So unless you live under some sort of large, soundproofed rock, you probably could hear my mother wailing sadly after seeing Wednesday's tattoo blog post.
In other words, YES: I got tattooed! I now have an owl on my left shoulder that will be with my body from now until forever! And I'm happy about it!
Why did I get an owl? Why am I so weird?
WELL. I can't answer the second question, but I can answer the first.
1) I love owls. I think they're peaceful, calm, and beautiful.
2) I love that they represent wisdom. Lord knows I need me some of that.
3) I wanted a bird to honor my maternal grandmother, who died before I was born — Mary Dove. While I didn't want a dove tattoo, I wanted some kind of bird for her.
Here's my bird...
(I sharpened the owl & deepened the contrast so it was more visible online — it's not quite that dark or pronounced in real life.)
I love it, and especially love its sweet big eyes. I basically brought six zillion pictures to my tattoo artist of what I liked, and she made a few sketches that I was able to tweak until I was very happy :)
When it came time for the tattoo-doing, I was *very* nervous. But I turned on some happy Ryan Adams on my iPhone to listen to, lay on my stomach, and tried to relax.
Am I a wimp, or was that seriously painful? Cause, um, OUCH. I mean, some parts of it weren't so bad. But others felt like the tattoo artist was taking the tip of a sharp knife and slicing it into my skin. (Which, granted, was essentially what she was doing, but still.)
Before she started, she assured me the pain would be tolerable. And I believed her.
I mean, I didn't cry or scream. And I kept reminding myself to relax and focus on the music. But the damn needle buzzing 6 inches from my ear made it difficult to concentrate. So there was a lot of *sharp intake of breath* OOOH!!!'s. And lots of fist-clenching.
BUT I SURVIVED!
(At first I was afraid, I was petrified...)
And I am happy. I love my little owl.