“I always look for a woman who has a tattoo. I see a woman with a tattoo, and I’m thinking, okay, here’s a gal who’s capable of making a decision she’ll regret in the future. ” ~Richard Jeni
On June 25th 2001, exactly one day after I donned a red cap and gown and played my clarinet in a formal setting for the last time at my high school graduation, I moved to Washington, DC. I say that with a tear in my eye not because I am recalling how sad I was to pack up my shit and move to a place where humidity would take you in its clammy hands and immobilize you and suppress your ability to breathe; but because I was so god damn happy to get the hell out of that place. As I recall on the outside I may have cried while crossing the Delaware Memorial Bridge but on the inside I was screaming “THANK GOD ALMIGHTY I AM FREE AT LAST”.
I was retelling the story of my Independence Day to coworkers yesterday because despite the oft-crippling fear of The Newness, I still do far better as an independent person, far away from what is most familiar to me. Which is how I lasted six full months in another country with absolutely no one I knew and a one sided grasp of the language. Meaning I could understand what was being said and was fully literate but the only thing I could respond with was “OK!” and lots of head nodding. I was a beacon of brilliance and compelling conversation.
So when I moved to DC, with my new-found freedom I did what any proper 17 year old with half a brain would do when sent 400 miles away: I procured myself a fake ID. Not just any fake ID, as you see, in New York the licenses of yore were made of a more flimsy, cardboard material. This made it easy to write and generally deface said license. With three colored pencils and a simple flick of the wrist, I turned 1983 into 1980 and was on my merry way.
(I should stop here and say that the awesomeness of this idea and patting myself on the back and being smug is called ‘foreshadowing’ and maybe one day I’ll tell you the story of what happened to that license)
And with my license I didn’t set out to start drinking, because I wasn’t much of a drinker at the time, I instead – and again – did what any FREE! 17 year old would do; I went out to get my tongue pierced. I found a tongue piercing to be cool and edgy which would in turn make me cool and edgy (I of the clarinet playing and non-drinking flavor of High School student). I could insert a very long diatribe as to the flaws in this logic but at 17 you are in your own little universe and whatever you say goes. You’re practically invincible of course and when you’re 17 and have just moved to a major city from East Bumblefuck, New York, well the world is your oyster. So you deface your body with a large needle. Again, count the flaws in this logic.
Full of adrenaline, I went to get my tongue pierced and was turned away not twenty minutes later due to a very large vein coursing it’s way smack in the middle of my tongue. I think this is why my tongue can reach the bottom of my chin, all that extra blood pumping through it. It’s also why I can tie a cherry stem quite expertly and I’m also a most excellent make-out partner. If said vein were to be nicked I could bleed to death and die and the Washington Post B section would read “17 year old girl with false ID bleeds to death after tongue piercing. Friends say she was a nice girl but such a dipshit”.
I was left dejected but I did what I do best, which is to get what I want, right when I want it. And if I can’t get exactly what I wanted in the first place, I go after the next best thing or I just obsess about it, whine, yell and scream and get it anyway. And my god, I sound like the most charming person on the planet. In lieu of the tongue piercing I decided on a tattoo. Yes! A tattoo! A tattoo would solve all of my problems. And only at 24 can you laugh hysterically at your 17 year old self at 6:30 AM because your 17 year old self was obviously missing a large part of her brain. The part of the brain that does cognitive thinking. The important part.
I walked my ass into that tattoo parlor – Jinx Proof on M Street in Georgetown, they also did my rook and tragus piercing – took out my fake ID, went to the wall of tattoos to pick out exactly what I wanted. The perfect piece that would adorn my body for all eternity. Something that would represent me for the rest of my natural life, forever and ever, amen. And I picked out a motherfucking butterfly. A Butterfly (it’s on my right ankle). An insect with wings that I have zero connection to except that I think they’re pretty. Not even pretty really, but mostly just nice to look at in passing if I happen to stop swearing and drinking and raising hell to notice that there butterfly right by my head.
Here’s a lesson; If telling your parents that you’ve defaced your body with a drawing of a bug on your ankle, start off by telling them that it’s not really that bad. Get them all worked up and worried that you’re dying or pregnant (first words out of my mother’s mouth “ARE YOU PREGNANT!?!?”) and then say, no, I got a tattoo. And then they’ll be too busy thanking God that they won’t be grandparents and/or planning your funeral anytime soon and hugging you because your stupidity will have cost them a grand total of ZERO dollars.
This all occurred seven years ago. I am far cooler and smarter now – or at least I pretend I am – and the minor pain from getting the first tattoo has long passed. I never thought I’d be one of those people who were decidedly unafraid of having needles stuck every which way. Which explains why I get a random ear piercing because I’m bored. Now with some modicum of an identity and something resembling a brain, I am a little bit more prepared and nervous-excited to get my second tattoo. I didn’t think I would get another one but over the last few weeks I’ve had the itch. And then I knew exactly what I wanted and where. It’s fun but more importantly has meaning and reminds me of where I was many years ago and thankful of where I am now. When it arrives you all will be the first to know and all I’m going to say is, no, it isn’t a damn ladybug.
24 Comments
My first tattoo was a butterfly, too. It is small and discreet and all the things that you would expect of a first tattoo.
My second tattoo is a cross with flame-y tribal-y embellishments that I drew myself and that spans the entire breadth of my lower back. It’s the tramp stamp to end all tramp stamps. Classy, right?
I’m pretty stoked to see what your second one looks like.
I just discovered your blog, thanks to Bill Braine, and am really enjoying it! I must tell you that I was born in Albany and grew up in and around it. I love your perspective. I also lived in DC for four years, another connection. I’m looking forward to reading more!!
