I adore Paul. He is just up there with my favourite people in the whole world.
The one legged rehabilitation specialist who skateboards, motorbikes, climbs mountains, wrassles sharks…
Me: My car was valued at £35
Paul: I have skateboards worth 5 times that!
Paul: How was your Christmas?
Me: Fantastic thanks. Although I turned 27 and just felt so old, what with my neck issues, which are causing back ache. And on New Years Eve I fell over and turned my ankle so hard AND I hadn’t even had a drink yet.
Paul: Well that is because you haven’t sorted your neck out - it affects your balance.
Me: Whatevs, I just felt so old … so I went and got a tattoo.
Paul: LET ME SEE….. Nice. Do you want to see mine? *Whips trousers down*
Me: Good grief!
He has the most awesome tattoos though. Norse Gods and Godessess. I think that after getting a tattoo myself, I like them a lot more. His are amazing. Blew my little rose right out of the water.
Tuesday 10 January 2012
Monday 9 January 2012
o la la monsieur
Secretarial cliché -
Me: I like to give you the hard ones
Him: ….. What did you just say?
Me: …. Er, I like to give you the hard ones?
Him: OH. I thought you said you like to give me the hard ons!!
Me: …
I love the crackle effect nail varnish but note to self, gold crackle on top of red polish looks like you have had a horrific accident and smashed your nails with a hammer.
Me: I like to give you the hard ones
Him: ….. What did you just say?
Me: …. Er, I like to give you the hard ones?
Him: OH. I thought you said you like to give me the hard ons!!
Me: …
I love the crackle effect nail varnish but note to self, gold crackle on top of red polish looks like you have had a horrific accident and smashed your nails with a hammer.
Sunday 8 January 2012
8 inch cogs
Today I went to Ruths house for her birthday. Her father-in-law, Chris, is seriously one of the funniest dudes ever.
We were sitting on the sofa and Andy, Ruths husband, was saying to his daughter: ‘there are a lot of things you don’t know about grandpa. Ask him about his time in the army.’
Dot (Andys mum): NO DO NOT ASK HIM ABOUT HIS TIME IN THE ARMY
Apparently, at the end of world war 2, Chris was the reason one of the biggest Nato air strikes was called off. Because he was missing. And was found having relations with a woman. A German woman.
Now, I am not sure how much of this is true but what is true is that when he left the army his mum had remarried and moved house. Without telling him.
Chris was telling us about his bike ride to Clapton. And his 8 inch cock.
Andy: COG. 8 inch COG.
Man I got the giggles.
I haven’t seen Ruth for ages so it was really lovely snuggling with her and catching up. She pulled me into another room for a sneaky look at my tattoo. Her mum walked in. Then her Dad walked in. And out again.
Ruth: This is not such a sneaky look.
In other news there is a spot on my chin that it would be a mockery to call a little friend. He is huge. I am 27, this shit is meant to be OVAH.
We were sitting on the sofa and Andy, Ruths husband, was saying to his daughter: ‘there are a lot of things you don’t know about grandpa. Ask him about his time in the army.’
Dot (Andys mum): NO DO NOT ASK HIM ABOUT HIS TIME IN THE ARMY
Apparently, at the end of world war 2, Chris was the reason one of the biggest Nato air strikes was called off. Because he was missing. And was found having relations with a woman. A German woman.
Now, I am not sure how much of this is true but what is true is that when he left the army his mum had remarried and moved house. Without telling him.
Chris was telling us about his bike ride to Clapton. And his 8 inch cock.
Andy: COG. 8 inch COG.
Man I got the giggles.
I haven’t seen Ruth for ages so it was really lovely snuggling with her and catching up. She pulled me into another room for a sneaky look at my tattoo. Her mum walked in. Then her Dad walked in. And out again.
Ruth: This is not such a sneaky look.
In other news there is a spot on my chin that it would be a mockery to call a little friend. He is huge. I am 27, this shit is meant to be OVAH.
would you?
No, but seriously, would you rather tattoo moist bush monkey on your hand OR get a tattoo that covers your entire back but of your choosing?
to sleep perchance to dream
12:12am.
It is legitimately bed time and yet I can’t sleep.
I can nap happily and gaily throughout the day whenever the opportunity arises. Napping is up there as one of my most favouritest favouritest activities. I even have to set myself rules - no napping after 4pm.
For the last month, sleeping at night has completely evaded me. I have been going to work exhausted and longing to curl under the desk and sleep. I crawl home. I desperately want to get into bed but falling asleep at 7pm is no good as I get disturbed ... and that way lies sleepwalking.
Sleepwalking. An activity that can lead to many hilarious stories, but I think I have enough stories now. I would like to not sleepwalk. If I fall asleep and something disturbs me I sleepwalk. And talk. This sleepwalking is generally the physical meaning of the phrase - I leave my bed / my room and wander. That sounded peaceful didn’t it? Ha. Wander. My family have many stories to tell about my wandering sleepwalking which normally involve me shouting like a mad woman and wandering the halls.
