Inked

Much of my Saturday was spent in a tattoo shop. I got a sparrow on my wrist (pictured), and Dallas had some roses added in behind his six-shooter (sorry, not pictured).

I know it sounds mental, but I like getting tattooed. It hurts like a son of a gun, but knowing I can sit through it for hours at a time makes me feel like a real bad mamma jamma. Plus, it's fun talking to the tattooer, looking at all the weird stuff on the walls, and making fun of the other people coming in for appointments to get stupid ink. ;) Also, oddly enough, I dig the healing process, even through the soreness and the sting of soap and lotion, it's just all a reminder that I got something new and cool. And how weird is it that when the scabs fall off they're all colorful?! So fun.

Every time I get a new one, it just makes me want more! Admittedly, I am running out of space to put them that isn't either work appropriate or trash ball. So what I've decided is that I need to become independently wealthy so that I don't have to worry about what my job might have to say about my self expression. Tanner and I, though still mortal enemies, have agreed that if either of us hit the lottery we will share. So far that's my Plan A. Plan B's are sketchy, but here are my ideas so far: learn how to paint/make pottery/jewelry and peddle my goods online for lots of cachingas, write a fascinating book that someone wants to turn into a movie, or learn how to make scarves out of shih-tzu fur.

Because seriously, wouldn't this look SA-WEET on my elbow???