Remember last year when I blogged about my first tattoo? The cute little dove on my wrist that I absolutely love having that reminds me how much I love myself and spirituality and BLA BLA BLA IM A GOOD PERSON?
Well, I went out and got another tattoo not too long afterward. And then, for good measure, I got a third. Because… well, I’m not entirely sure why. Maybe some mixture of peer-pressure, “seemed like a good idea at the time,” and emotional upheaval resulted in more tattoos than I ever thought I’d have. But alas… Here I type with an adorned little body.
What were these tattoos you ask?
Therein lies the problem I’m afraid. Let me preface it with this: I LOVE my tattoos. I do not regret them. I simply wish that one in particular was easy to explain and didn’t immediately warrant laughter.
See for yourself:
The explanation is a good one, but one that unfortunately revolves around a (very inspiring) book that only like 4% of the world has read…. Leaving the majority of people who see my tattoo, which is not all that many people normally, to form assumptions about me either loving money, being a gold-digger, or being “gangster.” I fall into none of those categories, and instead I am just a very well-read, absolutely shameless capitalist. With the tattoo to prove it.
HOWEVER– the book that so revolutionalized my political beliefs and life goals (Atlas Shrugged), is being made into a movie. Thank God, because that’s truly the only way for people to start understanding the tattoo on my back and will spare me my attempts to explain it without seeing someone’s eyes glaze over at the mention of “capitalism”. The average person I hang around with in Orange County can barely make it through a copy of the 9 page meny at Cheesecake Factory, let alone 1,300 pages about individualism and libertarian awesomeness.
I do love that tattoo, and I love that it does carry such a significant meaning. I don’t love the face that some people make when they catch a glimpse of it, but facial reactions from people around me has rarely affected me before, and it really doesn’t much now either.
GO SEE THIS MOVIE. THEN GO GET A TATTOO LIKE MINE. We’ll start a club, and call it “My Tattoo Makes Sense to NOBODY But Me And Random Old White Men.”
*This was an awful post, written a few days ago and then forgotten about… But I need to put something on this blog that doesn’t reek of 2010 crappiness, so whatever. I promise to make up for this blogtastrophe with better posts for the entire year. I hope*
2011 has been a raging success so far. In the 48 hours since it began, I believe I spent 30 of them drunk. The other 18 were spent sleeping. I think. It’s hard to do math very well when your head feels like mine does right now.
People love to talk about resolutions… and I dread that I’ll have that conversation about 80 times in the next week with people too lazy to come up with something legitimate to talk about. It doesn’t bode well for those conversations that I actually don’t have a resolution. I resolve to do nothing except try not to die, which I’ve done every other year (some years with more enthusiasm than others) so I don’t mention it to people. My roommate has taken me on as a cause and keeps hurling resolutions at me that I didn’t ask for, I’m nervous I’ve become the girl who needs to be saved from herself. More on that later because that’s deeper than my current brain capacity can handle. But probably not- I’ll more than likely forget.
Obviously I’d like plenty of things to happen in 2011 and I hope a shit-ton of things DON’T happen in 2011. I would enjoy being named Princess of the United States (finally), and I would like to lose 8 pounds while eating cheesecake and drinking beer. I hope I don’t get AIDS or get fat or evicted. In essence I’m much too lazy to resolve to do anything, or resolve to STOP doing anything else. Like I said- Big Things in 2011!
I did, however manage to already accomplish something. I went to the movies…. which, I agree, sounds worthless and like an everyday thing that anyone can do. But! I went to the movies alone. Let that sink in for a second. On Sunday, I mustered the guts, energy and actual desire to walk my stocky little butt up to the theater all by my lonesome and sit through almost two hours of awesomeness BY MY SELF. Which makes me officially ready to be a cat-lady. Or officially independent… depending on how highly I’d like to think of myself, I switch between the two.
It was actually quite enjoyable. I brought extra socks so I could keep my feet warm (which I normally just suffer through so I don’t look like a fucktard wearing two pairs of socks and flip flops), and nobody bothered me with inane commentary while I sat along the back (I’m not so ready to flaunt my loser-y aloneness just yet). But on a serious note: it was a step toward shirking the general idea that people are always judging me, and furthermore, shirking whatever judgements they formed about the short girl wandering around without a companion and questionable foot-wear. Because it’s true what people say: you’re really not as important as you think, and you’d be surprised to know how little people think of you.
Okay, so maybe I just blogged my way into a resolution: stop overestimating myself and keep my toes warm, and let everyone else be damned. Easily the most ridiculous resolutions I’ve ever heard, let alone written for myself.
PS: go see the King’s Speech. Promise.