No More Room Left On The Fridge.

First Choice, 'They'll Never Guess It's Me', by Lizzy

So, I finally did it. I got a tattoo on Monday. 

It wasn't the tattoo I initially planned on getting, but I'm glad I chose the design I did.

To answer everyone's question, "No it didn't hurt".

My plan to go to North Carolina did not come to fruition, so when my friend from North Carolina came up for a long weekend, we decided to get the tattoos in NJ. He has a bunch already, so this was just another one for him. 

Lizzy's 'The Flea'

We went to Freehold Tattoo. They were extremely professional and did excellent work. There were some amazing tattoo designs on the wall, that tempted me, but in the end I went with, 'The Flea'. 'The Flea' was done by Lizzy when she was warming up to draw a tattoo for me. It had always been a consideration, but after seeing all the small lines in my first choice and the lack of color, 'The Flea' seemed like a natural.

Prototype

I copied the design in a paint program and with a friends help smoothed out the edges, added the circle and some flames(hey, gotta have flames!).

Strangely, I was not nervous or anxious about sitting in the chair at the tattoo parlor. It was a little surreal trusting someone to draw a picture on your body that would never come off. In the end though, I love it. I have a piece of art from my daughter that will always be with me. Maybe someday Emily will draw something for my other arm. I'm not rushing her, but would also not be opposed to it.

The only downside to the whole experience is that you need to put A&D ointment on the tattoo three times a day for the first ten days. For those of you who don't know, A&D ointment is normally used for diaper rash and smells like baby ass.

'The Flea' the first time the bandage was taken off.

Mikey's new Tattoo

Creative Thursday - The Last Coffee Mug, A Childrens' Story.

     The little coffee mug lived in the back of the cabinet with his nine other sisters and brothers. They would all excitedly wait to hear the kettle whistle or gurgling of the coffee pot. When the cabinet door opened, they would reach out their handles and scream, “PICK ME!!! PICK ME!!!”. The coffee mugs in the front would always be picked and when they came back to the cabinet, would tell wonderful stories of how they held coffee, tea, or some other exotic beverage. They would spend hours explaining the taste of the sweet honey that was swirled into them or the mint that floated just below their rim. The little coffee mug in the back would particularly like the stories about the soapy bubbles, the soft sponges and the towels that would be used on the others before they were put back into the cabinet.

      One day the cabinet opened and the two front coffee mugs were taken out. The little coffee mug in the back waited patiently for them to return with their stories of the day. But the next time the cabinet opened they were not returned, instead, another two of the coffee mugs were taken out. It was a peaceful night in the cabinet with only six coffee mugs and no stories. The little coffee mug in the back drifted off to sleep with the thoughts of coffee, soap suds and sponges.

      The next morning he was awakened by the gurgle of the coffee pot. When the cabinet opened, the little coffee mug in the back reached out his handle as far as he could. As his handle was grabbed, he beamed with excitement. His hopes were dashed with a, “Hey Watch it!”, from a mug in front of him, as they met with a large CLINK!  The hand released him and yet more of his family left the cabinet.

      The little mug sat with the other two mugs.  They talked about what it would be like if they were chosen next. With a clack, the cabinet opened. The three mugs reached out they were almost never picked, so they tried their hardest to get attention. The cabinet closed and the last little coffee mug was alone in the corner of the cabinet. The fear of being alone was overcome by the thoughts of being the next mug used. He tried to keep his excitement down. Once before all of the other coffee mugs but him left and just as the cabinet had opened for his proud moment, the rest of the mugs filed back in one by one. He was so excited, he would not sleep that night.

      The next morning came and the last little coffee mug shook with delight. This was his morning. He heard the scoops of the coffee rustling against the filter, the water being poured into the maker, the whoosh of the steam and finally the gurgle of the last few drops of coffee.

The cabinet opened.

The hand reached in.

His handle was grabbed.

     This was it, this was his moment. He could hardly contain himself. He was getting closer to the coffee pot. The counter was just in his reach. The smell of the coffee, the light of the sun, the freshness of the air all came together. In his daze, the last little coffee mug did not see the edge of the counter, nor did the hand that was holding him. With a simple tap just inches from the coffee pot, the hand released and he tumbled through the air, down, down. “I'm flying”, he thought, but was rudely interrupted by the hard tile floor. CRASH! As the little mug lie in pieces on the ground he shed a tear. All he ever wanted was to leave the cabinet, and now he would never return.

The moral of the story kids, Wash the damn dishes Reed!

* No Actual coffee mugs were harmed in the writing of this story, but some were dirtied *