Sometime last year Erica decided she wanted to get inked. I decided, while I still had a needle in my left shoulder, that I was going to undoubtedly add to my body art. So sometime during winter break, I called the Pino Brothers…while I was shopping in Wet Seal with embarrassingly cheesy top 40 shit blaring in the background. We decided on January 15, 2006 (I would have my $200 tutoring check and I was getting my regular check on Friday the 13^th) and I made the appointment for Kristine +1 because, “uhh…your name is too long. I’ll put plus one.”

That gave me about three weeks to decide on what I wanted. I knew I wanted a black panther. (Why are they called black panthers? It’s somewhat redundant.) I, however, did not want the stereotypical Oh-My-God-I’m-Going-To-Eat-You-Alive Panther. I love them on other people. So I began my search for an apathetic panther.

Apathetic panthers, obviously, are not in existence. Every panther was ready to bite someone’s face off. I remember I saw one panther and it was coming out of this person’s shoulder. It was so detailed that there were little chunks of skin and blood between the panther’s claws. The detail was incredible. The whole tattoo was sublime, really. I’m all for erasing gender lines and all, but even that was too masculine for me. And I didn’t want a mean panther!

So it’s January 14, my appointment is tomorrow, and I have one panther that I semi-like. I mean, he was cute, he wasn’t mad or anything, but there were things I wanted to change. His ears were bent back in a defensive manner and I wanted them pointing straight up in a comfortable manner. His claws were out and I wanted them in. I don’t know. I mean, it wasn’t bad, I just wasn’t in love with it. And you should be in love with your body art.

Now it’s January 15 and my appointment is in an hour. I jumped online and broadened my search. I had deeply symbolic reasons for wanting a panther. Michael says I’m a cat and I’m very inclined to agree. I’m moody, I like to be alone, I like to be surrounded by people only when I want it, if I don’t want attention then you won’t pay attention to me, and I am constantly playing with my hair. I’ve been told that at certain times my face resembles that of a cat. I completely agree with my cat-like qualities. But I feel that out of all the cats, I mostly resemble a panther. Think of it. Panthers are mysterious. You never really hear much about the nature of panthers because they’re so busy being wrapped up in mysteries. They look deadly and project a cold exterior, and no doubt about it, they are some bitchy fucking cats, but they can be extremely loyal. My main tie with the panther is the mysteriousness. I go to extreme lengths to remain mysterious, to make sure no one knows too much about me. Same as panthers.

Then I realized, hey, I love ALL cats. Aside from my aunt’s cat Beauty (who I refuse to believe is actually a cat) I have never met a cat I didn’t like. So my search included all felines, big and small.

Finally, I found it. The picture was small and faded, but the potential was evident. With the right artist, the picture could have been propelled from mediocre to an amazing piece of artwork. Although the quality was lacking, I was amazed by the intricate details and I knew that the details would only get better. So I printed it and Kevin and I ran out to the car.

When I say ran out, I mean ran out. It was 20 below and I had on a light hoodie and a halter top. I was freezing. We parked about two blocks away and rushed to get inside. Stupid Etnies. I slid all over the place.

We went inside and although it wasn’t hot, it was warmer than outside. Brian, the guy who did my tattoo last time, was there along with someone else. Originally the other guy was supposed to do my tattoo. They enlarged it a little so the detail would be more visible. Brian went off to sterilize his equipment and Kevin and I looked at the work on display. I still fucking love that baby tiger. I really want him. His eyes are just so big and awww ksdjgfhsdjkgdj!

Anyway, Brian came back and asked if I had gotten a tattoo there before. I said I had and I thought he did it. He looked at it and he said since he did my other one, he would just do my second one. He didn’t know I was coming, so it would take about 40 minutes to sterilize everything. I wasn’t about to throw a fit because he wanted clean equipment so I sat down. They started to play Wedding Crashers but then changed it to A Series of Unfortunate Events. Ahhh what the fuck?! I read old magazines or stared out the window. I liked to stare out the window more than anything.

A guy came in and it was very obvious he was on something. He had hair like Michael. No, that doesn’t mean he was on something, it was just a detail I wanted to add. He left to go to his car and he came back with a laptop. He talked on his cell phone and everything. How does someone obviously fucked up on meth have a nice laptop, a cell phone, money to pay for the extreme price of gas, money to pay for a cab, money for ink for himself, and money for ink for his girlfriend? I go to school, I work three jobs, and I’m not addicted to anything, and yet I am ALWAYS fucking broke. There are some days I can’t even afford a fucking package of gum. Ugh.

