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.

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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.

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Ahh my nemisis, we meet again. (Aka why i believe my liquid eyeliner is sentient.)

My eyeliner is in a secret plot against me. I am convinced of this….and now it is seducing the rest of my make up to join the revolution.  There is some late night, secret squirrel collusion going on amongst my cosmetics…I can feel it.  At first I was a little worried that my face was in on this collaboration, but now I am certain that it is just an innocent bystander.  In this uprising it us my eyeliner, not my face, that is revolting.

Don’t go there. I mean it.  Are you done? 

Ok then…. So before going on to the insidious evil of my liquid eyeliner, I need to explain something about myself.  I love vintage…especially from the 40’s and 50’s.  Vintage clothes, vintage hairstyles, vintage makeup – love it. In my head when daydreaming I like to fancy myself a pin up girl; a fat middle aged pin up girl, but a pin up girl none the less. (don’t judge me!  I know its delusional, but its MY deranged vision – go get your own.)

Here’s the thing about pin up style makeup…it requires a couple of trademark items: Pressed powder, really good matte red lipstick (I recommend MAC ‘Ruby Woo’) and eyeliner…freaking liquid eyeliner.

Here’s the problem,,,it can start out seemingly fine then go horribly awry.  Line eyelids with black line, ending in a lovely winglike flourish, leaving you that perfect cat eye look.  Simple right?  You would think so…and yet.  It goes like this: line first eye – hmm looks pretty good.  Line second eye.  Hmm that one looks thicker….ok I’ll just touch up the other side a little.  Well crap, now I jacked up the ‘wing’,  It way longer than the other side.  I’ll just touch up the other side… CRAP! REALLY?

The look I’m going for is something like this:

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What I end up with looks more like this:

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Don’t get me wrong, pandas are awesome…but not as a fashion statement.  I want a look that says retro sex kitten, not endangered species.

In spite of all of the L’Oreal induced trauma, this same battle will ensue tomorrow morning – and every morning that I decide not to take on the world with a blank face. And now the lip liner and eyebrow pencil  are in cahoots.  Soon I will be able to audition for the role of the Joker in the all panda cast of The Dark Knight.  Nothing like greeting clients when you look like your makeup gun was set to ‘clown’.

Ultimately though, I know the eyeliner is the ringleader.  Every morning there will be that stare down…woman versus accursed tube.  I can actually hear the theme music from the good the bad and the ugly in the background.  In the end there can only one, like some kind of ethereal cosmetic Highlander.  Today goes to you liquid eyeliner. Game, set, match,  Well played.  But don’t get cocky. Tomorrow I’m coming for you, and I will stealth up on you like Marlon Brando in Apocalypse Now.  Tomorrow your ass is mine,