So, about that tattoo I mentioned

New Years Day 2010 started as most New Years Days have started since I was oh, about 15 (sorry, Mom) and that is with a hangover.  I woke up in my BFF4EVA’s bed with a touch of a headache and completely unwilling to seize the 2010 day.

Rolling out of bed, I found BFF4EVA and our friend Spano in the living room drinking black coffee and digging through art history text books.  Getting tattoos (more for all of us) was something we consistently joked about when drunk.  After a couple of bottles of wine, it is where the conversation always turned— creating elaborate plans and hilarious tattoo designs that we were never going to follow through on.  The story of my life: great in planning, poor in execution. 

When I plopped down with my own cup of coffee, I joined in the conversation, assuming it was just another hypothetical we were going to use to get through the morning until our nausea passed and we were willing to brace the bitter Chicago cold for breakfast. 

Instead, 45 minutes later after we had designated the Egyptian lotus flower as our general theme, pointed to a couple pages in the book and called the tattoo parlor to see if they were open on New Years Day, the 3 of us were bundled up and walking to the bus stop.

An hour later on the other side of town, I was laying sideways on a tattoo artist’s chair with a needle in my side while she told me about her mother relocating to Idaho and wondering out loud what she was going to do for childcare for her 2 year old son.  An hour and a half later with a searing and bandaged side, I wondered what the hell I had done and 2 hours later drinking a beer figuring eh, win some lose some and it is pretty dope.

Over a year later, I think I actually got that tattoo because I was freaked out.  I was going back to DC shortly thereafter and 10 days later starting my first real job.  I was expected to show up to work by 9am each morning, wear professional clothing and generally not make an ass of myself.  Making a spontaneous and permanent decision somehow seemed to off-set that grown-up related fear in my mind. 

Did it work?  Not really.  I was still totally freaked out my first day on the job and my second and my 28th.  Is it going to look funky if I ever decided to reproduce?  Most likely hideous.  But do I regret it?  Not for a damn second, although my mother sure wasn’t pleased. 

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