering my previous obligation to Carl and the sacred Glee night, I decided to dye my hair myself. How hard can it be? I thought. My step-mom does it all the time.
So I proceeded to follow the directions on the box, and then began dying my hair. I had dyed my mom's hair multiple times, (by which I mean nigh on a hundred times) so I knew what I was doing. I just had to make sure to really cover the back.
I got to work, doing the under layers first and making my way up my head. When it was finally all covered, I used a clip to keep it up and waited for 25 minutes until I could wash it out.
Now I don't know if I did my math wrong or if my hair is just a super absorbent kind of material, but when I hopped in the shower and washed the dye out, conditioned it accordingly, and rinsed that out, I was left with black hair.
In a state of shock, I looked at my very dark hair. It was like I had put the night sky in my head. Concerned, I towel dried it furiously, (because I have yet to buy a hair dryer) and hoped it would get lighter.
It didn't.
I didn't look in a mirror for over an hour. I couldn't decide if I liked it. It was black. Really black. And black was sexy.
I am not so sure I am that sexy.
I can do cute, (I got the glasses, all the geeky minutia, a huge cheesy smile), but sexy is kind of a once in a while kind of thing.
Even after many people have told me how much they like my hair, I am still kind of unsure. I think it will grow on me, (literally, since it is hair).
The story really begins with me in Target picking up boxes of hair dye and holding the various colors to my roots. "Is this close?" I would ask Gina.
"It's still too light," She would answer until I held up the right box. I think it was labeled "really dark brown." Which is what my hair is.
So I brought the new hair dye to Gina's. Originally, Gina was going to dye it, but we didn't have enough time before dinner and Gina's late church time, so I headed home. Mom was cooking me dinner, so I asked her to do it.
"Tomorrow?" She asked. She was too busy tonight. I agreed, but when I showed up the next night for chinese food, I had completely forgotten, and therefore had left the box of hair dye at my place.
"Tuesday," I suggested, forgetting I had Glee night to attend at Carl's house.
After class on Tuesday, remembering my previous obligation to Carl and the sacred Glee night, I decided to dye my hair myself. How hard can it be? I thought. My step-mom does it all the time.
So I proceeded to follow the directions on the box, and then began dying my hair. I had dyed my mom's hair multiple times, (by which I mean nigh on a hundred times) so I knew what I was doing. I just had to make sure to really cover the back.
I got to work, doing the under layers first and making my way up my head. When it was finally all covered, I used a clip to keep it up and waited for 25 minutes until I could wash it out.
Now I don't know if I did my math wrong or if my hair is just a super absorbent kind of material, but when I hopped in the shower and washed the dye out, conditioned it accordingly, and rinsed that out, I was left with black hair.
In a state of shock, I looked at my very dark hair. It was like I had put the night sky in my head. Concerned, I towel dried it furiously, (because I have yet to buy a hair dryer) and hoped it would get lighter.
It didn't.
I didn't look in a mirror for over an hour. I couldn't decide if I liked it. It was black. Really black. And black was sexy.
I am not so sure I am that sexy.
I can do cute, (I got the glasses, all the geeky minutia, a huge cheesy smile), but sexy is kind of a once in a while kind of thing.
Even after many people have told me how much they like my hair, I am still kind of unsure. I think it will grow on me, (literally, since it is hair).
Friday, January 13, 2012
The Mouse in the House
When I was a kid, I grew up with my dad setting mouse traps almost constantly. Mice were not a big deal to me. They scurry around, eat the bread you leave on the counter, and are generally gross. But other than that, I have never been bothered.
Even when I came home and made myself tomato soup and found a very dead mouse in the bottom of my trashcan, I didn't care. I mean, now the mouse was dead.
It was only until this morning that mice started to bother me.
I woke up like a usually do, hopped into the kitchen, and started making my smoothie. I was popping fruit and honey and yogurt in the blender, rubbing my cheeks, and admiring the snowfall outside, when to my utter dismay, I noticed little black pellets on my stovetop.
I grimaced. More mice? I thought. So I went fishing around in my drawers, remembering that there was a mouse trap in there somewhere.
I pulled out the little do-hickey, slathered on some peanut butter, and set it. I will admit, it scared me to set it. Dad had always made it look so easy! It wasn't though. And I found out the reason they worked so well was because they were set very precariously on a lip just inside the plastic yellow cheese.
I put the trap on my counter and waited.