The wandering sleepwalking is rare, but mainly because I know that it is due to being disturbed massively when napping. The worst sleepwalking is when I sit up in bed and carry out whole (silent, I think) conversations with people.
I sit in bed and listen to these people rambling on, all the while thinking - jeesh, do you know how late it is?
I also imagine myself to be in other places. Like, whelp, I am at work, I hope no one notices I am naked. I will just surreptitiously cover my breasts with the bed sheet.
I work with patients so a lot of sleep-non-walking is patients coming in to my room. I am aware that something isn’t right about the situation but struggle to reason it out. Yes, self, it is perfectly normal to conduct meetings in my bed, naked. Can not see the problem so far. Make it quick, it is late and I want to go to sleep.
My mum and my sister, Sophie, randomly take the brunt of the sleepwalking. Firstly, in both cases, I think it is because they had no respect for a napping me and were in the line of fire, as it were, when I ‘woke’ up and starting screaming for graph paper. Yes. The screaming / shouting / rambling does eventually wake me up and yes. It can be embarrassing to realise you have been adamantly asking (demanding) for something, righteously, only to wake yourself up. Secondly, I lived with Sophie in a small flat. Our bedrooms were next to each other and I slept with my door open because we had a cat. Bumbling around my room ‘sorting laundry’ etc was clearly an easy to hear activity at 3am.
Of course Mum and Sophie have both been very considerate when dealing with me in this vulnerable state (hahaha are you sleepwalking? Are you asleep? Are you asleeeep? Are you asleeeeeeeeeeeeeep?) (to which the definitive answer is NO!) (SHUT UP AND GET BACK INTO BED).
I moved in with some friends a year ago. I have only a couple of times sleepwalked out of my room. Neither housemate has noticed. Once, scarily, I even shouted down the stairs in the early hours. I believe I was shouting: ‘I have got it’ although what I had is unconfirmed. I always am aware of when I have sleptwalked. The next day I embarrassedly apologised for disturbing them. They looked at me blankly. The fact that I got away with yelling down the stairs in the dead of night does not bode well for them waking up if the house is being burgled or we are on fire or the villagers come to spear the monster.
Some nights I go to bed and wake up tireder than before.
Some nights I go to bed and have whole conversations with friends and the next day I cannot look at them (so inconsiderate, do they know what time it is?).
Some nights I have a lover I tell I am a Phillips Senseo too.
Some nights I wake in a cold sweat thinking I have texted / called someone.
Coupled with the fact that I have been having trouble falling asleep and some terrible nightmares, I am just so tired. I thought this Christmas would sort it out. I was really looking forward to not feeling so tired but if anything it has just added ‘routine out of whack’ to my list of problems.
Lordy. Sleeping. I used to be so good at you.
It is legitimately bed time and yet I can’t sleep.
I can nap happily and gaily throughout the day whenever the opportunity arises. Napping is up there as one of my most favouritest favouritest activities. I even have to set myself rules - no napping after 4pm.
For the last month, sleeping at night has completely evaded me. I have been going to work exhausted and longing to curl under the desk and sleep. I crawl home. I desperately want to get into bed but falling asleep at 7pm is no good as I get disturbed ... and that way lies sleepwalking.
Sleepwalking. An activity that can lead to many hilarious stories, but I think I have enough stories now. I would like to not sleepwalk. If I fall asleep and something disturbs me I sleepwalk. And talk. This sleepwalking is generally the physical meaning of the phrase - I leave my bed / my room and wander. That sounded peaceful didn’t it? Ha. Wander. My family have many stories to tell about my wandering sleepwalking which normally involve me shouting like a mad woman and wandering the halls.
The wandering sleepwalking is rare, but mainly because I know that it is due to being disturbed massively when napping. The worst sleepwalking is when I sit up in bed and carry out whole (silent, I think) conversations with people.
I sit in bed and listen to these people rambling on, all the while thinking - jeesh, do you know how late it is?
I also imagine myself to be in other places. Like, whelp, I am at work, I hope no one notices I am naked. I will just surreptitiously cover my breasts with the bed sheet.
I work with patients so a lot of sleep-non-walking is patients coming in to my room. I am aware that something isn’t right about the situation but struggle to reason it out. Yes, self, it is perfectly normal to conduct meetings in my bed, naked. Can not see the problem so far. Make it quick, it is late and I want to go to sleep.
My mum and my sister, Sophie, randomly take the brunt of the sleepwalking. Firstly, in both cases, I think it is because they had no respect for a napping me and were in the line of fire, as it were, when I ‘woke’ up and starting screaming for graph paper. Yes. The screaming / shouting / rambling does eventually wake me up and yes. It can be embarrassing to realise you have been adamantly asking (demanding) for something, righteously, only to wake yourself up. Secondly, I lived with Sophie in a small flat. Our bedrooms were next to each other and I slept with my door open because we had a cat. Bumbling around my room ‘sorting laundry’ etc was clearly an easy to hear activity at 3am.
