I love tattoos. I love tattoos on me and I love them on other people. I believe in self-expression and freedom of expression. I have 5 tattoos (and 8 piercings), and it's about to be 6.
I got my first tattoo when I was 28 (I think, it's all very hazy back then). I got it because my band was making some head way and it seemed an appropriate time to get some ink and "join the crew" (I'll let you decipher the fine balance between peer pressure and freedom of expression...the irony is not lost on me, I assure you).
I got my second tattoo when I quit my band, and I finally got a job after a long and horrid period of unemployment. It was a job that required re-entering into the horror and servitude I had been trying to flee from when I had quit my old job. I got my third tattoo when, because of the new job, I moved to the new city 1000+ miles away from everyone I knew and loved (the city I still live in now). Part of that tattoo makes up the avatar you see on the right hand side of the page. It is my favourite I think.
I got my fourth to celebrate my divorce and some other things in my life of note at that time, things I won't relate now. I have a photo of that one somewhere from when the ink was still nice and fresh. I'll try and find it (actually it's on my old blog, the other Some Lies, and I can't find out how to get back into the fucker right now).
I got my fifth to celebrate advancing on from Postdoctoral servitude into my current position. I didn't get it when I *got* the job, but to just celebrate the first glimmer of hope appearing on the horizon. That tattoo, in delightful "cell phone self-portrait" is presented for your edification, below:
Tell you what, you try taking a photograph of your own shoulder blade in the correct orientation with a fucking cell phone and see if you can do better!
Anyway, I have recently been offered a promotion at work, and I think it's time to finish what I started back in 2008 and get the fucking shoulder pieces finished. You see, like the sailors of days of yore had swallows tattooed on their chests, I want bulldogs tattooed on my shoulders. The swallows, so legend has it, signified "sailing home", because these birds would fly out from shore and herald proximity to land. (Should help you guess where I'm from too, because this is a tradition of a certain Northern European country).
and I guess my colourful spelling gives it away too.
But I digress!
Just as the sailors of yore had swallows to guide them home, I want Bulldogs watching my back while I'm far from home (and that's the last clue you're getting). So, 18 months or so after getting the tattoo started, I am getting it finished.
Tomorrow, Friday at 2PM local time, I go under the needle.
Or I would be, but having changed jobs twice and moved offices/labs numerous times, I've gone and lost the motherfucking JPEG I made the stencil from. The closest I can find on the interchoobs right now is this...
...which is less than fucking useless because it's 1"x1", the resolution is ultra-low and it's in contrast.
Dude. Fuck. Sigh.
So now I have to look like a complete twat and call Joe, my artiste du ink, and find out if he can trace the stencil on my right shoulder so he can reproduce it on the left.
If there is a fresh post here with "tattoo" in the title this weekend, you'll know I succeeded, and there will pictures. Actualy, fuck it, even if I can't find the stencil, I'm getting a fucking tattoo tomorrow. There'll be pictures soon.
Why Lazy Stereotyping is Damaging
6 hours ago