tattoo me, baby.
I’m a big fan of Kat VonD. She’s a very talented tattoo artist who has her own show on TLC called L.A. Ink. Anyhow, they’re doing a casting call for the show, so I figured why not give it a go! I have a good story that doesn’t involve someone dying and a hideous fourteen year old dolphin I’d love to have covered up. But, I guess I should explain things from the beginning.
My best friend in high school and I turned eighteen right around the same time. She wanted a tattoo. She wanted me to go get a tattoo with her. I was eighteen. I could now do something I’d never done before. I picked a $40 dolphin off a board and had it permanently adhered to my upper left shoulder. Fourteen years later I have a very faded, pink dolphin that has no significance to any part of me at all. And well, it sucks.
Fast forward fourteen years. (If you’re clever at math you can figure out how old I am.) I’ve been considering finding a local artist for some time who could successfully cover up my old, pathetic, I can’t believe I picked that piece of crap tattoo. But before I had a chance to go artist hunting, TLC runs an announcement on Kat’s show that they’re looking for folks who want to be tattooed. They just need a pic of yourself, an image of the type of tattoo you’d like, and a little background story. Because of course they can’t tattoo you on the show and not have a story regarding its significance to go along with it, right?
So, what’s my story morning glory? Basically it’s this. I was diagnosed with agoraphobia a few years ago. You know, that icky mental illness that keeps you locked in your house cowering and avoiding all of those unpleasant panic attacks that occur whenever you might decide to venture out of your “safe zone.” Me, well, I was having panic attacks non-stop. Well, maybe it was more like a long series of attacks, but it was a series that never ended unless I was home in my bedroom calmly reading a book. It was so bad I couldn’t work. I was even having panic attacks in my own house for Christ’s sake. I couldn’t do laundry or make dinner without it being the most uncomfortable thing on earth. Lucky for me I was stubborn and tried to figure out what the heck it was. I even went so far as to have an asthma test! The panics were so bad, and my heart would beat so fast, I was literally out of breath from the whole thing. I’d have to pause after every word just to get a sentence out. I found drugs - doctor prescribed, of course - after the doc and I figured it all out and eventually things went back to a semblance of normalcy. Though I will still have the occasional panic attack in new situations or places, it’s so much better than the hell it was. However, because of the whole ordeal, I decided to quit my job. (I used to be a Gap Girl.) I’d been thinking about staying at home for a while at that point, so I figured my body was trying to tell me something. I leaped right into the whole housewife thing and bid Gap Land farewell. After about a year at home, though, I started to crave the real world again. So out of the blue I just decided I was going to sell soap on the Market. And that’s what got me back out in world of the nitty gritty.
Thus, we come back around to the tattoo. A pin up of a chic in a wheelbarrow taking a bath with lots of soapy bubbles. (Something along the lines of the photo above taken from a Threadless.com t-shirt.) How many people are going to have a story like that? It may be my story that gives me a slightly better chance at getting that tattoo I want than the girl who’s getting a tattoo because her dad died. After all my story is way original. Plus it’s completely true. Anyhow, wish me luck. Of course if I get to go I’ll have to have a fund raiser to pay for everything. Flight, hotel, food, and, of course, the tattoo. But I’d get to be on L.A. Ink with my soap. I’d hop a plane to a very strange place for that. I might have to pop a few Ativan along the way, but I’d get there!
And last, but certainly not least, are 