Of course Mum and Sophie have both been very considerate when dealing with me in this vulnerable state (hahaha are you sleepwalking? Are you asleep? Are you asleeeep? Are you asleeeeeeeeeeeeeep?) (to which the definitive answer is NO!) (SHUT UP AND GET BACK INTO BED).
I moved in with some friends a year ago. I have only a couple of times sleepwalked out of my room. Neither housemate has noticed. Once, scarily, I even shouted down the stairs in the early hours. I believe I was shouting: ‘I have got it’ although what I had is unconfirmed. I always am aware of when I have sleptwalked. The next day I embarrassedly apologised for disturbing them. They looked at me blankly. The fact that I got away with yelling down the stairs in the dead of night does not bode well for them waking up if the house is being burgled or we are on fire or the villagers come to spear the monster.
Some nights I go to bed and wake up tireder than before.
Some nights I go to bed and have whole conversations with friends and the next day I cannot look at them (so inconsiderate, do they know what time it is?).
Some nights I have a lover I tell I am a Phillips Senseo too.
Some nights I wake in a cold sweat thinking I have texted / called someone.
Coupled with the fact that I have been having trouble falling asleep and some terrible nightmares, I am just so tired. I thought this Christmas would sort it out. I was really looking forward to not feeling so tired but if anything it has just added ‘routine out of whack’ to my list of problems.
Lordy. Sleeping. I used to be so good at you.
Thursday 5 January 2012
encouragement and development
Today is my last day off work for the Christmas period. Tomorrow I have to go back. Grim to the eXtreme. I spent my final day off with my family. Well, the majority of the day was spent going over my mothers childminding information before her Ofsted inspection. If I hear the words encouragement and development again I may scream. Luckily there was champagne and spaghetti bolognaise on hand to balance it out. And Leo love chunks.
Me: I am clearly the clever one of the family since all I seem to do is check and do other peoples homework.
Lulu: I think that makes you the stoooopid one of the family.
Today was actually also the first day since Christmas that my whole family were in a room together again drinking. Jamie lives in Tooting now, Toby is often out… Was nice. Dad attempted to take a family photo with the timer. OMG they were grim. Obviously the angle and the lighting was what made me look 20 stone and wearing beige tights instead of black leggings.
Jamie: In my freezer I have 2 Martini glasses, some Vermouth, some Gin and some ice. I have become addicted to martinis to the point that Jonty tried to put a chicken in the freezer the other day and I was well cross.
Me: Does he like a martini too? Is that why you have the spare glass?
Jamie: No, that one is in case I have a guest.
Mum: Sure, it is so that he can switch glasses between drinks to ice them up!
I told my dad that I had got a tattoo.
Dad: Why would you do something like that?
Me: Er.. I just fancied it. You can’t see it.
Dad: Yeh, so why get it?
Me: Er.. Dunno.
I still love my tattoo though and am ready for mah bleeve!
Me: I am clearly the clever one of the family since all I seem to do is check and do other peoples homework.
Lulu: I think that makes you the stoooopid one of the family.
Today was actually also the first day since Christmas that my whole family were in a room together again drinking. Jamie lives in Tooting now, Toby is often out… Was nice. Dad attempted to take a family photo with the timer. OMG they were grim. Obviously the angle and the lighting was what made me look 20 stone and wearing beige tights instead of black leggings.
Jamie: In my freezer I have 2 Martini glasses, some Vermouth, some Gin and some ice. I have become addicted to martinis to the point that Jonty tried to put a chicken in the freezer the other day and I was well cross.
Me: Does he like a martini too? Is that why you have the spare glass?
Jamie: No, that one is in case I have a guest.
Mum: Sure, it is so that he can switch glasses between drinks to ice them up!
I told my dad that I had got a tattoo.
Dad: Why would you do something like that?
Me: Er.. I just fancied it. You can’t see it.
Dad: Yeh, so why get it?
Me: Er.. Dunno.
I still love my tattoo though and am ready for mah bleeve!
Wednesday 4 January 2012
tat for tit
So today, for me, I did something kinda big. Nothing like a bucket list or a life list or what not but up there with definitely out of my comfort zone. I got a tattoo. I never really thought I was a person who would get one and, when I did think that maybe I would like one, could never decide what I would get. Or where I would get it.
Do you have that thing where you can be wearing a necklace or bracelet and you can’t get it off and you begin to panic and whether it is an heirloom or not you have the urge to rip it from your being? I have that. So does my sister I believe. And so does my housemate, Mouse. I kinda thought having a tattoo would be similar. That I would one day WANT IT OFF ME.