Mr. A has a shark tattoo. A shark! Apparently, it’s a swimmer thing. But to me, it seems SO not him. And it’s HUGE. But I am not really a tattoo person, so I don’t really get it.
In high school I decided to get my ear cartilage pierced after my dad told me not to, and then show up at a family function as a way of telling him. You know cause I’m such a rebel! He gave me a side hug in front of the whole family and out of the side of his mouth while smiling he whispered, “WHAT THE HELL IS IN YOUR EAR!” I merely smiled and gave him a kiss on his cheek and walked away. I went to a private school and had to take it out about a week later because it violated our dress code. I guess I forgot about that part when I went to get it.
I can’t wait to see your tattoo!
I didn’t get a tattoo, but we both graduated in the same month! Woot!
On the day you graduated, I had been married for over a year. And was 26. I am old.
That being said, this post made my morning. Dipshit is a classic word.
I turned 18 shortly after graduation and got my ears pierced. (My mother wouldn’t give permission.) I then got more holes in my ears. And a couple of years ago I had my nose pierced. I’m thinking it may be time for the tattoo right after my 45th birthday. That’s sooner than most would like to believe.
I won’t even say what I was doing when you graduated because I am older than Angella. So now I feel ancient.
My first tattoo, at 18, was a tribal sun. Except noone knew what it was- most people thought it was a nut and bolt…awesome.
My second tattoo, at 19, was a f*&ing DRAGON. I’m not sure what possessed me, but I was convinced that I NEEDED a dragon tattoo, because I was so fierce…or something like that.
That said, I totally don’t regret either of them, they remind me of a time that I was much more spontaneous. I am currently, at 30, contemplating another one, just so I have at least one that has some meaning to me.
Within 6 months of turning 18 I had:
*moved out
*gotten my belly button pierced
*gotten my tongue pierced IN MY DORM ROOM
*gotten two tattoos.
I still don’t regret the tattoos.
I loved this post because who can’t look back at their 17 year old self and just laugh? My 17 year old self chose to lose her virginity to a moron, but hey, at least I was smart enough to use a condom! Can’t wait to see your new tattoo.
Ahh, gotta love the crazy decisions we make when we first get out into the world on our own! I definitely made some stupid ones.
I don’t have a tattoo yet, but I do know what I’ll get, if I can ever muster up the courage to get it done.
I have multiple piercings, but a tattoo freaks me out because of the permanence. We’ll see if I ever manage to get one.
The quote at the top is awesome. Can’t wait to see what you pick for tat-two (ha). Most times I forget about my little irish tramp stamp.
You’re having a bottle of vodka tattooed on yourself, aren’t you?
My first tattoo was a dragonfly on my left foot. My second tattoo was chinese characters on my back (oh the SHAME!) Both times I put a lot of thought into it and was convinced that I really, truly wanted a dragonfly and chinese characters permanently inked on my body. I think I’m ready for my third tattoo but I worry that like my first two, after the honeymoon period wears off I’ll be all “wtf?”
The first part of that story reminded me of how alike we are. I, too, have a penchant for moving to places where I know no one. I like independence, I’m not so great at keeping up social friendships, and I like to wing it. Also? The summer I spent in Sweden was all about understanding every word but not being able to respond with anything other than, “Right! So true.” In English.
oooh. can’t wait to see!
ps. i’m dying to get a tattoo…but i haven’t been able to come up with a design that screams “YOU WILL HAVE THIS FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE! AWESOME!” mostly everything screams “YOU WILL HATE THIS IN TWO YEARS”
yay! i’m getting a tattoo very soon, too. hopefully by the end of month. i’m excited to see what you get!
My first tattoo was a chinese character which allegedly means unique. Which wasn’t unique at all, because all of my other drunk friends were getting chinese character tattoos also. My first fake ID looked nothing like me, but one of my friends had an internship at the DMV and would steal the old licenses and resell them as fakes to his friends. Yeah, he’s in jail now for other crimes, but he started early, and we appreciated his work.
It’s a dolphin! On your boob! For that is the classiest tattoo that exists, and you are nothing if not classy, am I right?
My one and only tattoo is of my college mascot on my right ankle. I got it two days before my brother’s wedding, to shock my family. My mom was all “THAT IS AWESOME!” And my shockingly fuddy-duddy brother was all “why would you DEFACE YOUR BODY?”
The first thing I did after graduating, upon jetsetting to Cancun with 49 of my closest “friends” on our senior trip, was getting my belly button pierced. Yeah, not something you want to do at a dive parlor in MEXICO. I paid for the next three years, as it was constantly infected, before finally taking it out and now suffering a big gaping hole in my stomach that won’t ever close up. I ask you, why are we so stupid as teenagers?
I’m a lurker except when tattoos are discussed
I have 9 tattoos. I used to put them in discreet, easy to hide places. Now I put them out there for everyone to see. It’s amazing how even little old ladies will stop you and tell you how nice they look. People’s opinions about body art have come a long way…
I love casually mentioning I have my tragus pierced and the people who stare in polite fright and look down toward my crotchal region.
OK, and the story of my first tattoo involves my mother allowing me to get a tattoo at seventeen, because she was more OK with a tattoo than she was with a belly-button piercing. I so need to tell that story. Mostly because it is the most nonsensical story of all time, courtesy of my mom.
My husband and I have a theory that you have to get a tattoo at 18 (or 17 in your case) just to get the bad tattoo out of the way. Once you get it done, you’ve opened the door for normal, human tattoos that don’t involve a lifetime of humiliation. Oh and my first tattoo, I put on my pelvic bone. It’s a lot of “fun” watch it stretch as I enter my fifth month of pregnancy. Ugggh.