It’s funny. When you start looking back on your life, you begin to see instances from your childhood that seem like clues to what lies ahead. I had that happen to me not that long ago. I began to remember when I was six years old and saw a woman with a tattoo for the first time. Before that, I had only seen men with them. I was instantly captivated when I saw her at the apartment complex swimming pool where we lived.

She was sitting on the edge of the pool with her feet hanging in the water, talking with a friend. Her cigarette plumed smoke around her Barbie-like hair. Her bathing suit was a black, strapless one piece number that looked like it had been made from my uncle’s leather jacket. Regardless, I thought she was so bad ass. I convinced myself, at that moment, that she rode a motorcycle; not on the back, but drove her own. Why wouldn’t she? She has a tattoo and wears a leather bathing suit.

The tattoo was of a single red rose with a thorny green stem. The rose sprouted from the left side of her bathing suit, on her chest. I couldn’t stop staring at it. At the time, I thought it was huge. Looking back, it was probably two inches long. It doesn’t matter because it was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. I would swim back and forth near her so I could check it out. I wanted to see every detail of the rose. My brother, Chris, tried snagging me away with a spirited game of Marco Polo. He even said I could be Marco. Nope, I don’t have time for such non-bad ass games. Sadly, she went home and so did we.

Over the next few days, I would try to draw the tattoo on paper. I made many attempts to match the red and green of her rose as best as I could. I drew it over and over to try and make it perfect.  I cut out one of the roses as best I could so there would be no white paper showing. I sneaking into my mom’s room, I snagged one of her tube tops from her dresser drawer and put it on as if it were my own leather bathing suit. I took the rose and taped it to my chest and had it coming out of the tube top just like her tattoo. I made sure to hide the tape, of course. There’s nothing bad ass about tape sticking out from behind your tattoo.

In front of the mirror in my room, I checked myself out. I didn’t look right. Something was missing. Aha!  I grabbed a crayon and began to puff on it like it was a cigarette. Now I looked like her. Yah, I gotta tattoo. So what? I have a motorcycle, too because I’m bad ass, man.

When I wasn’t being a miniature biker babe, I was very much into playing house. I was having a tea party and needed one more guest. I went to my closet and grabbed my Raggedy Ann doll. I wasn’t fond of the outfit she was wearing, so I decided to change her. Now, I don’t know why I hadn’t noticed this before, but when I changed Raggedy Ann’s clothes, I saw it. There, right on her chest…..a tattoo! How come I hadn’t noticed it before? I was so excited; first the lady at the poll and now this? But wait! There’s more…..

Hefty Smurf. There, on his little stuffed blue arm, a heart tattoo. It was similar to Raggedy Ann’s heart, but his was manlier because it was on his bicep and it had an arrow through it. That’s right up there with the lady from the pool. Hefty Smurf was bad ass! It wasn’t long before my cluster of Hefty Smurf’s grew. I couldn’t get enough of his tattoo.

 

Were these little snippets from my childhood a glimpse into my future? Possibly. It’s kind of fun to think so. Was it Raggedy Ann and the pool lady that made me decide to have my first tattoo done my chest? No. I didn’t get a rose and the placement was so I was able to see it while my parents couldn’t. Then there’s Hefty Smurf….is he Augie?????

Blago, oh Blago. Where for art thou Blago? Oh yah, you’re in prison. For those of you that don’t know, he was the Gov’nah of this fair state that I reside in….Illinois (‘nuff said). So suffice it to say, I don’t shed a tear for the man. See, him and I go way back…all the way back to 2006. I, along with the whole tattoo community, were taken aback when he announced that he wanted to raise the age of consent for tattoos from 18 to 21.

That was a punch in the gut for our family because this meant that our income was going to drop due to a significant loss in clientele.  That’s huge. The gut slam was quickly followed by a bitch slap to the face when we heard his reason. He was so hell bent on getting the age of consent raised because....he didn’t want his daughters to get tattoos when they turned 18. His daughters, at the time, were still in elementary school. I was livid and I wasn’t alone.

