tattoos, part II: the daisy.

So we already talked about my first tattoo: the music notes. Obtained because of a BOGO coupon given out at Hobo Days - classy AF.

Time to address my second tattoo. Obtained a year later in the exact same circumstances.

No, I did not learn my lesson.

They say once you get your first tattoo, you can get addicted. I can say that happened to me - but I did wait a year in between because I needed that coupon. I was a broke-ass college student, after all. 

I was a sophomore in college and had discovered my love for Andy Warhol. When my friend called me up with news of the coupon, I knew immediately I wanted an Andy Warhol tattoo of some type, but I didn't know what. I used my old pal Google to help me find what would become my second (and arguably worst) tattoo:

(Funny story: I was freshly dating my disastrous art major boyfriend when this tattoo opportunity came about, and he offered to design a tattoo for me. While still new to the tattoo world, I knew tattoo rule number one: do NOT get a tattoo related to your significant other when you are nineteen and freshly dating. I turned him down.)

So the time came to get our tattoos, and my friend got hers first. This was to be my first (and so far only) tattoo in color; a new experience for me. I opted to get it on my my left side right below my ribs - unbeknownst to me, a horrible, horrible mistake.

The first tattoo I had gotten was a walk in the park, so I was expecting a similar experience. I could not have been more wrong.

Until I had a baby many years later, this remained the most painful experience of my life.

I actually tried to tap out. I was covered in sweat and thought I was going to pass out. I told him to just do the outline and skip the color; it would be fine. (Or so my friend told me - I actually have no memory of this.) I gave no shits; I was DONE. The tattoo artist overruled me and did end up finishing the tattoo. It might have looked better if he had left it undone; who knows. All I really know is it looked like trash from the moment it was done. 

                                                                   It really is that blurry.

And guess what? It hasn't improved over the last nearly 20 years. Like my music note tattoo, though, it's in a spot where the sun doesn't often reach, so I don't lose a lot of sleep over it. 

I do realize asking a mediocre tattoo artist to reproduce a literal work of art probably wasn't fair. But this? Come on.

After two shitty tattoos at a bargain basement price, I learned my lesson: you get what you pay for. That's important every day, and it's especially important when it comes to something that will be on your body forever.

And that is how I came to have a ten-plus year hiatus with tattoos. 

Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.

tattoos, part I: the music notes.

Depending on how well you know me, you probably know I have a few tattoos. As of yesterday, in fact, I have seven.

Two of them are tattoos I fully intend you never lay eyes on because they are shit.

I'm going to tell you about the first one today.

I, being a true cliche, got it when I was 18.

The best part? I got it because my friend had a buy-one-get-one free coupon from her college homecoming festivities.

You read that right.

She and I were great high school friends, and we went to different colleges when the time came. I had planned to come and visit her over my fall break that October. Ahead of my visit, she gave me a call with a brilliant idea: two-for-one tattoos.  

I obviously jumped at the chance.

It had actually not occurred to me until that moment to get a tattoo. However, since it had been presented, it suddenly seemed like a brilliant idea. 

One of my favorite things has always been to be surprising. Looking at me, you see a rather feminine stereotypical-looking librarian. You might be surprised to find out I have been skydiving, am not afraid of snakes, enjoy roller coasters, drive a manual transmission, and am more than willing to get my hands dirty to have a bit of fun. (My current mission in the "be surprising" category is to learn to like bourbon.)

Getting a tattoo, I thought, would make me a little more surprising. 

But what kind of tattoo would I get?

That's always a tough question, but no tougher question than what is the FIRST tattoo one will get. 

Let it be known, it's been a verrrrrrry long time since I was 18 and getting this tattoo, so my memory is not super clear as to how long I had between my friend calling with the tattoo invitation and the actual appointment, but I don't think there was a lot of time. That means I didn't have a lot of time to really research designs and sit with my choice to make sure I was making the best possible decision. 

Plus, I was 18. No offense to 18-year-olds, but they can be kind of dumb. (At least, my 18-year-old self could be.)

So you know what I did? I Googled something like "music notes" and picked something right out of an image search.

Yep. This was it.

Why did I choose this? Because I was really into band in high school. I had joined band in college and was definitely digging it. I just liked music.

But I was too much of a dumbass to think about the music notes actually, you know, playing a song or anything particularly meaningful. They're just a jumble of notes that don't amount to anything. 

I am clearly still salty at my 18-year-old-self for being such a moron.

So that was my choice. My friend and I got our tattoos, and I chose to get this one on the lower left side of my back (NOT a tramp stamp - I at least had that foresight). It hurt much less than I thought it would, hence me having six more tattoos. The guy who did it was kind of dick, but he probably had major regrets after issuing hundreds of bogo coupons and *shocker* having a bunch of teenagers cash in on them.

When I saw the finished product, I was psyched - my first tattoo was AWESOME. Unfortunately, I understood rather quickly, this was not the case. When the swelling and redness went away, I was struck with the grim realization my treble clef did not have a freaking tail. 

Don't mind the elastic lines from my pants.
This is really how my tattoo looks as of today.
Not so hot.

Shit.

Spoiler alert: I never got it fixed.

It didn't take me too long to figure out this tattoo, is in fact, shitty. (Sadly not before I got another tattoo at this same stupid shop with this same stupid coupon, but that's a story for another time.) For a while, I dreamed of some kind of stunning cover up that would encompass this one and the second one - a beautiful underwater watercolor teeming with vibrant sea creatures or something like that.

But then I got old and fat and retired all my bikinis and I'm like, who's going to see it besides my spouse, my doctor, and me but only kind of me because it's mostly on my back?

So eh.

Here we are. 

I've got a 20-year-old crappy tattoo on my back that I can't see, and it's a cautionary tale that kind of cracks me up. Don't be like me, kids!