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.