Psychexero

I don't know how to do it sometimes.  I'm obviously not a boy, but I'm the oldest by a fair bit, and my little sisters need one.  So I took the job.  But how are you supposed to do it when they're old enough to fend for themselves?  When they tell you no, that it's ok, that they'll be ok, and I don't need to smash in kneecaps.

Because that's what I feel like doing when boys make my sister cry. I think I'm going to hang a tag on her that says, "Don't mess with me or my sister will beat you up."  Maybe that would deflect some of the nonsense.

Then again, maybe I just need to let things lay as they fall?  Maybe it's all for the best.  I can't imagine the hurt is worth it though.  And I'm in more of a kneecap smashing frame of mind...  I suppose if I continue being the boyfriend bouncer I'm going to need a bigger bat and some bail money set aside..

My 7th tattoo, (my most recent, but not my last) is the largest one I have, and the only one that took more than one sitting to complete.  I hadn't gotten married yet, but plans were in full swing, and I felt like something was missing.
I lost my Grandma Harry the spring of 2005.  I still remember the day I heard the news, the feeling in my heart, and how completely devastated I was.  To this day, when I talk about her, I get choked up.  Here is where I digress for a short bit...
She was a very special person to me, she called me Lizzy (since my middle name is Elizabeth, and there's already a Jennifer in the family... made it easier and it was always what she called me, it was special).  She was everything a Grandma should be: loving, interested in her grandchildren and their lives, meddling, strict, booboo fixer, great cook, and made you want to be the best you could for her so she'd be proud of you.. The one downside was she was allergic to most scents, so if we picked her little bouquets of flowers, they had to be left on the front porch in mason jars.  I spent most of my life worrying so hard what she thought of me, I always reported my good grades, dressed nicely, did my best to make her proud.  When I turned 18 and started tattooing and piercing myself, chopping off my hair and coloring it funky colors, I was afraid to go visit because I didn't want her disapproval.  Shortly before I turned 22, I came home'ish for a visit to attend my cousin's college graduation in Lubbock, and we were all down in the pool having fun as a family.  To this point, I had kept all my tattoos covered around her, and in a swimsuit, that's difficult.  However, she had decided not to come down to the pool, so I figured I was in the clear.  After a little bit, I heard her voice, "Lizzy, get over here right now."  I panicked.  She was sitting in one of the pool side chairs, so I dutifully got out of the water and joined her.  She gave me the "look" and asked the question I had been dreading: Why have you been coloring on yourself.  Now, I think honesty is the best policy, so I told her about each and every tattoo, why I got it, what it meant to me.  By the time I was done, she was smiling.  She hugged me and told me that was all she needed to know, that she may not agree with getting them, but that she didn't think any less of me.  Then she asked if I had any further plans for more... We sat there for awhile and I told her some plans/ideas I had.
Fast forward to the summer before I got married.  My grandfather passed away just that May, and I was feeling fairly sad, lonely, like I would be missing important people there at such an important day in my life.  I decided that the way I could carry them with me, Grandma in particular, was to get a tattoo.  I found some pictures and set up an appointment with a local artist.  I wanted to give them flowers, not on a grave, but somewhere they'll always be remembered, they'll be vibrant and loved.  I chose flowers that reminded me of their home, their lives, and what I held closest to the heart, with a yellow ribbon for my veteran Grandpa and a Bible verse reminding me what their love to me was: unconditional.  The yellow ribbon is for my Grandpa who was a multi-war veteran, lifelong military man, who I was incredibly proud of and I held great respect for him.  The flowers: peach blossom for the tree in the front yard, lavender: the only scent she could tolerate and I remember the scent of it in the house, peace and sterling roses: they loved roses, and peace roses were her favorite.
The day of my wedding, I carried the tattoo with me, as well as a bouquet of peace roses with me down the aisle to remember them, and to have them with me on my day.  I miss them everyday, I wish I had more days, more time.  I wish they could have met Daniel.  But I know they're upstairs looking down, watching over me and my family.  And I'll see them again one day.

