Being Pierced and Tattooed Does Not Make Me Trash.

I am a body piercer. Its is my career, my profession, my art, and my life. I love what I do and I love the perks that come with it. Some of these perks include being able to collect tattoos from artists who do INCREDIBLE things using skin as their canvas, collecting piercings from friends in the industry, and hanging out with a REALLY amazing bad-ass crowd of people. These artists come from all walks of life and are really human beings... just like anyone else.

Sadly however, we are not usually treated like we are humans with feelings by certain people in society. People think its ok to judge us based on our adornments that we choose to decorate our bodies with. We are viewed as hooligans, felons, criminals, punks, assholes etc. and its depressing and wrong. So very, very wrong. I happen to know someone who is highly tattooed who, with his wife, took in recovering drug addicts and helped them get back on their feet. They did it with their own time, money and home. Or what about a friend of mine who is tattooed from head to toe who did those famous 56 stars on that girls face? Remember that story on the news? I can't even begin to tell you how nice that artist is... but notice how quickly people jumped to conclusions about him when a stupid girl ran her mouth.

I know that the mass of society is judgmental as it is towards anyone in general, but some of the looks and comments I have received because of what I do to my own body have hurt my feelings and taken down how I feel about people in general... which has never been very high in the first place. It doesn't help that I live in one of the highest ranked retirement communities and I constantly interact with the elderly either. I know they come from a different time and are "old fashioned" but what the hell ever happened to "Live and Let Live"?

Its not just the elderly either. I have had lots of curious looks and questions from children. I am enchanted and happy to talk to them until their parent takes a look at me and runs in the other direction with their kid in tow. They are teaching them to be closed-minded just like they are. Its a vicious cycle and I could stand on my soap-box all day and scream until I'm blue in the face... but it will never change. We thrive on thinking we are better than others. We feel we are better than others so we judge them and feel no shame. We teach our children to shun others who are different because we are scared of what we don't understand. But just because I choose to be be a living breathing canvas for artists does not mean I am a bad person.

However, this would be a depressing post if I didn't touch base on some of the amazing people I've encountered right?

I played a "magic trick" with my septum ring on a 4 year old in Petsmart while talking to her very kind mother. Her entertainment with my ability to hide my septum ring was adorable. I had an elderly woman fall in love with my sleeve because the colors were so beautiful. I have had an insane amount of kind and polite questions on my dermal anchors and how they are done. I have had countless compliments on all of my art and it gives me a nice, warm, fuzzy feeling inside. I can see the change. I can see the acceptance starting to outshine the hate and misunderstanding... I guess I'm just impatient. I wish more people would see that this is not going away. This is part of our evolution. We can modify ourselves so we can appear outside how we feel inside... and there is nothing wrong with choosing to do so. There are police officers with ampallangs, teachers with nipple piercings, doctors with tattoos hidden low on their hips... body modification is slowly creeping up in this world and I am so happy to be a main part of the revolution.

I will hold the door open for you at the store, even if you look at me like I am a freak. I will respond to your questions about my work with kindness even if you tell me that they are ugly or I would be "so much prettier" without them. I will give random smiles to strangers and watch my sailor-mouth in front of their children because believe it or not, I have a profound sense of respect. I am NOT trash. I AM a human being with feelings and hopes and disappointments. I feel love, sadness, despair, happiness and pain. I have a voice. I am a human. Just like you.

2 Cell Phones In Six Years Makes For Vicious Phone Envy.

I got my first cell phone when I was 18. I was out on my own, I bought and paid for it myself, and I was elated. This was amazing! I could text my friends and take glorified pictures of myself and put them online! I could call anyone I wanted because the power of communication was MINE!!! I mean, it was only a little flippy-nugget phone, but I adored it. And I took excellent care of it. Such good care in fact that it lasted me three years.

And around that mark, I started to get antsy for a new phone. There were now cuter flip phones with better color options and graphics and dammit, I needed one. So I got my Katana 2. Much to my then-boyfriend-now-husband's dismay, this phone was pink as pink could be so he refused to use it ever. He finally caved and got his own phone but thats a whole 'nother story. Anyway, I now had this adorable pink thing that did everything my previous phone did only just a little better and I was happy.

And that brings us to now. In the last three years, phone technology has advanced so quickly that my poor little pink phone quickly became outdated and old... but I still hung on to it because I take damn good care of my electronics and it still did everything I needed it to. Plus I was quite broke and couldn't afford a new one. So I sat back and developed the most awful phone envy. Everyone I knew had this awesome phone that had apps and high MP cameras and FULL keyboards! FULL KEYBOARDS!!!

