Part One: Tattooing hasn’t always paid the bills.

That may sound hard to believe since tattoos are dang expensive.  People can pay hundres and even thousands of dollars for a sleeve or back piece or body suit. But like most businesses out there, the income is not steady. This is an industry that will thrive in the summer and virtually die in the winter. People don’t think about getting tattoos when it’s cold outside. They want to get them and show them off right away in the summer. I get it. It makes perfect sense.

When we first got together, he was always busy. He’d work late a lot of nights because the waiting room was packed with clients. I remember myself having to sit in the waiting room for over six hours to get my first tattoo. Tattoos were finding a new life in the up and coming generation. Cha-ching!

I’m not going to lie, the money was nice. It provided us with a pleasurable life. Who would’ve thought that I’d be a homeowner when I was only 21 years old, have nice cars and be able to be a stay at home mom? I wouldn’t have been able to if it wasn’t for the fact that business was booming then. Then…..that’s the operative word here. Like most things in life, the influx of clients didn’t last.

Business began to decline when Sofie was about two years old. There would be days when not a single person would walk through the studio door and then only one person for the entire week. I remember it like it was last week that he only brought home $50. We decided that I would start pounding the pavement for a job.

I was able to get a great job in a doctor’s office. The hours were perfect and it was amazing to be able talk to people that didn't use a sippy cup. Don’t get me wrong, being able to be a stay at home mom was a wonderful thing, but I did go a little stir crazy. Remember that big purple and green dinosaur that sang about how much he loved you? Well, he almost lost his life a few times.

We did have to put Sofie in daycare in order for me to work, but thankfully it was only part time. He would drop her off on his way to work around 11am and I was able to pick her up a few hours later. Having the part time rates wasn't too much of a sting to our wallets.

Working at the doctor's office helped supplement our income for a while. We were able to take vacations and splurge on things we normally wouldn't have before. It was nice. We finally felt like we were going to be okay. I did continue to work even after Gia was born. I enjoyed what I was doing and having the extra cash felt like a security blanket. It wasn't long before we were hit by slow times again and that security blanket flew off.

The parade of clients we had been getting used to was once again gone. And now with two kids in daycare, it was getting to be too much. We figured out that almost my entire years’ salary was going towards daycare fees with very little to spare at the end. It felt like we were just pissing our money away. We made the decision that it would be best if I could take time off from work and stay home with the girls until they went off to school.

We did our best to stick to the budget we set ourselves and save where we could, but unfortunately, that became too difficult. We resorted to credit cards. Oh, I know……bad idea, but we didn’t feel like we had much of a choice. Well, we did have another option....I'd get a second job.

I was able to land a job at a transitional shelter for women and children. It couldn't have been more perfect. I could walk or bike to work to save on gas and the hours I had were on Augie's days off.  It didn't take long before I was able to pick up extra shifts at the shelter. The extra shifts meant more money, but also meant less time that I would see Augie because my hours were now 11pm to 7am.

I would get home from work in time to shuffle the girls off to school (they were in public school by this point) and then I would head to bed. Augie left for work while I was sleeping and I would head back out to work 10:30pm, just as he was getting home. Somewhere in the middle of all of that I took care of the girls. That time in our lives remains much of a blur. I was on autopilot and would fall asleep if I stopped moving.

The tattoo gods shinned upon us once again and the studio started to show signs of life. Again, we thought things were looking good, but we figured we would proceed with caution. We decided that I would keep working and put that money into our savings just in case the studio slowed down yet again. We kept our fingers crossed as we focused on getting back on our feet. Thank goodness we were able to save because it wasn’t long before things got even worse.

Doc, Augie’s partner for almost 20 years, had passed away unexpectedly and his family decided to shut the studio down. In a blink of an eye, he was out of a job and I was the sole breadwinner. We were terrified. My income alone wasn’t enough to make ends meet and he couldn't obtain unemployment benefits because he was self-employed. We knew the money we had saved wasn’t going to last long. We needed to figure out what we were going to do…..and fast!

**WARNING….I DID MY BEST TO KEEP IT CLEAN**

I don’t know whether this should be considered a monumental event or just plain old pathetic, but I am somewhat proud that Augie and I part of the elite group of people that can say Danny Partridge has seen us naked.  I blame my lack of self-control for getting me to that moment where Mr. Bonaduce was free to gaze upon the perky twins and Augie’s, well, you know....

