Hi, my name is Sarah and I’m a shopaholic. 

I don’t know if this is really the right definition of a shopaholic, but I think my only saving grace is that I know that I can’t afford the things I truly covet.  I long to feel the soft leathery goodness of a Coach purse in my hands.  I would love to own a beautiful pair of Christian Louboutin shoes with the trademark red soles; I long for these even though I would most likely never wear them because I’m about as graceful as a linebacker in high heels.  I drool at the thought of possessing anything with the Tiffany insignia on it, preferably draped in diamonds and a platinum setting. 

I see the finer things and realize that I will never in a million trillion years ever be in possession of them.  I refuse to go into some really serious debt for these things.  I know this, and yet…

I stalk the pages of eBay wondering if anyone would be willing to part with these treasures at some kind of discounted price.  I flip through the pages of Amazon hoping that there is a way that these beautiful baubles could be mine.  I look through Craig’s List to see if someone is going through a bad break up, rejected marriage proposal or the final purge of their possessions in the hope that someone will pay enough for them to be able to pay a bill or two while they wait for another job comes along.  I am hoping that someone else’s misfortune could benefit me in some way, shape or form.  That just feels wrong.

My desire for finer things has never put me in possession of them.  I have a small Coach clutch, but I’m pretty sure that it is fake.  The price I paid for it would tell me that this is a fact.  Yet I still treasure it deeply, because in my heart I believe that it just might be a real Coach purse.  It’s like everytime I would go to a flea market believing that I had found the Prada paradise and hit a jackpot only to realize that there is no way in hell that a real Prada purse would sell for $50, and then still have the label fall off like two hours after the purchase. 

My Amazon page is a testament to the things I would love to get my grubby little hands on.  It is filled with purses, jewelery, make up, books, movies, CD’s, video games, electronics and collectibles that I will not be able to get anytime in the near future but I still look at them online anyway.  I get emails from Amazon, eBay and Overstock.com telling me that if I liked this item then I might like this other item.  Well, of course I would but that doesn’t mean that I could afford to buy either of those things.  No matter how much it’s price has been reduced, it’s still out of the affordable price range. 

Therefore in order to absolve myself of the pain of not being able to afford designer items, I go to my Holy Lands (Ulta, Sephora, Target, etc.) and load up on things not designer but not off brand either. 

I can’t seem to make myself go cheap on my make-up.  I’ve tried, but once I found something that I loved it was too hard to go back.  Since I can no longer afford the make-up that I know and love, I squirrel it away and save it for special occasions choosing to leave the house it cheap imitation or none at all.  I continue to buy expensive nail polish for reasons that I can’t really justify other than loving the particular colors that are available.  It’s not like I’m doing my own nails so I can’t say that I’m spending more because it covers better because let’s face it, I’m going to go home after getting my nails done and add another coat of the color anyway just because I don’t think it’s dark enough or covered enough.  It’s what I do.  The worst part is, I think I only use these colors once or twice a year and that is becoming less and less due to the fact that I continue to buy more and more every year.  

I buy more anti-aging stuff than I most likely need, but I tell myself that I have nice, soft wrinkle free skin because of the serums, lotions and creams that I have been buying since I turned 25.  I have at least eight different kinds of hand and body lotions because I’m determined to find the perfect balance between silky soft and non greasy.  None of it is scented either because I’m allergic to anything with scent in it.  Yet when I got my two recent tattoos and the guy told me to use lotion after the two days of Neosporin cream, I went to my local Walgreens and I bought new lotions because I didn’t want to do anything to ruin the tattoos.  Yeah, the eight I already had at home would have been just fine. 

I hated Crocs when I first saw them.  Then I tried on and bought one pair.  Now I basically have them in every color in the rainbow.  Plus those little hole fillers to go with them.  I wasn’t able to stop at one color that would work with everything I own.  No, I had to have a color that represented my favorite football teams and my favorite colors.  Then I had to have the Jibbitz to again represent my favorite football teams, hobbies, holidays, activities, animals and of course cartoon characters.  Of course because I’m a freak like this, I couldn’t wear the shoes that are good year round so I bought the Croc sandals.  It never stops.  It’s a vicious circle.   

I still buy books when I live within comfortable walking distance of my local library (and it’s not like I don’t have the comfortable shoes to get me there).  I don’t go because I still feel anger towards the way that working in a library made me feel.  Again, my Amazon account is a testament to this reading bender that I tend to go on.  I continue to buy TV show seasons on DVD even though I didn’t particularly enjoy them when they were actually on TV.  I look at my stacks and piles and shelves lined with these things.  I read/watch them all once and then put them away never to look at them again, but because I enjoy the thrill that owning them gives me, I won’t part with them. 

I buy jewelry so often that you would think that I’m actually buying it to wear it somewhere.  I have more necklaces, earrings, watches and rings than I actually know what to do with.  Every time I buy a new one, I take the last one I was wearing and I put it away in one of my (get ready for it) eight jewelery boxes.  These items are rarely ever seen again until I’m looking at all the places where I stash jewelery and then wonder what the hell is in them.  I go through them, look at them, remember and then either trash the chains that are broken/tangled or put everything back to be forgotten about for another year. 