I went to go fill out my paperwork and I am getting so embarrassed by my permit. It smudged and I had on tons of black makeup so the blackness near my left eye smudged. I look like I have a humungous black eye. At least I look like a B.A.M.F.

We went all the way in back and he put the stencil on my right shoulder blade, parallel (AH!) to my other tattoo. He got everything ready and I straddled the chair once more. My hair was in a ponytail but it’s still way to long so I had to hold it on the side of my head like some bad version of a 80s ponytail. My other hand gripped the chair in anticipation of the pain.

Ok, so I don’t know why I was nervous. I wasn’t as nervous as my first time, but I was still nervous. I KNOW it doesn’t hurt. I know it feels like I have an itch and he’s scratching it. One time, in fact, I did have an itch, and then he put the needle there and it went away. It worked out great.

All three of us talked a lot more this time. The first time I was extremely nervous and my work was done so quickly that there really wasn’t enough time for talking. Since we knew this would take quite some time we just talked.

One of the workers came in with his gorgeous dog, Tanaka. I love all animals, so I like dogs, but I’m not particularly fond of them. But this dog is just so cute. I also HATE animals in clothes. I mean, I abhor it. But he had on a little red hoodie and he had the hood on and it was just adorable. He would run back and forth with his little tire toy. I don’t really care for dogs, I especially don’t really care for small dogs, and I detest dogs in clothes. This dog was all three, and yet I adored him. I guess he just has a unique charm about him. Aww.

The shading of the tattoo hurt a bit. I wasn’t next to the mirror (it was behind me) so I couldn’t watch, but I knew the shading hurt more than anything. But even then it didn’t hurt. It was slightly uncomfortable with a scratching sensation, but nothing bad. I kept glancing at the picture and the stencil and I thought it was cute, but I had no idea how it would turn out because the versions were somewhat crappy.

The heat broke, or they left the AC on, or something, but it was extremely cold. One of the guys asked if I was too cold, and I was cold, but it was nowhere near unbearable. I love being cold. I guess they just asked because I was the only ass wearing a halter in below freezing weather. But hey, he had to get to my shoulder blade somehow and I didn’t exactly want to take off my shirt. Since Brian has the last room, everyone kept going by to play with the wires directly above his room. They removed a ceiling tile and kept poking their heads in. I liked it because it gave me something to concentrate on. By this time, The Scooby Doo Movie was on and I hate Scooby Doo. So I got to watch people poke in and out of the room and ceiling and a gorgeous dog running around.

Finally he got to the part where he put the white in for the end result of my tattoo. (I know, I haven’t said what it was yet) I’m extremely light so he said he was going to have to go deeper than he went before. He had to push it in deep so it would show up and so it would stay and not fade. I have a very high tolerance for pain, but this hurt like shit. I went into my, “Ok oh my God, act dead” mode and just went apathetic on the outside, but on the inside, I was like, “OOOOOOHHHHH MYYYYYYYY GODDDDDD!!!!!!” I exaggerate, so I have no idea if this is correct or not, but it felt like he was touching my shoulder blade. I kept a straight face and took it. Then he outlined the rest of it in white to make it look cooler. He was basically going into the same raw holes he already went into. That hurt more than anything he did and I winced and made an uncomfortable face, but other than that, I went back to my overly stoic self.

When he was done, all Kevin and I…and ok, even Brian, could say was, “…Wow.” I kept staring at it in the mirror while he wiped it down with antiseptic and wiped away my blood. I never puke and I never bruise. But Christ, I bleed like a bitch. Before covering it up, he took me out into the waiting room to show someone, (the boss?) and he was like, “Wow! This looks like a sticker!” I was like, “I know!” I knew it was going to come out great, but I wasn’t expecting THAT so my answers were just said lamely and in an incredulous tone.

Then Brian said he wanted to show his teacher. So we interrupted someone while he was working (Ken?) and we happily showed him. Brian apologized for parading me around the shop, but shit, if I had produced something like this, I would have done it too. We went back to his room, he covered it, and I put on my hoodie.

I paid for it half with my credit card and half in cash because I am in dire need of cash this week. Ah now I have ANOTHER $100 on my credit card. Stupid Kristine. I feel extremely bad because I was only able to tip him $20. I definitely wanted to tip him double, but I just cannot afford it. But hey, I’m going back, and when I go back, I’ll try to have more cash and I’ll make up for it then.