We were fans of his radio show on WLUP the Loop back in the early 90’s. We’d listen to him at the shop, in the car and at our apartment. We thought he was a hoot. On the night in question, I had his show on while waiting for Augie to get home from work.

Danny’s show was especially risqué that night….how to enhance your sex life. I was intrigued. I listened as all of the callers gush about their boyfriends putting flower petals in the bed….yuck…role playing….I suck at acting….and so on. None of these people had anything exciting or the slightest bit original to contribute. I couldn’t take this humdrum crap anymore. I picked up the phone.

Shemp, a sort of sidekick/program engineer kind of guy, picked up the phone. I began to have second thoughts the momet I heard his voice. Too late, I was committed. The words came out of me like vomit after too much Southern Comfort.

Yah…hi….I have a suggestion on how to make your sex life more exciting……..HAVE YOUR BOYFRIEND PIERCE HIS_____(fill in the blank). It was rather disturbing that I said it with such enthusiasm.

There was stone cold silence on the other end of the line. Hello?? It took Shemp a minute to gather his thoughts, I’m assuming, before he said that he was going have me talk to Danny. I knew Augie was on his way home and he was most likely going to be listening to my conversation with Mr. Bonaduce. Oh, crap…what am I doing?

Danny came on the line and bombarded me with questions about my suggestion. I remember being way too eager when explaining the whole thing to him. Thankfully, I don’t remember everything I said. Whatever I did say, it must have been intriguing enough for him to want us to come up to the radio station the following week. He said he wanted to see what I was talking about.

When Augie walked in the door, I was still on the phone. He had this look of what the f*ck did you do combined with a devious little smirk. Don’t be mad, honey! I’m doing my part for womankind. And besides, it’ll be a great plug for the studio! I swear.

When we got to the radio station, we were greeted by Diane, a fellow DJ. She was sweet. She reminded me of Stevie Nicks a bit. She took us back to the booth where we met Shemp. He went over FCC rules with us and pretty much begged us to keep it as clean as possible.

After a commercial break, Danny called us in to his radio booth. He explained to the audience why we were there and that his wife, Gretchen, would be joining us for the “unveiling.” Great! The more the merrier, right? Augie won’t mind. And he didn’t. Bless his heart.

At the unveiling, all you heard was a chorus of oh my god followed by a collective gasp. Back then, piercings like this were not well known. Nowadays, there are a whole lot more peters out there with a little bling. And the fact that neither of us looked like punks with mohawks, had facial piercings or had purple hair was even more shocking to them. We looked normal.

After things calmed down, Danny turned to me and asked me if I was pierced as well.. I told him that I was and asked if he’d like to see. Stupid question to ask a guy, I know. Like a stripper getting ready to climb the proverbial pole, I whipped my top off and tossed it on the floor. The surge of confidence I suddenly had came out of nowhere. Up until that point in my life, the only people that saw my boobs were Augie and my gynecologist.

The nudity wasn’t over yet. Danny saw the tattoo on my chest and asked if I had any more. That’s when I dropped trou and showed him the tiger on my butt and leg. To be fair, Danny then turned around and dropped his pants to show us the “onion” on his butt. I had no clue what the onion thing meant, but him and Augie did.I didn't care. I just continued to stare at his freckly butt.

The night came to a close with a dedication from Danny to us….”Illustrated Man” by Johnny Winter. And as we walked out, we heard him say to his listening audience that he was dedicating this song to his new best friends. Interesting….we haven’t heard from him since.

I met Augie just after Thanksgiving of 1991. By that Christmas, I had my first tattoo. I had a crystal ball being held by dragon claws put on my, let’s say the fleshier part of my chest. Inside of it has a beautiful mountain range with the ocean crashing against it and a sunset shinning down.  I thought it had a good balance of badass and pretty; edgy, yet subtle. Looking back, I should’ve put a lot more thought into placement....who knew that over time the circle would turn into an oval?

I came home all proud and cocky that I had this tattoo. I was inked! I was now a part of the tattoo community. I strutted in the house and announced to my parents what I had done. I expected them to be like, Wow! Cool, Aimee! You’re such a rebel. And I’d be all, Yah, I know! That’s not what happened. They both thought I had completely lost my mind. “What were you thinking? Don’t you realize that those things are permanent?”

