The Next Tattoo

When I got my first (and only) tattoo in 1997, the tattoo artist told me, "They're addictive - you'll be back." I wasn't sure at the time, because it hurt like hell (I'm a complete pain wimp, though, so maybe it didn't hurt as bad as I thought it hurt), but not long afterwards I knew I was hooked. I dreamed up all kinds of other designs, and for awhile everything looked like a potential tattoo. But, as noted, that was 11 years ago.

Well, I'm finally getting inked again. I don't have an appointment yet, but I have a consult set up on the 5th, at which point I have to lay down a deposit in cash, so I'll be making an appointment before I leave that consult - that's for sure. I'm both excited & nervous, because what I've got in mind is pretty big.

The idea for the first part of the new tattoo design came to me when my dad's prognosis became so grim last year. I knew he wanted to be cremated, and I'd seen some memorial tattoos done on TV (yes, I love those TLC tattoo shows) where small amounts of the ashes of the loved one are put into the ink that they do the tattoo with. I knew right then that I wanted to do that. I didn't tell my dad, because he really didn't like hearing about what he called the "maudlin" stuff people were thinking about him dying. He just wanted to live. So, I kept it to myself. And now I have a consult with a guy who, based on his portfolio, is a kickass portrait artist (no small feat with tattoos - I looked at another portfolio in town that was shockingly bad in comparison). I'd like my favorite photo of my dad, which happens to be with me on his lap when I was about three, tattooed on my left shoulder blade.

Then that got me thinking about my mom. She's still very much alive, but a few years ago she gave my brothers and I each a framed photo of herself with the words, "This is how I want to be remembered when I die." Yes, she's like that. And not in a morose way. Anyway, it's a gorgeous black & white photo of her, and as I was thinking about my dad's portrait tattoo I thought that photo of her would also make a lovely tattoo. So, I'm planning to get that on my right shoulder blade. She doesn't know, and I don't plan to tell her until I can show her. (And she doesn't read this blog, so far as I know, so no worries there.)

Portraits aren't small things - they're big. And these will be big. I want them to be big, I'm totally loving how I think they'll look. And I'm also freaking out about the pain. I know that I can stop it at any point and come back, but I'm still really nervous. Of course, for the first tattoo, my overly freaked-out self was actually a blessing in disguise - it hurt, yes... But it didn't hurt nearly as bad as I assumed it would. So maybe that's actually kind of a strategy I have here - assume the worst, so that anything better than that is a huge relief.

Anyway, I've got my consult on the 5th, to which I'll bring in the two photos in question along with my cash deposit, and I'll get to chat a bit with my artist. Yippee!

I'm really not a very good traveler sometimes

Honestly, as much as I love being in other places and experiencing different cultures, there's plenty about traveling that really just bothers me. I hate travel days, for instance, the actual days when you're moving from Point A to Point B - especially (actually, almost exclusively) when it involves air travel.

For starters, I think I kind of suck at packing, and not in the way you might expect. I'm so insanely good at cramming bits & bobs into all the nooks & crannies of my suitcases that I end up "being able" to get way more into my bags than I really need to be bringing. And what's even worse is that when I'm done packing, my first reaction is to look at my open & fully packed suitcase and think, "Wow, I'm good." It's like this beam of light shines down on the bag, and a chorus of angels comes over a loudspeaker, and I hear, "She beheld the packing job and - lo! - it was good" in a big booming voice in my head. The beam of light and chorus of angels go away as soon as I have to pick said bag off the floor and carry it up or down a flight of stairs. Then I curse myself under my breath, wishing I hadn't packed so much crap.

Problem #2 about air travel days is the airport itself. While I still get a thrill about entering an airport, knowing that I'm going to go to bed in a different place than I woke up that morning, the thrill leaves pretty quickly. Basically, as soon as I have to start stripping off my belt, shoes, coat, and any other random metal pieces of jewelry at the security gate. I've gotten better about this process, in that I no longer feel compelled to have all of my stuff ready to go onto the conveyor belt in the specified plastic bins in the oh-so-short time it takes me to get from the pile of bins to the metal detector. I used to get really freaked out that I was holding up the line behind me, but now I just tell people to go around me if I'm still fumbling with my laptop or if I've stupidly put a double-knot in my shoelaces that day. But still.

Then there's my seemingly pathological need to be at any appointment (and I'm including flights in this category) insanely early. I tend to get just about anywhere I'm supposed to be going at least 10 minutes before I really need to be there, and it can be up to an hour if I don't know the area well. On the one hand, this means that I'm almost never late for stuff, and that theoretically it gives me time in the airport to relax and not feel like I'm running to catch a flight last minute. On the other hand, however, this also means that I'm stuck in an airport for way more time than I really need to be there. And if that airport doesn't have free WiFi (*cough* SFO *cough*), then I'm also stuck paying a few bucks to turn my computer into something that'll keep me entertained for all the extra time I've ended up sticking myself with at the airport.

