I had the worst time deciding where to write this post, either here or on the happy blog, so I'll get the details out here, then have a pared down version over there. I guess it doesn't really matter.
Today, I have been reading 2 books. One is a cookbook on baking and the other is a reread of High Voltage Tattoo by Kat Von D. Hendrix was crawling around tonight with a permanent marker in his mouth, which Ididn't realize was permanent and was allowing him to do because he loves to draw and paint, so whatev! Well, now my floor in the kitchen has some pretty permanent Hendrix drawn artwork all over. And it hasn't come off. Oh, well, we didn't like the floor much anyways. Then his mouth and neck and clothes had drawings on them too. I got to thinking about tattoos on my baby after I tried to wash him up in the tub.
When I was in college, I was with a young republican boy man that I had been with since high school. he was involved with a fraternity that I hated. It wasn't that particular frat that gave me hives, just the fact that this boy man had wanted to fit in so much. I remember when he approached me about him getting a tattoo of his brotherhood, I positively FREAKED THE F OUT!! I ranted about "branding" himself and told him how disgusted I was that he was even considering it. Well, of course he got one anyway, and I had been cheating on him with a poet/bassist so I wasn't too devastated, knowing that he wasn't going to be "mine" for much longer.
My ex husband doesn't have any tattoos. He was pretty neutral to the fact of tattoos except for when I wanted to get one, which why I even needed his permission is beyond me. (And I haven't made that mistake again, b.t.w.) And then one day, he told me that he was thinking about getting a tattoo of his softball team's logo that my cousin had approached him about. Again, I was so pissed off. He wouldn't even consider a tattoo when I brought it up, but once it came from the mouth of my cousin, he was into it. I don't think I've gotten over that one, as I'm feeling pretty pissed writing this.
Now we are up to Christopher. He also has no tattoos and doesn't want any. And I love this about him. Because it is his belief in the perfection of the human form as it was meant to be, without being altered. He also doesn't have any piercings for the same reason. He has refused to be an organ donor and does not want an autopsy or cremation when the time comes because of his beliefs. But he adores my tattoos and I have gotten all of them since we have been together. He was even there for my first one, along with my brother and my sister.
My tattoos are more than precious to me. They are so personal and so lovingly created and executed that when I look at them sometimes, I tear up. I love that I have made such life altering decisions about my own body and in my mind have made my body a more true representation of myself. Clients that come in to my office that regret their tattoos inevitably tell me that there was no reason behind their choice, they were just going along with the crowd. I know that absolutely no one in the world has my same tattoos and that the only reason I chose them was for my own reasons.
I'm finding it funny that one action, in different situations and made for different reasons can make my emotions run the gamut. Ah, well