A blind man could see that my mom was way madder than my dad. She was full on pissed off! She hadn’t met him yet and as I said before, she had a negative view of the tattoo world and the people that reside there. I was now one of those people. She saw it as me taking that step over to the dark side. She was so angry that she stopped speaking to me. This made for a rather uncomfortable holiday season, let me tell you. Fortunately, it didn’t last long.

Life went back to normal after about two weeks, thankfully. We were talking again and everything was fine. Little did she know, I was hit with the tattoo bug. I concussed! Put it this way, in a span of about six months, I was sporting five or so tattoos and had completely wiped out my savings account. And to top it all off, I kept every bit of it a secret from them for close to a year. Keeping the money thing secret wasn’t that difficult; trying to hide all of those tattoos….now that was a chore.

For those who have been tattooed before or know someone who has tattoos, you know that the healing process requires applying an ointment to the area for a few weeks. The ointment Augie had his clients use back then was A&D Ointment. That stuff reeks. If you’ve ever been around a kid with diaper rash, you’re probably familiar with that horrific smell.

My bedroom would permeate with this stuff every few weeks. And each time my mom would ask me, “What’s that smell coming from your bedroom?” I told her with freakish ease that it was a new lotion I was trying. She suggested I return it and get my money back. Down the line, when she’d smell it again, she would quizzically ask me why I hadn’t returned that nasty lotion. I would laugh it off and tell her that it didn't bother me. Liar, liar, pants on fire!

It wasn’t just the smell either. My clothes showed signs of being tattooed. The one I have on my back would stick to my t-shirts at night and leave a perfect imprint of the design (a wolf, howling at the moon) on the inside of it. I knew I couldn’t let her wash the shirts for obvious reasons and I hated doing laundry, so there was only one thing to do....throw my shirts out. That’s teenage logic for ya!

I resorted to tank tops to sleep in, but soon discovered the transfer of ink on my sheets. I couldn’t throw those out; she would certainly notice sheets missing and I had no money to buy my own because I spent all my money on tattoos. I thought for sure I was busted. Nope. She either didn’t notice or didn’t think anything of it.

The pungency of the ointment permiated tenfold that summer. That's when Augie started tattooing the tiger on my leg. This is the one that goes from my rear end to just above my knee that I mentioned earlier. This thing was so big that I went through the largest tube of ointment that the pharmacy sold by the time it was finished.  

I was convinced that my cover was going to be blown when I started wearing only pants when it was 90 degrees outside to hide it. I also walked with a limp after each tattoo session. My leg was so sore from being tattooed five to six hours at a time. My parents would ask me if my leg was okay and I would just tell them that I slept funny or I fell, always reassuring them that I would be fine. This cycle continued every two weeks for about two months.

I eventually came clean and confessed to my parents about all the tattoos I had gotten after they had met Augie and I was positive they wouldn’t get mad at him for tattooing me. Plus, I was getting real tired of hiding my tattoos. The tattoos didn't bother them as much as me hiding my dwindling bank account. That disappointed them more than anything.
 

It’s kind of funny though, to this day, the smell of A&D Ointment makes my mom’s stomach cringe. I actually can’t stand it either. Thankfully, the ointment company now makes an unscented version. Man, if they had that back then, that whole ordeal would’ve been a helluva lot easier! Well, at least a lot less smelly.

Be honest…..have you ever been behind someone in line, say at Target and the person in front of you is covered in tattoos/piercings and your first thought of this person was not all that nice? What’s my answer? Of course I have. I draw my own conclusions of people based upon first impressions all the time. We all do that. It’s okay though; our thoughts are our thoughts. It’s what we do with those thoughts that matters.

Discrimination and stereotypes in the tattoo and body piercing world is as old as the industry itself. People with body art can conjure up images of bikers, addicts, hoodlums and all other kinds folk that you may not want to bring home to mamma. And when you see someone who has multiple eyebrow piercings, studs in their tongues and cheeks or subdermal implants, don’t you automatically think, what the hell is wrong with you? That’s how I used to think.

