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Sunday, Oct. 20, 2002 / 12:20 p.m. ~Yet More Ink~ As I was exiting Wal Mart last night, my bags filled with Halloween orange stuffed Oreos, Pop Secret microwave popcorn (seasoned with real Land O' Lakes butter, and salt), Halloween greeting card to send to Hermione, Ranch flavored Doritos, Echinacea capsules and Tylenol, I briefly imagined myself a prime target. A clear shot. Abdominal area clearly visible, denim shirt flapping open in the breeze created by my walking. Long, Old Navy shorts, Area One shorts, Dahlonega Film Festival shorts, freshly shaved legs, bandage covering brand new tattoo, other tattoos visible, casually, not quite jaunitly, exiting the building, while a sniper could be in the wooded barrier, the border to the parking lot, fixing me in his sight. But I'm nowhere near the D.C. area. Well, more near than say Taiwan, than Juneau, Alaska, or even Madagascar, but still. Then I imagined what it must be like to feel that way really, to really feel that I could be a target. And I came home, the news came on with 'breaking news' at 11:00, and I turned to CNN to see "The Mole"'s Anderson Cooper and some woman with Samantha Stevens' husband's name talk to 'experts', and for once I heard a criminologist, a not so bad looking one either (this is a visual medium after all) mention how we are all 'riveted' to this case because it doesn't fit the textbooks. It's not like any other. I fell asleep on the sofa watching the CNN coverage, the non-stop visual of flashing blue lights, little talking head off to the side. Today I have yet to turn on the TV, so I don't know what the latest is, if last night's Ponderosa steak house shooting is in fact linked to the Sniper attacks, but it sure seemed it, last night. I postponed shaving my legs until the last minute. I was sleeping yesterday, early afternoon, dreaming that the tattoo artist I've chosen to decorate my left leg was going to paint my car. I was outside a convention, a hotel, driving my car back and forth slowly so she could get a good look at her working area, her canvas, all the while thinking I should have cleaned it, at least, how can I get a fancy paint job when it's so dirty, I never wash it, I never clean the interior, anymore? I woke and knew I had to get to the real convention, not the car painting convention, but the Tattoo convention. I'd told her I'd see her there, and I pictured her 'waiting', sort of. Wondering, at the least. I must say that shaving cream is an unnecessary expense. If you have a nice soap and you know how to create lather it is really all you need, soapy lather. It worked great, I didn't even cut myself, and as I shaved the skin containing the last tattoo she did I realized how beautiful it really is..... without hair growing out of it. Yes, yes, yes, shaving is nice. As Mark reminded me, 'girls' do it. But we've got to get him to call a woman a woman. Past the age of 18 or so that is what we become. Women. But you know I'm no girly girl. I used to be, but I found out I can be whatever I want to be, and shaving is not a part of that person. Except now that I'm tattooed. It looks damned good, I must say. And silky smooth is how it feels, after lotion is applied, for a day. This convention was like a mini version of the last. Same size, technically, but not as many people walking about, not as many top notch artists. In fact, I looked at some 'books' and thought the artists were crap. Some of them. And the one next to my artist just sat. He painted a picture, then showed it to his pals, he was awfully proud. It was ugly, a horrific skull or something. He never tattooed anyone, the whole time I was there, some 4 1/2 hours. And I had to wait for her, now that she's got her profile in Tattoo magazine people know her. This is good, but it wasn't good for me. Again, I had to wait. One must wait casually in these situations, no huffing or puffing, no arm crossing, no foot tapping, just walk away, come back, repeat. I was still feeling out of it, physically, sort of feverish, and hours later when I yawned a large yawn I realized my ears had been really stopped up. Good thing, because it was loud! Those tattoo machines buzzing, loud rap/punk/thrash music, people, etc. And when I left the hall to sit outside in the lobby it was like walking into a smoker's den. No, that's exactly what it was. Everyone stepped out there to smoke, and it was horrible. After two hours or so she was ready, and I let her design away. Take it! Do your thing, I trust you, make it good, babe. Here she is, getting ready:  As you can see, my chair awaits, and upon it sits a paper version of what was to become my ankle band. I let her use the camera to take a couple pictures of the finished tattoo, but my ankle is so skinny, and the color balance is such that I look like a Concentration Camp victim, so I'm not posting those. That said, here is one of her tattooing me. It took about an hour and a half, I don't think two hours, somewhere around there, and it made me sleepy. I came home yawning, opening up my ears, but yawning incessantly, stopping to get some 'A+D Ointment' and the current week's Entertainment Weekly because I didn't receive it in the mail (came home and there it was in the box, one week late) at the Publix, then the Wal Mart experience, as described above, namely to purchase the Echinacea which Publix did not have, only an empty space designated. I couldn't stop the yawning.  I love getting tattooed. I love her 'book', and her flash designs. I saw some I'd love to get, other original designs of hers, but I only had the money for the one, I was only mentally prepared for the one, and I'm not sure what skin is next up as canvas, if any. We did discuss my leg though, how to connect what she's done so far, or if to connect it, and I told her my leg is hers. She says she'll think about it, and she's very interested, but I don't know when I'll see her again. I'm purposely omitting her name, and I'm not sure why I'm so paranoid, but there you go. She's terrifically talented, and as you can see, heavily tattooed herself, but it's her drawing ability, her creative ability which interests me. A lot of tattoo artists are not artists. They can execute a tattoo, place a stencil on your skin and insert ink over it, as if coloring in a coloring book, but they can't create original designs, or you wouldn't want the design they could create, if any. But she is different, she started out as an artist, started out drawing, studied at an Art Institute. And she knows color.... I loved watching her mix her colors, decide what to do next, and when she was through I asked her, "That's it? You're through?" because I wondered how she knew. But she just did. Good experience. I left immediately afterward. Yes, there were all sorts of interesting tattooed people wandering about, but there didn't seem any hope of interaction, and I was feeling out of it, as previously stated. I feel better, but I still have the cough, believe it or not. I still cough up the phlegm, partly because it feels good to do so. And as I read, it's beneficial to do so. I have things to do, mostly inside, which is good because it's gray and threatening to rain outside. I do need to drive my recyclables (the back seat of my car is full!) to the recycling center, but I'm not sure today is the day. I want to lounge about, watching movies, but my guess is the digital cable is still wonky (I called last night and the helpful CSR told me there is a 'Stage One Outage', which I just didn't get because I have cable, it's just wonky - she re-set codes and still it was wonky, but she said it should be better soon. Unh huh.)....... I left my tattoo bandaged all night, as Kate had told me to when she tattooed my other ankle in June, and I dreamed I took the bandage off this morning and it was gone, the tattoo, it faded away. In reality it is still there, a bit swollen, but it's spectacular, and it goes perfectly well with the butterfly above it on my calf. It's perfect, really. Now comes the sloughing, the ointment, then the lotion, the itching. Whee! I think I'll read some diaries now, but this monitor is a bit wonky like my cable..... I need a new monitor, a new VCR and repaired cable. Or I need a good lantern and a cozy place to sit and read. Perhaps modern technology is not all it's cracked up to be??? Nah... Cost of the War in Iraq
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