Don't look, Mom!

I've wanted a tattoo since about 1993, when I skipped class in college one day to accompany my dorm-mate to the tattoo parlor off of Vine St. in the university district of Cincinnati. However, I've always been averse to needles and blood, so I wrote it off as something I would never have the courage to do. It has become a joke actually. Just going into a tattoo shop with Jason over the years has made me sick to my stomach, and I've had to retreat to the outside world that doesn't smell like rubbing alcohol and has no whirring of tattoo guns.

In 2001 my friend Jen and I went to Jason's hometown for Mardi Gras and told our co-workers we were going to get tattoos while we were gone. It was just so darned unfortunate though that we showed up when they were closed.

Over the past year or so we started selling off the kids' baby items and outgrown clothing and I've been stashing the cash.

(I'm not telling you where because then I'll need to come up with a new location).

I've been telling Jason it's my Tattoo Fund, and then we laugh, because we both know that'll be the day. But we went on vacation, and I always said if I had the opportunity to get a tattoo from Randy's (the place pictured in the photo above) that I'd do it. I always thought I'd want my tattoo on my lower back, but I decided if I was going to go through the trauma I may as well put it where people will see it. And then, on the last available day we had, we were at the store and I said to Jason "today is the day," because I knew I wouldn't do it at home. It was now or never. I decided where I wanted to put it and Jason got his mom to babysit so he could take me to the shop as soon as it opened. I still wasn't sure what it was going to be when I got there, but it came to me in a moment of clarity so we drew it up and got to work before I changed my mind.

I knew it wasn't going to go well, but I wasn't quite expecting to be leaning over the trash can within the first few minutes. A nice break, cold rag, some Sprite and smelling salts got me to the point of continuing, and after awhile I was all good with the outline. At one point I had considered just leaving the outline, but I knew if I got up I'd be upset that I didn't get it filled in. I figured since I was used to it by this point that the rest would be a piece of cake.

WRONG!

The shading was much worse than the outline. Quite frankly, I would have rather had an epidural. I ended up taking a break long enough that my tattoo guy had time to eat dinner. But when all was said and done I LOVED it!

It's my tribute to being Cajun by marriage, but in Ohio State colors. The kids' names are on it, as well as 717 which is our anniversary and also Jason's unit number. I was so excited when we left, I couldn't wait to go to our family cookout and show it off. I was even feeling so much better that I pigged out, especially enjoying a venison/jalapeno appetizer and cousin Shannon's amazing brownies and bread pudding.

I called my mom to share the news, and let's just say she was not pleased. Yeah, we'll just stick with that. But I guess that's how mom's feel sometimes.

After tipping the tattoo guy extra for putting up with my "difficulty," we still had enough money left for Jason to go get a matching tattoo the next day. Instead of Ohio State colors though, he got his shaded yellow and purple in a tiger stripe pattern for LSU. For some reason my mom doesn't seem to be upset about his 4th tattoo. Where's the love?


Typically when we go out of town we try to get a Christmas ornament from the places we visit. But I was thinking we could start a new tradition of getting tattoos instead. We're going out of town this weekend.....ha, ha, I'm so funny.