Finally, my cousin Nathan saved me. He works for Sprint (who has been my carrier for 6 years) and has this nifty option to add his family members to his account... which means I get to be whole-heartedly spoiled rotten! He worked his magic and a few days later, I was the over-joyed owner of a glorious HTC Evo 4G.

This phone is fucking amazing. It has two cameras. One is on the front and it is meant for self-portraits and video chat. The other camera is an 8MP double flash camera that takes some fan-freaking-tastic pictures.

It has apps. I have applications that use my camera to scan barcodes on products then search the web AND local areas for that product and its prices. I have a bank app... so I can be more financially responsible. (bwahahaha!) I have navigation apps so I never get lost ever again, horoscope apps, streaming radio stations that play music personalized to ME, soundboards from my favorite shows and movies, apps that show you every star in the sky when you point it upwards, apps that tell me what movies are playing in my local area and what time they are showing, a sound machine to fall asleep to... the possibilities are ENDLESS with this thing.

The games... omg. Have you ever played Angry Birds? If you have, you'll understand my excitement. What about Alchemy? Or how about a rousing round of scrabble with either your friends or some random person across the country that you can chat with? Hundreds of sudoku puzzles at my fingertips... word search, mahjjong, pinball, and hundreds of other crazy games to help you pass the time.

I am connected with everyone. I can check my facebook, my email, keep chat windows for each individual contact in my phone, AND talk to people on the phone WHILE I am doing other things on it.

How the hell did I ever live without this thing? My two phones before this were wonderful and may they rest in peace... but OHEMGEE I love this phone/life accessory.

Old Stinky Dog.

I'm going to write this now, because if I try tomorrow, it may very well be a jumbled mess of medicated words that make no sense whatsoever.

My mom, my sister and I have a dog named Taz. He is a cute mixture of pit bull and akita. He has pit build and face, but pointy akita ears and a curly tail. He is brindle and was dubbed "blender puppy" by my Aunt a long, long time ago.

When I say long, I mean long. Taz is going on 17 years old. His super dark sweet little face has gone white and his eyes have long since lost their clarity... and boy howdy does his breath STINK... but he is our old fart dog... Stinky... and he has always been the one man in our lives that has never hurt us. Now he is suffering and as his people, we are left with the choice that no one ever wants to make... when is the right time to let our little old man go? He is covered with bumps and lumps. His hips hurt him and give out frequently. He cannot make it outside most of the time... but he certainly tries to get to the door. (good boy.) He has lost the curl in his tail, looks confused, and is so obviously just... gone. So I guess its time...

I brought Taz home when I was in second grade. I'm pretty sure it was in January because I wanted a puppy for my birthday and he was born on Christmas. I crawled under a house to pull his fat little ass out and I carried him all the way home in my coat so he wouldn't get cold. He tore shit up. He chewed the noses off of our teddy bears. He made messes where ever he went. He was a litle terror... or at least to me he was because none of my stuffed animals were safe. I ended up moving to my Dad's shortly thereafter until I was 12, but Taz was always happy to see me when I came home to visit.

When I moved back in with my Mom, Taz was a little shit. Hell, he's always been a little shit. Just ask all of my friends who have had to chase after him as he was running down the street. He loved to run as soon as the door was opened enough for him squeeze through... and whoever let him out, had to chase him down. He also had a thing for the sock toys I would make him. Oh and shoes... while they were still attached to your feet. He would whip you right over on your ass if he was feeling playful enough. He frequently got into the garbage can, attacked the vacuum cleaner, took TEN YEARS to go to the bathroom while on walks, and would always steal your seat as soon as you got up to do something.

Taz was a real pain in the ass.

But he protected us. He is a very protective dog. I always felt safe with him around... and sometimes annoyed because he barks at everything. He is also a good companion. There are so many of our tears on that dog. Boy heartbreaks, fights with friends and family, or just a sad movie... didn't matter. Our dog was there. He shared suckers and popsicles and ate Mom's apple cores. He put up with "DANANANANA BATDOG!", scrunchies that pinched his ears together, and he let Chelsie and I wear his tail like a bracelet. He got sprayed by a skunk like THREE times!!!

God all of these memories are rolling around in my head faster than I can type. 17 years is such a long time for a dog... we are so blessed that he lived this long. But it hurts so badly to see him go. And I can't be there. Its not fair. I want to hold him and tell him it will be ok. I want to kiss his stinky face and pull on his pointy ears... but I know my Mom and my sister will be there. I know they will tell him how much I love him... funny thing is, I'm pretty sure he knows already.

I love you Taz. I am going to miss you so fucking much. Thank you for being the best dog in the world. Because you really are... and you always will be... the best dog in the world.