Nobody Cares About Tattoos

Nope, as fun as it looks when some of my girlfriends lift their ankles or necks, or whatever, to show me their latest wonderful fashion, I usually say, “That’s cool!” because who am I to judge?

Whatever makes you happy.

Look around you and you will see, there are many happy people with tattoos, especially in Hollywood. Once, only the criminals wore them, but now they are the fashion among the rich and famous.
And they come in as many shapes and meanings as you can imagine. Nordic, dragons, symbols, flowers, animals, and swastikas. Some people get carried away and tattoo their whole body, like Jesse James.
One guy went so far as to tattoo “No Fear” on his head, and so every time he went into a bar, someone decided to put fear right back into him. Nobody thinks he should have tattooed on his head, “No brains.” but then again, that’s why I’m a nobody.

Then there was a guy who tattooed “LETS FUCK” on his knuckles so when he would just put his knuckles together and give any girl he liked the message. Where am I getting this stuff? From a wonderful book called “Life at the Bottom,” which was written by a British Doctor named Theodore Dalrymple. He has a theory of how to spot “bad” guys right away. Look for the tattoos.

I first formulated my viral theory of criminality when I noticed that at least nine of ten white English prisoners are tattooed. more than three of four times the proportion the general population. This statistical association of crime with tattooing is stronger, I feel certain, than between crime and any other single factor, with the possible exception of smoking. Virtually all English criminals are smokers, a fact that sociologist have also unaccountably overlooked. When asked why they inflict these marks of Cain upon themselves, the tattooed cite pressure from their peers and boredom. Perhaps the pain of it reassures them they are alive: it hurts, therefore I am.–Dr. Dalrymple

Historically speaking, tattoos have been around since the caveman. Captain Cook’s naturalists noted the fashion on the Samoan…and they have always been a favorite of the military…which brings me to my story:

What, you KNEW there would be a story…didn’t you?

Right after my husband (my second) and I got married, we took my son (from another marriage) on vacation to the Great Smokey Mountains. Since my son was fourteen, every day was filled with bumper cars, video games, bumper cars…putt-putt, bumper cars…and I started to feel a bit left out. We only had enough money for THEM to go on the bumper cars. Yes,..even though I don’t mind watching others have fun, I had done a lifetime of that with my son before my new husband came along. I was ready for the woods. You know, hiking…and hiking…and maybe seeing a few bears, but no…I got more bumper cars. I had just gotten about too bored around the fourth day, when my new husband decided he wanted to get a tattoo. Like a good sailor he already had one on his bicep—an Eagle, with his nickname on it..BRU. If I had talked to the good doctor Dalrymple at the time, I would have been probably thinking…Ummmm… but off he went.

And came back out with a great big, flying eagle on his chest. And I, was hurt. Yes, there I was, married only a few days, and I was following around a boy and a man having the best time of their lives..buddies. There was no romance whatsoever.  When he got back from the tattoo place the first time, I said, “HEY…you mean you didn’t put MY name anywhere?” if you had read his many love letters, you would said the same thing.

After a few hours of more bumper cars, he decided he would go back and get my name on his chest. BUT…and here’s the catch, he had a big, bad, red sunburn on his chest. His whole front was the color of a ripe tomato, but off he went.  After a few hours, he came back to the hotel room, bragging about how he withstood the pain…just to prove, that EVEN though it was against every single fiber in his body, he did it.

What did he do?
It was I who decided what he had to do. “Have the Eagle holding a chain, at the end of the chain put a heart with my name in it. ”

Guilt is a wonderful thing. It can make a man go back to a tattoo shop and put a heart with his new wife’s name in it, while suffering the pain of needle on burnt skin.

Now ask me, do I feel guilty about it? FORCING the man to put my name on his tattoo?
Nope. I’d had a whole week of being the “go get this, go get that.” and deep inside I thought, maybe this guy doesn’t love me but the life I can bring to him.
Better be sure.

Later on in life he really wanted to put my whole face on his back…which I thought was really sick. I won on that account again. I’ll be damned if some guy in some morgue is going to be looking at my husband’s back someday and saying “Why in the WORLD would he put that creepy looking broad on his back?” As it is now, some morgue guy will look at his corpse, see the huge flying eagle with the heart and chain,, and say…”Wow…cool tattoo.”

I like the thought of an eagle carrying my name. It’s about as close to mortality as I’m ever going to get.

And what would the good Doctor say about that?
He would say: “That’s life at the bottom!”

June 29, 2011 - Posted by Joyanna Adams | Life | life