• Ramblings

    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.

  • Ramblings

    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.

  • Ramblings

    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.

  • Ramblings

    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.
  • Ramblings

    2/30 – Memory Lane

    The challenge says your earliest memory.  I don’t think that really makes for a good story, so how about this one instead?

    About a million years ago, I lived by the ‘be home before dark’ world. Winter time? Don’t even bother to leave the house after school. But in the summer? You just figure out how far you can push  your luck because even though it didn’t get dark until 9, I dare the bravest of you to stay out until 9. Not with my parents. Nope. Uh uh.

    It was a small neighborhood. Fairly tight-knit. Mostly we gathered in one place and most parents knew that, including mine. (Thinking about this and laughing, I just realized that I think I can look back on the calendar and find the exact date this happened. More on why later.

    There was a get-together going on in the gathering place and I was there until I figured I had pushed my luck far enough and that I should get home. Well, you know, this was a really good gathering going on and I was pretty bummed out that I had to go home. Of course, I immediately started formulating a plan on how I could go back. It seemed simple. Just wait until my parents went to bed and go out the window. It wasn’t even hard; my window literally opened onto the ground.

    Which, yes, meant I was on ground level for bugs. Ugh! Once, when sleeping, I brushed my hand over my face because I felt a tickle. I’d say about .5 seconds later I jolted out of bed and turned on the light. Yep. Horrified. I woke up because a spider crawled across my face. (Something like a grass spider if you’re so inclined to look that up.) Better believe I didn’t go back to sleep for a while.

    Which reminded me of more bugs. Two of the walls of my bedroom were 90% underground. On one of those walls, there was an electrical outlet. The faceplate on it either wasn’t straight or wasn’t flush, for whatever reason, there was a space between the wall and the faceplate. One day I was sitting in my room and I just happened to look over to that outlet to see black ants swarming in. After I stopped freaking out, I taped that motherfucker shut. Probably didn’t sleep in my room that night.

    Back to the story at hand, I waited until they went to bed. And then I waited a little longer. When I thought I had waited long enough, as George Thorogood said, out the door I went. *guitar riff* I walked back to the gathering and continued talking and having a good time. After a while, I found my party pal over by the path to the gathering spot. We chatted a bit about nothing in general as I scanned the group. We struck up a conversation about how neither of us were supposed to be there. Not long thereafter, I saw her go pale like she had seen a ghost. She pointed and said the two words I never wanted to hear: Your. Mom.


    I knew I was dust. I started walking towards her, dejectedly. The walk home was torturous. Dead silence. Silence of a rural area when even the crickets have gone to sleep and you’re sucked into the vacuum of cold that is your mother’s anger. When we got back to the house, she followed me to my room. She told me that we were not going to tell my father about this because tomorrow was Father’s Day and we were going to the brunch buffet at Seven Springs and you are not going to ruin that for him GAWD DAMMIT!

    Got it.

    I got grounded. I’m sure it was at least two weeks. But much worse than the grounding was the fact that my mother had seen my pal there. She knew who wasn’t supposed to be there and she knew that included my pal. So in addition to being grounded, I had to call my pal’s PARENTS and rat her out. I thought surely she’d never talk to me again, but we got through it, grounded, together.

    Now see? Isn’t that a better story than remembering a straight pin being pushed through a small piece of cardboard, lighting some hash, putting a glass over the hash and letting it fill up, then sipping the smoke from under the crack you get when you lift the glass up? BWAHAHAHAHA!! OLD SCHOOL!