Sunday, April 19, 2009

When I'm nervous, I bite my lips. I don't think I have any lips left right now.

The tattoo on the sternum thing feels kinda like what I'd imagine if the dentist took that spike thing he uses to clean your teeth and then just scratched away at your chest. I didn't cry like my buddy said I would, but there were moments where I wanted to yell "JUMPING JESUS CHRIST ON A CRUTCH! STOP DOING THAT!" It didn't help that the most detail was right on the sternum. I certainly don't recall the tattoo on my leg hurting as much as this and I know for a fact that, for my first tattoo, my left leg wasn't shaking of its own accord, making me the human equivalent of Thumper. The lady giving the tattoo told me "Oh, that's just the adrenaline kicking in. Without that, this would hurt much more.", so I guess thank god for that. I did, however, get that same feeling of what the fuck am I doing five minutes into it that I got with the last one. It's kind of a feeling of regret or that I shouldn't be doing this and that I should stop, but by that time my chest read "This machine kills fasc" and stopping at that point would be pretty stupid, so sit back, close your eyes, and roll with the pain. Unfortunately, I'm less than halfway through, as we only did the outline yesterday. I'm told the next sessions, the shading followed by the coloring, will be less painful as the strokes required will be shorter. I still don't look forward to it.

The meeting the girl who I'd never met before part went okay, I thought. The shy, awkward Tommy Tumult came out to this one, which was kind of a bummer. The guy with the nappy beard made me wish I had shaved my Abe Lincoln shit off, but Boston spanked the god damned Montreal Canadiens last night. The post-derby pizza and shuffleboard was pretty much awesome, but I've got a glaring mess up that's probably not all that big, but in my head, all I hear is "you're a moron". When I was ribbing my buddy about how he should try reading War & Peace, I mistakenly said it was written by Dostoyevski. It's written by Tolstoy. She didn't call me out on it, despite being close enough to definitely have heard it. It's probably not that major of a gaffe until you realize my brother is probably majoring in Russian literature and would have body slammed me had he heard me make such a mistake(try fighting my brother sometime and you'll understand that, despite his somewhat small stature, he is wholly capable of body slamming you or taking you out with a Polish Hammer). I'm kinda hoping that she was a nervous as I was and that, if we do this again, perhaps I'll have my shit together.

said Tommy T. at 10:09 AM - #

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