But. I decided for my 27th birthday, I was going to get a tattoo. A rose, for I am Rosie.
I went to the tattoo shop my pal Alicia recommends on my actual birthday, having psyched myself up. The tattooist I wanted, Chris (who has tattooed Alicia, a tattoo that I like), was not available for a week. No problem. I picked OUT OF THE BOOK OMGSH the design I liked. A simple, open, rose head. And walked out. I was unaware of the absolute controversy and … and… thoughtsss people would have about this. You are most definitely doing it wrong.
I had -
Omg do not get a tattoo
DO NOT get a rose, what is the matter with you?
On your BREAST?
Leaves?? No.
Swirls? No
A RED ONE? No.
Why would a tattooist advertise he does roses? A 3 year old can tattoo that.
On. And on. And on.
Heather recommended the partner of her mate, who tattoos from home. He said he could also do it the same day the shop offered and would email me some designs. I have met this dude at a party, a few parties, and it never once entered my head that, oh, MAY be awkward that he would see my breast. But I liked the idea of him designing it and me choosing and amending it since it seemed a bit simple just to have walked into the shop and picked a standard rose out of the book (omg you picked one from a book and didn’t design it? DOING IT WRONG). Luckily, Alicia convinced me that I should stick with Chris because Chris? My kind of dude.
Anyway. Every night, in bed, I would think CANCEL. What am I doing? Every night.
I had a conversation recently with someone about his paranoia - not full blown paranoia but he will not blog/face book/link in. He does not like people knowing where he is. I said that I am an anxious person. That I do not turn my phone off just in case. He was like - that is paranoia! And I could not explain that, no. No it is not. I told him that whenever he calls me (he is a work colleague) I think it will be to tell me off. That if a police car drives past me they will pull me over. Sadly this is not an anxiety that makes you not eat. Well, not all of the time. I could not have put anything in my mouth this morning to save my life. Anyway, so. Last night. All nights leading up to this. The anxiety! Oh. The anxiety.
Heather was meeting me at mine at 10am today. I was pacing by 9.50 and in the end had to tell her I had to start walking to the shop and she could meet me there. I walked into the shop and met Chris, my tattooist, who is like a Hells Angel coupled with a Hairy Biker. Everything *I* think a tattooist should be. He was like, alright love, I am just gonna have a cigarette and will be right with you.
Chris is the owner of the parlour I went to. As he walked off, another tattooist out front asked where I was getting my rose.
Me: On my breast, here.
Him: *Sucks in his teeth and pulls a face*
Me:….. Did you really just do that moments before my tattoo?
Him: Better to be honest, right, than I hear you screaming that I am a lying bastard.
Me: … I… guess. I thought boobs are painless to tattoo though as they are mainly fat.
Him: People lie. I had my chest done and it hurt. And so did my butt.
Me: …..
Just then, Heather walked in. I showed her the design I had chosen.
H: Er… well.. It is a bit… big.
Me: Are you really saying this to me now?
H: Well, I thought you were thinking of adding to it if you liked it…
Me: Yeh, maybe, but remember my breasts are huge so on you a small flower would look nice, on me? A spot.
H: Yeh but…hmm. Also, why red? I think pink.
Me: NO. NO NO NO NO NO. We are NOT doing this now. I am DONE. I want a simple fucking flower not the freaking Mona Lisa and if you don’t shut up I am going to get … get (looking around for inspiration) a gigantic Jesus face on my back.
The other tattooist looked at me.
Him: What is wrong with Jesus?
Me: Lordy. Literally. Nothing. I just am not so keen on the religious tattoo.
Him: I have a cross on my arm
Me: That’s fine, I am just not so keen on faces
Him: I have a face on this arm (shows me a day of the dead face)
Me: Well. That is kinda cool. Ok. I am not keen on names really, either.
Him: I have a name on my butt
Me: HAHA! Ok. I am going to shut up now.
The moral of the story is, get whatever tattoo you want. You love it and have thought it through? That is ALLLLLL that matters.
Chris: Are you ready?
Me: Yep.
I follow him to the back, through another tattooists room and a dude getting tattooed.
Chris: So, you are going to have to.. strip then.
Me: Brilliant!
Chris: And the bra!
Me: At the risk of cliché… normally I have a drink at this point. Or a few.
So he applied the transfer of the rose I had picked and asked me to look in the mirror. I wasn’t sure. Thought it should be moved over a little. But seemingly I do not like inconveniencing people, even in this kind of situation. He looked at my face. ‘Should we move it over a bit?’ Me - YES PLEASE.
We had a chat about the design. I asked whether he liked it.
Chris: Yes. It is a cute simple rose.
Me: Because did you know how controversial this was to get? I mean, I thought once you made up your mind you were getting a tattoo and what YOU wanted, hard part out of the way.
I explained that people were all OMG A ROSE HOW LAME.
