No, I’m not ashamed, though perhaps you should be.

ok before I go off into what im sure will be an enlightening and enthralling literary adventure for us all I wanted to simply say a heart felt

THANK YOU!!!

I cannot believe you crazy bastards actually donated to my cover up tattoo blog! There will be a blog unto itself upcoming on this..im just waiting for the tattoo to finish healing so I can take some final pics…right now it looks like some form of colorific leprosy….again, sincerely, thank you. Without any further ado:

It seems to me a strange thing that other people feel compelled to tell others what they should be ashamed of…particularly when that something has not a thing in the world to do with them (or any kind of obvious insidious criminal behavior)…and yet I seem to have a beacon that attracts the self entitled to not only pass judgement but verbalize said judgement.  Usually somewhere in the judgement comes the question “Arent you ashamed?”  Case in point:

I had to drop my son off for 9th grade exit exams at his homeschool academy the other day.  As fascinating as it may have been to sit around the office and chat up the many uber fundamentalist moms (think The Duggers on ‘ 19 kids and counting’) sitting waiting for their also testing children, I opted out.  Starbucks. Must have chai.

As im standing in the line to order my magical elixir of sociability, the woman behind me taps me on the shoulder.  She is a small, petit, fastidiously groomed 30ish woman in a perfectly tailored raincoat and burburry scarf..in short she is the anti-me.  I turn and smile and she says “Excuse me, but aren’t you embarrassed?”  I am taken of guard…do I have a boogie hanging from my nose? Is that stupid paper toilet cover thingy stuck to my shoe?  afet a brief assessment I realize I have no clue what the hell she is talking about.  Thankfully she continues on her own. ” Your tattoos..i mean…aren’t you embarrassed by them?”  The jusdgement in her voice is very clear.  I respond with  a slow “Noooooo….do they bother you?” She ponders this for a moment. “No they don’t bother me…I would just be embarrassed if I was you.”  I quell the urge to correct her grammer, and offer instead, “Then you probably shouldn’t get them.”  I order my chai and leave.  This has been settling on my shoulders like specks of dust from a freshly shaken blanket, and I have concluded that this does in fact piss me off.

It isn’t the specific question, it is the assessment by another that I should somehow be embarrassed or ashamed of who I am for based on their comfort level.  Ya..eff that shit.  So in response here is a list of thing about myself that I am not ashamed of. It will save time for those bothered by that nagging question “isn’t she ashamed?”  That is just how considerate I am.

I am an intelligent, educated woman with a voice. – I know you are all shocked by this, but I assure you it is in fact true.  Please do not assign me to your vision or version of what that should look like.  Playing dumb makes my ears bleed.  This is not a good look for me.

I am not straight.- Though I frequently play one on TV. My descriptor of choice is queer (because I don’t much care for boxes) but will settle for pretty much anything other than straight.  I have NOTHING against straight people…I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for them…I am just not one of them. Please recognize that this is not a choice.  I didn’t go to ‘gay camp’ as a kid to hone my dyke skills. I wasn’t bitten by a rabid lesbian and then proceeded to catch the gay.  I am a wife. I am a mother. I am not straight…and I am not ashamed.

I am polyamorous. – I know its wrong.  no word should have a greek prefix with a latin root.  im sorry. I didn’t invent the word.  I will not apologize however for being in a poly (the short and sassy version of polyamorous) relationship.  If you are unfamiliar with what poly is I will attempt to give the short answer. Polyamoroury is being in more than one commited, loving relationship at one time. It is the idea that love is not a finite resource and can be given exponentially.  I know… really enlightened and shit, right?!

I am, and have been for many years, in  a poly triad…what I like to call a ‘thruple’. Its like a couple, only there are three of us.

We are a family. (its much more boring than you think people, simmer down).  We have kids, grandkids, parents, siblings, go to Wal-Mart, just like everyone else.  No…we aren’t swingers (we call that polyf@#kery). I am blessed enough to have 2 people who love me very much and who I love.  How lucky am I! and look at all you’re learning! no? hrumph.

I am passionate. – Ok this is like saying the Grand Canyon is a pretty big hole.  I am pretty much an ‘ass over tea kettles’ kind of gal. I know this. It gets me into trouble…often…and yet it is who I am and I wouldn’t change it.  I will always be don Quixote. An often just a little too loud don Quixote, with many windmills left to joust.

I have tattoos – I love ink.. LOVE IT. LOVE LOVE LOVE.i have several..i want more. No I am not embarrassed by my ink.  Clearly I’m not, or I would have stopped at 1. Are you embarrassed by stupid questions?

I am fat. – Please stop acting like I’m not aware that I’m fat. please stop acting like I should apologize for being fat.  If you find me sexually unappealing then perhaps don’t consider asking me to bump uglies with you.  My dance card is already full anyway (please see point number 3).