Of course I knew that the little bastard wasn't going to just waltz up there while I was home, so I made plans with my little brother to go sledding, and then taking him out for an early dinner at my workplace.
Alex finally got off school and headed over. I got dressed, we got in the car, and headed to the "sledding spot," Art Hill. We had a ton of fun when we were finally able to use the sleds. It may have needed some improvisation on our parts, since our sleds were made for more snow, but we were finally careening down the huge hill, and laughing our asses off.
We went to my work, and I talked with all my coworkers. Our server was Kevin, who had thrown the Halloween party, and I realized how eerily similar my little brother and Kevin were. They talked for almost twenty minutes about Kevin's creepy mustache.
We ate our food, and my manager gave me an employee discount, which Alex has decided should be the name of his band. We thanked everyone, I gave some people hugs, and headed home.
When we were parked in my parking spot, I remembered about the mouse. I excitedly told Alex I would come over to mom's in a few, and ran home. I creaked open the door, afraid that the mouse might just now be taking the bait.
Fortunately, the trap had already done it's work. The mouse was good and dead, and really stiff. I excitedly took pictures of the little bugger, then grabbed the trap as I headed out the door to my mom's. I threw his dead body into the woods, wiped my hands, and headed to mom's. My work here was done!
Even when I came home and made myself tomato soup and found a very dead mouse in the bottom of my trashcan, I didn't care. I mean, now the mouse was dead.
It was only until this morning that mice started to bother me.
I woke up like a usually do, hopped into the kitchen, and started making my smoothie. I was popping fruit and honey and yogurt in the blender, rubbing my cheeks, and admiring the snowfall outside, when to my utter dismay, I noticed little black pellets on my stovetop.
I grimaced. More mice? I thought. So I went fishing around in my drawers, remembering that there was a mouse trap in there somewhere.
I pulled out the little do-hickey, slathered on some peanut butter, and set it. I will admit, it scared me to set it. Dad had always made it look so easy! It wasn't though. And I found out the reason they worked so well was because they were set very precariously on a lip just inside the plastic yellow cheese.
I put the trap on my counter and waited.
Of course I knew that the little bastard wasn't going to just waltz up there while I was home, so I made plans with my little brother to go sledding, and then taking him out for an early dinner at my workplace.
Alex finally got off school and headed over. I got dressed, we got in the car, and headed to the "sledding spot," Art Hill. We had a ton of fun when we were finally able to use the sleds. It may have needed some improvisation on our parts, since our sleds were made for more snow, but we were finally careening down the huge hill, and laughing our asses off.
We went to my work, and I talked with all my coworkers. Our server was Kevin, who had thrown the Halloween party, and I realized how eerily similar my little brother and Kevin were. They talked for almost twenty minutes about Kevin's creepy mustache.
We ate our food, and my manager gave me an employee discount, which Alex has decided should be the name of his band. We thanked everyone, I gave some people hugs, and headed home.
When we were parked in my parking spot, I remembered about the mouse. I excitedly told Alex I would come over to mom's in a few, and ran home. I creaked open the door, afraid that the mouse might just now be taking the bait.
Fortunately, the trap had already done it's work. The mouse was good and dead, and really stiff. I excitedly took pictures of the little bugger, then grabbed the trap as I headed out the door to my mom's. I threw his dead body into the woods, wiped my hands, and headed to mom's. My work here was done!
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
Street Racing
This is going to be a short post, but it will still be just as amusing as all the rest.
For Gina's birthday, we went to this local place called Kabob International, and of course got kabobs that were delicious. The second phase of her birthday included going to the movies, then going back to my studio, and probably getting schnokered.
So we decided to go to the movies and see The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. By the way, I definitely recommend this movie, it was intense. I greatly enjoyed it, and cannot wait for the next two movies to be made.
So after the movie let out, we headed back to the car, and like after every time I get out of a movie, I was overcome with giddy energy.
The same giddy energy that also makes me a slightly reckless driver. So, I got behind the wheel, pulled out into the streets and headed back towards Gina's house. We were meeting one of her beaus there before heading to my place.
There I am, on the road, cruising around, skating my car around people like a professional. That was when a light turned red and I had to wait.
I looked over at the dude next to me. He was a big black guy and kind of smiled. I looked at the light. It was an intersection I was accustomed to. I knew how the lights changes, could even count the seconds for how long it would be. I inched forward.
I looked over again and the dude was inching forward to.
