20
Nov
09

the itch for ink

 

Getting Inked

Before anyone reads this post, understand two things;

 

One, I wrote this at 6 a.m.

Two, I’m posting this at 12:40 a.m., drunk wasted–update to follow in a few hours…

 

The itch for ink is one I have not been able to scratch off since I was a young boy. I remember thinking how cool my uncle was for having a tattoo on his forearm from his days in the Navy. Although most of the detailing smudged and faded away by time, it was a tattoo nonetheless, and from as long as I can remember I have wanted one.

 

Like most of the things I’ve wanted in my life, my family has never approved right away. From the day I came home with a cell phone at thirteen, to the day I came home with a car, at nineteen. (O.K. my dad signed the contract, and my mom paid the bill, but no one was really thrilled with the idea of me having a phone; and as for the car, I worked two jobs, for a few years to save up enough money to get lease a car.)

 

Like the phone, and car, and pretty much everything else I’ve bought or done irrationally, no one in my family would ever entertain the thought of me having a tattoo. My mom’s side of the family is Jewish, and it’s against the religion to get a tattoo, (same reason you cant get piercing; return your body to the earth the same way it came—which makes sense.)  And although I was raised Jewish, and do enjoy certain parts of the culture, rules of any religion are not something I’ve ever taken particularly seriously.

 

As for my dad’s side of the family, well most of them are still in Ireland, but I could tell you he wouldn’t approve. One of his brothers had one, and he used to tell me stories of how he hated it, and how girls would never go out with me if I had one.

 

Personally, I think if I’ve been wanting for something long enough, and it’s my body, then I should have the freedom to do what I want to it, without fear of judgment or consequence from anyone. Don’t get me wrong, while I think tattoo’s are a form of art, I don’t understand getting something that doesn’t mean something to the wearer. Granted, it may not mean something to you forever, but if its important enough, in twenty years you can look at it, and remember where you were in your life, what you held close and important to you at that point, and how much you’ve grown since that tattoo.

 

So here I go, off to Lark Street Tattoo, just a stone’s throw from my living room, and I’ll update everyone in a couple of hours.

 

New post with new picture of the finished tat coming soon…

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