My shopping compulsion is a dedication to excess.  All because I love the momentary thrill that buying these items gives me.  It’s usually when I get up to the check out counter that the buyers remorse begins.  Yeah, I haven’t even bought them yet, and the remorse begins.  You think that I would take that as a sign to, I dunno, put everything back.  No, instead I stand there sweating over it and second guessing my choices.  Wondering if I should; put away the wallet because I already love the wallet that I own, or put away the big jar candle because I already have six back ups at home and only four rooms to put them in, or the pen because what am I going to do with a disposable pen when I have beautiful refillable pens waiting for me in both my purse and at home.  And then I realize that I’m next and it’s basically too late to leave the line now (no, it really isn’t) so I go ahead and make the purchases only to immediately go home and hide what I’ve done from my husband.  The idea of returning the items really never enters my mind, because that would just be too embarrassing.   By the way, those items only get hidden for like a day and then I get too excited over them again and end up showing everything to him one at a time on different days, but never ever in the same week because I can’t let him now how bad the addiction has gotten. 

It doesn’t matter if I bought every single one of those things on sale or clearance or at a closing out price.  The fact is that I bought them.  I bought something stupid and useless when I could have bought something that we really needed.  Even telling myself that I bought the stuff that we needed before I bought stupid and useless first doesn’t relieve the guilt that I feel for buying the items in the first place.  The fact that I get a rush when I go grocery shopping with my husband and knowing that I snuck in something that’s just for me, is enough.  I stand there at the check out with him none the wiser while I sweat over whether or not he’s going to see my humidity resistant hair spray (um, yeah right) and say anything about it and when he doesn’t, I feel the rush. 

I guess I should be happy that this isn’t a drug addiction or alcohol addiction, but still…

So I guess what I’m trying to say is, what gets your heart racing?

I love my husband, I really do.  This whole post will be a testament to how much.  With that said let me say that the trick that you can unlock a car door over a couple of cell phones if it has one of those door unlock things*, is bullshit! 

My husband works nights and he works in areas that are not close to home at the moment.  He fixes ATM’s, and until next week he tends to work in an area that is at the closest forty-five minutes away, and at the furthest about two hours away.  This really had no effect on me until tonight. 

Tonight my husband called me at 8:00pm.  He had locked his keys in his car, again.  The first time it happened he was half an hour away and he was in my car.  This time it happened with his car.  When he told me, before I even started doing anything I tried the trick I had heard about.  I pressed the button on my end while holding it up to my cell phone and he put his cell phone on his end up to the door lock.  Nada.  We tried again, zilch.

Crap, that means I have to drive to him.  He’s an hour away, if the traffic is good.  How bad can it be at 8:00 at night on a Monday?  Well, Chicago roads are under construction year round.  The roads are always constantly indefinitely being worked on.  I was stuck in a mini traffic jam at 9:00 pm for about half an hour.  Meanwhile my husband is calling me and asking where I am.  Of course I’m only getting upset and frustrated (really a person with road rage stuck in traffic at night is like hell) and the whole time I’m still holding the damned door unlock thingy up to the cell phone and insisting that he hold the phone up to the car hoping like hell that it will magically work, zip.

Despite the frustration at not being able to unlock the doors over the phone, I was actually happy to go to him and get him back into his car.  It made me feel useful, at least for the day.  I was excited.  He told me I needed to bring him his spare keys and I jumped right up.  When I wasn’t able to do it over the phone I was happy to have the opportunity to go out and do something useful.  I hadn’t been out all day and even the idea of driving an hour out of my way didn’t sway me enough to not want to do it.  Since I haven’t been the sole driver lately, when I get the chance to make a road trip I kind of enjoy it.  I have a GPS (don’t worry, I’m getting to that) and an iPod, so I’m good.  Usually.

The problem with the GPS was that it didn’t have the address of where my husband was located.  So despite the fact that I have a device created to keep me from getting lost, I got lost.  Oh yeah.  I got lost with a map right in front of me.  I’m directionally retarded to begin with, which is why I got the GPS, and when it can’t find the location of where I’m going the trip starts to feel a little bit hopeless.  Of course this means I keep calling my husband and asking him where the hell he is and how the hell I’m supposed to get there.  He manages to help me, even with me yelling at him and blaming the whole situation on him.  To make matters worse, I ended up going an additional 10 miles out of my way to get to him.  Yup, I was in a good mood. 

These are all personal problems that I had the power to change.  The things I don’t have the power to change are the fucktards who keep riding my ass.  I was speeding, people on my ass.  I was going under the speed limit and instead of going around me in the three other available lanes, they were on my ass.  It got to the point where I couldn’t see the headlights of the people who were riding my ass so closely.  It crossed my mind to break check these asshats but since I was nowhere near home and already in a pissy mood I didn’t think that it would be a good idea to intentionally cause an accident.  Instead I chose to roll down my windows and scream to the buttholes who had previously been tailing me so closely that “they weren’t a tattoo so there was no fucking reason that they should be that close to my rear end!”

