Did You Miss Me?

I haven’t been here in a while… I haven’t really felt inspired to bore anyone with the details of my life.  The details haven’t been worthy of writing about anyway.

I survived Christmas.  I guess that’s a victory.  I can’t say that I wanted to, survive that is.  I’ve made a few promises to friends that if I ever feel suicidal I’ll talk to them.

Was I sincere when I made the promise? No.

I just wanted to make them feel better and promising was the easy way to move on.

That being said, I’m kinda big on promises.  I try my damnedest not to break them.

Lying in my bed on Christmas Eve, I flirted with my contingency plan, but thoughts of the promises kept surfacing, making their way up through the ocean of vodka I was trying to drown my feelings in.

First of all, would I call any of my friends on Christmas Eve (when they are happily celebrating with their friends and family) and tell them that I’m feeling suicidal?

Uuuuummmm fuck no.  I’m not a complete fuckweasel.

And offing yourself at Christmas is just too pathetic and cliché. 

So I just got drunk.  I know, my coping powers are pretty goddamn amazing.

I also got a tattoo and my hair isn’t red anymore… my mental condition can be measured by my tattoos and hair color changes… like some weird dysfunctional barometer.  It’s ok though, I love the new tattoo and the hair doesn’t look awful.

I, honestly, think that I can thank (or blame) the camera for helping me survive 2013.

Last week someone asked why I choose the subjects that I do for my photography (abandonments, specifically)… I can relate to them… they’re rejected, unloved, forgotten, ignored, not as pretty as they used to be, no longer useful, haunted… just like me.  Maybe, together, the camera and I can save a little bit of these places, for posterity… and maybe, save me in the process??

I was asked “Why did you change your hair?”  My answer “I wanted to be someone different, maybe, eventually I’ll be someone that I like.”

It just occurred to me, that this time last year, I was in Georgia… seems like a lifetime ago…

And New Year’s Eve… fuck… I find it hard to get excited about a new year… I really wish that I could though.  It’s not like a have a dance card full of party invitations anyway… maybe I’ve been spending too much time in my hermit hole.

People say “You’ve got so many things to be happy about” and they’ll go so far as to enumerate them.  Perhaps in an attempt to guilt me out of depression… I mean, that’s a proven effective method, right?  But, I’m almost glad that people don’t understand… it means they haven’t lived it.

Touch Me NOT

I have to take this opportunity to tell you all what a fantastic birthday week I’m having!!

Saturday and Monday were dinners with my family, and then Tuesday BT took me out to dinner.  J

Yes, I’m totally dorking out… but it feels good and I don’t apologize!

Tonight my girls and I are going out for sushi and sake! YAY!  I have the best girlfriends in the entire world… I’m sorry for you if you are not in our circle of trust, but I’m sure your friends are just fine.

Tomorrow night, I am laying low, in anticipation for Birthday Shenanigans on Saturday night!

Yes, I LOVE birthdays!! That being said, I’ve had some really shitty ones in the past.  I’ve had really shitty holidays of every kind, honestly.

In the past 4 years, I’ve had some lonely holidays, some drunken holidays and some nice ones… I may not like Christmas, still, but it doesn’t inspire the feelings of dread that it used to.

Saturday night will be a blending of my worlds… BT will be meeting some family and some of my friends.  They are all awesome, and he is awesome, so it should be just fine… I’m, surprisingly, not nervous about it.  I hope he isn’t.

 

Tuesday night, after our delicious dinner at Don Pablo’s, we stopped by the Village Pub for a couple of beers.  We chose the Horny Goat brews, which were quite tasty!

 

There was a guy sitting one barstool away from me, who I hadn’t noticed, until he felt the impulse to touch my arm whilst commenting about my dragonfly tattoo.  Then, he proceeded to lift the back of his own shirt to show me his tattoo on his shoulder and give me a brief lesson in his family history.

 

I’ve lamented here before, the fact that people think that it’s perfectly acceptable to touch me.  Most of those complaints were about people that I actually KNOW touching me.  I have a big problem with that, but being touched by a stranger does not play into my wheelhouse, AT ALL!

I mean what the fuck? 

Having a visible tattoo is not an invitation to fondle me.  I continue to be stunned by the people who think that it is acceptable.  Were they raised by wolves? 

Anyway, BT said “I think he likes some Trippybeth.”

I’m not sure that was the case at all… I just think the guy had a few drinks and, perhaps, left his manners in the potty.  So, I blew it off… I had much better things to focus on…

Tattooed Dating

I have been back out in the dating world for about 3 years now.  When I began this dating journey, I had 2 small tattoos.

Now I am up to 12 tattoos.  Tattoos on my wrists that are visible all of the time, tattoos on my foot, arms, shoulders and back that are visible depending on how I dress.

I am still the same girl I was, for the most part, when I only had 2 tattoos.  But in the online dating world, my tattoos give some men ideas about me that may not be accurate.

I can’t tell you how many emails start out like this “I love your tats!” I try not to read over those messages too quickly, or I could mistake “tats” for something else.  But sadly, I have gotten many emails that were more blatantly suggestive than complementing a body part.

One gentleman (I use this term in jest) sent me an email saying this “I want to fuck you”.  Usually when I get this sort of email, I delete it and move on with my life.  But before I hit the delete button, I decided to write back.  Usually, writing back to guys like this is a bad idea.  It makes them think that you are interested, but just acting coy.  But I had a question for this fellow that I just had to ask.

“Does this ever work?”