Our clients were just as pissed off as we were and saying things like, “They can send me to Iraq and fight for this country, but I can’t get a tattoo?” And they were right. Blago wasn’t thinking further than his own family. Besides, who’s to say the girls wouldn’t hop the border to get one if they really wanted to? If they want it that bad, they’d find a way.

It wasn’t long before this hullabaloo made it to the local TV news and newspapers; nothing big, just a blip. But still, it was something. I began to see articles that had interviewed area tattoo artists about the proposed age change. They were just as outraged as we were. They knew the impact that this was going to have on all of us. A group of artist even gathered in the city to protest.

The news stations didn’t follow the story for very long. I was surprised, actually. What news media doesn’t love a bunch of “freaks” for increased viewership? Without any warning, the focus on age of consent stopped. Blago’s camp announced that they were not pursuing the matter any further.  Just like that, we were done. We won!! Well, we didn’t know it right away, but we won because Blago was under investigation. Tattoo and piercing ages didn’t seem to be of much concern anymore.

A happy ending!

It’s hard for me to believe that I’ve been a tattoo wife for over 19 years now. When I look back, it’s almost like watching a movie. We were so stinkin’ young. I couldn’t legally drink at my own wedding; I was 20, he was 25. Since we were so young, we kind of grew up together. We had lived with our parents until we got our first place shortly before we were married.

Our first apartment was a quaint two bedroom overlooking a courtyard in an Arlington Heights complex. We found this place through some friends who were already living in the same building. How awesome was that? We wouldn’t have to drive anywhere to hang out with them! That sounded perfect us. Sadly, it didn’t take long to realize that this place was neither awesome nor perfect.

We had people ringing the door buzzer at all hours of the night. One time, there was a guy yelling, “I need a dime. I need a dime.” He had woken us up and being half asleep, I said, “Tell him to go to the Jewel across the street and get change.” Augie informed me that it wasn’t change he was looking for…….Ohhhh!!! It didn’t take us long to figure out that we may be living in the Dealer’s Penthouse Suite.

Looking back, I often wonder why we didn’t call the police. I have no answer to that; I really don’t. I wasn’t afraid. I knew Augie would take care of everything and he did. He would just tell them to go away and then we’d roll over and go back to sleep. But things changed rather quickly.

I remember it was on a Saturday because Augie was at work and I was at the apartment alone. I was going about my day when I heard this incredibly chaotic noise. All I could hear was pounding, running and shouting, all at the same time, coming from all sides. I about wet my pants. It was so loud and startling that my dog didn’t even bark. The poor little guy froze. I think he may have peed, too.

 

I peeked out the window and the courtyard was a mess with these huge armed men running around. It was startling. I immediately called Augie at work, not even thinking…..how is he going to help me when he’s all the way in South Elgin? But, I was freaking out and I needed him to calm me down. He did and from what I described to him, he figured it was a drug bust. He was right. We had actually seen the plants and growing lights the front window of the apartment above us when we moved in. A bust was bound to happen. I just didn’t expect it to be home when it happened.

That Monday, he went into the rental office the moment they opened and broke our lease. To this day, I have no idea what he told them, but whatever he said must have worked. We were out of our lease after only a few weeks of living there. But, I do have to say, it wasn’t all dealers, hopheads and raids. I did get a kick out of this older couple who would walk every day at the same time I’d walk our dog.

The husband always walked several paces ahead of her with his eyes straight ahead. It wasn’t hard to figure out that it was probably on purpose. She’d follow him, hollering. I couldn’t understand a word she said, but she said it with force. He’d take a rest on some bleachers that we’d pass and she’d sit a few rows behind him and continue to holler at the poor guy. Note to self: Never do that to Augie! Especially since he got us out of that place!

