I have a tattoo secret to tell you
(and it’s a two-parter)
The first part is that my secret isn’t really “dirty” – that was just a ploy to get you to read this post (gotcha you bad boy/girl!). The second part is that I really hate getting tattooed. OK there I said it. The Tattoo Tourist is a big puss-wha when it comes to getting inked.
The last two weeks for me have been nuts. I went to a couple of concerts as press (win!), moved my mom out from Florida to be my new neighbor (good daughter!), and made approximately 654 trips to the San Francisco area and back (about 300 miles round trip – boo) to get my mom’s car, stuff, etc. etc. ad nauseum.
You know what I did to unwind after all that stressful activity? How did I cap off two of the craziest weeks I have had in years? I flew to Seattle to finish my sleeve. This was after being up all night at a concert with my daughter and then driving her home (4 hours) and turning around and driving to the airport (3 hours) only to arrive in Seattle after dark and start my tattoo at 8pm.
I know I know – boo fucking hoo. And cry I did as I lay there on Tina Bafaro’s table feeling sorry for myself and reflecting on how much getting a tattoo fucking hurts…sometimes. Here is the weird thing. This particular session hurt WAY worse than any previous tattoo session I have had – and I have had some doozies cresting over the 8 hour mark.
Of course Tina shared a story about a client who flew out from Illinois for two half sleeves in 3 days – completed. 3 back to back 12 hour plus sessions. I don’t know who is more of a bad-ass – Tina for powering through on such a massive scale or the Illinois corn farmer who has earned my respect and awe for life. 38 hours in 3 days. Fuck. Me.
But here I was mentally writhing and internally whining at the three hour mark (I make a practice of being as still and quiet as I can while being tattooed) proving that I was no corn farmer – not even close.
Tina is a sweetheart and has a gentle hand but even still this tattoo killed me. Maybe it was the exhaustion? The poor preparation? (I barely had time to eat let alone uber-hydrate like I normally like to do). Plus I was going on no sleep due to my concert shenanigans the night before (New Years Day and The Relapse Symphony – totally worth it). To cap it off I picked up a mild case of food poisoning from my questionable airport meal adding a whole new layer of horror to the experience. (Sorry Tina. So So sorry)
Day two saw me laying there ruminating on how I would never NEVER get tattooed again…ever. I am not alone in having an aversion to the tattoo process. Hannah Aitchison herself admitted she hated getting tattooed and she is pretty well covered. But I don’t have rock star tattoo artist status to fall back on. I’m not even a corn farmer. I’m just a girl…asking another girl…to stop touching me with that fucking tattoo machine (mentally, of course).
Now I’m home and healing. Another part I am not a fan of. Usually I am at odds with myself as I obsessively try not to pick my tattoo and constantly fret about whether I am healing well and/or correctly. I am not alone in these worries as a large bulk of my search terms includes phrases like;
“pick scabs on tattoo?” and “how to tell tattoo infected?”
then of course you get outliers like;
“after you make a new tattoo if you fuck a girl it make any infection”
“healing process for tattoos on ass”
I like the proactive spirit of the first one and I just feel sorry for the second person. I don’t know from personal experience but I bet healing an ass tattoo is…well…a pain in the ass. (Sorry. So so sorry.)
The light at the end of my whiny little tunnel is I am trying something new with healing this time around. I am healing my tattoo with Saniderm (one of my advertisers) and so far it is going very well. No itching, no scabbing and low to no worries. I have another week to go and then I will give a full review of this product which takes all the guess work out of tattoo healing. A small miracle if you ask me.
Now I just have to find the right time to show my tattoo to my mother.
Wish me luck.