Chris: People are such snobs. Genuine tattooists and people who love tattoos are not really like that. They think get what you love.
Me: Yeh. I think it is like naming your baby. Don’t tell anyone what you are naming it because SOMEONE will have an opinion / know someone awful with that name / think of an awful nickname etc.
Chris: The only part of this rose I am not so keen on are the swirly bits. They are too.. meh.
Me: Eh, I can take em or leave em.
Chris: I just think if you are going to have a tattoo be a WOLF about it, not a DOG. So, have massive swirly bits, not … pointless little bits.
I lay on his couch. This is where anxiety kicked in again. Anticipation. I give blood as much as I can. I HATE the finger prick test you have first. I hate giving someone my finger and waiting for the click. I start pulling my finger away. The actual giving blood part I do not mind. Lying on his couch, that is how I felt. Inching towards the wall. He got a little towel and covered my other boob and the boob he was going to tattoo’s nipple. ‘To preserve your dignity.’ Me: ‘Few years too late.’ He scrunched up some tissue and put it on top of my boob (to wipe blood as he went) (serious, who would do this to themselves?) and at THAT moment I was THIS near to being all NUUUU UHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH SEEEES YAAAAAA. Luckily I am also a coward so could not say it.
Chris: Are you ready?
Me: We will see, ay.
And he started.
….
…
…
Him: How you doing?
Me: …. Fine…..
We had a lovely chat. I made him laugh a few times (don’t make them laugh. That is an inky needle next to your person).
20 minutes later…
Him: Are you alright?
Me: … Yeh.
Him: Why did you say it like that?
Me: Because, I don’t want to be cocky or anything, or in case the real pain is just about to start when you colour it in BUT…
….
….
I feel NOTHING.
Him: Good.
Me: No. Serious. Like. Nothing. Like you are drawing with a biro maybe.
Him: I AM!
Me: ….
HIM: JOKE!
Side bar -
Me: So, do you like the colours of this rose then?
Him: Yeh, I do... Do you?
Me: Yes. Its just... so... I am slightly colour blind...
Him: OMG OMG OMG OMG ! SERIOUS? Oh! Oh! LOLZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ
Me: So, I think it is green, red and yellow but.. it is, right?
Him: HAHAHAHHHAHAHAH. Yes, dear, it is lovely.
So. It lasted about an hour. Under I would say. Was completely painless and I loved it.
Other staff did come into the room and go about their business and at one point the guy I had the chat with in the waiting room was all: ‘coffee Chris?’ and Chris was all ‘lovely thanks!’. And he walked past into the next room.
Me: Serious. Is my boob out in your kitchen?
Chris: Don’t worry. I have covered your nipple.
Me: Great. 1% covered then!
And then we both got the giggles.
Chris: Ok, so in a couple of hours wash it with a sensitive / antibacterial wash and cover it with nappy rash cream.
Me: Should I cover it with something?
Chris: No, don't keep it covered. That would be a crying shame, they are great boobs!
Me: Thanks!
Some people could say that and I would be all, inappropriate, but Chris was telling me about his partner and how he tattoos her (in those standard flowers and butterflies and ooo a unicorn! But as long as she is happy) so it was just.... nice.
We walked out to reception where Heather and the other tattooist were.
Heather: Alright? Did it hurt?
Me: Well, I feel bad saying this in front of him (other tattooist) but… yeh. Completely painless. Didn’t know he had started.
Other tattooist: Must be because I am more of an A cup and he was… like hitting bone or .. something.
So, currently, 13 hours later, I still love it. And what they say is true. It is addictive. I am already thinking of adding to it. A boob sleeve. A bleeve. TRADEMARK!
Do you have that thing where you can be wearing a necklace or bracelet and you can’t get it off and you begin to panic and whether it is an heirloom or not you have the urge to rip it from your being? I have that. So does my sister I believe. And so does my housemate, Mouse. I kinda thought having a tattoo would be similar. That I would one day WANT IT OFF ME.
But. I decided for my 27th birthday, I was going to get a tattoo. A rose, for I am Rosie.
I went to the tattoo shop my pal Alicia recommends on my actual birthday, having psyched myself up. The tattooist I wanted, Chris (who has tattooed Alicia, a tattoo that I like), was not available for a week. No problem. I picked OUT OF THE BOOK OMGSH the design I liked. A simple, open, rose head. And walked out. I was unaware of the absolute controversy and … and… thoughtsss people would have about this. You are most definitely doing it wrong.
I had -
Omg do not get a tattoo
DO NOT get a rose, what is the matter with you?
On your BREAST?
Leaves?? No.
Swirls? No
A RED ONE? No.
Why would a tattooist advertise he does roses? A 3 year old can tattoo that.
On. And on. And on.