I know, I know.....it's been a long time since I've added little nuggets to this blog. I haven't forgotten about it. Trust me! It's just that life has gotten a lot more busy than I could have ever anticipated. I promise there will be more to come. But it will probably be after the new year.

Hope everyone had a great holiday and cheers to a prosperous and happy 2013! Let's make this Lucky '13.

Aimee

Not everything in my life revolves around tattoos. It sure seems that way sometimes, but the center of our world is really our kids; our girls. They’ve obviously grown up around tattoos and tattooed people, so they have come to know a more unconventional life than many of their friends and that’s okay. But, regardless of what we do for a living, we’re still parents first.

With parenthood, you have love and understanding with doses of discipline sprinkled with a bit of creativity. Augie is quite creative and Sofie proved that with him one night. This night has now become known as “The Thong Inferno.”

When Sofie was 14 years old, she received a gift card from Victoria’s Secret for Christmas. It was NOT from us!! We had no idea she was receiving this gift until she opened it up at a family gathering. She was excited; I was horrified. I didn’t want my kid buying under-skivies that should only be worn by women of legal age. Sure, that may make me sound like a prude, but I don’t care. While you’re living in my house and not an adult yet, your butt will have full coverage.

Before we could tell the gift givers that they need to take the card back, Sofie promised that she would only buy hoodies, t-shirts or yoga pants with it. She begged us to let her keep it. We said she could and let her know that NO UNDER-SKIVIES WILL BE PURCHASED.  She agreed.

Every year, after Christmas is over, I always take the girls to the mall so they can spend the money and gift cards they got as presents. This has been our tradition for the past seven or eight years. Before, they got Build-a-Bear gift cards, ones for clothing or jewelry; innocent stuff. The Victoria Secret gift card was a game changer. Thank goodness Gia didn’t get one.

I reminded her the night before our outing, the morning of our outing and in the car on our way there that there will be only hoodies, shirts or pants being bought with said gift card. I even reminded her as we approached the store. “I know, Mom! I know!” is all she kept saying.

I let her mosey around the store while Gia and I looked at the shirts. I’d peek over at Sofie from time to time to keep an eye on what she was looking at….so far so good. My mind was at ease when I saw her with a hoodie and a pair of pants draped over her arm. Yay, she’s listening!  I turned my attention back to Gia.

Not a minute later, I turned around again and saw Sofie hovering over a display of underwear. Taking Gia by the hand, we headed over to the crowd surrounding all of these drawers of underwear. I snuck up behind her and peered over her shoulder. She didn’t know I was there as she held up a pair of lacey butt floss. Oh, hell no! I tapped her on the shoulder. She spun around with a look of horror that quickly turned into anger.

Before I could say anything, she spouted off about how uncool I was and how unfair I am because all of her friends wear thongs. Really? Justin the quarterback wears these? Huh….that’s good to know, but it doesn’t change the fact that I said no. She continued to spew justifications my way. My favorite was when she tried to justify the importance of not having panty lines with yoga pants. Then wear a longer shirt. She didn’t like that answer.

By this point, all the people around the display were staring at us. I could care less. I just gave them a wink and a smile and followed my pissed off child as she stormed away from me. Good times! She eventually made her way to the checkout line with the clothes I approved of, not saying a word to me. I told her that Gia and I will wait outside of the store for her. Big mistake! But I wouldn’t find that out until later.

It wasn’t until about a week or so later, when Sofie asked me if I could put her laundry in the dryer that I realized that I had been had. As I’m taking the clothes out of the washing machine, a small wad of fabric fell onto the floor. At first, I couldn’t tell what the soggy lump was, but when I picked it up, I knew! It was a thong. No she didn’t! Yes, she did.

I remembered seeing a sign on the underwear display that said, “Buy 2 Get 1 Free,” so I knew there was more. I pulled all of the wet clothes out the dryer and hunted for the other two pairs. I only found one more. With two dank thongs in my hand, I headed upstairs. She was standing in the kitchen with her back to me.