Annnnnd here is what I got!

MON DIEU! Look at that DETAIL! Out of everything, I think my favourite part is the water. Look at the fucking ripples. My God, I am SO overjoyed that I got this.

Do you like funny horror stories? I hope so. Because man, do I have one. Well, it was a horror story to me. Probably just a comedy to everyone else.

So last night my hair dresser, Leigh Ann, came over. I wanted to put blood red chunks in my hair and she was going to help me get it started. My appointment was at seven and she came over at five…to dye my mom’s hair! I was mad but I stayed quiet. She finally finished my mom at 7:30 and then she bleached some of my hair. When she took off the foil, my hair was incredibly blonde…like my natural colour…or Tristan’s hair. Then I sat down and she ran the Special Effects blood red through my hair. Then she informs me that I have to leave it in until midnight and then take a shower. Not only that, but my tub will be red and I’ll have to bleach it. So at midnight I have to fucking bleach a tub! I had planned on going to sleep early because I kept pulling all-nighters all weekend. I was beyond pissed, to put it nicely.

I went upstairs to my room and wasted some time until 11. I was going to wash my hair out but Jess convinced me to keep it in. I felt sick and I was exhausted, but I kept the stupid dye in my head. It was called blood red, and damn, it was blood red. She had put more in the two front strands so you could see it better and my “bangs” were brushed back. I looked like I was bleeding from my forehead.

Finally it was midnight so I jumped into the shower, with my super cool black gloves that I had to wear to keep from staining my hands (Yeah…THAT worked). I wasn’t paying attention; I just washed my hair. I turned around and almost fell over. The entire tub looked worse than a scene from <I>Psycho.</I> There was blood red all over the tub, all over the walls, and even on the fucking window! I was freaking out. I cleaned my hair out as best as I could, conditioned it like Leigh Ann told me to, and got out. As I surveyed the damage I realized I was royally fucked.

Then I looked in the mirror. While I was washing my hair, the dye was sliding down my face and into my eyes. Since I don’t really feel like being permanently blind, I laid off my bangs. Or so I thought. In reality, I completely ignored them. I had all congealed “blood” on my forehead and it was dripping down my face…causing me to look like Triple H after Hell in a Cell. I mean it was all dripped down, over my eyes, over my nose, onto my lips, and down my neck. I started to freak out, shoved my head under the sink, and got rid of the excess dye. I came back up for air and washed my face with Dove soap. Ugh. My face hates Dove soap. It always dries out when I use it…but I mean, I HAD to. Either that or I was going to look like some idiotic local wrestler. I am not into the Mick Foley look.

I finally got my face to a nice dull shade of pink so I had the task of cleaning up the bathtub. By now it was near one in the morning. I have a rather small bathroom and I had the door shut. I grabbed the bleach and almost screamed. Citrus! It smelled like citrus. I fucking HATE citrus shit! But I couldn’t exactly open the door (the light would wake everyone up) and I couldn’t just leave the bathtub looking like a piece of <I>The Sopranos</I> bathroom. So I grabbed the bleach, sucked it up, and began to spray the entire shower area insanely.

Citrus sucks! The smell was so overwhelming. If it smelled like regular bleach, I wouldn’t have minded. In fact, that would have been glorious. But no, it smelled like fucking oranges! I kept spraying it with bleach, spraying it with water, spraying it with bleach, and rubbing it up with a towel. My results were somewhat futile. The bathtub was no longer a WWE wrestling ring, but it was still pink.

Even though I know my skin is insanely sensitive and hates Dove soap, I washed my face once more. It started to turn red so I quickly came to the realization that was a bad idea. So I blow dried my hair instead.

Once my hair was dry, I turned back to the Anita Blake crime scene. I sprayed so much bleach that I completely inhaled it by accident and fell over on my ass coughing. I was smothered in a citrus sensation…and I hated it. I hate trees and oranges. And I especially hate orange trees! I felt like I was somewhere tropical just lost in a forest of orange trees. Worst part? The bleach didn’t alter my mental state at all. Fucking citrus shit!

To make a long story short, I scrubbed the tub for an hour. I got most of the red off. There’s a light faded pink near the drain but my mom hasn’t said anything yet so I guess it’s ok. I finally went to bed at…shit…I don’t know. But I wasn’t a happy person.