By the time I made it to my husband he must have seen the crazy around my eyes and decided that I had done my wifely duty by pulling into the parking lot while simultaneously unlocking his car.  I stuck around long enough to make sure that the car started since it took me so long to get to him and the whole time his interior lights and hazard light were on.  Once I saw that he was in the car and safely moving, I headed back home. 

Two hours of driving + thirty seconds of doing something helpful= one pissed off bitch.  Figure in the cost of the gas, and not only am I pissed off but I’m one step away from needing to be institutionalized.  I find it sad that it took me a little less than half the time that it took me to get to my husband to get back home.  Two hours there, forty five minutes back.  Plus the fact that I’m so wired right now that I most likely won’t be tired until 2:00 am. 

To top the whole experience off, I have to be up and ready before 9:00 am because the maintenance men are coming to fix my air conditioners that broke over the weekend. 

So, how are y’all doing?

*You know what I mean, right?  It’s that alarm thingy.  You can lock, unlock, pop the trunk and make the horn beep so that you can find your car in a parking lot with it.  My car isn’t cool so it doesn’t have one of these things.  My car is totally manual except for the transmission, and that was the way I liked it when I got it, not so much anymore. 

I was looking through my search terms again, and all I can say is WTF????

Let me show you what’s going on with my search terms.  It’s really crazy and a little bit weird.  I’m going to list these in no particular order, mostly so you guys can see things the way that I saw them as I was looking at them.

In friendship person does not want respect:  Strange, I believe I actually did a whole post about wanting respect in my friendships. 

Car ding husband angry:  First off, he would have no right to be angry if I dinged my car because it is my car.  I have no right to be angry if he dings his car because it is his car.  I don’t know what post I did to end up with this search term, but whatever.

Cat ignoring me:  This is the joy of owning a cat.  They will ignore you until they want you to pay attention to them.  You have no choice but to accept this fate because by owning a cat, you have become it’s bitch.

Tori Spelling:  Because MTAE (read him, he is funny and thoughtful and I’m sure everyone will enjoy what he has to say) pointed out that I am a stalker (ok, not on his post, but he still said that I’m a stalker), I like to believe that Tori Spelling herself entered this search term to see what people were saying about her and/or her book.  I hope she liked what she saw on my blog.  Hi Tori!  I loved your book!

Things to do in traffic:  I get this one.  I like that people see that every time they want to know what to do when stuck in traffic.  I still get a kick out of it.

Chicago library employment:  I get it.  A word to the wise though, be really sure that this is what you want to do with your life, because otherwise it will suck your soul out through your ears.

I’m having so much fun I could just shit:  Weird.  This is one of those terms that I don’t think that I’ve ever used.  I’m willing to admit that I may be wrong though.

Red headed Catwoman:  I wish!  Sadly it’s so far from the real truth that the only part of that search term that is really true is that I’m a red head.

My husbands friends gang banged me:  Ok, this is the one where my head almost exploded.  How the fuck did this end up in my search terms?  Nothing, I cannot emphasize this point enough, Nothing like this has ever happend to me.  I’m really truely sorry if I’ve ever mislead anyone into believing that I have been gang banged let alone by my husbands friends.  I’m sorry if this makes my life seem boring, but whatever.  I’m willing to hold onto my integrity to state one more time, with my hand to God, I have never been involved in a gang bang.  Fucking perverts.

If I don’t have caller ID how do I know who called:  Freakin’ asshats, either invest in caller ID, get an answering machine/voicemail, or answer the damned phone.  If you don’t want to answer your phone than your problems go beyond the need for caller ID.  Get the answering machine, if it’s important than they will leave a message.  If you really need to know but don’t want to invest in any of those things, *69 works well.

101 things in 1001 days gang bang:  Again with the gang bangs.  What kind of impression are people getting of me for cryin’ out loud??  I was thinking I needed to start talking about my sex life more just to get the search terms, but suddenly I’m terrified.  Let me state one more time for the record, I HAVE NEVER BEEN INVOLVED IN A GANG BANG!!!

How should a store clerk dress:  Well, I guess that depends on what kind of store you work at.  I’ve discovered though that employers, again depending on the place of employment, like some kind of top and some kind of bottom.  When in doubt a polo and a pair of khakis are fool proof.

Ok, so there it is.  Apparently I’m getting quite the variety out there.  There were a few about tattoos, but those didn’t seem important or weird enough to share.  There was one about someones tattoo throbbing after it was done.  Let me just say, that will happen.  There are needles rapidly injecting ink into your skin.  And from what I saw the last few times I’ve been to get tattoos, there is a single needle to do the outline and three needles to do the coloring.  This is bound to sting a little bit.  If you aren’t able to handle the pain, than you probably shouldn’t be getting a tattoo.  Sorry, but it’s true and I’m all about the truth lately.