I never thought I would be happy with a cover of this song, but this song... As fun and boisterious as the original, this is the antithesis and quite lovely.  It makes you stop and really think about the lyrics and that the song really could be construed in either direction.  Thank you Glee for making an cover that holds it's own:

I promise I haven't fallen off the edge of the world, I just have been overwhelmed with school, upcoming holiday planning, and life in general.  My last couple of "Journey of Ink" will go up in the next week or two, promise. 
However... what do I post after that? Suggestions? Comments?

My 6th tattoo was not my idea, my art, and it was done on the spur of the moment.  But it holds a near and dear place in my heart.

My mom draws, and she's a fantastic artist.  Normally she draws these AMAZING trees, but sometimes she draws other little things.  She was in Austin visiting me near my birthday and she had a dream that involved this symbol.  She she woke up, she sketched it out, but kept it to herself.  That afternoon, we were bopping out the SoCo district (South Congress area here in Austin, very hipster/eclectic fun little place) and stopped to have coffee.  She pulls out her drawing pad and shows me this drawing and says, "I've been thinking about getting this tattooed all day, what do you think?"  I looked at it and looked at her, sort of in shock.

Now, my mom doesn't LOVE tattoos, but she understands when people get them.  At this point she now has two.  The first one she got was a dragonfly on the outside of her ankle.  She got it with her best friend on a "girl's weekend" just before her friend started treatment for breast cancer.  It's very special to her, and it took her nearly 40 years before she even considered getting one.  And there she was, sipping coffee, casually mentioning getting another.  So I made a smart ass remark, "Well sure, but only if we all get matching ones."  She just looked at me and replied, "Well then I get to pick the place and the size, and we all have to get the same tattoo in the same place."  I agreed with her plan, she called my sister (who was back in New Mexico), we all agreed on a spot, and we were set.  Across the street was a tattoo parlour, so we wandered in, told the guys what we wanted, they drew up 3 stencils for us (1 for mom to take home to my sister) and into the chair we went.

Now, this tattoo happened when I was having the WORST allergies in the world, and I could not breathe through my nose to save my life.  The tattoo is on the very upper aspect of the left side of my chest, and trying to hold still and not drip snot everywhere while the artist colored on me was interesting to say the least.  But in the end, we were all happy with them, and as stupid as it sounds, I feel like my bond with my mom and sister is that much closer.  We share something no one else will, and it's unique to our little trio.

The next step in my journey was my 5th tattoo, but the story leading up to it is as important as the explanation of the tattoo itself.
During my time living with my cousin Sam in Lubbock, I found my way back to God.  That may seem like a strange thing to say, but it's the easiest explanation I can give.  From the time I left home, I looked at a number of religions out of curiosity and a feeling that I wasn't getting what I needed in the doctrine I was raised in.  I often asked myself, "What makes the Christian's right and all the others wrong?"  For a time, I even fancied myself Wiccan, but even that felt wrong.  One day, while I was sitting in my room, Sam came in and started talking to me about God, and he asked me how I felt.  So I was honest, I told him I'd been feeling a little lost.  He asked me to come to church with him that evening (the church he attended held a low-key "come as you are" service one evening a week aimed at the college students in the church.  I showed up in jeans and flipflops, feeling like a heathen.  The pastor changed my life.  For whatever reason, the words he spoke resonated within me, and I suddenly felt like I was home.  I didn't feel like I was a bad person for anything I had done, just that I was home.  I cried for the majority of the service, but they weren't tears of sadness, they were tears of relief.  I went to Bible studies with him and found my way.  I never had the chance to be baptised, but I also felt like I had accepted Him, and no longer needed the ritual or ceremony to announce it to the world.