I used to be able to sleep on planes, and I seem to have lost that gift. So that's another problem. I find myself sitting nearly bolt upright (and that's with the seat back fully reclined, of course), staring at whatever the nearest video screen is and watching whatever's on it, no matter how horrible. I eat the often-inedible stuff they put in front of me, and I barely move - this despite usually getting my requested aisle seat. All this means I arrive at my destination bleary eyed, exhausted, disoriented, and with a really short fuse. Of course, in one of those cruel jokes likes to play, I'm usually able to sleep on the way back home - but those are the flights that are almost always at night, when I'd rather be staying awake so that I can sleep when I get into my own bed. Yeah, those are the flights when I doze off in spite of myself. Go figure.

What I'm saying here is that I'm not a very good traveler sometimes, and that I don't always like the travel part of a trip. But even with all of that, if you dangle the promise of a plane ticket in front of my nose, I'll salivate like a rabid dog. It's like in that moment I forget all the stuff I actually hate about travel, which is good, because if I didn't I might never go anywhere again.

Wow, I'm going to have to bite my own tongue for even saying that now.

Anyway, the point here is that while I'm not so bad as to be a travel writer who hates to travel (a-la "Accidental Tourist"), you can definitely add my name to what I imagine is already a long list of people who love travel but really hate travel days.

12 F*#king Years

That's the phrase my dear husband and I (affectionately) use to talk about how long we've been together. Today marks the actual 12th anniversary of our first date, in fact, and it's a date we still like to mark and acknowledge because... Well, because it's a long f*#king time. We've only been married for five years, and saying we've been together for 12 years carries more heft, I think. And while we may joke about that amount of time, we're also really proud to have been together for a dozen years and still share hopes and dreams together. We don't always think alike, but we always support each other and when the going gets rough we are able to lean on one another. It's something I try not to take for granted, and for which I feel very, very lucky.

So, happy anniversary, hubby - I'm looking forward to the next 12 f*#king years.

Cat Update

I realize I kind of left you hanging with the whole cat situation, in that the last time I wrote about Bub he wasn't eating... Well, the not-eating scare is over! It was over pretty quickly, actually. He started eating again after 5 days or so - too long for my tastes, and he lost a fair bit of weight, but he's put it all back on (and then some). His whiskers are coming in like gangbusters right now, and his tail is getting fluffier. In short, our boy's back. And we're very happy about it.

He'll need to go in for monthly checkups to get poked around the middle to make sure the tumor's not coming back, but unless they find something suspicious, that's all he'll have to do. He doesn't know it yet, but he's very happy about that, too.

Where the hell is Matt? - 2008

If you've never heard of "Where the hell is Matt?" then you've been missing out. Matt Harding started out by making his own travel videos of himself doing his dorky little dance in the places he visited, and how he's lucky enough to be sponsored to do the same thing. Yeah, while I have a cool job that I can't believe I get paid to do, this guy's got us all beat. He gets paid to travel and do a dorky dance on film.

This is his 2008 video, and if it doesn't put a gigantic grin on your face, then you might want to check your pulse and make sure you're still alive.



And do yourself a favor - go to the original video on YouTube so you can watch the video in high resolution. To see the looks on the faces of the people he's dancing with is half the fun (if not more).

Three Days in San Francisco

I'm happy to say that I've got plane tickets with my name on them, but sadly they're not for any destination in Italy. What they are for is a blogging conference I'll be attending in San Francisco next weekend - BlogHer 2008. I've never been to a blogging conference, let alone one geared toward women, so this will be interesting on a couple of fronts. I'm hoping to pick up a few new things that I can use for work, mainly related to building community on blogs and writing for online outlets as opposed to print ones. We'll see how much new knowledge I come home with.

In addition to the conference, of course, there's the social aspect of the trip - a blogging friend of mine from Milan will be there, and it'll be really fun to see her, and I've got a few other friends who live in San Francisco and who I'm hoping to see at least a little while I'm there. I'm sure it'll be one of those weekends where I'm more tired on Monday than I was on Friday, but it's all for a good reason. I hope.

Oh, and since the Italian consulate in San Francisco is the one we'll be working with to get our visas and such, I'm planning on paying them a visit at some point, too. Even if I don't have paperwork to hand in or anything to pick up, I figure it can't hurt to drop by and make myself known to them. And my Milan friend has offered to come with me and help make a good impression by speaking flawless Italian to them (that'd be her speaking flawless Italian, not me). Hey, whatever works.