Edit:  I couldn’t take the wondering where the hell the gang bang thing came from so I went to the handy dandy Google site and did an advanced search for the words “gang bang” on sarahik.wordpress.com.  It’s because of that book Snuff that I had read.  Once I saw the title of the post I realized what it was, and I feel a lot better now that I know that I didn’t put something up about me being involved in a gang bang that I didn’t recall happening.  I always knew either Chuck Palahniuk or Brett Easton Ellis would one day cause my to question either my memory or my sanity, I just didn’t expect the day to come so soon.

I’m kinda in a rush right now because there is supposedly a big storm coming and I have a million errands to run before that happens.  I will definitely be back later on to read what is happening with everyone else as it seems that I sign on just long enough lately to post something stupid and useless about myself and then go back to my little existence.

The thing is that I just managed to read two books in two days.  Considering I read like four last week I realize that this isn’t a huge stretch or anything.  Clearly I can do it, but I think I’ve just gotten luckily lately because I have been reading some of my favorite authors.  The thing so amazing about the two books I just read was a) they were new authors (to me anyway) and b) both were pretty much memoirs which I tend to find incredibly boring unless they chronicle someones drug or alcohol abuse.  Nothing perks me up quite like a good old fashioned heroin overdose or liver failure.  Yes, I know I’m sick.

The first book was the Tori Spelling book.  Stori Telling was incredibly well written and kind of heart warming.  Now, I always knew deep down somewhere that Tori Spelling wasn’t the spoiled little rich girl that the tabloids made her out to be.  Part of me thinks she may have been hiding it a little for the book, but after watching the show and reading this book I kind of don’t think so.  She seems genuinely happy about little things that would make us (read normal people) happy.  Like buying a house.  Granted she’s buying one in what appears to be Beverly Hills, but buying a house is simply buying a house.  Considering according to her memoir she has never actually owned her own home before, I’m pretty excited for her.  Well, her and her husband already own the house at this point, but on the show they just bought it.  I’m happy for them.  I cried a little whenever she talked about the relationship between her and her mom.  I don’t have the volatile kind of relationship with my mom that she does and it makes me sad.  I wish for her and her family that she could have that kind of relationship, simply because she wants it.  Anyway, it’s a really excellent book and I highly recommend it to anyone who may have been on the fence about it.

The second book was Bright Lights, Big Ass by Jen Lancaster.  I didn’t get to read her first book yet (Bitter is the new Black) because the Barnes & Noble website lied.  It’s not their fault, they told me to call ahead to make sure it was in stock, but I ignored the advice.  Anyway, I bought the second and third book by her simply because what I read online was too funny to pass up.  What was available online was a drop in the pond to how funny she is.  I was laughing so hard that I almost peed my pants.  I was laughing so hard that I snorted.  Whenever I think of something funny that she wrote, I still end up in fits of giggles.  It is that funny.  She writes the way that I think.  She is funny and sarcastic.  I absolutely love her.  I want to write to her and tell her that we need to be friends just because I think we would get along fantastically.  I will never utter the words Number one fan (thanks Stephen King, if you don’t understand that you either need to read or watch Misery.  Be warned though that there is a scene in the book that is totally different from the scene from the movie) but I would put myself up there.  Luckily my desire not to become a stalker keeps me from emailing such things to her.  I just kind of hope that she reads this (cmon Google, do your thing) and agrees.  I know she won’t, but we both live in the same state and I’m only a half hour away from the city, so fingers crossed.

So, the book is about her quest for employment after the writing of her first memoir.  She tells about life with her husband, pets and (stupid) neighbors.  I love it.  I absolutely adore the way she writes and talks (writes) about her life and what happend to her after she lost her high powered job.  I will be going out and buying the first book as soon as I get a chance.  I so highly recommend this book that I’m out of words to describe how good it is.  I can’t wait to read the next one, but in the interest of pacing myself I will read more chick lit in between.

Sorry, went into hiding after the last tattoo.  I was so busy admiring it’s beauty that I forgot about the world that lives on my computer.

Ok that is complete bull but it makes me feel better so I’m going to go with it.  I really have nothing constructive to post at this time so I’m just going to do a bunch of meaningless little update things.

The lizard returneth:  My arm tattoo healed beautifully, but my leg has taken on that lizard quality.  Not to mention the fuzzy kitten quality.  It’s still to raw to shave even though I’m starting to think that shaving it might rid it of some of it’s lizardness.  It itches like hell too, but as Toaist once said, I’m not sure if it’s because of the tattoo or the hair growing in on my leg.  My husband has taken to petting my leg when we are sitting next to each other while saying “good kitty.”  F**king smart ass.

