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Monday, August 1, 2011

Ink blot...

I love tattoos.

My ink is an expression of the essence of who I am.

Ok, that sounded a little extra...but you get what I'm saying, right? I love the body art I have and I chose each piece carefully.

I never understood why some people are so against tattoos (religious reasons excluded). I get that too many on a woman can look trashy, but still, ink can be so beautiful if done correctly. I wish I could get a sleeve, they're so intricate and the good ones show the true care and creativity of the artist who put it on you. Unfortunately (or maybe fortunately, I'd still like to be able to wear an evening gown one day without looking like a billboard in east LA after Cinco de Mayo), I can't get one myself. Not just because of the aforementioned plans of going somewhere nice enough that I'd like to look like the lady my mother raised me to be, but Corporate America doesn't take too kindly to art you can't cover up (and long sleeved blouses 365 days a year is not an option), I hate pain, like A LOT. So, I'm content with the three pieces I have now.

But oh do I wish I could get something fantastic going down my left arm...

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