Heather recommended the partner of her mate, who tattoos from home. He said he could also do it the same day the shop offered and would email me some designs. I have met this dude at a party, a few parties, and it never once entered my head that, oh, MAY be awkward that he would see my breast. But I liked the idea of him designing it and me choosing and amending it since it seemed a bit simple just to have walked into the shop and picked a standard rose out of the book (omg you picked one from a book and didn’t design it? DOING IT WRONG). Luckily, Alicia convinced me that I should stick with Chris because Chris? My kind of dude.
Anyway. Every night, in bed, I would think CANCEL. What am I doing? Every night.
I had a conversation recently with someone about his paranoia - not full blown paranoia but he will not blog/face book/link in. He does not like people knowing where he is. I said that I am an anxious person. That I do not turn my phone off just in case. He was like - that is paranoia! And I could not explain that, no. No it is not. I told him that whenever he calls me (he is a work colleague) I think it will be to tell me off. That if a police car drives past me they will pull me over. Sadly this is not an anxiety that makes you not eat. Well, not all of the time. I could not have put anything in my mouth this morning to save my life. Anyway, so. Last night. All nights leading up to this. The anxiety! Oh. The anxiety.
Heather was meeting me at mine at 10am today. I was pacing by 9.50 and in the end had to tell her I had to start walking to the shop and she could meet me there. I walked into the shop and met Chris, my tattooist, who is like a Hells Angel coupled with a Hairy Biker. Everything *I* think a tattooist should be. He was like, alright love, I am just gonna have a cigarette and will be right with you.
Chris is the owner of the parlour I went to. As he walked off, another tattooist out front asked where I was getting my rose.
Me: On my breast, here.
Him: *Sucks in his teeth and pulls a face*
Me:….. Did you really just do that moments before my tattoo?
Him: Better to be honest, right, than I hear you screaming that I am a lying bastard.
Me: … I… guess. I thought boobs are painless to tattoo though as they are mainly fat.
Him: People lie. I had my chest done and it hurt. And so did my butt.
Me: …..
Just then, Heather walked in. I showed her the design I had chosen.
H: Er… well.. It is a bit… big.
Me: Are you really saying this to me now?
H: Well, I thought you were thinking of adding to it if you liked it…
Me: Yeh, maybe, but remember my breasts are huge so on you a small flower would look nice, on me? A spot.
H: Yeh but…hmm. Also, why red? I think pink.
Me: NO. NO NO NO NO NO. We are NOT doing this now. I am DONE. I want a simple fucking flower not the freaking Mona Lisa and if you don’t shut up I am going to get … get (looking around for inspiration) a gigantic Jesus face on my back.
The other tattooist looked at me.
Him: What is wrong with Jesus?
Me: Lordy. Literally. Nothing. I just am not so keen on the religious tattoo.
Him: I have a cross on my arm
Me: That’s fine, I am just not so keen on faces
Him: I have a face on this arm (shows me a day of the dead face)
Me: Well. That is kinda cool. Ok. I am not keen on names really, either.
Him: I have a name on my butt
Me: HAHA! Ok. I am going to shut up now.
The moral of the story is, get whatever tattoo you want. You love it and have thought it through? That is ALLLLLL that matters.
Chris: Are you ready?
Me: Yep.
I follow him to the back, through another tattooists room and a dude getting tattooed.
Chris: So, you are going to have to.. strip then.
Me: Brilliant!
Chris: And the bra!
Me: At the risk of cliché… normally I have a drink at this point. Or a few.
So he applied the transfer of the rose I had picked and asked me to look in the mirror. I wasn’t sure. Thought it should be moved over a little. But seemingly I do not like inconveniencing people, even in this kind of situation. He looked at my face. ‘Should we move it over a bit?’ Me - YES PLEASE.
We had a chat about the design. I asked whether he liked it.
Chris: Yes. It is a cute simple rose.
Me: Because did you know how controversial this was to get? I mean, I thought once you made up your mind you were getting a tattoo and what YOU wanted, hard part out of the way.
I explained that people were all OMG A ROSE HOW LAME.
Chris: People are such snobs. Genuine tattooists and people who love tattoos are not really like that. They think get what you love.
Me: Yeh. I think it is like naming your baby. Don’t tell anyone what you are naming it because SOMEONE will have an opinion / know someone awful with that name / think of an awful nickname etc.
Chris: The only part of this rose I am not so keen on are the swirly bits. They are too.. meh.
Me: Eh, I can take em or leave em.
Chris: I just think if you are going to have a tattoo be a WOLF about it, not a DOG. So, have massive swirly bits, not … pointless little bits.
I lay on his couch. This is where anxiety kicked in again. Anticipation. I give blood as much as I can. I HATE the finger prick test you have first. I hate giving someone my finger and waiting for the click. I start pulling my finger away. The actual giving blood part I do not mind. Lying on his couch, that is how I felt. Inching towards the wall. He got a little towel and covered my other boob and the boob he was going to tattoo’s nipple. ‘To preserve your dignity.’ Me: ‘Few years too late.’ He scrunched up some tissue and put it on top of my boob (to wipe blood as he went) (serious, who would do this to themselves?) and at THAT moment I was THIS near to being all NUUUU UHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH SEEEES YAAAAAA. Luckily I am also a coward so could not say it.