I let my foot off the brake and my car crept like a cat towards the pedestrian walkway.
The light turned and the dude jumped forward. I smacked my foot on the gas, and in a burst of giggles, Gina and I were careening forward right on the guy's ass. The nose of my car was right next to his trunk...
Then his back doors...
And then we were even with him...
He pressed the gas pedal harder and pushed ahead of me. I was only going 55, so pressed my own gas pedal down...
And then we were three whole car lengths ahead of him.
"Hahaha!" I crowed in triumph. I looked at the speedometer and saw I was definitely going too fast. "Attempted Manslaughter" fast. I hit the brakes as the light ahead turned red.
Brakes work. The guy was stopped at the same intersection. I looked over. He was looking at me and Gina laughing our happy asses off. He banged his steering wheel and shook his head.
First Street Race: Won.
For Gina's birthday, we went to this local place called Kabob International, and of course got kabobs that were delicious. The second phase of her birthday included going to the movies, then going back to my studio, and probably getting schnokered.
So we decided to go to the movies and see The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. By the way, I definitely recommend this movie, it was intense. I greatly enjoyed it, and cannot wait for the next two movies to be made.
So after the movie let out, we headed back to the car, and like after every time I get out of a movie, I was overcome with giddy energy.
The same giddy energy that also makes me a slightly reckless driver. So, I got behind the wheel, pulled out into the streets and headed back towards Gina's house. We were meeting one of her beaus there before heading to my place.
There I am, on the road, cruising around, skating my car around people like a professional. That was when a light turned red and I had to wait.
I looked over at the dude next to me. He was a big black guy and kind of smiled. I looked at the light. It was an intersection I was accustomed to. I knew how the lights changes, could even count the seconds for how long it would be. I inched forward.
I looked over again and the dude was inching forward to.
I let my foot off the brake and my car crept like a cat towards the pedestrian walkway.
The light turned and the dude jumped forward. I smacked my foot on the gas, and in a burst of giggles, Gina and I were careening forward right on the guy's ass. The nose of my car was right next to his trunk...
Then his back doors...
And then we were even with him...
He pressed the gas pedal harder and pushed ahead of me. I was only going 55, so pressed my own gas pedal down...
And then we were three whole car lengths ahead of him.
"Hahaha!" I crowed in triumph. I looked at the speedometer and saw I was definitely going too fast. "Attempted Manslaughter" fast. I hit the brakes as the light ahead turned red.
Brakes work. The guy was stopped at the same intersection. I looked over. He was looking at me and Gina laughing our happy asses off. He banged his steering wheel and shook his head.
First Street Race: Won.
Saturday, January 7, 2012
Tomato Soup
I am attempting to do something crazy for the year 2012. I am going to attempt to eat healthy. I know, I know. It's crazy talk. The point is though, if I keep eating pasta covered butter, I am going to turn into a really chunky monkey.
So to begin my healthy eating, I decided to get lots of fruits and vegetables and yogurt. Because those things are healthy. I think. Adam bought me a blender for Christmas, so my grand plan is to make myself drink smoothies chock full of the things I don't like but mask the flavors of apples and stuff with things I do like, like bananas and strawberries.
Of course, in the grand scheme of things, I am not really tricking myself. I will definitely know that there is stuff I don't like in my smoothies. But maybe, just maybe, I can turn a blind eye and eat things that give me the stuff I need, like vitamins and minerals!
And with such thoughts in my head, I decided to make Tomato Soup and Grilled Cheese. Looking back on it now, it probably wasn't that healthy. But when I was making it, I definitely felt like I was being some kind of health food guru.
I started off sautéing some onions and garlic in vegetable oil, (much healthier than butter, right?) and then dicing up my tomatoes and super mashing them in the new blender. I dumped the pulped tomato into the saucepan, added the garlic and onion, and then poured in two cups of chicken broth.
I let it heat up while I added salt, basil, and two whole cloves. Then I covered it up and let it boil for twenty-ish minutes. My apartment smelled like garlicy-tomato love. I was super excited.
I strained out all the chunks of tomato and seeds and whatnot and put it off to the side. Then I dropped in two cubes of butter into the hot pan and a handful of flour to make a roux. Once I got the flour mush all nice and golden brown, I added heavy whipping cream and whisked it until it was all mixed up.
I dumped the now strained tomato stuff back into the pan and whisked it all together.
It ended up a weird orange color. It looked like I had made carrot soup or something.
