...that shit hurt.
And no, not like giving birth either. It is it's own kind of pain.
Turns out the Professor made it to the Rock right as I was checking on the Sun, who was happily being a boy down at the beach club with the Moon and some other boys. "Beach Club" sits at the end of one of the side streets, and basically consists of a shed with what seems to be a kitchen/pantry, a lot of picnic tables, a cleaner patch of sand than just walking to the end of any one of the dead-ended side streets (of which there are many out here) and a pier. Same crappy Rock water, though, which I'm convinced will make you glow in the dark. I've been on the Rock for 12 years this summer, and never have I joined any beach club, and I doubt I ever will.
But anyhow, Shoefly had him and the Moon. So I started walking back to the Main Drag to catch the bus, and the Diva (aka Choclahontas) volunteered to come with me, so I met her down at the BigFishBonanza (quite an attraction on a Saturday night) and we caught the bus for the mainland.
The Tatmaster was a trip. He took his personal security extremely seriously. And so I will respect that by not commenting on him any further. But he was way cool, and took a marker to by back to sketch out my tat. When he was done, I said "well, it's much larger than I was planning on" knowing that it meant that much more pain... but what the hell. I never do anything half-ass if I can help it.
The best way I can describe a tat, if you've never had one is YOUCH! Nah, seriously. It hurts in spurts. The large muscle in my back was bearable; it just felt like sunburn or being scratched by the cat. At one point the tat is on my spine and THAT HURT. And where it wraps onto my side a little, THAT HURT but I happen to be very sensitive there. But it only hurts when he's actually laying down ink, so I figured out that like birthing contractions, if I timed my breathing to when he picked up more ink, I could tolerate it without completely losing my mind. At times I was able to get into a zone, and at other time I was gritting my teeth. But I didn't cry! Or ask him to stop, and I needed about one good break about halfway through cuz I was clenching my muscles so hard I was going to get the shakes. And those breathing patterns I learned 8 years ago in Lamaze... they actually came in handy.
The other people in the house were entertaining as hell. And the Diva was funny cuz as usual, she got all into the bizniz of what was happening around her. And the Indian/(Guyanese?) people downstairs in the courtyard got louder and louder as the evening progressed. It seemed they were celebrating the life of someone who had passed and there was *tons* of food spread out--and obviously some alcohol, too. So I had a little distraction, but mostly I kept my forehead on my forearm, squeezed the chairback and wondered what the HELL was I thinking.
The whole thing took about an hour and a half, I'd say. And right now it feels like a scratch. I like it though. A LOT. It might actually inspire me to do some exercise and get rid of the backfat... so I can wear skimpier stuff and show it off...