Chris: Are you ready?
Me: We will see, ay.
And he started.
….
…
…
Him: How you doing?
Me: …. Fine…..
We had a lovely chat. I made him laugh a few times (don’t make them laugh. That is an inky needle next to your person).
20 minutes later…
Him: Are you alright?
Me: … Yeh.
Him: Why did you say it like that?
Me: Because, I don’t want to be cocky or anything, or in case the real pain is just about to start when you colour it in BUT…
….
….
I feel NOTHING.
Him: Good.
Me: No. Serious. Like. Nothing. Like you are drawing with a biro maybe.
Him: I AM!
Me: ….
HIM: JOKE!
Side bar -
Me: So, do you like the colours of this rose then?
Him: Yeh, I do... Do you?
Me: Yes. Its just... so... I am slightly colour blind...
Him: OMG OMG OMG OMG ! SERIOUS? Oh! Oh! LOLZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ
Me: So, I think it is green, red and yellow but.. it is, right?
Him: HAHAHAHHHAHAHAH. Yes, dear, it is lovely.
So. It lasted about an hour. Under I would say. Was completely painless and I loved it.
Other staff did come into the room and go about their business and at one point the guy I had the chat with in the waiting room was all: ‘coffee Chris?’ and Chris was all ‘lovely thanks!’. And he walked past into the next room.
Me: Serious. Is my boob out in your kitchen?
Chris: Don’t worry. I have covered your nipple.
Me: Great. 1% covered then!
And then we both got the giggles.
Chris: Ok, so in a couple of hours wash it with a sensitive / antibacterial wash and cover it with nappy rash cream.
Me: Should I cover it with something?
Chris: No, don't keep it covered. That would be a crying shame, they are great boobs!
Me: Thanks!
Some people could say that and I would be all, inappropriate, but Chris was telling me about his partner and how he tattoos her (in those standard flowers and butterflies and ooo a unicorn! But as long as she is happy) so it was just.... nice.
We walked out to reception where Heather and the other tattooist were.
Heather: Alright? Did it hurt?
Me: Well, I feel bad saying this in front of him (other tattooist) but… yeh. Completely painless. Didn’t know he had started.
Other tattooist: Must be because I am more of an A cup and he was… like hitting bone or .. something.
So, currently, 13 hours later, I still love it. And what they say is true. It is addictive. I am already thinking of adding to it. A boob sleeve. A bleeve. TRADEMARK!
Tuesday 3 January 2012
easin in gently
This year, our Christmas tree was the one my housemate, Mouse, had kept alive from last year. Yes, it had a few dead bare branches but he is a little survivor and it seemed mean leaving him out in the cold when his purpose was to also be Christmas tree 2011.
I packed away Christmas yesterday. Took down the Christmas cards, Christmas figures, threw out the holly… and repotted the tree back outside. When we bought our tree in I was told to do it in hourly stages so he could acclimatise to the inside. That seemed mental so we bought him, covered him in tinsel and hoped for the best. Putting him back outside I did think, hmm, this MAY send him into shock. Centrally heated house and whatnot. And then I thought nahhhh. And put him outside. Today was the most rainy day I have seen for a while.
A: Just pop down to the Co-op now.
Me: POP DOWN?! Have you looked outside?! I would need a frickin ark!
…. My tree may not make Christmas 2012.
On the upside, I tidied my garden. Me and Mouse, Mouse and I, spent a lot of time in the garden last Spring / Summer. Planted some lovely herbs, grew plants from seeds, seeded the lawn, grew and ate the most delicious tomatoes… unfortunately we live with Cat who is a hoarder. The full extent of what has been happening in our garden during these wintery, weathery months was only apparent when I decided it was definitely time to compost the tomato plants. I am pretty sure they were almost compost anyway…
We have a side passage to our garden. This is where our bins are kept. And, seemingly, Steptoes second yard.
Thing I found:
The massive plastic box of dog biscuits our elderly neighbour gave us as her dog did not like them. Funny that, what with them teaminggg with moths. She sprayed them with insect killer and passed them on to us…. And…. Cat kept them. Apparently she was too embarrassed to through them away in case the neighbour found out. I had no such problem. I then used the empty box to collect and store….
