One of my favorite twitter pals is @Candylandgang. She posted a blog update at the end of last month about a recent tattoo she just got. You can find it here.
After reading her blog posting I was inspired to share the stories of how I came to be inked.
I got my first tattoo when I was in the Navy. To be completely honest, when you are in the Navy getting a tattoo is a right of passage. I am not saying everyone who is in the Navy has one...but...well a lot of them do.
I was living in a foreign county. I was away from home and it was a truly exhilerating experience. In my infinite wisdom I thought getting a tattoo would be a great way to celebrate this, my new found independence. Plus I knew it would really bug my Grandmother and there was nothing she could do about it, so you can see the appeal.
I would like to tell you that I spent hours deciding on what it would be, but I did not. I knew I wanted a rose. I know that is very cliched, but it was so romantic to me.
The thing is, no body told me how freaking much it was going to hurt. I mean "OW!" I was probably the worse customer that tattoo artist had ever seen. Laying on that table panting and breathing and carrying on like I was in a labor, squeezing Captain Kid's hand like my life depended on it.
When it was all said and done I had a beautiful piece of art work that I could carry with me for the rest of my life and the knowledge that I would never again do this to myself. Sounds familiar right? The bigger question is did it end there?