The immortal question.

Exactly how punk rock do I want to be?

Tattoos and other adventures.

So, zece and I went to go get tattoos today, as a late Christmas thing.

She got a fantastic dragonfly thing on her ankle with all kinds of intricate shading and other fun things.

I got so far as to have the design transferred onto me.

Its not really that I chickened out. I wasn't nervous, exactly, except for that whole, "Ow, pain!" whining that you would expect.
And I do want the design. If you can call it that.

Its the word, 'wander' in the font called Sell Your Soul (the font used in the Supernatural title), on the inside of my right wrist.

And I still want that tattoo.

I just want it to mean something. You know, big transitional time in my life and alla that.

My father has this theory on the coalition of a person's socio-economic status and the number of tattoos they have. I had no intention of telling my parents about my near-ink experience, but once he mentioned it to me, I immediately said:

"You know, Dad, I almost got one today, myself," and showed him the transfer.

A lot of my friends have or at least want tattoos, and my family looks down on them like only the self-righteous southern families can.

Well, screw them. Screw the people that automatically write you off as a bad hire or a lowlife because you feel the need to record a moment in your life, be it good or bad, into your skin. I'm getting ink done.

Just not today.