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October 07, 2008
Happy Birthday to Me
While I was out digging in the dirt yesterday, I kept looking down thinking I had something on my arm.
I did. A new tattoo. Tattoo two.
My firedancer. With her newly-tattooed red aura which will go away. And that’s okay.
I went in to the shop on Sunday. An odd little man behind the counter got some basic information from me, and then asked me which artist I wanted.
I said, “I looked on your website, and any of them would be overqualified for what I want, and it’s okay if they laugh at me.”
After a few moments, I was introduced to an artist, whose name I did not catch due to the very high volume of the rock music playing. He was busy with someone else, but stopped for a moment to see the little picture I brought with me, and give me an estimate.
The odd little man got a deposit from me, and made an appointment for Monday at 12:30.
I will admit that the artist scared me ever so slightly. But he seemed to do good work.
When I got there yesterday, I went to use the bathroom, and noticed him in his room spraying down everything. I then noticed that the bathroom was cleaner than pretty much any other one I’ve ever seen, and the checklists on the walls were up to date.
Better 5S than most businesses I’ve seen, too. (I know they have to. Technically, there are lots of places that have to and yet, don’t.)
And the artist, turned out to be named Buck, was a teddy bear.
He had printed a template and held it out to me once I got settled in.
I held out the same template, modified to suit the style of me.
I wanted smooth lines. I wanted her ass smaller. And her arms to look less like stumps. More symmetrical. And no ribs showing. Solid black. I did leave her right arm ever so slightly spooky.
So he suggested he make the tracing directly from my drawing. I said cool.
When Buck had the outline cut out, he placed it on the very center of my forearm. Which was a different place than I had said I wanted a day earlier.
Then I was surprised to find I had a preference to NOT have it centered. He moved it up, and moved it down, and I decided on up.
Oh, how very much it felt like he was slicing into my arm with a large sharp knife. I was sure if I looked, that I would see my right forearm flayed, firedancer flap of skin flapping in the wind, so to speak.
And yet, I looked. Glanced, really. And didn’t see any blood. I think he was barely done with her foot.
I admitted to Buck I’m a bit of a woos, so he capably held my arm down after that.
Once it was way past too late to change her location, he told me that the further up the forearm one goes toward the elbow, the more painful it is.
I said had he told me that at the beginning, she’d be a lot lower on my arm.
He said he never mentions pain to someone.
I thought that sounded like a really good strategy.
So as it turned out, it’s a different size, different color, and in a totally different place than Sunday's tattoo would have been.
Pondring anything does that, you know.
Sometimes it conjures better.
Now if I can just get Dave to autograph her with a 41.
Written by Angela Tanner. October 7, 2008 12:12 PM