new year’s resolutions

Find myself.  I have been gone way too long and it’s about time I started looking for me.  I am going to look in books, pubs, cities, parks, restaurants, art galleries, movie theaters, on trails, in schools, classes, work places.  I’ll search high and low.  On ground and in the air until I do.

one year gone.

Photo courtesy of www.mygeo.info.

Although I celebrated my year anniversary I never fully acknowledged my year away from Spokane. When I first started this blog, it was a way for me to relate my adventures to my family and friends from back home, however, I have fallen short of the original idea. So! My “New Year Away From Spokane” resolution is to start being more thorough in relating my experiences and all that I learn to all of those who care to read about them.

tat-tat-tat-tat-tatted up

Recently I got my first (and second. Shhhhh! Don’t tell anyone!) tattoo from a guy named Nixxon at Pigment Tattoo Shop on Magazine St. in New Orleans.  Now…this tattoo is something I have put a lot of thought into.  A LOT of thought into.  I mean, I’m 27 years old.  Most people get their first tattoo when they turn 18.  It is a Rite of Passage in American culture.  Sooooooooo, technically I’m about 9  years late.  I searched and searched and finally found the perfect tattoo.  The Greek key.  It not only is aesthetically pleasing but has academic and professional significance in my life.  I felt it would be the perfect symbol for my accomplishments.  A symbol of my acceptance into the “Harvard of the South.”  I don’t know if you know this but the Greek key is a common decorative feature in Greek and Roman art.  It is a common form used on ancient temples and is now seen in modern day architecture as a Neoclassical element.  I wanted this beautiful design on the right side of my upper back.  Nixxon didn’t like this idea and told me it would “break up the natural curve of the back.”  I told him to shove it.  Not really.  What I really said was, “I’m pretty sure I want it on the right side of my upper back.”  Nixxon said “whatever man” and he took me into his back room and told me to take off my shirt and bra.

And I did it, Mom.

First he put the stencil on.  After he put the stencil on he said, “This is going to look  cool.”  Wait. What?  I thought it was going to break up the natural curve of my back.  ”Now that I see it on your back, it’s going to look nice,” he assured me.  That’s what I thought.  I know my shit.  So I laid down on his “massage” table and he said, “You are going to have to hold really still.”  This panicked me because it was my first one and in a sensitive area.  After he started the tattoo, however, the experience wasn’t unpleasant.  Not until he started telling me about the first tattoo shop he worked at had a similar key pattern along the top of the walls and they had to put a sign up explaining the motif wasn’t meant to be offensive but was a common architectural motif.  So I, in my retardedness, had to ask why people would think it was offensive.  (I should have kept my mouth shut.)  Nixxon politely told me people thought it looked like a swastika. 

I don’t think you’d be surprised if I told you I threw up my heart at that moment.  I got all pale and the color yellow clouded my vision.  My breathing became shallow.

How could I be so stupid?  Why didn’t I notice it!!!???  There goes my chances of dating a black guy or a Jew.  How could I possibly explain why I had a swastika on my back??  A bad tatttoo is like a bad marriage.  At first it’s all roses and scented candles but then you realize you should have done a background check and now you are stuck with the asshole forever.

After an hour and a half of mental preparation for the life I was going to lead as a white supremacist, the tattoo was finished and I had come to terms with my stupidity.  And…it didn’t even look like a swastika.  I am triumphant!!!!

So I went back for another one a month later with some peeps from Portland, Chris and Kerri (miss you!).  The Roman numeral 13 on my right forearm.  13 is a lucky number for me but I didn’t want to be all gangster and get 13 on my arm so I went for a classier approach. A baker’s dozen. Thankyouverymuch.