In Shynes Mind

7/30 – Tatted Up

I didn’t listen to it all, but I don’t love that song. But it fit and black and yellow, you know?

It’s a tattoo post in case you somehow hadn’t calculated as much yet. The how many and they meaning was the target. I have three. These are their stories.

  1. This is my prison tattoo if I had ever been in prison. I didn’t go as far as to get a teardrop under my eye though. My first foray into getting ink was when I was 17. Yup, wasn’t even legal yet. But when your tattoo artist is a hippie dude named Horse, he’s not exactly asking for ID. I got this tattoo when I was doing a training class in Ohio for a job I had just taken. I remember sitting in my hotel room and looking up tattoo parlors and seeing which one was the closest. Yeah, that’s how I picked the place. I’m nuts.
    I really wanted to know what sort of pain I was in for, so I asked Horse to hit me with the gun one time before he started. That crazy bastard did it too. I can basically still see that point in the tattoo where he did that. It’s on my left hip, about the size of a quarter, and it’s a red heart with a sword through it. At this point, it’s almost blurry, but I won’t ever get it touched up or covered up. Memories, yo.
  2. The next time I went in for ink, I was back in PA. I remember quite clearly that I was working at Don Pablo’s. This time, I actually went to the place and talked to the artist before I sat down for ink. I knew from my first one that I could deal with the discomfort, but what I really hated was the noise of the needle. I went in with my headphones and I was ready. I don’t think I made it even past the outline before I took the headphones off. I felt like it was so rude to block out the artist. We started to talk. He laughed and said that he could tell where it hurt more (on the very edges which are sorta in towards my armpit) because I would turn up the music even louder.
    As we chatted, we laughed about the posters they had on the ceiling and life in general. I had a design that I had picked out and it had an oval in the center of the tribal band. I didn’t pay much attention to it until he was done and I saw that he took a little artistic license and created a small silhouette in the center. I remember so vividly having my arm wrapped in plastic wrap and having to put on a short-sleeved t-shirt that was still too long for my hostess shift. Even more vividly, I remember both Gerth and Pucci taking that opportunity to punch me in that arm.
    Once I was healed, a particularly gullible co-worker continually asked about the “image” in the center of my tattoo. For weeks, at least, I put him off, telling him that I didn’t want to talk about it. He kept bugging me, so he got the smartass special. I told him that when I got the ink, there was nothing in the center, BUT, I was abducted by aliens and when they brought me back, the figure was there. He ate that shit up. I don’t think I ever told him the truth.
  3. The third and last (for now) one I got when I was in Ixtapa, Mexico. Because this is what you do when you have a little free time and some spending cash when you’re a GO in Mexico. Go get tatted and/or pierced. Since people butchered my name all the time (and I was the only one who willingly worked a morning shift my first season), I picked up the moniker Sunshine. Yes, the cheese abounds and I have a sunshine tattoo. On my shoulder. I’d say a good 95% of the time, when someone saw it, they would break out in song. Sunshine. On my shoulders. Makes me happy. Yes, I got tired of hearing it. And yes, I therefore made it ignorant. They sing it and I make the statement, “Depends on which way she’s facing.” BAZINGA!

There you go, the story of my tattoos. I want one more but I have to find someone that I fully trust who is versed in written Japanese or Chinese. I have the phrase, just need a writer. And a good place to put it. Maybe on the inner forearm area.

6/30 – Different Forms

This is actually something that’s crossed my mind a few times recently. Who do I find fascinating and why? Believe it or not, it isn’t anyone famous. The people I find fascinating you can find on my friends list on Facebook. While I enjoy them all, only some fall into this category. I’m not going to name names on this one, but I think if you’re reading this and you’re one of the people I find fascinating, you’ll know.

I am fortunate enough to have friends and acquaintances who have passion. Drive. They’ve had ideas and run with them. Brought them to fruition. You guys are the ones I find fascinating. I mean, I understand that everyone isn’t gonna be at your level of awesome, but I do sometimes wonder why I’m not. You guys are parts of the awesome I wanna see in myself.

I know some of your stories and how sometimes an event happened or a person may have said to you at one point that turned your arrow due north. As crazy as my life’s been, I wonder if I had one of those moments or people but I just missed it. I mean, I’m not really good with subtleties. I’ve been hit on and never knew what the hell was going on. Probably why these days, I just say what I need to say so there’s no room for confusion.

Anywho, you guys keep doing what you do because you’re pretty damn awesome. Teach, dance, fly, create. Be you.