Dumb move of the day:  My dad and my step mother know that the quickest way to my heart is by giving me the gift of books.  Twice a year I receive a Barnes & Noble gift card; Christmas and my birthday (luckily they are six months apart from each other) for $250 a pop.  These tend to last until the next fix arrives, sometimes there is a gap if I don’t pace myself but for the most part I’m good.  Usually I go online and buy the books that I have heard about or noticed from random browsing.  This keeps me from going overboard.  Today I decided that I needed to go to the actual store for my fix.  Upon arriving at the B&N, I was putting my keys and phone back in my purse and discovered…no wallet.  I got really freakin lucky because I was speeding the whole ten miles from my home to the store.  Would have been bad if I had been busted.  I don’t think any amount of cleavage would have gotten me out of that one.  Luckily my husband had still been home when I left and had to kind of go the direction of the area that I was in in order to get to his job.  He brought me my wallet, and I was humbled on my drive home.  It also helps that I had books with me, these tend to tame the savage beast.  For my husbands efforts, I bought a book for him.

Why it’s good that my husband works nights, at least for one week of every month:  Due to the surprise arrival of the crimson tide, I have absolutely no interest in real food.  The nice people at Target are aware of this too since my shopping cart was filled with toilet paper, female hygiene products, chocolate, puffy Cheetos, chocolate and more chocolate.  I have absolutely no interest in making any of the nice healthy things that I bought at the grocery store last week and will instead enjoy my dinner of Cheetos and chocolate.  If my husband were here, I can assure you that he would be fending for himself this week and also hiding from me in another room.

Red, white and Blues:  Every year I go to a parade and fireworks show with my girlfriend and her family.  It’s always fun because who doesn’t love a good local parade?  The fireworks show this year was absolutely spectacular.  My husband was with me and I was having a good time.  Now, like I said it was my girlfriend and her family.  I turned around at one point to ask my girlfriends sister a question (she is also pregnant, actually four days apart from my girlfriend) and noticed that my ex and his wife were also there.  There is a very long story involved with why he was there and I promise that one day I will write about it, but this night was awkward and suddenly very uncomfortable for me and my husband.  My husband mostly because he wanted to bring physical harm upon my ex.  That night shook me up so badly that I didn’t want to go to my girlfriends family party the next day (the fourth) because I was afraid that it would happen again, only my ex wouldn’t be there with me.  My girlfriend was too tired and too pregnant to  keep insisting , and I ended up sitting at home all night watching fireworks from my balcony.

A book a day:  Ok, it wasn’t a book a day but I did manage to read four within a week.  It was mostly Chick lit so I therefore have nothing to really recommend unless you like this kind of thing.  In no particular order:

1. This Charming Man by Marian Keyes:  I was able to relate to this book.  It’s basically about four women who were all involved with the same man.  I don’t want to blow the whole thing, but it involves domestic violence.  It was really good and I was kind of (ok, remember it’s the week of cheetos and chocolate) sad.  I was crying at the end, but that was because it was a nice tidy ending.  Marian Keyes is one of my favorite authors.  She has the right amount of humor and seriousness.  I highly recommend this book and for that matter all of her books.
2. The Beach House by Jane Green:  She is also one of my favorite authors.  This book is about a woman who opens her house to a group of people for the summer.  I must really have an issue with summerzing books because I can’t think of a way to describe this book without blowing the plot and the ending.  Regardless, it was a good book.  I had a hard time putting it down, but at times I had a hard time picking it up too.  It was a little slow and hard to read at times. 
3. Snuff by Chuck Palahniuk:  Um yeah, it’s about porn basically.  There isn’t any real sex, but it’s about a porn queen who is ready to retire so she sets up a 600 guy gang bang.  You don’t actually read about the sex acts, it’s more about a few of the guys who are awaiting their turn.  Keeping in mind that this is the guy who wrote Fight Club, it was a good book.  Weird as hell, but good.  I managed to read this one in about a day.  It was light and had short chapters.  If you can handle weird and at times a little bit graphic, then this is a good book.
4. Don’t Hex with Texas by Shanna Swendson:  I’m really ashamed of this one.  I loved it, but it is so obviously Chick Lit that I’m a little bit embarrassed.  It’s book four of a series, and it’s predictable and mushy.  Yet despite all of it’s flaws, I love it.  These are easy to follow and quick to read.  Good for vacation reading.

I just started reading Stori Telling by Tori Spelling and I’m already enjoying it.  I have been a fan of Tori Spelling for awhile.  She tends to be such a bad actor that I love her.  I watch her show on Oxygen because I genuinely like her and I think when someone has their own reality show then it should be watched.  I do tend to ignore what I see in tabloids about her, but how do you ignore anything that has the name Spelling involved in it?

I crack myself up with that title.  It seemed so clever in my mind, but when I see it in print I’m not so sure. 

I’m home from getting the new tattoo, and my leg hurts like hell.  I don’t know what is going on that this one hurt so badly, but I kinda want to cut my leg off at the knee.  On the bright side though, it looks fucking awesome! 

The original tattoo was done when I was 18 and a friend had just passed away from Leukemia.  I had also just found out that my parents were getting divorced and I was angry, really angry.  Neither parent wanted me to get the tattoo, but I did it anyway.  Did I mention that I was angry?  Fast forward twelve years later and while my mom is mentioning that out of all of my tattoos only the first one still makes her angry.  I told her the next time I had enough money that I would gladly go and get it covered up.  I walked out of that house with a check for $200 to go and get the ugly tattoo covered up. 