Regardless, when I tasted the finished product, I was delighted to find how yummy it tasted. I mean, I am sure that the butter and heavy whipping cream and extra salt really helped. And using almost a cup and a half more tomatoes probably did too.
I made my grilled cheese, sat down to eat, and was perfectly happy to have attempted to eat healthier.
Even if I really didn't.
So to begin my healthy eating, I decided to get lots of fruits and vegetables and yogurt. Because those things are healthy. I think. Adam bought me a blender for Christmas, so my grand plan is to make myself drink smoothies chock full of the things I don't like but mask the flavors of apples and stuff with things I do like, like bananas and strawberries.
Of course, in the grand scheme of things, I am not really tricking myself. I will definitely know that there is stuff I don't like in my smoothies. But maybe, just maybe, I can turn a blind eye and eat things that give me the stuff I need, like vitamins and minerals!
And with such thoughts in my head, I decided to make Tomato Soup and Grilled Cheese. Looking back on it now, it probably wasn't that healthy. But when I was making it, I definitely felt like I was being some kind of health food guru.
I started off sautéing some onions and garlic in vegetable oil, (much healthier than butter, right?) and then dicing up my tomatoes and super mashing them in the new blender. I dumped the pulped tomato into the saucepan, added the garlic and onion, and then poured in two cups of chicken broth.
I let it heat up while I added salt, basil, and two whole cloves. Then I covered it up and let it boil for twenty-ish minutes. My apartment smelled like garlicy-tomato love. I was super excited.
I strained out all the chunks of tomato and seeds and whatnot and put it off to the side. Then I dropped in two cubes of butter into the hot pan and a handful of flour to make a roux. Once I got the flour mush all nice and golden brown, I added heavy whipping cream and whisked it until it was all mixed up.
I dumped the now strained tomato stuff back into the pan and whisked it all together.
It ended up a weird orange color. It looked like I had made carrot soup or something.
Regardless, when I tasted the finished product, I was delighted to find how yummy it tasted. I mean, I am sure that the butter and heavy whipping cream and extra salt really helped. And using almost a cup and a half more tomatoes probably did too.
I made my grilled cheese, sat down to eat, and was perfectly happy to have attempted to eat healthier.
Even if I really didn't.
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
Tattooed!
So, Gina and I went and got our tattoos. It was super exciting. First I had to find EXACTLY what I wanted. That is what started my hours long search on the internet.
I was really unsure as to what I wanted. Flowers? A wolf? Some kind of celtic circle thing? I just didn't know.
I had plenty of options. I mean, everything I was possibly thinking about had meaning to it in one way or another. The first flowers my mom and I ever planted were gladiolas. I could get some of those. I knew even if I didn't get a wolf for my first tattoo, I would get it eventually. I searched and searched the internet, combing through thousands of photos.
I was also instant messaging Gina on Facebook, telling her my ideas. And that was when it hit me. I should get a paisley!
Now, it is difficult to explain why a paisley just completely showcases me. But it does. A paisley just completely encompasses me. And the one I got is perfect. It has little spikes on it, kind of how I am prickly and always got my armor and walls up. But there are parts that are pretty and delicate, also how I am, just usually people don't get to see it. So when I wanted to make a powerpoint, (because, yes, as messy as I am in my apartment, car, and outward appearance, I like to see things graphically organized.) and I couldn't find the paisley I wanted, I freaked out.
I had to comb the internet all over again, searching for close to an hour. After several keyword changes I was able to find the paisley. I put it on my powerpoint and put the show on loop so I could watch all the possible designs.
When I finally decided that the design I had to search for the longest was "the one," I printed it out, and Gina and I were almost on our way. We had to pick up Chris and Carl.
The story behind the boys coming along is kind of ridiculous. See, when Chris and I were going out, we had went to the 54th Street Grill and drawn all over the receipts. On one, we had made some serious cool shit. It was an agglomeration of everything Chris and I talked about, wanted, felt. After we broke up, I guess some sort of karmic power was laughing at me, because I lost the receipt. It was stupid of me to put so much weight into the stupid piece of paper, but when I realized I had somehow tossed it, I cried like a baby.
In another twist of karmic intervention, Chris had saved the other receipt. It was an agreement from me to Chris saying he was allowed to tag along with me to get my tattoo. When I had wrote it and signed it, I had meant that it was legit as long as we were together. Of course, then I wasn't thinking about us breaking up. Nonetheless, I am a woman of my word and told him he was going along.