Before meeting Augie, I was that person who stereotyped anyone with a tattoo. I automatically assumed that they were questionable people. Tattoos=rebellious behavior, right? That’s what I saw on TV. Take Ozzy Osbourne, for example. We all know about his past….addiction, arrests, and so on. I’d watch his videos on MTV as a kid and just stare at his tattoos. I thought they were so cool, but he wasn’t someone I’d want to hang around. He conveyed the stereotype.

Even the night I met Augie, I was terrified, yet intrigued. I was 18 at the time and my friends brought me up to what was Doc Finn’s at the time. One of them could get a tattoo. The whole ride there, my stomach did flip flops. I was crazy nervous. I was convinced that the entire place was going to be full ex-cons, bikers and basically every stereotypical scary person you can imagine. It didn’t help that on the way there we had to pass the state mental hospital that housed many individuals deemed criminally insane. Not a good sign.

When we got there, I was too chicken to go in first. I made one of my friends go in front of me. Who am I kidding….I made them both go in front of me. I figured that if I was at the end of the line, I could make a quicker get away if it was necessary. See, I was a shy wallflower kind of person. I liked to stay in my glass house where I can look out, but no one can enter. It also doesn’t help that I possess an overactive imagination that causes me to conjure up amplified images of scenarios that couldn’t possibly happen.

To be honest, the first time I saw him, he did scare me. His first impression was not the best. He was sitting there bent over, tattooing a young man. He had these black MC Hammer pants on (you know the kind….crotch down to the knees) that were adorned with multiple rainbows than tucked into his high top gym shoes.

The shirt, I had assumed, was one he chose with the lights off in his bedroom. It was an unusual shade of olive green, but not quite the color of the lightest shade of camouflage that had this black writing indicative of what you’d find on a cargo crate. To complete his ensemble was a pair of tinted aviator glasses that he peered over as he worked. Not once did I think….hey, I’m gonna marry this guy some day!!!

It wasn’t until I formally met him on our way out that I saw how big he was as well. He is 6’3” and I’m 5’2” on a good day. He towered over me. My imagination swirled again with a tornado of thoughts….I wonder if he’s ever been to prison and I bet he owns a Harley. Those thoughts were shattered like a hammer to my glass house when he spoke. He was so kind, polite and quite the gentleman; not a hoodlum or biker dude I had fabricated in my head. My narrow mind began to open.

As I got to know both him and Doc, my preconceived notions of tattooed people continued to fade away. They weren’t bad guys. Doc was a husband with four great kids and Augie was a 22 year old teddy bear. It didn’t take long to be smitten with him. He was a genuinely nice guy that happened to be tattooed and pierced. The stereotypes were gone. Well, at least in my mind.

My parents were not thrilled when I told them I was dating a tattoo artist. They had it in their heads that people with tattoos are addicts and abusers. My mom was convinced that this guy was going to get me strung out and beat me. She thought I was ruining my life. I tried for months to convince her otherwise with no luck.

When things between Augie and I were getting serious, we decided it was time that he met my parents. My mom made it clear that she would meet him, but I was not to plan on her accepting him. She was still convinced he was an all-around bad guy based on his occupation. That all changed when Augie arrived at the house.

When he came in, my parents were already in the foyer, staring him down with a look of don’t f**k with me or my kid. I could tell Augie was shaking in his boots. Poor guy! He was so nervous to begin with and then to come in the house and my parents are standing there, ready to pounce, I’m surprised he stayed.

I noticed that his hand was behind him as he entered. He gave me a kiss and handed me a peach rose from behind his back. Awe…see mom….he’s sweet! He turned to my dad and shook his hand before turning to my mom, still with one hand behind his back, to make her acquaintance. As he shook her hand, he brought his other hand around and presented her with a bouquet of peach roses. Remember that stern look she gave him when he arrived? Gone! Her heart melted and has remained melted even after all these years.

The moral to this story is……don’t judge a book by its cover. Sure, there will always be those out there that cast a bad light on anything that’s stereotyped, but you have to look past that. So I dare you….go out and strike up a conversation with someone that has a bah-zillion tattoos or has piercings in their face and their ear lobes stretched out down to their chins. I bet you will forget what’s on them and like what’s in them instead.