When I went to the tattoo shop to talk to my guy (yup, I have a guy now) I told him that I thought maybe a flower would work.  Flowers tend to have enough detail to cover up writing, and writing is what I had.  I left him on Saturday evening to draw up something, with the promise that I would be back on Monday afternoon (the shop is closed on Sunday’s). 

Well without further ado, I present you with the before and after:

I took the first picture, in case you couldn’t tell.  My tattoo guy took the second picture.  I did declare my love for him when I saw what he did.  He made a face like it’s something he hears all the time.  The whole thing hurts like hell.  Even now, two hours after it’s done, my leg is still throbbing.  I can’t believe how much this tattoo hurt.  The outline hurt, the coloring in hurt…it just hurt like hell.   I was a trooper though, I didn’t whine about it once.  I’m not really dumb enough to whine about it since I volunteered to have this done to me, not once but twice. 

I mean look at that, you can’t see any remnants of the original.  How cool is that?  Trust me you can’t see it when your live and in person either.  I’m just so glad that I’m never going to have to look at that ugly tattoo ever again.  I love, love, love my new tattoo(s). 

I guess I can safely say that with two new tattoos within one week of each other, I’m definately back to my old self again. 

Twelve years ago, I made a mistake.  I got a tattoo that I shouldn’t have gotten.  I got it to piss my mother and father off.  They had just told me that they were getting divorce, and while I was relieved I was also angry as hell at both of them.  So when I found a tattoo shop in another county where you only had to be 18 to get tattooed, I did it.  It got the reaction that I had been hoping for, they were pissed.  My mom was so mad that she didn’t talk to me for like a month. 

My mom saw my new tattoo the other day.  She doesn’t love it, but she doesn’t hate it either.  She makes the mistake of taking my tattoos personally.  She thinks that it’s about her when it so clearly isn’t.  I love her to death, but for the love of all that is good and holy, it’s not about her.  I seem to have strayed from my initial topic.  As I was saying, she saw the new tattoo and doesn’t hate it.  We started talking about all my tattoos and she told me that the one on my leg is the one that pisses her off the most.  Ok fine, I can understand that.  Hell, I regretted that one about 2 years after I got it.  I started wearing jeans in the hottest of weather and when I had to dress up I would pick long dresses so that no one would see that ugly ass, jail house looking tattoo. 

When I told her that the next time I came into $200 or more, I would happily cover that one up.  Here’s the part that still shocks me, she wrote me a check for $200.  She then proceeded to push me out the door so that I could go to the shop and have the guy draw something up for me, while she was telling me that if it went over to tell her so that she could write me another check for the difference.  Well, when someone is making that kind of offer to help you get rid of a source of tension from twelve years ago, you do it. 

I must admit that the guys in the shop looked at me a little funny when I walked back in their doors less than a week after getting a tattoo.  But they seem totally willing to take my money in exchange for giving me another tattoo.  The guy looked at my birthday one which seems to be taking on a bit of a lizard quality, but healing nicely anyway, aside from the itchiness taking over. 

So yeah, lucky girl will have two new tattoos in less than a weeks time.  Don’t worry (as if you guys would) I’ll post pictures…as soon as I figure out how the hell I’m supposed to take a picture of my own leg…

For the record, I’m working on my six words tag.  I find it difficult to define myself and my life in six words.  Tattoos on the other hand, easy.  I just wanted it to be known, that I’m not ignoring the tag that Toaist threw at me, I’m just having issues with it.

That is what my Grandma said to me when I made the mistake of whining about turning 30.  You think I would know better than to whine about 30 to an 83 year old woman.  Turning 30 is better than being dead.  I guess I still have lot of learning to do.

The birthday was, well, it was actually good.  I’m surprised because of all the crying I did about it beforehand.  I honestly believed that I wouldn’t be capable of doing anything today because I would be mourning the loss of my 20’s.  I guess I didn’t

My husband ended up working two overtime shifts today so I really didn’t see him at all, and while I am sad disappointed about it I don’t think that I will be when he receives the paycheck that all of this overtime is on.  Besides, I was barely even home so it wouldn’t have even mattered if he had only worked one overtime shift.  I’m babbling now. 

I ended up going over to my girlfriends house and asked her husband to try to fix either my door lock on  my car or my radio.  Both have been non-functional for over a year.  Her husband was only able to fix the door lock but he thinks he could probably fix the radio after he talks to a friend of his who actually installs stereos.

My girlfriend went with me to get my new tattoo.  This is the first time that I have ever had a tattoo specifically designed for me.  Usually I go into a shop and pick a piece of Flash off the walls or out of a book and have slight alterations made so that it doesn’t look like Flash.  I had gone into the shop on Monday afternoon to talk to someone about what I wanted and how I wanted to blend it into the tattoo that I already had on my arm.  In case you couldn’t tell, I really put thought into this one.  The guy looked at my already existing tattoo (a butterfly that I got when I turned 21) and told me he would touch it up and blend the new tattoo in with it so that it all flowed together.  I’m loving the outcome. 