And since it was Chris's last day, Chris wanted Carl to come to.
So we were all piled in the car, heading to Ironage to be inked. When we got there, the people told us it was going to be an hour wait. I had to go move my car, so we told them we would be back in a flash. We drove back to Gina's house, and somehow I was agreeing to Chris driving my car.
Why exactly that happened, I couldn't say. Gina later told me she couldn't believe I was letting him drive my car, but at the moment, I said sure. He had driven my car plenty "back in the day."
So back in the car we went, this time Chris driving instead of Gina, and everything fell back to the way things were. Chris was pumping the bass up too high, Carl was flirting with Gina, and I was watching the road go by.
Ironage actually called us up saying they could get us in sooner. I was excited and told them we would be ten minutes. When I realized after hanging up that we were fifteen minutes away or more, I was resigned to letting Chris speed a little.
We did make it there in record time. Chris and Carl wanted energy drinks, so I told them to come back. They took forever though, and by the time they came back, drinks in hand, I was just finishing up.
The whole process of getting the tattoo was not nearly as bad as I thought it would be. The lady was super cool. She had all pink and blond hair and showed me this wicked little rendition of my paisley she had rendered. I was so fucking excited.
She put the outline on my left shoulder, "Tail up and slightly tilted," and then had me lay down on the leather chair recliner. She told me things like, "It won't hurt too bad," and "Not a lot of people cry," and "Just take a deep breath."
When she finally started, I was like, "Ow, fuck!" but in my head. I didn't want Gina to bolt and not do it. It wasn't the worst pain in the world and I was kind of expecting worse. Still, I was uncomfortable. There were some spot that had my arm shaking and twitching. I had to grab my other arm so she didn't fuck up all over the place from my crazy shaking arm.
When she was buzzing in the last parts, I peaked over and saw Chris and Carl looking in. I was happy they made it back in time, but I was practically done. Maybe they had been there longer than that. I finally got to sit up, and was glad I wasn't all woozy or anything. Adam had said something about passing out.
I jumped up and looked in the mirror. Holy crap, I was so fucking happy with it. I was amazed by how beautiful it was.
"Thank you, thank you, thank you," I told the tattoo artist. I was so happy with it. She bandaged me up pretty quickly and had me pay. I was grinning like a loon. I gave her a really good tip, then waited for Gina to get taken back.
When the dude finally called her back, we all followed. The guy told us only one person was allowed to stay back there though, and Gina picked me. The guys looked disgruntled, and Chris seemed genuinely annoyed with her pick, but she was there for me, naturally I should be the one there for her.
The guy got her going, and Gina looked about ready to cry several time. She was a real trooper though, and just made a lot of funny faces. I wanted to take pictures, but the guy told me no. And he told me I couldn't leave. My bladder was full to bursting though, and couldn't wait for Gina to get done. I sent Chris some texts about the state of things, but he must have really have been annoyed/pissed/angry because he never texted back.
Even when he came back to pee in the bathroom, and I smiled, he just pursed his lips. I didn't really understand what his problem was then, but I guess that not being picked was a big deal.
Gina was finally done forty-five minutes later, and was admiring her tattoo.
It was a tree with a ying-yang heart thing on the trunk. It was pretty legit. Once she was all bandaged up and paid for, we headed back out into the world feeling really accomplished. We had finally got our first (of many) tattoos.
I was really unsure as to what I wanted. Flowers? A wolf? Some kind of celtic circle thing? I just didn't know.
I had plenty of options. I mean, everything I was possibly thinking about had meaning to it in one way or another. The first flowers my mom and I ever planted were gladiolas. I could get some of those. I knew even if I didn't get a wolf for my first tattoo, I would get it eventually. I searched and searched the internet, combing through thousands of photos.
I was also instant messaging Gina on Facebook, telling her my ideas. And that was when it hit me. I should get a paisley!
Now, it is difficult to explain why a paisley just completely showcases me. But it does. A paisley just completely encompasses me. And the one I got is perfect. It has little spikes on it, kind of how I am prickly and always got my armor and walls up. But there are parts that are pretty and delicate, also how I am, just usually people don't get to see it. So when I wanted to make a powerpoint, (because, yes, as messy as I am in my apartment, car, and outward appearance, I like to see things graphically organized.) and I couldn't find the paisley I wanted, I freaked out.
