I'm So Bad-Ass, I Can't Even Stand Myself
In honor of my Nic, who had a similar tat on her shoulder, I got my Eye of Horus done at White Tiger Tattoo yesterday, as did my dear new friend, Yvette, who was a good friend of Nici's.
My camera was in the process of biting it, so the picture came out blurry, unfortunately. I auto-enhanced it, but all it did was darken the outline, make my hair appear orange, and "enhance" some very unattractive spots on my otherwise creamy-white neck. And you can't see the gorgeous detail, really, especially the flecks of yellow within the iris, but still, you can tell how lovely it is, yeah?
The artist is amazing -- there are some pictures in his portfolio that blew me away, such as the life-like portraits of Johnny Cash and Audrey Hepburn. Geez, that kid...Adorable, laid back kind of guy, with a peculiar chair-side manner.
Why "peculiar" you may ask? Well, imagine that you've never had a tattoo, never even been to a tattoo studio, and you're scared out of your mind, and visions of scarecrows are dancing in your head (yes, there really were scarecrows dancing in my head -- not pleasant), and the dude doing your tattoo is half your age and so darn cute, which only reminds you of how old and un-cute you are, and he says to you, "Is this your first tattoo?"
And you reply, "Why, yes. Yes, it is my first tattoo."
"Hmmm," he says. "Pretty ambitious place for your first tattoo, back of the neck..."
And your dancing scarecrows stop gallivanting about and stand there, fabric ears all aprick, and you hope and pray this young man shuts his purty little mouth, ceases with the ominous commenting already and just GETS TO IT, but noooo, young dude continues with, "Yup, well, lots of stuff going on back there, you know..."
What the hell does he mean, stuff? Painful stuff? Stuff that will cause my head to explode upon needle contact kind of stuff?
At that point, the scarecrows crumpled to the ground and wept tears of hay.
Honestly, though? Not that bad. Pain was horrible yet bearable. I only moaned a few times, and softly at that. Oh, and I only snapped at poor Yvette one time. She'd asked me if I was okay, and I said "YES! Now stop looking at me! DON'T LOOK at me!"
My next tat will be a fairly sizable Isis on my left thigh.
Ever hear a gaggle of scarecrows laughing their stuffed butts off before? Eerie yet surprisingly charming.