It’s a little red, and a lot swollen.  Doing the butterfly hurt like hell because of the scar tissue, but if you had seen it before you would think that it was a completely different tattoo.  I absolutely love the way the stars came out.  The big one is a black and green nautical star and the smaller stars are multi-colored.  The guy did some pink to show motion.  I’ll post some more pictures once it’s healed and the colors are all set and everything.  I feel really good about this, but am worried that my mom will use this as an excuse to disown me.  Then again, if she can look at it as a whole instead of two separate pieces than I think I can fool her for awhile. 

The guy who did my tattoo was a little sick and twisted, but in a really good way.  He may have found it slightly unnerving that I didn’t whine or cry at all about the pain while he was doing the tattoo.  Apparently a lot of girls that he’s done work on need to keep taking breaks because they have no pain threshold.  I definitely like the work he did.  He even gave me a fun little nickname (Kitten) and shamelessly flirted with me.  He did have a kind of weird preoccupation with his wiener, but I naturally assume that most men do.  His wiener talk isn’t enough to keep from going back there though.  It takes a lot more than a guy talking about his member to embarrass or offend me.  Plus the proximity of this place to my home is wonderful, I could walk there if I felt so inclined.  The prices didn’t hurt either.  

In all I spent $200 for this experience.  I think that my new found happiness is totally worth the $200.   After the tattoo experience my girlfriend and I went on our bi-annual trip to Olive Garden for dinner (her birthday in January and mine obviously in June). 

So as we can see, it was a good day. 

Every time I hit a milestone birthday, I do something to myself.  Not like fall down a flight of stairs something, but I either pierce something or tattoo something.  This year is the tattoo. 

I’ve been itching for a new one for awhile now, and if my mom is reading this right now than it’s highly likely that she is crying.  If my Grandma were to see this, she would be disappointed that this is what the birthday money she sent me was going to.  I’m sorry to both of you, but this is something I need to do. 

When I was turning 29, I quit my job.  The longest holding job that I have ever had.  Being there for seven years felt like a victory and like a gauntlet every day.  I realize that this is what real life is all about, but it shouldn’t be the reason that you change yourself, and not for the better.  I turned myself into someone that everyone in a library expects you to be, and the worst part is that I did it to myself on the inside.  I changed who I was inside which is most likely the biggest crime one can commit to themselves.  To change who you are will hurt you everyday.  A voice in your head will always ask “is this who you really want to be?” 

I changed who I was on the outside because I couldn’t stand that I wasn’t myself inside anymore.  I wanted to look on the outside who I used to be inside.  Does any of this make sense? 

Let me try to explain. 

I used to be the hard rocking, punk style, goth girl.  While I wasn’t known for getting into trouble, I was always able to find it.  I didn’t relish the idea of openly breaking the law, and no matter what my mother thinks, I was never influenced by my friends.  If I got into trouble, it was me and me alone who got me there.  My friends, while some of them are utterly useless and non-supportive, are mostly good people who would not even dream of dragging me down in their problems.  We were good like that.  We never intended to involve anyone who didn’t need to be involved.  Therefore when my girlfriends started to find out what my ex had done to me, they were livid and perhaps rightly so.  I was essentially letting a guy continually hurt me, and I wasn’t calling out for help because I had gotten myself into the situation and come hell or high water I was going to get myself out.  I felt no reason to bring them into the situation and make a bad guy of anyone.  When my ex and I did finally break up I was able to retain my friends because no one had to be involved.  No one was choosing sides.  It made sense at the time. 

As I grew older (ha!) I toned down this look that required mass amounts of make up because I discovered I didn’t need that much anymore.  I changed my look.  I grew out my red hair and went back to my boring brown.  I toned down all the bright colors that I had used to hide bruises and cuts, and was able to go to more earthy tones.  It should be noted that I found these colors incredibly boring.  I covered up my tattoos and removed my piercings.  I felt I was evolving beyond all of that at 21 years old.  I was an idiot. 

Next came working at the library.  It was fine, at first.  Then the day came when they told me that if I didn’t change some things about myself than I would be out of a job.  I took this threat seriously and didn’t see it for what it was until about five years later.  I changed who I was.  I changed my attitude, which most likely did need a little toning down.  I became quieter, even more so than I had been before.  I became withdrawn.  When I did go out with my friends I felt like the old fuddy duddy because I (at 21 mind you) didn’t want to drink because I had to go to work the next day.  I didn’t stay out all night because I needed to be pleasant when working with people the next day.  I don’t think my now husband realized what was happening then because he was so busy with work.  He did realize it slowly over the years when I became so withdrawn that the idea of having sex mentally exhausted me to the point where I would break down into tears and ask what had happened to me?  Where was I?  Where the fuck did I go?!

