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Cow tipping lesbos with tattoos

My older sister, Paisley lived in an extremely small town in Maryland with her girlfriend. Every summer since I was twelve I made the great trip across the United States, from Arizona to Maryland. There was no theater in that town and thanks to the heavy religious influence there were no r-rated movies at the movie rental store. Going outside of the house was entertainment enough, all the locals would stop and stare like they never saw a pretty Puerto Rican/Irish girl with a purple Mohawk and unconventional piercings before.

We were creative though and always spent our time doing something fun or doing something drunk and making it fun. One day Paisley came home from cosmetology school and decided that we needed to go get tattoos. To avoid any discrepancy I just nodded and said "yes, lets", besides I didn't think this was that strange since all of my family members were inked. My sister had been collecting tattoos since she was sixteen. I never really had an opinion on tattoos but felt obligated to get one since everyone kept reassuring me that I was allowed to when I turned sixteen. I didn't want to be the black sheep but at the same time I gave it little thought. My father, an ex-hippy now in-the-closet pothead, was more than willing to send a letter via email giving full consent of the tattoo since I had just turned 16. My sister told me to think of something good before we got to the shop. Once we got there and made appointments for later that day I looked in the books and magazines and found nothing that really stuck out to me. Paisley got a black cat on her ankle with stars and such. Her girlfriend got a butterfly on her hip. I'm not a fan of butterflies, fairies, stars, swallows, anchors, tramp stamps of any kind or anything else disgustingly trendy and played out. But that's just my opinion.

I was attending this art high school and at the time was completely in love with surreal art. When it was finally my turn they put me in the chair. This handsome man consumed in ink told me that he couldn't believe I was only sixteen. Thinking back on it now I'm quite sure he was just trying to be sweet. Then he told me he would put on some music to relax me, I must have been looking pretty nervous while I chained smoked cigarettes. All of a sudden a techno remix of the mission impossible theme came on and I started laughing and actually relaxing. Reasonably enough, being only a little girl, I decided to make it my goal to marry a tattoo artist. This goal much like many of my goals didn't last too long, especially after dating one and realizing they're just assholes like everyone else. Back to the story at hand: When I got out of the chair I had an amazing piece of the painting "Atomica Melancholiaca" by Salvador Dali on my arm. I have seen many pictures of his trademark melt ing clocks and elephants but I have never seen anyone with my tattoo. I just got the piece that had a plane dropping bombs that looks like a face crying.

We went looking around the city for a little bit before the drive back home. I was in pain and courteously suggested that we might go buy me a bottle of Sothern Comfort. I had to wait in the car at the liquor store since I was underage and the handsome tattoo artist happened to go walking through the parking lot. He noticed me, probable because I was shouting "hey" at him. My sister came out and had a displeased expression when she saw us laughing and smoking cigarettes. When he saw the bottle of SoCO he laughed and asked if he could party too. He got his own liquor and came with us. I know your probably thinking that I'm going to continue on into some soft-core love affair that happened. No, this story is about tattoos and if you have an older, protective, man hating sister you would completely understand why nothing happened. But everyone had lots of fun and celebrated my first tattoo.

It has been almost five years. The purple hair and piercings are gone but my tattoo is still here along with a few others. I still love my tattoo and it is probably my favorite one. I wouldn't recommend getting a tattoo without at least sleeping on it for a few days. But I'm glad I don't regret getting mine. I do have some friends who look at old tattoos with complete disdain and can't wait to cover them up. I look at this tat and it makes me think of those trips to Maryland, being young and fearless, and my sister. On a less personal note the painting has always been one of my favorites and I interpret it as being an anti-war and destruction piece, since the tears are bombs. I have finally got me entire sleeve done. I have to look like a good girl during the day and wear long sleeve buttoned up collar shirts to work. Since it is so hot where I live this is quite a burden but extremely worth it. My bosses would never expect me, the sweet petite girl who does all their work fo r them but is still humble enough to go on coffee runs, would be covered in sinisterly beautiful tattoos.


submitted by: Anonymous
on: 09 July 2008
in Tattoos

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