From the time our daughters were able to say the word tattoo, they have bugged their dad to give them one. They didn’t want to hear that it was against the law for them to get tattoos before they were 18 years old. They figured that since their dad did them and both of us had some, they should be automatically exempt. And waiting to turn 18 for a three year old and a six year old was a feat most 16 and 17 year olds can’t even endure. So, we came up with the next best thing….Sharpie markers. I went out and bought every color Sharpie had to offer. 

He sat his girls down and told them that they were finally going to be able to get the tattoos they’ve always wanted their whole, entire lives. They were beside themselves with excitement. “But it’s going to hurt. Mommy said it hurts,” said my little peanut, Gia.

He explained that I had gone out and bought special Little-Girl-No-Hurt-Tattoo-Makers so they could have tattoos of their very own AND it wasn’t against the law. Their eyes bulged as they squealed with joy, as only little girls can. Our oldest, Sofia, took off running upstairs only to reappear moments later with a notebook. “I have been waiting for this my whole life!” she announced. She handed over the notebook to her daddy. Inside, she had sketched a design of what her future tattoo would look like….a skull with an exotic flower on its head.  It was perfect.

He set up a make-shift tattoo studio in the dining room and asked for his first customer. Sofia hopped right up on the chair and lifted her shirt sleeve. She had the placement thought out and everything. He got to work.

After about ten minutes and artist/client chit chat, her first tattoo was finished. She jumped down and ran to the mirror to check out that bad ass skull on her arm. She was thrilled! She ran back and gave him a hug. That was his tip. She then took off upstairs to put on a tank top so when she rode her bike outside, people would see it and command respect. Now it was Gia’s turn.

She climbed into daddy’s tattoo chair with a bit more hesitation than her older sister. She’s not a skull kind of girl and had yet to be convinced that it wasn’t going to hurt. Put it this way, when she was barely two years old, she had one of those lick‘em-stick’em tattoos ,like the kind you get out of a gumball machine, of a lady bug she freaked out. She liked the ladybug when it was still on the paper, but once it was on her skin, she cried. She was convinced that it was going to bite her. So, for her to want a tattoo was a big deal.

She decided on a smiley face; something not scary. He drew the happiest face with curly blonde hair just like hers. She was so excited with how it looked and that there was no pain whatsoever that she decided that she wanted another one. Before long, she was covered on her forearms, back and legs with flowers, birds, a sun and Minnie Mouse. Then, to all of our amazement, she asked daddy for a skull.

“Are you sure?” asked daddy. “It will take a lot of baths to get it off.” She didn’t care. She wanted a skull. Being the awesome daddy that he is, he drew it on a piece of paper first before putting it on her. He wanted her to approve it before he put it on her. She loved it. It was a skull and crossbones, like the Jolly Roger, except all done in pink. Pink makes everything less scary, you know.

She didn’t let me watch. I was banished to the other room while she got her pink skull and crossbones. After about a ten minute wait, she came into the kitchen to show me. There it was, right on her bicep, a pink skull and crossbones. Underneath it, he added something a special…..MOM. My three year old was officially a badass little chickie.

And that was the start of Daddy’s Tattoo Shop. It was a good run, but after a few years, he had to close the doors. The two lovely clients he had all these years had moved on; they were getting older. They no longer wanted to be tattooed by the special Little-Girl-No-Hurt-Tattoo-Makers. Oh well. But they still have to wait until their 18 to get real ones.

I get asked quite a lot, especially from women, wanting to know how I can tolerate Augie touching women’s boobs and hoo-ha’s all day long? Don’t you get jealous when he has to touch all those naked women? The answer is quite easy….no, I don’t. And trust me, there have been plenty times where I should’ve unleashed the green eyed monster and taken down some un-lady-like-ladies, but what’s the point? It comes down to trust and I trust him.

I’ll give you an example….I swung by the shop one afternoon on my way home one day, just to say hi. When I came in, I saw that his office door was shut. No big deal. That just meant that he was tattooing or piercing someone in an area not often seen by strangers, if you catch my drift. I called out through the door to let him know I was there.

I heard him ask his client if it’s okay if they took a little break so he could say hi to me. A woman’s voice said, “Sure, but hurry back.”  As he came out of the room, I caught a glimpse of a young lady with long blonde hair sitting in the chair, her back to me, without a top on. He closed the door as he leaned in to kiss me.