And then it dawned on me.  It happened because the first guy I ever loved, died.  He died at 29 years old.  I felt the world slip out from under my feet, and I actually for the first time ever, felt my heart really break.  I was a zombie for about a month.  I had to explain the whole thing to my husband and reassure him that if were to happen to him that I’m positive I would feel the same way.  The mere thought of it happening to my husband actually puts me into a panic attack, because I honestly don’t believe I could go through that pain twice in one lifetime.  At the end of the month though, I went to my hairdresser and had her cut off my long manageable (easier to put up to keep out of the face, think librarian bun) brown hair, and make it red.  I took my shoulder length hair and went chin length.  I put all my ear piercings back in, got some of my removed piercings repierced and let the tattoos show.  I looked like me again, if only I could feel like me.  So, I quit my job. 

For the first time in over a year, I feel like me again.  I go out with friends and I laugh and occassionally drink, maybe a little too much but I know  my limit and I’m never the driver.  I proudly wear who I am on my sleeve.  I enjoy my music, I wear bright eyeshadow and lipstick again, I proudly show a cop my cleavage to get out of a ticket and I’m just so happy.  Okay, yes I still occassionally cry but I don’t cry anywhere near as much as I used to.  Therefore, I’m going to celebrate this victory with a new tattoo.  I got a butterfly when I turned 21 and at 30 I want to get a nautical star.  I know someone out there is going to explain what a nautical star actually means, and I will gladly listen to you.  Although, to me a nautical star means that I will always, come hell or high water, be able to find a way back to myself.   

I’m turning 30 in a little less than a week now.  I’m not going to go on and on about how hard it’s been for me, because let’s face it, my problems are petty when compared to the problems of others.  Let me just say, that I would be much happier if this was 31 instead of 30 because at least then I would be over this daunting hump.

Anyway, my husband is a good guy who listens to me when I really wish he wouldn’t.

My sister in law (his sister) also turned 30 this year, back in February.  Her husband had thrown her a surprise party for this occasion.  I was jealous because the last time I had a birthday party I think I was turning one or two.  My birthday is at the beginning of summer when people tend to go out of town for vacations, so my friends were usually gone and there was no party to be had.  I’m also an only child so I never really knew what I was missing until I went to friends birthday parties.  It sucked a little to realize that I didn’t get to have something like that, but at the same time I was never prepared to have that much attention thrust upon me so I was thankful that I never had a party.  The point is though, that I told my husband that I was jealous. 

Back when we found out that my brother in law was throwing a party for my sister in law, the green eyed monster game out for a visit.  I wanted a party too dammit.  I’m turning 30, why should she have everything?  I should have mentioned that I would have liked to have been clued in on these details, because my husband managed to throw together a surprise party.  Damn him. 

Since my husband started his new job, I kind of stopped wondering about what was going on.  He had plausible excuses for everything.  He asked about my favorite colors (weird) but had a good reason for why he was doing so.  My girlfriend who is getting married a week from Friday called him at one point and left a message.  My wonderful husband who thought he had nothing to hide from me, was listening to his voice-mail messages on his speaker phone.  I heard the familiar phone number being recited by the voice-mail woman and then my girlfriends distinctive voice saying hello to my husband.  He immediately deleted the message without listening to it.  When I asked what she wanted, he looked at me and asked me how he should know.  I spent two hours saying he might know if he had listened to the message.  He finally called her back in front of me and told me it was because of the wedding, she hadn’t received our RSVP yet and wanted to know if we would be at the wedding.  Weird that she would call him instead of me, but we had gotten new cell phone numbers and maybe I transposed whose number was whose when I sent an email stating that we got new numbers.  Plausible. 

My hair dresser was determined to get me into the salon to get my hair cut and colored before Father’s Day.  Weird.  My mom was insistent that I come over on Father’s Day because my husband was working and her husband would be spending the day at a baseball card show.  Neither of these woman would relent in my wanting to get together on a different day.  I’m now incredibly grateful to my hairdresser, apparently she knew the shame I would feel at being photographed with about 2 inches of growth showing. 

What gave it away was seeing my girlfriend and her fiancee walking into the place where the party was being held.  She saw me, I saw her and she ran away from me.  Curious.  I then started to look at the cars in the parking lot, and asked my mom why my in laws van was there, and why my other girlfriends truck was there.  At that point I knew for certain what was going on.  My mom had to drag me into the building.  I’ve never been so embarrassed in my whole life, and this includes the time that I told my psychology teacher that I had to go to the bathroom because my tampon was leaking down my leg.

All in all it was sweet and it was nice to have all of my favorite people in one room.  I wish my one girlfriend would have kept her trap shut and not taken it upon herself to complain about my in laws (that is my right, and my right only), but all in all it was nice.  It felt awkward as hell to have that much attention on me, but it was nice to be able to deflect some of it to the father’s in the room. 

I’m also very grateful that the hangover that I acquired from the night of drinking tequila shots the night before decided to take leave and let me have a semi normal day, you know, free of the pounding headaches and queasy-ness.