(no subject)
So I’m sitting the library, and Ian won’t shut up. Jenny says I have to be quiet or move, since Jennifer Ash’s lap top takes 10 minutes to boot up, so she’s staying put. Yay for Jenny.
I got my rooks pierced yesterday.
I was supposed to get it done on Friday, but my dad kept procrastinating because he didn’t want me to get it done. I decided to go to a place called slave to the needle, which has awards out the wazzu and a cool name, besides.
I was pretty nervous in the car, but nothing compared to my dad once we actually got there. The inside was… interesting. Every surface was covered with tattoo designs or rather risqué art, and there were a lot of people with really heavy mods walking around. Ellen took dad into the back room, far away from me. God bless her- he was making me even more nervous.
I walked up to the counter and told them what I wanted done (left and right rook), and after filling out the paper work (Are you 18? Are you drunk? No? good!) I followed my piercer, David, into the back room. David had studs running down the back of his head, lobes stretched to well over an inch and really heavy blue and teal tattoos all over his arms and shoulders, extending up to his ears. I thought he looked pretty cool. When my dad saw him after I came out he just about fainted.
David got out all the tools and put them on a tray, then washed his hands, put on gloves and opened everything once. (every tool he used was a one use sort of thing.) He marked my ears and we talked about placement, then he had me lay back on this really cool, teal glitter doctor’s chair.
We did my left side first. The needle was this wicked, three inch long affair that he bent to suit my piercing. At first it just felt like a little prick and then sort of a pressure in my ear. It actually didn’t hurt that much. After sliding the needle through he put in the jewelry (plain steel CBRs) and screwed on the ball. It was the most amazing adrenaline rush ever.
David asked me if I wanted to have the other side done, and I said yes. I was on an amazing high after all, and it really hadn’t hurt that much. After changing his gloves for what had to be the 5th time, he moved around and did the right. It hurt. A lot. If the first one had hurt that bad, there would have been no way I would have let him near me again. As far as I can tell my senses were heightened by the adrenaline, and that’s why it hurt more. At any rate, it wasn’t pleasant.
He went over aftercare and gave me some sea salt. Its pretty simple- don’t move the piercing around, soak it in salt water at least twice a day and change your pillow cases. Although it hurts way to much for me to ever put my head on the pillow, but whatever. The sea salt is painful. I though soaking my ear in warm water would be nice. And then I realized that I was literally rubbing salt in the wound. Now, I’m all for proverbs and adages coming true, but not when it involves searing pain. I should also like to point out that there is no way to gracefully soak your ear in a bowl of warm water.
It looks really cool though. And it holds my ear bud in. Which is especially nice considering it keeps falling out in class which can be awkward, to say the least.
If I could do it again, I would. In fact, I think I’m going to have my tragii done for my 19th birthday.
Mahoney lost my psych book, but she insists I lost it. Oh joy. Worst. Teacher. Ever. (Sorry Jenny.) It really bothered me the way she was talking about depression today, like it wasn’t something that really exists- like people with depression are just being babies. I could hear her eyes rolling in her voice. It made me want to do her bodily harm.
I have informed my family that from now on they are only to address me as Walter The Squid, (Note the capitalization) and have stopped responding to “Liz”, “Elizabeth”, “Elizabeth Erin” or “goddamn it Elizabeth, stop being so juvenile this instant.” My mother is upset. Which is what I wanted. I should be more mature, but it wouldn’t be as much fun. My sister is considering taking the name Francis The Octopus. I am encouraging her. Even if she doesn’t have the appropriate earrings.
I am listening to twirling music. I need to twirl more. There’s something very special about twirling, especially outdoors. It makes you feel like you’re so deliriously happy with life and the world and everything alive that you just have to show it somehow. It’s an expression of unabashed joy. I think that’s why little kids twirl so much. They don’t have much to be sad about, so they can still see the beauty in a pretty day. Looking out the window I just realized that it’s gorgeous outside. Defiantly twirling weather. But I haven’t taken advantage of it, and I probably won’t because I just wouldn’t be able to let go of all my emotional baggage long enough to truly abandon my inhibitions and do a true twirl. Twirling when you’re not committed to it is somehow sadder than not twirling at all.
Ellen says we should get the cat’s nipples pierced, so she’ll stop losing them. As far as we can tell, she only has three. Ellen figures they were misplaced long ago, and that if we pierce the remaining ones then when Zoe leaves them lying around we can get a metal detector and recover them. Could my sister be any stranger?
Speaking of Ellen, she’s devised this new “Stalking Game” wherein she will stalk a random person for a week, but never talk to their friends or family members. Then she will compile a list of everything she has learned about said person, except what they look like. The next week, everyone participating in the game gets her list, and it’s their job to find the stalk-ee. Who ever wins gets to be the next stalker. You loose if you talk to the person or get caught by the police. I do not think this is such a great game. Her friends are enthralled. So if a whole bunch of freshman wearing dark glasses start following you around, now you know why.
