Last night at Hot For Teacher’s house I contemplated two very important questions.
- Do I give up on my hair growing out project?
- Do I get a tattoo?
Just kidding, these aren’t even remotely important questions.
Scratchy overheard me considering the tattoo and about had a fit that I was even considering it.
This is seriously the first time I been even remotely interested in a tattoo. You’d think after my last jaunt to Mexico’s all-inclusive resort land (and all the horrible tattoos I saw there) I would be more against tattoos than ever.
Maybe I’m having yet another midlife crisis.
My response to Scratchy was, “It’s either a tattoo or a boyfriend. You choose.”
I told him I was kidding about the boyfriend thing.
I decided to give up on growing my hair out, it just makes me feel frumpy and I don’t think a ratty braid or a bun is going to give me my joie de vivre back. Plus it will take a couple years to get there. Plus, Steven told me that he liked my bob.
I went to the adorable hair dresser at the local Great Clips that does the boys’ hair and had her give it a whirl. She was fantastic.
I already feel less ancient and decrepit.
And the tattoo? I was thinking something on the underside of my finger, nice and small.
I’m a huge – YUGE – fan of Haruki Murakami and the image of a wind-up bird is as close to his signature as I can get seeing as how it’s kinda cliché for non-Japanese people to get Japanese characters.
Plus, you can’t trust a tattoo artist (or the internet) to give you a decent translation. Regard …
Although “rice fried by pork fat” has a nice ring to it.
It has to be super tiny so I was thinking a modified simple line drawing like this …
I’ve been warned that the underside of the hand isn’t a difficult place to get inked because the tattoo wears off with use, this makes it an easier sell.
It would satisfy my curiosity about tattoos while not actually being permanent.
MPT is on board with it and we all know that she is the go-to person for big decisions. After all, she supported this activity …
I realize that Asian characters are the most cliché thing for a non-Asian to get tattooed with (I am part Asian, but I’m not considering Vietnamese words because Haruki Murakami isn’t Vietnamese and Haruki Murakami written in English takes up too much space) birds are the next most cliché thing.
But Haruki Murakami is anything but cliché. He is the most badass writer ever and to enjoy his work you have to surrender to his world. No excuses. No explanations. His novels are one big “This is me, welcome to my world. Good luck figuring it out.” I haven’t liked anyone’s novels as much since I read Love in the Time of Cholera, my favorite book.
I’m doing my best to snap out of my super-funk and I am lucky to have a lot of help from my friends.
My Asian Daughter sent me a care package yesterday. It had a stuffing-free dog toy for Blue and a graphic novel about a kick-ass, profane, raunchy mom for me. It was the sweetest thing ever. She is by far a better Asian daughter than me. I called her while
walking carrying Scheissehund.
MotherSister sent me a video of herself and her husband.
All these quasi-family members in my life … the daughter I never had, the sister I never had, the mother I want to be … I am so fortunate.
As a parting note, check out this totally obnoxious wifi network name I discovered while
trolling for free wifi walking the dog carrying the dog.
I bet he does really well with the ladies.