This morning I woke up and got to look at my hair. It’s not what I wanted at all and I think I don’t like it. After going to school and work, however, I find that I am the only one with negative feelings toward it. I don’t know. I wanted big thick chunks. Like a lot of red, a lot of dark brown, a lot of red, a lot of dark brown…like that. And these are chunks, but not as thick as I wanted. It’s also not as bright and shocking as I wanted. But eh…

Friday night I was supposed to get the tattoo. I wrote down three places I was considering, Redemption Tattoo, Pino Brothers Tattoo and Piercing Emporium, and Chameleon Tattoo. I wanted them in that order.

We went to Redemption first. We drove by it because the sign on the outside was miniscule. We went in and the walls were entirely red and the floor was red and black checkered. I didn’t really like that. I like white walls because white is sterile and I wanted a sterile tattoo. There was a man standing in the middle of the waiting room and one of the artists was making the stencil on him…right in the middle of the room. Ten minutes later an emo looking boy came out and asked us what we wanted. We asked if they had time for a walk in and he said no. I said I didn’t want to make an appointment and we left. I didn’t like the red, first off, and I don’t care how stupid that sounds. The red was just…it threw me off. Then he was stenciling him right in the waiting room! Go in the other room, get some privacy. Then it took them too long to wait on us. I just didn’t really like it.

Next stop was Pino Brothers. We circled around the shop for some time because parking Cambridge is nonexistent. We finally found a spot about a block away and walked in. As soon as we walked in, a dog came over to greet us. Now, I know, it’s a tattoo parlour, so you’re all thinking Rottweiler, Bulldog, Pitt bulls, dogs like that. But no. It was a gorgeous lhasa apso. The dog had to weigh have pounds, and there I think I’m being generous. It’s body was shaved but the paws were all hairy like Ugg boots and the head was an adorable mop of hair. The dog just came up to us, sniffed us, and left. The dog trotted around while we waited in line and finally stopped in front of the water cooler and barked at it. Aww! The lady at the desk said they were full tonight but I could have any appointment tomorrow. Their hours were 12-10 so I took noon. I wanted to be there as soon as possible.

Saturday, I ended up waking up at six. I had six hours until my appointment and I was so anxious and yet so bored because I was up so early and there was nothing to do. After doing everything I could think of, it was eleven, so Jerk and I left to look for parking.

At noon, we walked into the Pino Brothers. There was an emo looking guy there (what the hell, emo people?!) and he said that the artists weren’t there yet so we could just look at the artwork. We looked at the artwork and the stuff was absolutely amazing. They had a baby white tiger and he was so adorable. About half hour later, the secretary and one of the artists, Brian, came in with her. She said that he would do my tattoo. I gave him the little picture I wanted and he went off to copy it and make a stencil while I sat on the couch and filled out the necessary paperwork.

Another one of the artists came in and he looked just like Michael Pitt. He was a little chubbier, but Michael Pitt has been dropping pounds recently. This guy had on black Chucks, black and white stripped socks, green cargo shorts, an orange t-shirt, and a bright yellow beanie. He was gorgeous. There was a hole on the wall, so the night before, and the other guys spray painted some beyond beautiful pieces of abstract art. They were amazingly beautiful. But they were so huge and so intricate that if they sold them, it would be hundreds of dollars.

I digress, though, as always. Michael Pitt picked up one of them and there was a loud noise and a “OH SHIT!” The secretary jumped up and ran over to him. I stopped playing with the dog and looked over. The other artists had come out of their rooms and crowded around Michael Pitt. Apparently, Michael Pitt had put finishing gloss on the paintings and it dripped down (giving it a real cool dripping effect) and leaked on the floor and got stuck. When he pulled it up, he pulled up about seven tiles from the floor! They all laughed, though. I mean, you can’t get mad. So then Michael Pitt took the painting over to the wall and realized he couldn’t reach. He went and got a ladder. When he came back, the dog was in the middle of the floor. Rather than make the dog move, Michael Pitt, while carrying a ladder, walked into the plant to avoid the dog. Aww. He climbed the ladder and slipped off. He hung up the painting and went and got the other one. Slipped off the ladder again. He was adorable.

The dog came over so I started to play with him again. Brian came up behind me and told me to follow him. We went to the last room and shut the door behind us. The room was so small. He had his bookcase of ink, a cabinet type thing, his chair, my chair, the tray for his stuff, another chair incase I wanted to bring someone, and a TV. He told me to remove my shirt and my jacket, but I only took off my jacket because I specifically wore a halter so I didn’t have to take off my shirt. He told me to stand in front of the full length mirror and he stood behind me and began to imprint the stencil on my back.