Tell you what, you don’t make it your mission to ensure I know what a grotesque vision of unappealingness I am and I wont make it my mission to tell you what a misogynistic cretin you are. Deal? Your issues with my weight are on you. Stop trying to make me wear your shame or I will sit on you.

I am a Pagan/Christian hybrid. – This bothers both sides immensely, which I confess amuses me a little.  God gets me; you don’t have to.

I am bodaciously me. – I am free spirited and quirky.  I am aggressive and tender hearted.  I don’t tend to evoke a middle of the road reaction from people…and I’m ok with that. I’m not a middle of the road kind of gal.  I am a would be philosopher and an occasional gamer girl.  I am not a vegetarian, but I can spell the word.

I own my bodacious selfitude, and I am not ashamed. If you choose to spend your time projecting shame onto another just to sate your own comfort level, then perhaps you should be…just sayin’.

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Keep America (and my clevage) Beautiful or Why I Need a Coverup Tattoo for Mother’s Day

A long long time ago (about 18 yrs ago) in a galaxy far far away ( Bremerton, WA) i had a brilliant idea. I decided that i would surprise my then husband Scott and immortalize my relationship with him by getting  a rose tattoo with an “S” in the leaves.  Now i know what you’re thinking here:  ah, they got divorced…classic tattoo regret.  But you are wrong.  HA!

I don’t regret getting a tattoo to honor that love.  He has been my bestest friend since we were 10 yrs old, and were it not for his proclivity to prefer sexual partners that have penises, we would still be married today.   But my stubborn refusal to grow a penis and his obstinate need to be himself made that a mildly insurmountable marriage obstacle.  The good news is that we still adore each other, and he and my husband adore each other (not like that you freaks) and so its happy endings all around …except for this effing tattoo.

What’s the problem you ask?  Simply this: its ugly…. and by ugly i mean bat shit ugly.  Felony ugly.  “Welcome to Jim’s Crackhouse and Tattoo Parlor” ugly. It is a bugbear.  A canker…a…well you get the idea.

It was supposed to be a lovely old-school sailor jerry style rose (i said sailor jerry – i now have The Duke’s undivided attention) with an “S” subltly formed in the leaves on my left breast…sounds sexy right…kinda pinup-y right?  Except its not. Its VERY not.

NOTHING about this tattoo is what it was supposed to be.  It is weird and ghetto. (and not in a ghetto fabulous sort of way; in a ghetto ghetto sort of way.)  The lines are crappy, the colors are horrid and the placement is completely bizarre. I have disliked it since the day I got it, and as time goes on I have grown to loathe it.

so without further ado…here it is, in 2 stunning panoramic views.  One to give perspective and one close up so that you can truly appreciate its splendiferous horridness.

hot mess tattoo

Really?  WTFC!!!

Tiny little rose with enormous stalk? Sideways? Cuz when I think roses, I think green…lots and lots of green.  monotone unyielding green …and maybe a tiny flower, ya, that’s it. And why in the name of all that’s holy does it have a foot.  It looked like its wearing a wee victorian slipper!

This lopsided gangrenous slipper footed abomination taunts me.  It is an anathema, and it is tainting an otherwise awesome rack.  Let’s face it people, I DO have an awesome rack. It is bodacious and unapologetic.  This tattoo is like bad graffiti on the taj mahal.  Its like roasting weenies in the Sistine Chapel.  Its profane.  Scott deserves better. I deserve better.  America deserves better!

I can feel you wringing your hands in frustration…tears of woe streaming from somber eyes.  “How can this be?”  “why does God let things like this happen?” ” I feel so helpless…what can I do?”  I understand.  It is a sad reality that even today bad tattoos happen to good people.  But You can help!  You can make a difference for one pathetic and misguided tattoo.  With your small contribution of just the price of a cup of coffee (if that coffee is a Starbucks grande loaded Frappuccino with extra shots, hazelnut and whip) you can make America a more beautiful place.

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Your contribution can mean new life for a piece of tragic ink, and make my cleavage a safer place for all of us .  Your can transform this:

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Into this:

rose and lock tattoo

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It’s beautiful, its lush (its vintage!).  Its everything it is (and was) supposed to be.  It will be a glorious adornment for my amazing rack; Like a sexy, custom paintjob on a classic custom car!

Tattoos make a great gift for mom! Nothing says I love you quite like several hours of excruciating pain under a buzzing needle while ink is being forced into your skin! What could be more all American then giving mom a tattoo for mothers day!

Its the American thing to do.  Beautiful cleavage should be beautiful! Beautiful cleavage should be displayed proudly!  Tattoos and cleavage are as American as tuna and hot dogs!  ..And you want to be a good American, right?  Well don’t you? (Unless you are Nathan, in which case you should think of it as a ‘Hands Across the Water’ brotherhood between nations kind of thing…)

Its in your hands now, people.  Don’t let America down.

Only you have the power to prevent the continuation of ugly tattoos.