Yeah, yeah, yeah… if you read yesterday’s new post, you probably came running to this (who am I kidding? I’m surprised I have anyone that reads my babbling) thinkin’ this was post #2. Sorry, it’s so not. BUT, before you get all cross-eyed, it does kinda fit in the theme and it’s a quick one.

What’s the best way to get this girl to do something? Tell me I can’t. Seriously, I have a huge history of this. I love it when someone tells me it’s impossible or I can’t and I get to turn around and say “HA!!! YOU WERE WRONG!!!” So…

First tattoo. I thought long and hard about it. I knew, even at 18, the permanency of it. It wasn’t some accessory I could just take off. It was a part of my skin, my soul exposed and brandished proudly. (This was before it was ultra “cool” by the way and the term “tramp stamp” wasn’t even remotely thought of.) I had it drawn up for months. My choice? A Japanese cartoon frog. Now hear me out.

It is still symbolic for two reasons and I still love it.

1. The cartoonyness reminds me to hold tightly to all that is amazing about being a child. Looking at life in wide-eyed wonderment, that ability to cut through all the bullshit that we learn as we grow up that taints things and see clearly through to the truth, the purity of things. And.. that ability to love undconditionally. Screw all that color, race, creed, political view, sex, sexual preference, all that stupid tagage that gets attached to everyone. I HATE (yup, not a word I really ever use) labels. Period. I am simply Natali. No more. No less.

2. I had a huge love for frogs growing up. LOVED them. Would pluck them out of the creek behind our house and try to sneak them in through the pockets of my overalls all the time. My sensei told me that the reason for this was two part. She still feels I have a very strong understanding and connection to their culture. In their culture frogs represent healing. She sees me as a great healer and therefore, it fitting that I would bond affectionately to frogs so much.

So, in my lil purse I carried this drawing around with me. One day sis and I happen to be near the Black Dragon, where she’d gotten hers a couple years before. They had a really great rep too. In we go, I lay down the drawing and ask them for a quote. He tells me $35. I’m shocked. That’s it? Sis was shocked too. I say ok. They say they have an opening right then. I totally freeze.. EEK! I just wanted to know how much! I remember- no cash. 🙂 They point out the ATM down the block. They are a touch goating at this point. The fiesty starts to come out. Down the block I go.

I come back wielding my cash, slap it down with the design and say let’s do this. Now, if you’ve gotten a tat- you know there really isn’t any way to describe the feeling of getting one. If you’ve not gotten one one, you can understand the wondering of “how bad is this really gonna hurt?”

I ask the guy “ok, what kind of pain am I looking at here.” Then they start. Yup, they. There were only 2 artists in the shop, both guys. Big, burly tattoo looking guys. I looked like a lil freakin’ cartoon character myself. (Seriously, w/ my red hair a ton of peeps at UWM called me “Pebbles”) They start going on and on “Oh, you’re going to scream and cry.” “Oh you’ll pass out.” “Oh you’ll think your leg is going to fall off.” Each one translates in my head of them saying “Oh you can’t handle this.”

Then I hear “Oh and there’s going to be so much blood.”

I snap.

I look the guy who is gonna be “my first” dead in the eyes and say “I bleed once a month mother fucker, give me the goddamn tattoo!”

My sister gasps. A wicked grin forms over the artist and he says “You, sweet child, fucking ROCK! Get your ass back here, this is going to be fun!”

I took it like a champ. When it was done, he kissed my hand, told me I’d always remember my first and that I would be back. He did my second one dirt cheap after that.

But yeah… go ahead. Tell me I “can’t.” I dare you!