He told me to straddle the chair, and he could probably tell that by the way I did it, I was extremely nervous. He was like, “…Is this your first time?!” all incredulously, like I should have done this millions of times before. I nodded to indicate that it was. He showed me the needle and was like, “This is the needle” and I almost fainted because the thing was beyond huge. He turned it on and was like, “This is the sound” and I almost cried because the sound is scary as fuck. I had tears in my eyes and I nodded and he was like, “I promise it won’t hurt.”

I rested my arms on the back of the chair and I felt the metal against my shoulder. He stuck the needle in me and was like, “How’s this? You doing ok? This feel alright?” so I nodded yes. After about thirty seconds, the pressure was still light; it felt like I had an itch and he was scratching it for me. I was like, “…Is this it?” in a scared and shaky voice and he told me it was.

No, seriously, all joking aside, I have a very high tolerance for pain. If you punch me or kick me or whatever, I’ll be like, “dude! Ow!” but I’ll get over it. But really, if you have a low tolerance for pain, or none at all, I’d still recommend getting a tattoo if you want one. Don’t let the pain factor keep you from going. All the old school people said it killed but all the newer ones said it doesn’t hurt. I think they changed with technology so it doesn’t hurt so much anymore.

All I really know is I was sitting there going, “Oh fuck, this doesn’t hurt at all. You were so stupid to almost cry in front of him. Wow, you’re really tired. What if you go to sleep? What the fuck is this show? Aqua Teens is really fucking weird. Wow, this doesn’t hurt. You’re tired. This show is weird. This so doesn’t hurt! Why are you so tired? The producers of this show do crack…” and so on and so forth.

While I was sitting in the chair, I was seriously contemplating getting another tattoo. I was thinking of what it would be and where to get it. That “Once you get one, you want more” saying isn’t fake. I always thought it was some overly cliché phrase all the scene kids said just to see who was the toughest but it really isn’t. My first tattoo wasn’t completed and I was thinking about another one.

Anyway, in between my three reoccurring thoughts, I noticed he kept stopping and rubbing a moist towel over my back. I was like, ”WHY IS HE SMUDGING IT?” which is, stupid, I know. But at the time, I was surprised and tired and I didn’t think logically. Like, oh, well he’s shoving a needle through all seven layers of your skin. I don’t think it’s smudging. But for about ten minutes, I was like, “Why is he wetting and smudging it?” Then, it dawned on me. He wasn’t smudging it. He was wiping away my blood! Duh, I was bleeding! Somehow, the thought didn’t scare me nearly enough as it should have.

Brian interrupted my strain of three thoughts and my enlightenment to tell me to look in the mirror. Like a fucking blonde ditz, I was like, “Oh…I’ll wait until it’s done.” He was like, “…We are done.” It felt like no time had passed at all! I seriously thought he was still on the “G” or maybe only the “M” but definitely not done. But it was done, and although it was much smaller than I thought, it was gorgeous.

He wiped down my back once more and bandaged it up. He escorted me to the front desk and left to go clean his station. While I was taking out my eighty dollars to pay, Michael Pitt came up behind me, grabbed my bandage (he didn’t touch the bandage, instead his hand covered the bandage and he squeezed my skin, completely bypassing the tattoo) and made the weirdest noise, like a “MMEEEBEEEP!” kind of noise. Then he left. I turned around and he was gone. I bought three different tubes of Tattoo Goo and realized that with that, and my third holes, I will be cleaning myself with antiseptics three times a day for the next handful of months. Damn spontaneous decisions (and my tattoo was sort of spontaneous. Not as much as the earrings, but still spontaneous).

Aaaaand, Pino Brothers said that as long as there are four people over the age of eighteen (so me and at least three of my friends) they will close their shop for us. They will do whatever we want, give us free drinks, order food, and basically be our slaves for as long as we want. Sooo, who’s up for a “OMG WE COMPLETED HIGH SCHOOL!!!!” tattoo, while having very hot rock star men at our beck and call?

I was scared before I left

I wanted to flee

Then I thought about it

And realized I was badass

Shyeah, I could do it

JRockers have tattoos, right?

Gotta get in character. Tristan has tattoos, damnit!

AHHH COME ON, A!

I wanted it to be serious. I ended up looking high. Which is funny considering the order I took these

I was too nervous…and bored…to be serious

Kisses in case I passed out and/or died

YEAH RIGHT! I’M A FUCKING ROCK STAR

TA DA!