Many, many paint brushes, cans of paint (giving you some idea how big this box of moths biscuits was
At least 5 broken chairs
A bucket of wet sand and a pile of firewood
An old door
2 table tops; 1 marble, 1 plastic
An old picture in a frame with broken glass
I also found a MONSTROSITY. We used to have small green food / garden waste bins, until they were replaced with massive garden waste bins, which are much more useful. Cat has an allotment. When we had the little bin it was used for unwanted food. Mouldy food. Leftovers. Garden waste. Cat said she would take this bin to the allotment and empty it in the compost bin. This was a while ago. Enough time ago for the food in the bin to have liquefied and formed a whole new world. A world of the worst smell imaginable. A world of maggots. Rot. Mould. Once I had finished heaving, I took the bin down the mud track next to our house. Far enough away that I would not smell it on the breeze and fall down dead. I tipped that mother over and ran like the wind, heaving all the way home.
I could not look at Cat for a few hours. I had to go out for some wine.
I used to watch a programme called The Life of Grime. I would come in from the late shift at work, make dinner and that is what was on tv. Nigh on every time I would wonder why I put it on whilst eating. You wonder how these peoples lives, rooms, houses end up like that. I think it just builds. I think they store something in a place and fill it up. Get overwhelmed dealing with it so shut the room instead. It doesn’t help that they choose to go out with people who have similar hoarding habits. I am pretty sure her boyfriend encourages the hoarding. This is the difference between us. Mine encourage whoreing, hers encourages the collection of old pail handles from woods to make ‘tree ornaments.’
I am very aware that I have not written in this blog for ages. Which is a shame because I read some posts about my family and they still make me laugh remembering them. It has been a year and many things have happened. My nephew was born, possibly being the most awesome. But I need to ease back into this with the little things on my mind now. Like how I am going to manage to clear a scrap yard from my garden. Anyone for a game of scrapheap challenge?!
I packed away Christmas yesterday. Took down the Christmas cards, Christmas figures, threw out the holly… and repotted the tree back outside. When we bought our tree in I was told to do it in hourly stages so he could acclimatise to the inside. That seemed mental so we bought him, covered him in tinsel and hoped for the best. Putting him back outside I did think, hmm, this MAY send him into shock. Centrally heated house and whatnot. And then I thought nahhhh. And put him outside. Today was the most rainy day I have seen for a while.
A: Just pop down to the Co-op now.
Me: POP DOWN?! Have you looked outside?! I would need a frickin ark!
…. My tree may not make Christmas 2012.
On the upside, I tidied my garden. Me and Mouse, Mouse and I, spent a lot of time in the garden last Spring / Summer. Planted some lovely herbs, grew plants from seeds, seeded the lawn, grew and ate the most delicious tomatoes… unfortunately we live with Cat who is a hoarder. The full extent of what has been happening in our garden during these wintery, weathery months was only apparent when I decided it was definitely time to compost the tomato plants. I am pretty sure they were almost compost anyway…
We have a side passage to our garden. This is where our bins are kept. And, seemingly, Steptoes second yard.
Thing I found:
The massive plastic box of dog biscuits our elderly neighbour gave us as her dog did not like them. Funny that, what with them teaminggg with moths. She sprayed them with insect killer and passed them on to us…. And…. Cat kept them. Apparently she was too embarrassed to through them away in case the neighbour found out. I had no such problem. I then used the empty box to collect and store….
Many, many paint brushes, cans of paint (giving you some idea how big this box of moths biscuits was
At least 5 broken chairs
A bucket of wet sand and a pile of firewood
An old door
2 table tops; 1 marble, 1 plastic
An old picture in a frame with broken glass
I also found a MONSTROSITY. We used to have small green food / garden waste bins, until they were replaced with massive garden waste bins, which are much more useful. Cat has an allotment. When we had the little bin it was used for unwanted food. Mouldy food. Leftovers. Garden waste. Cat said she would take this bin to the allotment and empty it in the compost bin. This was a while ago. Enough time ago for the food in the bin to have liquefied and formed a whole new world. A world of the worst smell imaginable. A world of maggots. Rot. Mould. Once I had finished heaving, I took the bin down the mud track next to our house. Far enough away that I would not smell it on the breeze and fall down dead. I tipped that mother over and ran like the wind, heaving all the way home.
I could not look at Cat for a few hours. I had to go out for some wine.
I used to watch a programme called The Life of Grime. I would come in from the late shift at work, make dinner and that is what was on tv. Nigh on every time I would wonder why I put it on whilst eating. You wonder how these peoples lives, rooms, houses end up like that. I think it just builds. I think they store something in a place and fill it up. Get overwhelmed dealing with it so shut the room instead. It doesn’t help that they choose to go out with people who have similar hoarding habits. I am pretty sure her boyfriend encourages the hoarding. This is the difference between us. Mine encourage whoreing, hers encourages the collection of old pail handles from woods to make ‘tree ornaments.’
I am very aware that I have not written in this blog for ages. Which is a shame because I read some posts about my family and they still make me laugh remembering them. It has been a year and many things have happened. My nephew was born, possibly being the most awesome. But I need to ease back into this with the little things on my mind now. Like how I am going to manage to clear a scrap yard from my garden. Anyone for a game of scrapheap challenge?!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