5/30 – Living It Up

If I could just pick up everything and move somewhere, with no concerns about money and whatnot, but it had to be somewhere I’ve never been, I’d probably go to Spain. I mean, it’s in a good location to get to so many places I would love to see. Plus, the hubby speaks Spanish so I wouldn’t have to worry about the communication part. Additionally, I have friends in Spain and the surrounding countries who I wouldn’t mind seeing again.

This almost isn’t even going to count as a blog post because it’s so short, and my phone just told me that Ted Cruz won the Wisconsin primary. This election year is the craziest shit, and yes, I mean SHIT that’s gone down in a while, no? Non? Quoi?

Y entonces, no tengo mas palabras. Adios. Au revoir. Peace, love, and chicken grease.

4/30 – Stuff you already probably know

I’m gonna be hard pressed to find ten interesting things about myself. So, I’m gonna tell you ten things about whatever comes to mind.

  1. After having a child and still having no boobs, topped with living in Miami making me feel insufficient, I got a boob job for myself for my 35th birthday. From 34A to 36D. Holla!
  2. I have lived (if I slept there for more than 2 months, I count it) in New York, New Jersey, Pennsylvania, Florida, North Carolina, Colorado, Mexico, Turks & Caicos, and Tunisia.
  3. No matter how hard I’ve tried, front splits have and continue to evade my broke ass hip ass.
  4. Table manners are so. Fucking. IMPORTANT! I’m sure this is partly because of how big of a stickler my dad was. No elbows on the table, chew with your mouth closed, and don’t talk with your mouth full. Or I’ll want to kill you.
  5. I prefer pro football to college but college basketball to pro. I know. I’m weird.
  6. *knock on wood* I’ve never had a cavity nor have I broken a bone (because a toe just doesn’t count and I’m not even sure it was broken because there was no way I was going to the hospital just to be sure it was broken when there wasn’t even anything they could do about it.
  7. Thanks to growing up country with many boys, I’m fairly car savvy. As in, I can change all of the tires, lights, fluids, filters, and in some cars, brakes. My not-so-secret dream is to own a place where pretty ladies do car maintenance. Boobs & Lubes. Ha!
  8. Ugh, this is tedious. I don’t like water where I can’t control the temperature and sure as shit not where I can’t touch the bottom. I can swim well enough to get to the side of the pool I’ve just been thrown in for sassing the fuck out of a bartender who threw me in even though I told him I couldn’t swim (he left a friend to make sure since he had to get back behind the bar). Ocean City.
  9. I am not and have never been concerned about going out alone. Dinner, movies, bar, wherever. I’ve met a ton of awesome people because I went out alone and talked to whomever didn’t look like a serial killer.
  10. I can’t dance. I can’t sing. I don’t go to church. I don’t like watermelon. I don’t have big lips. I don’t run quickly. I know what you’re thinking. I’m an asshole.

3/30 – When lips meet

Hey look! Today’s prompt is probably normal for most people, but I’m not most people and I’m certainly not normal. First kiss/first love.

Since there is no specification of whether or not that love was requited, and those would be different stories, I think I’ll pass on the first love story. To be honest, I don’t remember my first kiss. I imagine it was around the time I was 14 or so (it’s weird to be a late bloomer among older friends), but like I said, I don’t recall for sure.

But, how about I have a Tina Belcher moment and describe a first kiss full of teenage girl angst?

It’s my 14th birthday party and there are lots of people and music and a cake. And my own personal Jimmy Junior is there. I am, as I should be, the center of attention, surrounded by my worshippers friends. The party goes on for hours and I have the best time of my young life. Throughout the night, I look for my Jimmy Junior and I always see him just on the edge of the crowd. While I am having fun, I an’t help but to think about the only present I really want is my first kiss…from Jimmy Junior.

The party is winding down and people are starting to leave. I don’t know where the time has gone. I’ve danced, laughed, ate, drank – all the things one does at a party. Of course, I still am not fulfilled. There is an empty spot in my heart and on my lips. All but a handful of guests are left and I start to help to clean up. As the last of my friends leave, I feel the party was a success. I turn to get back to work and find myself face-to-face with Jimmy Junior. He takes a moment to look into my eyes before he grabs my hand and starts walking towards the door.

He walks us to a nearby bench and sits me down then takes the spot beside me. He places his hands on mine and wishes me a happy birthday. I can barely whisper out my thanks. And then, by the light of the full moon, Jimmy Junior leans in and gives me the best present ever – my first kiss.

Thank you, ladies a gentlemen! This has been a trademark violating probably Tina Belcher production!

Perhaps tomorrow will bring a better topic. πŸ™‚

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