Now, before anyone runs off screaming, I am probably the most low key Christian I know.  I have my beliefs and my values, but I don't throw them at anyone.  I think my friend Kit and her family were surprised when they discovered that I'm a Christian, because I'm not a "normal" Christian. Fact of the matter is, I won't shove my beliefs down anyone else's throat, because I don't want it done to me.  I act as the best Christian I know how.  I "walk the walk".  I never preach, but I'll answer questions if asked.  I show kindness, love, and respect to all I encounter.  I still don't quite understand how the other religions can be wrong, in fact, I don't truly think they are.  I think God understands that people are different, and they have different cultures, and understands that while the destination is the same, the name given to it and the paths leading to it aren't necessarily the same.  I think there are very valid points in Buddhism and Wicca that I hold dear, while upholding my beliefs in God and Jesus Christ.  Another point:  I love the homeless, the LGBT community, the misunderstood, the freaks.  I don't understand how anyone can expect to follow your beliefs if they're based in misinformed hate.  That being said, I'll safely stow my soapbox and get on with the tattoo story.

After my tattoo with Natalia, time passed, I met up with my old highschool sweetheart, fell back in love, got engaged.  He and I talked about getting tattoos together, but I have a hard and fast rule about names and matching couples tattoos: DON'T DO IT.  (There are exceptions, but they deal with your children and family.. we'll get to that later...)
He had a design he'd drawn and wanted.  It was a large iron cross with celtic knots interwoven in it.  I liked the idea, but his tattoo was huge, like 6"x6", so I thought about a smaller/different version of the same idea.  I wanted something that explained my view of spirituality in a graphic version.  There are several components to it, all related to my celtic lineage and my beliefs that spirituality is tied together across religious doctrines:
 
The Celtic cross: I used this as a base, because I like the celtic crosses better than the traditional cross.

The Spiral: The spiral points to several different ideas, much like the trinity knot.  The feeling of motion, progress, cycles, and the idea of the trinity within life.   

The Trinity Knot:  The ideas of the mother/maiden/crone, Father/Son/Holy Spirit, Creation/Preservation/Destruction, Past/Present/Future, etc...   

My tattoo:                                                              

My 4th tattoo happened in the vicinity of my 24th birthday in the company of my sister-friend Natalia.  I'd moved back to Las Cruces, NM from Lubbock, TX and was having a single-girl moment in my life.  I'd just finished a shortlived relationship with a guy we're pretending didn't happen, and I hadn't started dating my first fiance' Brian.  She knew I had a tradition of getting tattoos on my birthday, and we hadn't had any real time together since I left for California.  What started as a girl date ended at the tattoo parlor.

I won't lie, I picked the tattoo off a wall of flash art.  I walked in with a general idea of what I wanted, but with my non-existent art skills I couldn't have drawn it or explained to the artist what I was after.  I wanted a celtic knot, and a heart, and feminine.  I saw this particular piece in the middle of another larger/more elaborate piece and knew that I had found my next tattoo.

My intent behind it was to show how complicated love can be.  This particular knot is like an infinity band, it has no beginning or end.  Relationships can start and end, but love isn't like that.  Even if a relationship ends, the attachment you have to a person is never completely gone.  Even if it's random and infrequent, the person crosses your mind.

The next tattoo in my set didn't come until just after my 22nd birthday.  To make this all make more sense, I'll explain a little backstory:

When I went to college, I'd had a full ride to UNM with the intent of studying medicine and become an MD.  Then I met a boy.  I dropped out of college and followed him to California where I thought I was following the love of my life, but in truth, I just ended up imprisoned for the next 3 years.  We lived with his mom and sister, and his mom wasn't exactly financially responsible.. I ended up supporting the household on my call center income.  The boy would get jobs here and there, but they never lasted long, and the money was usually spent on "toys" for him.  I attended my cousin's college graduation in the Spring of 2002, and my uncle pulled me aside and told me that "he didn't know the circumstances of my life at present, but that it couldn't be good, because I looked miserable."  During that trip, my uncle, cousin, and I spoke about me moving to Lubbock, TX, and in with my cousin, so I could sort out my life. 
That following September, my mom came out to California and rescued me, helped me move to Lubbock and get set up.  My birthday came and went, and sometime in November, I mentioned wanting to get a tattoo to my cousin, so we went and colored on ourselves together.