I got my rooks pierced yesterday.
I was supposed to get it done on Friday, but my dad kept procrastinating because he didn’t want me to get it done. I decided to go to a place called slave to the needle, which has awards out the wazzu and a cool name, besides.
I was pretty nervous in the car, but nothing compared to my dad once we actually got there. The inside was… interesting. Every surface was covered with tattoo designs or rather risqué art, and there were a lot of people with really heavy mods walking around. Ellen took dad into the back room, far away from me. God bless her- he was making me even more nervous.
I walked up to the counter and told them what I wanted done (left and right rook), and after filling out the paper work (Are you 18? Are you drunk? No? good!) I followed my piercer, David, into the back room. David had studs running down the back of his head, lobes stretched to well over an inch and really heavy blue and teal tattoos all over his arms and shoulders, extending up to his ears. I thought he looked pretty cool. When my dad saw him after I came out he just about fainted.
David got out all the tools and put them on a tray, then washed his hands, put on gloves and opened everything once. (every tool he used was a one use sort of thing.) He marked my ears and we talked about placement, then he had me lay back on this really cool, teal glitter doctor’s chair.
We did my left side first. The needle was this wicked, three inch long affair that he bent to suit my piercing. At first it just felt like a little prick and then sort of a pressure in my ear. It actually didn’t hurt that much. After sliding the needle through he put in the jewelry (plain steel CBRs) and screwed on the ball. It was the most amazing adrenaline rush ever.
David asked me if I wanted to have the other side done, and I said yes. I was on an amazing high after all, and it really hadn’t hurt that much. After changing his gloves for what had to be the 5th time, he moved around and did the right. It hurt. A lot. If the first one had hurt that bad, there would have been no way I would have let him near me again. As far as I can tell my senses were heightened by the adrenaline, and that’s why it hurt more. At any rate, it wasn’t pleasant.
He went over aftercare and gave me some sea salt. Its pretty simple- don’t move the piercing around, soak it in salt water at least twice a day and change your pillow cases. Although it hurts way to much for me to ever put my head on the pillow, but whatever. The sea salt is painful. I though soaking my ear in warm water would be nice. And then I realized that I was literally rubbing salt in the wound. Now, I’m all for proverbs and adages coming true, but not when it involves searing pain. I should also like to point out that there is no way to gracefully soak your ear in a bowl of warm water.
It looks really cool though. And it holds my ear bud in. Which is especially nice considering it keeps falling out in class which can be awkward, to say the least.
If I could do it again, I would. In fact, I think I’m going to have my tragii done for my 19th birthday.
Mahoney lost my psych book, but she insists I lost it. Oh joy. Worst. Teacher. Ever. (Sorry Jenny.) It really bothered me the way she was talking about depression today, like it wasn’t something that really exists- like people with depression are just being babies. I could hear her eyes rolling in her voice. It made me want to do her bodily harm.
I have informed my family that from now on they are only to address me as Walter The Squid, (Note the capitalization) and have stopped responding to “Liz”, “Elizabeth”, “Elizabeth Erin” or “goddamn it Elizabeth, stop being so juvenile this instant.” My mother is upset. Which is what I wanted. I should be more mature, but it wouldn’t be as much fun. My sister is considering taking the name Francis The Octopus. I am encouraging her. Even if she doesn’t have the appropriate earrings.
I am listening to twirling music. I need to twirl more. There’s something very special about twirling, especially outdoors. It makes you feel like you’re so deliriously happy with life and the world and everything alive that you just have to show it somehow. It’s an expression of unabashed joy. I think that’s why little kids twirl so much. They don’t have much to be sad about, so they can still see the beauty in a pretty day. Looking out the window I just realized that it’s gorgeous outside. Defiantly twirling weather. But I haven’t taken advantage of it, and I probably won’t because I just wouldn’t be able to let go of all my emotional baggage long enough to truly abandon my inhibitions and do a true twirl. Twirling when you’re not committed to it is somehow sadder than not twirling at all.
Ellen says we should get the cat’s nipples pierced, so she’ll stop losing them. As far as we can tell, she only has three. Ellen figures they were misplaced long ago, and that if we pierce the remaining ones then when Zoe leaves them lying around we can get a metal detector and recover them. Could my sister be any stranger?
Speaking of Ellen, she’s devised this new “Stalking Game” wherein she will stalk a random person for a week, but never talk to their friends or family members. Then she will compile a list of everything she has learned about said person, except what they look like. The next week, everyone participating in the game gets her list, and it’s their job to find the stalk-ee. Who ever wins gets to be the next stalker. You loose if you talk to the person or get caught by the police. I do not think this is such a great game. Her friends are enthralled. So if a whole bunch of freshman wearing dark glasses start following you around, now you know why.