“Hey, Sof.  Is there something you’d like to tell me?” I asked as the thongs dangled from my finger. When she spun around, you would have thought she’d seen a ghost. I didn’t give her a chance to answer.

“Where’s the third pair?” I queried.

“Uhhhh…..I’m wearing them.” She knew she was busted and didn’t even try to give an explanation.

“Give them to me,” I said as her eyes about popped out of her head.

“Now? Here?”

“If that’s what you want to do. I’d rather you go into the bathroom.”

With her head down, she headed to the bathroom to take them off. She returned a short time later with the evidence and an apology. Very calmly, I told her that I wasn’t sure how I wanted to handle this, but she will be getting some sort of consequence for buying these when she wasn’t supposed to. She nodded her head and went back to doing what she was doing.  

A few hours later, when Augie called to say he was on his way home from work, I filled him in on what happened. All he said was, “Okay. I will see you when I get home.” That was it. Normally, I can read him pretty well, but this time, I had no clue what he was thinking.

I was downstairs watching TV when he arrived home. He gave me a kiss and asked where Sofie and the thongs were. I told him she was in her room listening to music and I pointed to the thongs on the floor. He picked them up and headed upstairs. A short time later, I heard them go outside.

I wasn’t sure what they were doing out there, but I assumed that he was throwing them in the outside trash and wanted her to watch him do that. Well, that’s what I get for assuming. It wasn’t until Gia and her friend (who was sleeping over that night) came downstairs and told me what was going on. About that time, Augie and Sofie came inside.

“Oh my god, Mom,” Gia started. “Dad burned Sofie’s underwear!” What????

Before I could get off the couch, Sofie and Augie came walking in. He had a huge grin on his face and was doing a little dance. She was laughing. What the hell is going on?

“Mom, Dad burned my thongs! He lit them on fire in the driveway……AND he sang and danced around them. It was so embarrassing,” said Sofie. Augie, still smiling, nodded his head. I asked for an explanation.

 

Augie told me that on the way home, he was trying to figure out what he could do to teach her a lesson about doing something after she was told not to. He figured that burning the underwear would make that point. He said that while it burned, he felt like singing and dancing. His song, I was told, was about how his daughter who bought underwear that she was told not to buy and that he was BBQ-ing them.

“And Mom, cars were going by while Dad sang and danced. He got louder and danced more crazy each time they went by,” Sofie told me as she laughed. She went on to say that she has learned her lesson and promised that she will never buy thongs again. And she’s kept that promise. Well, at least that I know of, but I now keep a closer eye on that laundry of hers.

I guess we can call that one, “Lessons Learned From a Tattoo Dad.”

I have a love/hate relationship with all of the reality shows that have to do with tattooing and piercing.  While I’m grateful for the attention it has brought the industry, I don’t like the way these shows make the industry look. The shows are more about sensationalism and money than substance: like most TV you see these days. Regardless, it still annoys me. But, I have to confess. I did watch one not long ago.

I was at my cousin’s house and this tattoo show was on that I had never heard of before. The premise of the show had to do with tattoo shop makeovers. The host, whose last name just happened to be Tattoo…what are the odds….swoops in and saves a struggling shop. Same premise as those restaurant, hair salon and home make over shows that we’ve been seeing for a few years now.

 

I have to admit, the longer I watched it, the more it was pissing me off. Here’s why:

1.       The way the owners and staff looked was embarrassing. Everyone in the shop looked like they were going to a Halloween party. The makeup was just as thick on the guys as it was the girls. I get that they are expressing themselves and being who they want to be, but honestly, I couldn’t take them seriously. And if I’m getting tattooed by someone, I would like that person to take their job seriously; but that’s just me.