I got the Kanji symbol for love.  Somewhere between being at college and leaving California, I forgot how to love myself.  I forgot that I was important.  And while that might sound self-centered, it's really not.  I can admit that I'm a giving, loving person, and I will literally give someone the shirt off my back.  But you can't continue doing it unless you have someone giving it back to you, keeping your pitcher full, so to speak.  If I'd thought about it, I could have given it back to myself, but the thought never crossed my mind.  So I got this tattoo to remind me to love: not only others, but myself as well.  I posititioned it right about my symbol for fire for a reason.  It's like my personal to-do list: Keep your temper in check, and remember to love.

The third piece in my journey didn't come along until my 21st birthday, and I'm ashamed to say that I had good intentions when I got it, but I was also drunk when I chose the design.  I've always liked the sun, the moon, and the stars, so my thought was "HEY! I'll get this moon/star design to go with the sun on my back!"

So I got the tattoo.

Then about a week later at work, I got called into my manager's office.  (Mind you, my 21st birthday was about a month after 9/11...)  I was told that my tattoo was inappropriate and that I would be required to cover it up at work or face consequences.  I didn't really understand the problem, other people had bigger/badder tattoos than I did, and they wore them out and proud.  I didn't understand... until that night when I got home and did some internet research on my design.  Apparently the particular moon/star combination I got is featured on both the flag for Libya and Islam.

From there on out, it has been known as my terrorist tattoo. 

Which leads to one of my reasons for wanting to cover it up, but it's by no means the sole reason.  It's a crappy tattoo, poorly done.  Not only was I drunk and barely able to hold still, but I'm quite sure the gentleman who did it was also inebriated in some fashion, and it's just.. crappy.

My sister and I have been brainstorming the last year or so for an idea, when she suddenly struck gold.  Because it's a solid black tattoo, the coverup would also have to be dark.  But I didn't want some heavy/masculine design.  She came up with the idea of doing the castle of Elphalba (the Wicked Witch of the West) over top of it.  BRILLIANT!  As soon as I have the money saved for it, the terrorist tattoo will be replaced with a symbol of... another terrorist... hmm... **

**(But she's not really a terrorist, read Wicked by Gregory Maguire)

My second tattoo I got just as I started college the first time around at University of New Mexico.  I got it on my 19th birthday, and I think that's when the birthday tradition started.  For all but the last two tattoos, they were birthday gifts to myself...

My best friend, Natalia and I had a rocky start becoming friends, but from the moment we actually clicked, she became another sister to me.  When I met her, her mother was very sick, having been diagnosed with breast cancer too late.  Natalia was not only a good grade making high school student, she also worked hard to help her older sister keep their home working.  Between my friendship with Natalia, my sister's friendship with her younger brother, and my mom becoming Maria's homecare nurse, their family became part of ours.  Natalia (also know as Nappy, whether she likes it or not) and her mother told me often that I was vibrant.  I'd been called a number of things: loud, obnoxious, bitchy... but I think vibrant was one of the kindest compliments I'd ever received.  I felt that truly encompassed who I was.

I'd moved away from home and my friends to attend college, but I always kept that close to my heart. I knew that I wanted to get a sunshine tattoo to signify that vibrance, but I could never figure out what kind of sun to get.  I didn't want cartoony or something generic from a flash wall...  Then I saw the cover art for Godsmack's first album and BLAM! I was sold.

I marched right into the tattoo shop across from the restaurant where I worked and told them what I wanted.

I loved the tattoo, and I held it dear.  But it became all that more important to me when Natalia's mother passed away the following summer.  I had a piece I would carry forward with me, and always allow me to remember.