He promptly wrote back “Sometimes it does.”

I ended the correspondence at the point.  But I had to think that this guy was using the shot gun method for hooking up.  I wondered how many girls he had emailed with the “I want to fuck you” line?? All it would take is for one to say “Ok” and all of the “Nos” and deleted messages would be worth it.

I no longer felt special.

In my online profile, I have several photos that my tattoos are prominent in.  They are a big part of who I am.  If you want me, you must accept my tattoos.

I received an email from a man saying that he thought I was cute, that he thought we’d be a good match, but would I consider having my tattoos removed?

WTF????  I found that as offensive as him asking me if I’d have a nose job.  I wrote him back this line “I am not your girl.”

I get other messages like this “I love your tattoos; you look like a wild child.”  Of course this idea harkens to the stereotypes that still exist about people with tattoos.  All you have to do is Google “tattoos and risky behavior” and one would believe that people with tattoos are out there boozing, druggin and screwin everything in sight.

Some people with tattoos do participate in extreme behaviors, but so do non-tattooed people.  Most of the people I’ve known in my life that had problems with drugs or alcohol weren’t tattooed.

While I love my tattoos, I haven’t really dated many men that were tattooed.  It’s not a prerequisite for my men at all.  I am tattooed, but I don’t care if you are or not.  It’s a personal choice, which I would never try to influence.  Now, if you’ve decided that you want a tattoo, I will definitely help you find a good artist.

I get a lot of emails from guys, basically apologizing for not having any tattoos.  Which seems too needy for me, I just say that tattoos are not for everyone, I don’t judge based on your lack of ink, just as you shouldn’t judge me for the ink I possess.

I had one guy, which I formerly dated; say after reading my blog “I don’t see anything wrong with a man with no tattoos.”

I replied that I don’t see anything wrong with a man who has no tattoos either, ink or lack of ink doesn’t define a person.

I am much more than my tattoos.  This blog only represents a portion of who I am.

Well….. I must be off! I have mail!!!

My Maiden Reflection.....

I begin this blog as I am trying to substitute one obsession for another…

I am on the backside of a failed romance (he didn’t like tattoos anyway) and am embarking on a blogging journey, that will, hopefully, not be fraught with peril.

It seems that the more I become obsessed with my own tattoos, the more i notice, admire and covet tattoos on others.  I want to tell tattoo stories, the motivation for the ink…….. whether it’s simply because of the beauty of the image on their skin, as a memorial, a symbol, a reminder, to commemorate a milestone….. whatever the reason I think that it’s poetic and beautiful.

(Except for the forehead tattoos proclaiming “fuck the police” and various other images possessed by utter and complete fucktards).

So I will begin by telling my own tattoo stories.

I have had a love affair with tattoos for many years.  But didn’t have any ink deposited in my skin until 6 years ago.  My first tattoo was in the typical spot the majority of girls are tattooed, on my ankle.

I had wanted this particular tattoo for some time, wanted it as homage to my grandparents who had been deceased for 5 years.  The tattoo that I choose was a columbine.

Of course, my columbine has no relationship to Columbine High School or Klebold and Harris, the architects of that absolute shitstorm.

The columbine I had chosen is a wildflower that is prolific in the hills of Kentucky.

At the time my grandparents eloped (my grandmother left a note for her mother in a hen’s nest inside the chicken house) they were very poor.  My grandfather ventured into the woods and dug up some of the wild columbine for my grandmother to plant in her flower beds.

I vividly recall my grandmother telling me this story as a young girl.  It made me hope to, someday, have someone love me like that.  It’s the little things in life that sometimes stick with you the longest, and that story planted itself in my brain and my heart. 

That kind of love continues to elude me………….. but at least I know that it is possible.

So…… on my birthday some friends and I (friends that I did not retain custody of in the divorce) traveled to Tattoo Charlie’s of Lexington, KY http://www.tattoocharlies.com/ .

I had taken a beautiful photo of a columbine with me and the lovely and talented Charlotta (her portfolio can be found here http://www.tattoocharlies.com/html/charlotta.html) went about drawing the stencil.  I fell in love with it the moment that I saw the image on my skin. 

The actual tattoo was less painful than I had expected and was over with relatively quickly.

Here is a current photo of that tattoo that I surrendered my tattoo virginity to:

Notice the fetching scar that runs through the bottom portion of the tattoo?? 

Four years, minus four days after I got the tattoo, I had a little bicycle accident.  Take it from TrippyBeth, toe straps are fucking awesome when you’re riding………. Less than awesome when you’re wrecking.

I sustained a trimalleolar fracture of the left ankle and tore the ligaments from the bone.  But, as I lay there in the gravel immediately after I gently fell over (yes, it wasn’t even an accident story worth recanting) I tried hard to convince myself that I had only suffered a sprain…… I couldn’t have been more wrong.

So…… a plate and 7 screws later, this is what I’m left with…………. If you’re dumb (or uncoordinated) you’ve got to be tough.

I've got the dumb/uncoordinated thing down..... the tough thing, I'm struggling with.

It is actually a neat little scar, considering what lies beneath it.  My surgeon, who appeared to be about 14, was quite proud of it.  Instead of suturing the wound, he glued it to try to maintain the integrity of the tattoo.  I am very appreciative of his efforts.

I really need to get it touched up, but with the plate being palpable through my skin, I’m nervous about it (an example of my lack of toughness).  Hopefully I will muster enough courage to have it done soon, I really do love the tattoo.