I had to comb the internet all over again, searching for close to an hour. After several keyword changes I was able to find the paisley. I put it on my powerpoint and put the show on loop so I could watch all the possible designs.
When I finally decided that the design I had to search for the longest was "the one," I printed it out, and Gina and I were almost on our way. We had to pick up Chris and Carl.
The story behind the boys coming along is kind of ridiculous. See, when Chris and I were going out, we had went to the 54th Street Grill and drawn all over the receipts. On one, we had made some serious cool shit. It was an agglomeration of everything Chris and I talked about, wanted, felt. After we broke up, I guess some sort of karmic power was laughing at me, because I lost the receipt. It was stupid of me to put so much weight into the stupid piece of paper, but when I realized I had somehow tossed it, I cried like a baby.
In another twist of karmic intervention, Chris had saved the other receipt. It was an agreement from me to Chris saying he was allowed to tag along with me to get my tattoo. When I had wrote it and signed it, I had meant that it was legit as long as we were together. Of course, then I wasn't thinking about us breaking up. Nonetheless, I am a woman of my word and told him he was going along.
And since it was Chris's last day, Chris wanted Carl to come to.
So we were all piled in the car, heading to Ironage to be inked. When we got there, the people told us it was going to be an hour wait. I had to go move my car, so we told them we would be back in a flash. We drove back to Gina's house, and somehow I was agreeing to Chris driving my car.
Why exactly that happened, I couldn't say. Gina later told me she couldn't believe I was letting him drive my car, but at the moment, I said sure. He had driven my car plenty "back in the day."
So back in the car we went, this time Chris driving instead of Gina, and everything fell back to the way things were. Chris was pumping the bass up too high, Carl was flirting with Gina, and I was watching the road go by.
Ironage actually called us up saying they could get us in sooner. I was excited and told them we would be ten minutes. When I realized after hanging up that we were fifteen minutes away or more, I was resigned to letting Chris speed a little.
We did make it there in record time. Chris and Carl wanted energy drinks, so I told them to come back. They took forever though, and by the time they came back, drinks in hand, I was just finishing up.
The whole process of getting the tattoo was not nearly as bad as I thought it would be. The lady was super cool. She had all pink and blond hair and showed me this wicked little rendition of my paisley she had rendered. I was so fucking excited.
She put the outline on my left shoulder, "Tail up and slightly tilted," and then had me lay down on the leather chair recliner. She told me things like, "It won't hurt too bad," and "Not a lot of people cry," and "Just take a deep breath."
When she finally started, I was like, "Ow, fuck!" but in my head. I didn't want Gina to bolt and not do it. It wasn't the worst pain in the world and I was kind of expecting worse. Still, I was uncomfortable. There were some spot that had my arm shaking and twitching. I had to grab my other arm so she didn't fuck up all over the place from my crazy shaking arm.
When she was buzzing in the last parts, I peaked over and saw Chris and Carl looking in. I was happy they made it back in time, but I was practically done. Maybe they had been there longer than that. I finally got to sit up, and was glad I wasn't all woozy or anything. Adam had said something about passing out.
I jumped up and looked in the mirror. Holy crap, I was so fucking happy with it. I was amazed by how beautiful it was.
"Thank you, thank you, thank you," I told the tattoo artist. I was so happy with it. She bandaged me up pretty quickly and had me pay. I was grinning like a loon. I gave her a really good tip, then waited for Gina to get taken back.
When the dude finally called her back, we all followed. The guy told us only one person was allowed to stay back there though, and Gina picked me. The guys looked disgruntled, and Chris seemed genuinely annoyed with her pick, but she was there for me, naturally I should be the one there for her.
The guy got her going, and Gina looked about ready to cry several time. She was a real trooper though, and just made a lot of funny faces. I wanted to take pictures, but the guy told me no. And he told me I couldn't leave. My bladder was full to bursting though, and couldn't wait for Gina to get done. I sent Chris some texts about the state of things, but he must have really have been annoyed/pissed/angry because he never texted back.
Even when he came back to pee in the bathroom, and I smiled, he just pursed his lips. I didn't really understand what his problem was then, but I guess that not being picked was a big deal.
Gina was finally done forty-five minutes later, and was admiring her tattoo.
It was a tree with a ying-yang heart thing on the trunk. It was pretty legit. Once she was all bandaged up and paid for, we headed back out into the world feeling really accomplished. We had finally got our first (of many) tattoos.
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