“No need to shut it sweetie. It’s getting a little hot in here anyway,” she says. She didn’t have to turn around or say anymore for me to know that she was in full flirt mode with him. She was crushing on my man, even though she didn’t know I was his wife at this point. She was staking her claim, I suppose. I do have to admit, I did find it kind of flattering. It’s good for my ego to see that a woman wants my guy. It’s a…. ha ha, he’s mine and not yours…kind of thing.  Oh dear, is my catty-ness showing??

He told me he was almost done and asked if I’d hang out for a bit before heading home. I said sure. When he went back in to the room, she asked him who I was, not knowing I was now sitting at a desk just outside his door. He told her that I was his wife and that I stopped by to say hey. This seemed to flip her flirting switch into high gear. My guess is that she saw it as some kind of challenge. I just saw it as funny.

She pulled out all the stops….you have the most beautiful brown eyes I have ever seen. I could gaze at them for hours. I heard a lot of oh yah’s and that feels good coming out of the room. I almost burst out laughing when she asked him to show her how to apply the ointment to her boob. I’m not sure I’ll do it right. Can you show me how to rub it on? See why I wasn’t jealous? Acts of desperation from any woman doesn’t equal jealousy from me.

I have to give it to her….her acts of foolhardiness didn’t end there. As they came out of the room, she asked him what he was doing after work and proceeded to invite him out for a couple of drinks. He had the biggest grin on his face. You could tell he was flattered by the offer and yet shocked that she asked him while I was right there.

He did point me out to her and reminded her again of who I was. I will never forget what she said after she turned and looked me dead in the eye….”Honey, that don’t matter. I’m not threatened by her.” His eyes went straight to the floor as she handed him her business card followed by “call me.”

I’m sure other women would have jumped from behind the desk and opened a case of whoop-ass on her, but that’s not what I did. I started laughing. I couldn’t help myself. That was some funny sh*t I just witnessed. Plus, she seemed to me to be the kind of person that used this M.O. quite often and got the results she wanted. It just wasn’t going to work this time.

Once she was gone, Augie just smiled. You could tell this had just made his day and that’s okay. Guys need that once in a while. They need an ego boost from another woman sometimes. If he’s a good guy, it’ll never go beyond flirting.  And he’s a good guy.

Do I look like someone who owns a tattoo and body piercing studio? I don't think so either, but that's just fine with me. It's actually pretty dang funny to see people's faces when they find out. I get a lot of bug eyes, quizzical speculation and no way's and you?? I look more like a room mom than a tattooed mama.

No, I don't tattoo. I have the artistic talent of two year old. My stick people aren't even proportionate. Trust me, you don't want me drawing anything permanent on you. I don't pierce either. I get queasy with the thought of pushing a rod of steel through a tongue or eyebrow, let alone anything in the neither-region down below. That's why my husband does it. He's the talented one!

He's been tattooing for more than 25 years and piercing for over 20.He has done all of my tattoo's except for two. Those were done by Doc Finn when he was still alive (I miss that guy every day). My favorite one that my husband did is my tiger. It goes from my butt cheek to my knee; a sweet tiger cub in grass and flowers. He drew it up for me and spent 17 hours inking it in. I have to say that after 21 years, it still looks great. I guess it's because I don't tan. I burn and freckle; a lovely combo I must say.

My other favorite one he did was a small daisy on the side of my calf. I got it for Mother's Day 2010. Our oldest daughter, Sofia, had a class project to do where she had to interview someone, film it, edit it and all that. She wanted to do it on her daddy, so he drew the flower with her name and her sister's name around it. It's the only tattoo that I have that has a special meaning to me. All of them have a story or reason behind it, but nothing like my Daughter Daisy. Wonder if I'll be getting another one when Gia, our youngest daughter, takes that class? That would be cool! Wonder what I'll get?

You'd think that since I'm married to a tattoo artist I'd be covered with them. That's not me. I don't want to look like Kat Von D. I never have. That's not my thing. And that's what is so fantastic about tattoos....to each his own. I'm sure it would be different if I was doing tattoos like Kat, but I don't. Like I said, I wasn't born with that creative gene and besides, my tattoos are for me. They hold stories of my personal journey through this life. If I want you to see them, you'll see them. Otherwise, you'll be none the wiser.