Before I die

So my sisters had this idea.

IMG_0023

Because sharing the same gene pool just isn’t enough.  You need a tattoo to solidify the bonds of sisterhood.

My sisters are the more adventurous of the bunch and I’m slightly more cautious.

Okay, so I’m a worry wart.

They do stuff with abandon and I crawl after them, metaphorically of course, worrying about any and every repercussion.

I also was not very excited about the idea of any of my limbs being the canvas for permanent art work.

IMG_0024

But I must admit, my interest was piqued.  We started to discuss what kind of inking we would get.  It had to be something all three of us would like, so we thought why not just get the word ‘sister’ tattooed in some fancy looking arabesque calligraphy?

IMG_0025 (2)

Kuthi means bitch in Urdu and Hindi.  We passed on that one.

IMG_0026 (2)

Meaning there is no way in hell you are getting that on me.

IMG_0028 (2)

By this time, we had shot down quite a few ideas and Sister 2 was getting frustrated.

IMG_0029 (2)

To which Sister 1 was not very sympathetic.

IMG_0030 (2)

We managed to get past that little snafu and decided on some sort of sisterly symbol instead of the word itself.

IMG_0032 (2)

That made me sound like someone’s deranged stalker.

Then we hit another road block.

IMG_0033 (2)

That idea was then also scrapped.

I’ve decided that if I am to get a tattoo, it will be for and around my next birthday.  I’ve narrowed my choices down to two that I like.

Now to get my sisters to agree.  You’ve already seen how easy that is.

I’m not crazy about permanent inkage and I absolutely hate needles.  As a child, I once ran out of the room during a doctor appointment during which I was to get vaccinated.  I would’ve made it out of the building, too, if the nurse hadn’t dragged me back.

But the idea of just one, really cool looking, bad ass tattoo is tantalizing.  I’ve never been bad ass before.

According to my younger brother, with whom I have regular back and forth sessions of what I like to call insultathons, I have been a fat ass, a lazy ass, and a dumb ass at various points in my life.

It’s like a mini Comedy Central roast every time we meet up.

But I have never been bad ass.  And who doesn’t want to be bad ass?

I do.  I really do.  Especially since I have always been told I have a sweet little baby face and I remind them of Winnie the Pooh. 😐

I’d love to whip out my tattoo, and with a crazy look in my eyes, ask the commenter Would Winnie the Pooh DO THIS?  Would he?! 😈

I’m just kidding.  I’m not that nuts and I really don’t mind the comparison.

But I would like to cross get a tattoo off my things I want to do before I die list.

Smoke a cigar and try hookah were taken off said list last year, on my last birthday, which was an important, milestone birthday.  I wanted to try something crazy, something I had never done before.  I figured Why the hell not?  Everyone does it.  

Bad idea, boys and girls.  To all you impressionable young people out there, don’t even.   

Both the cigar and the hookah tasted like shit.  Like dirty ass crack shit.  I couldn’t even stop coughing long enough to inhale or enjoy the stuff.  The smell of tobacco smoke clung to my hair and my clothes, mingling with my perfume.

The end result of it all was that I got home at 3 AM, looking like a zombie and smelling like a cheap hooker.

Me zero, facebook still counting

I’m mad at Facebook.  Hmph.  Imagine an angry Winnie the Pooh with his arms crossed and you’ve got my current look.  I’ve been told I resemble the honey junkie.  I don’t see it, but I take it as a compliment.  I’d rather share similarities with him than that wuss Piglet or emo Eyore.

One upon a time Facebook used to be a good way to keep in touch with your far away friends and relatives.  Slowly, though, it’s turned into just a platform for showcasing who has the best what.  It was inevitable.  That’s what happens when people interact.  Our internal wiring is fixed to compare and compete.  It’s an ingrained human trait which social media has taken to a whole different playing field.  We now have the power to be jealous and petty electronically.  Yay to ‘one giant leap for mankind’!

What’s the worst thing about Facebook?  The Facebookers of course!  What’s the most annoying type of Facebooker?  That’s easy.

That honor goes to the lives on and through social media type.  You know, the one who takes up half your news feed?  Every movement is a status update?

I just shat!  Five minutes later.  Now flushing what I shat.  Two minutes later.  Need to wash my hands!  Two more minutes later. Done washing my hands!  One minute later.  Hmm, who thinks I might have diarrhea?  He he.  Well, I don’t know about the stuff coming out of your ass, but you are releasing a whole lotta shit via that keyboard.

Then we have the compulsive liar.  The one who leaves comments that make you think her job title must be professional ass kisser.  Wow, I’m so jealous! You look so beautiful in that picture!  No. No she doesn’t.  She looks like a bloated Effie Trinket crossed with John Travolta’s drag look from Hairspray.  Even she knows it.

The bullshitterMy career’s going great!  I’m in talks to be the first Indian James Bond!  Really?  That’s awesome.  Real step up from your last job as token brown guy in IHOP commercial.

The Selfie! queen.  Thinks she’s the next Victoria Secret angel when she looks more like the Taco Bell chihuahua with heavy makeup.

The ultra clingy wife/girlfriend.  One word.  BAE.  I don’t think there are any other three letters in the alphabet that when combined sound so. fucking. annoying.

The show off.  The lady who’s sole purpose on social media is to show us how great the version of her life inside her head is.  Because outside of it everyone can see it’s a total shit fest.

The Matriarch.  Pops out one kid every year in order for more Facebook posting material.  Numbers 1, 2, and 3 were cute.  Number 8 is making me wonder what birth control failed you so I can sue the company for abetting mental torture.

To be honest, I know I’ve been guilty of most of these at some point.  Not the show off one, though.  I can’t even drink myself to that point of delusion.  Not that I drink.  Or that I fancy delusions of a perfect life.  Who wants to be perfect when you can have fun being just you?

Merry Christmas and Happy Hanukkah!  My son is incredibly bored with his first day off from school so I told him to go draw clothes on the ladies of my Victoria Secret catalog.