Went to Prom, Got a Tattoo. In that order.

I feel like my life has been quite exciting since deciding to blog. What am I ever going to do next week when my regular days commence? Please keep reading. I will make stuff up.

Friday night was Prom for the kiddies. This year's graduating class consists of the most amazing, down-to-earth, coolest kids ever. I actually want to be friends with them. A lot of them have completely come into their own over the 4 years I've known them, and I feel truly lucky to have met, taught, and coached many of them.

Also lucky... the students. To have me as their teacher.

...Right?

I see nothing wrong with this.

I'm not sure why there weren't more students around us.

I digress.

The teachers had an amazing after party (um... yeah. We had an after party. For our students' prom.).

The next day I woke up and shrieked. It was tatty day.

I've wanted a tattoo for a long time. When I was 18, I wanted a cute (cute?) scorpion on my mid-back (I'm a Scorpio, not crazy). When I was 23 I wanted my lacrosse number and a Canada flag on my foot. I've thought about a lotus flower, an energy symbol, I wanted my wedding song's title in script, but I've never followed through with any.

Tattoos are so personal. And... they are PERMANENT (duh). It's so hard to think of something that will be meaningful and beautiful that you will want on your body forever. I had decided what I wanted, and I went to the tattoo parlour and put a $20 deposit down. I chickened out.

I went again. Put a $20 deposit down. Chickened out.

Carter and I planned to go on March Break. I called the place. They said to come in.

I chickened out.

I went in again. Not surprisingly, they made me put a deposit down. This time it was $40. Damn.

I called my friend Amanda (who's wanted one for a long time too, and we talked about needing each other). It was Friday night, I was headed to Prom, and I said.... "We're getting tatted tomorrow."

She shrieked. I shrieked. I cried a little bit. No, wait. I was so freaking cool.

This is how we felt.

Then, we did what most normal people would do at 12:00 noon on a Saturday. We did shots.

We got to the tattoo parlour and as soon as Jason, our tattoo artist put the stencil on my back, I knew I was making the right decision. I'd wanted this for a long time, and I was doing it. And yes, I would probably cry.

I asked Jason if we could take photos.

We took none.

Amanda held my hand while I tried to act cool (Jason said it wouldn't hurt more than childbirth. I have no idea what that feels like), meanwhile wincing to Amanda like a little girl. It hurt like a bitch. All you people didn't warn me well enough! It felt like someone was stabbing me with an exacto-knife and then making 3 inch incisions down my back. I can't tell what my pain tolerance is, but it must suck. My friend Jenny once told me that getting a bikini wax didn't hurt. I waltzed in and said "Brazilian, please!" and thought it was my last day on Earth. I went once and swore I would never, EVER go back after what I considered to be a massacre. Jenny, you are my hero.

Hayley at Oat Couture has a tat on her ribs- which apparently is the most painful to get. She also has one that I love- it's script that reads "you are your own tool". How very true, my fitness and foodie readers! Hayley, not only do I admire you because of your ability to kick some serious ass (click on her blog and you'll see what I mean), but I also admire you for tolerating the pain of a rib tattoo. I'm not worthy.

After I got stabbed repeatedly in the back (I thought I got enough of that as a teenage girl), I then held Amanda's hand while she got her tattoo. She was a freaking champion. We were too nervous (and in pain) to take any photos. Then Jason slapped on a big bandage before we could even take any.

So we decided to take photos of the bandage.

Hot.

Amanda was concerned people would think she had tried to hurt herself. So she decided to wear a tank top.

I'm really not sure what people thought of me. I'm embarrassing enough as it is without a massive bandage on my back.

So here she is, two days later:

I feel instantly more badass.

The symbol is japanese and stands for Strength. It is simple, beautiful, and powerful- all things I strive to be in my life. It's ties include personal power and the energy of life. I will write more about why I chose this symbol in a future post, and specifically how my life has changed in the last year since embarking on a different journey.

Oh- and Amanda got a fleur-de-lis on her wrist to represent her grandmother, her mother, and herself- a beautiful tribute. When she told her grandmother, Nanny's response was "Get out".

It was awesome.
When I told my Mom, who I thought had disowned me because she hadn't responded to my texts in 2 hours (very unlike my Mom), she said, "Well, I know your sister really regrets hers."

...Of course my sister regrets hers! She has a tweety bird tattoo. A huge, yellow tweety bird on her lower back. That she got on a whim. While drunk.

No, I'm not kidding.

This is what happens when you drink and ink.

Hahahah Emily, you are a good sport. To each their own!

Do you have a tattoo? What do you have?

I have Strength. And I suddenly have the feeling that people shouldn't cut me off or mess with me- I do have a tattoo, after all.

I've always thought that someone should create a semi-permanent tattoo so that people could have tats for like, 6 months to a year. If this was available, what would you get?