If the words “I fell asleep when I was getting tattooed” has ever come out of their mouth—they’re disqualified.

Whew! I’m glad that opening sentence is finally over, I always get hung up on that part. I’m over here doing something like trying to make sure the whole sentence fits on the front page of your feed even though it’s not always possible or I’m going back and forth with myself ‘is it too short? is it too long? Too serious, not serious enough?’ Maybe I’m focusing too much on the opening sentence. I like the kind that are #funny and serious at the same time, like cracking a joke but not really. Step two is learning how move passed it. _{baby steps} As I was saying...

Tattoos hurt!

Those of you who have seen my #art work have noticed sometimes my hands or my arms are in the picture, they’re covered in black/gray. The tattoos continue up my arms and don’t stop at my shoulders, they work their way all the way down to my waist. I don’t have any below my waist and none on my neck or face. Out of all of them, the tops of my hands hurt the least. Coincidentally, they also swelled up the most. My right arm is all oceanography, I’ve always had this lust/infatuation for the sea. I have two Man O’ War on the inside of my right elbow. That arm has great whites and hammerheads, eels, all kinds of aggressive ocean creatures, sea snakes, etc. but nothing hurt as bad as these—not even my stomach:

@foxyspirit is hosting this Tattoo Shop/Contest. (I hope that link is finally working) If you know the difference between a tattoo machine and a tattoo gun, head over there and enter her contest—there’s #steem up for grabs.

These man o’ war took about three and a half hours to complete, start to finish, back in 2008. My right forearm was done by Noelin Wheeler in Las Vegas, Nevada, USA. This particular sitting was about the third or fourth time I’d got together with Noelin, our previous appointment was my hand. Besides, at that point, I’d been getting tattoos for about 20 years—I’m familiar with the chair. The man o’ war were different—they were a different kind of sting.

He cleaned me up when he was finished, added a fresh layer of aquaphor and wrapped plastic around my arm—you know the drill. Before I left, he wanted to plug me in to his calendar book, he told me how much money I owed him but I couldn’t count the money in my pocket, they all looked like $1’s. Noelin asked me my phone number so he could pull me up in his appointment book, the same number we always use to plug me in, this time was different—I didn’t know my phone number. I didn’t know my own phone number and I couldn’t count the money in my pocket.

He told me it was normal, “don’t worry about it,” that I was experiencing an adrenaline withdrawal or overdose, one or the other. He said my adrenaline had been peaked for so long I was exhausted and just needed some rest—good thing it was late! He scrolled back through his appointment history and found my phone number for me, he helped me count my money, too, I couldn’t see it. I went down stairs to get in my car to drive home.

I couldn’t get my key in the ignition. I unlocked the car with the key fob, I was able to get inside the car but I couldn’t get the key to fit in the ignition—I couldn’t start the car. The longer I sat there messing with the key the more I realized I couldn’t see anything on the dash of the car. Driving was out of the question.

I leaned back in my seat and closed my eyes—major mistake! I instantly became nauseous and got out of the car so I could stand up or else I would’ve been sick. There was an Arby’s in the parking lot, I’ve never liked Arby’s, even back then I couldn’t stand it but I needed food, something, stat! Something to snap me out of this funk.

I walked inside the restaurant and didn’t see anyone else in there so I walked up to the counter to order food. There’s a younger girl working the counter “are you ready to order?” She asked. I was staring at the menu, I knew it was the menu but the blur wouldn’t go away, I couldn’t read it. I explained to her what was going on and how I couldn’t see. I told her I just wanted a sandwich and a coke, “can you help me, please?” She rang me up but I still couldn’t see my money—I handed her my wallet. She handed it back to me and a few minutes later she brought me my food.

As soon as I started eating the sandwich and took a big drink of sugar, I began snapping out of it. By the time I was done eating, I could see again, I made it to the car and knew how to start it.

No issues getting back to the house, I was still feeling the effects of the tattoo but at that point it wasn’t in my head anymore. Finally I was experiencing the typical burning/stinging feeling, the one that’s intensified with each hot shower for about a week. Man ‘o war stings are intense! The inside of the elbows hurt, that’s a painful spot for tattoos, the upper-back, lower-back, front, all over, it all hurts after an hour and a half. By hour three it’s a game of watching the clock and hoping the artist is close to finished, “how much longer do you think?” When you hit the fourth hour and know you only have one hour left, it just hurts, none worse or less painful anywhere on the body—that’s about the time they all hurt the same.

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