2.       As Mr. Tattoo moseyed through the shop, he would point out outrageously large dust bunnies. I mean these things were the size of baseballs and sitting at the base of the client chairs, the autoclave and even by the bottles of ink. Seriously? If it was truly that dirty, they should have been shut down. But looking at the dust, I questioned whether those bunnies were even real. They looked more like shredded yarn than dust bunnies. Did I mention that the floor was one of cleanest floors I had ever seen? Hmmmmm….

3.       The layout of the shop. Now, I don’t know where this shop was, so I don’t know what their laws are; I only know Illinois law. With that said, I looked at this shop with our laws in mind. According to Illinois, all tattooing and piercing rooms need to be private. They each must have a door and some sort of wall high enough that it prohibits others from seeing what’s going on. Makes sense to me. I wouldn’t want to be sitting there getting a tattoo on my boob or getting my hoo-ha pierced with strangers gawking at me. Hell no! We have private rooms at our shop. Our place used to be a dental office with private exam rooms, so our clients have always had privacy. The place on this show had no rooms, no walls or door separating the clients. It was one gigantic open room. The bathroom was the only place that had four walls and a door. Not a bit of privacy for any of the clients. I hope their clients don’t have modesty issues. After the makeover was done, there still were no walls. Regardless of what their state law is on privacy, I would think you would want your clients to have privacy. Again, that’s just me.

4.       The owner and staff’s attitude and behaviors. You would think that since they looked like clowns, they would be just as jovial. Nope. They were not only rude and crude to each other; they were not so pleasant with their clients. If anyone working at our shop treated customers that way, they’d be gone. Period. Business rule #1…..Be kind to your clients if you want them to come back. That should be a no brainer. But, who knows...they couldn've been acting the show.

Maybe I’m a little more cynical or more sensitive to these kinds of shows being that we are in the industry. I don’t know. I just don’t want this industry to be more criticized and looked down upon because of shows like this. This industry has gone through a lot and to have it further degraded is frustrating. I guess entertainment value rules.  But truth be told, reality shows aren’t really reality, are they? With that said, I have to go……Kitchen Nightmares is on!

Tattoos can turn into a helluva passion for some people. It did for me; more like an all-out obsession really. I wiped out my entire savings account to get tattoos when I was 18 years old. And this was before Augie and I even started dating. The desire for more tattoos didn’t last though. Those feelings began to fade as our relationship progressed. Why? Who knows; I was 18 and love sick.

I stopped at nine tattoos; three of which I’ve gotten within the last ten years. I can safely say that I’m not obsessed anymore….mainly because the older I get, the more it hurts. Augie teases me and says I’ve become “needle shy” and reminds me that his oldest client is in her 90’s (cool gal, by the way). No, it’s not that….I’ve just turned into a wuss! That’s why #9 hasn’t been touched in about five years.

Like I said, I get the whole obsession/passion part of it. The entire experience is alluring; the sounds of the vibrating coils on the machine, the minty scent of the green soap, feeling the piercings of the needles as you watch your new tattoo come to life. I get it. It's an assault on your senses. Well, except for the sense of taste. Only the ones that have been tattooed in their mouth can claim all five. But, what happens when you no longer have any skin to tattoo?

This can actually be devastating for some people. Think about it…it can take several years for someone to become fully tattooed in what’s called a body suit. It’s a process that requires a lot of planning, sittings, money and because of all the time the client and artist spend together; they get to know each other quite well. And then….bam….it’s over.

Just to give you an idea: sessions can last anywhere from an hour up to six or eight hours at a time. Typically, someone getting steady work done comes in about every two to three weeks. A sleeve for example, can take upwards of 36 hours to complete. Add legs, torso, back and unmentionable parts to that and they have years of work and time ahead of them.

I have only seen a couple of clients in the past 20 some-odd-years become so depressed when they ran out of space that they turned to alcohol. It was almost like they didn’t know what to do now that their body suite was complete; replacing one obsession with another, I guess. It was heartbreaking. I don’t want anyone to ever feel like that after they’re done. Look on the bright side….there’s always piercings!!!!