de plane! de plane!

So I wanna get some more tattoos. I've held off for years since my first/last ones (back in college) ... not because I didn't catch the bug ('cause oh I did), but because of my CAREER. Well, fuck! Fuck THAT. I figure, what the hell? I'm not acting, I still want the tattoos... done deal. I can regret it later.

That reminds me of an old BFL joke:
Leaping off cliff in the throes of carpe-diem-ness: "No regrets! NO REGRETS!!"
Realizing 2 seconds later that you just leapt off a fucking cliff: "Regrets! Oh, regrets!"

Anyhoo ... tattoo. Where? What? Advice welcome. I have some ideas, but what I really want is someone really cool and intuitive and talented to interview me and then design me something. Does that happen? Do people do that without you having to be a millionaire? Many things I'd have once considered tattooing have been ruined by others. Things that inspire/intrigue me but that have been co-opted by or are so closely associated with subcultures that I'm not actually a part of (e.g. celtic or celtic-inspired, pin-up girls, gargoyles). God(dess) bless all you folks, but I am not one of you.

What's a girl to do? I don't know; you tell me.

If I achieve inspiration, I will let you know. Hell, I'll post pictures!

I remember when I got my first tattoo. I was 19. I went in thinking I would get a little shamrock on my ankle, and (typically) walked out with the moon and stars on my left shoulder blade. I was at college, 19 years old. I didn't need Mom & Dad's permission at that point, but wasn't immune to their definite influence or to my self-imposed guilt. So I waited until afterward to tell them. They were a bit used to me by now (being their daughter and all) and barely blinked in front of me when I told them; although I bet they had a lively discussion later. They merely paused, and that pause was legion. Among other things it said, "we love you," and "why would you do that?!" and "I can't believe you are our daughter" and "well, it's your body." Later, I swear they got a kick out of telling their friends. "Our crazy daughter, you know Peggy. She nuts, but we love her! She got a tattoo! Can you believe it?" They got to pretend more shock then they felt and at the same time hold up the indy street cred of their daughter. Anyway, in my imagination they secretly loved it.

My parents raised me to be an independent thinker. And oh I bet they rue the day! I love you Mom & Dad! Best gift EVER.


McCain the heartbreaker

I have not agreed with McCain much of the time since I started paying attention to him (in his failed bid for the White House), but he was someone that I learned to respect greatly. "There's a thinking man," I said to myself. "Goshdarnit, we may not agree, but he has integrity. He actually thinks. I think we'd be okay if he were elected." Oh, if wishes were horses ...

The current John McCain is a shell of the previous John McCain, and I am sad when I see him speak now. As I watched his acceptance speech at the RNC, I wanted SO BAD to see the McCain I'd come to admire. As much as I want this whole right-wing fiasco of a goverment to collapse under the weight of its own lies, I wished with all I had that the real John McCain, the one hiding deep down inside, would burst through and show what he used to made of.

I may have cried. At least I felt like it. I want Obama to win so badly it's stupid to even talk about, but I still want the aliens to return McCain.

Anyway, I'm not expressing anything new or intriguing or provocative. If I'd cared to count, I would've already lost count of the number of my liberal friends who feel the same way. And I guess not just them ... Here's a fiercely independent, conservative-leaning blogger who nails it for me: Andrew Sullivan in The Atlantic.com: "McCain's Integrity"

I'm back! I think. Maybe. Lotsa changes; lotsa thinking and poking around at various aspects of my life & being. Existential for sure, but no angst involved. It turns out I like to process before I write, rather than while I'm writing. There's been much in my life to process, and therefore no writing. If you're still there, then: Hi stranger!