My Random Tattoo Experience

For 10 years I have wanted a tattoo. My first trip to the tattoo parlor was with a group of girls (not even my good friends) when I was 16 for guess what, a rose. Thank goodness I talked myself out of it. My second trip came when I was 18. More resolute to leave with a tattoo, I marched in of legal age, read and signed the waiver, paid my money and chickened out before I even got prepped. I don’t even remember what I was going to get that time. The third time, I had a purpose. My maternal grandmother and I were very close. There was a place in Y-town that all the coolest folks went to get their tattoos and this place had an awesome portrait artists. I wanted to get my grandmother’s portrait on my side. This time, I read the waiver, paid, got prepped and once I heard the noise, I chickened out for a third time.
Over the years I’ve still wanted a tattoo but I started to wane on the decision. I’d fulfilled one of my dreams, to get a motorcycle license, yeah I’m a rider baby (though I don’t really ride at all especially now that I’m in the City). I started thinking “What will I get that I can live with forever? Is this a thing that kids do? If I get one, no names, people that are important in my life know my name and I know theirs. Then, no words, I can’t get words, what word is important enough to be scratched into my body? I really got discouraged when my best pals and I all planned to get tattoos together. The original idea was something that represented the 4 of us perhaps our initials; thank God we didn’t do that. Then we were all just going to go together on vacation. That fell apart. Then one day Jill and Celia announced they got tattoos over the weekend, I was pissed. With these thoughts and unfortunate betrayals I gave up on my desire for a tattoo.
It takes NYC to do something completely crazy.
I had a lovely Saturday, hanging out with Tesh and Celia. We did brunch at Kitchenette: www.kitchenetterestaurant.com, shopped on Madison and 57th, visted Bergdorf Goodman, Bloomingdales, Gucci, Chanel, Prada (window shopping that is) a late old time dinner at Ruby Tuesday’s (we’ve moved on up) and then a little after hour at Down the hatch. It was a wonderful. On the way to the train after Celia was done petting some random police horses, we passed a tattoo parlor. Celia says, “Ev you never got that tattoo you said you were going to get”. I said “I’ll get a tattoo now”. She said “no you won’t” I said “watch me”. Next thing I knew, the papers were signed, the sketch was done and the needle was barreling into my skin. I couldn’t believe what was happening. The outline hurt so bad I wasn’t going to get it colored in but my tattoo guy (I don’t even remember his name) and Celia talked my into getting it colored in which surprisingly didn’t hurt so bad. Don’t ask me the name of the parlor, I don’t remember, or where my receipt is, I don’t have one. Celia got a tattoo too for the record.
What did I get do you ask, I got Gye Nyame which means "except for God" an Adrinka symbol of the supremacy/ Omnipotence and immortality of God. During my month long stay in Ghana several years back, the symbol took on a very personal meaning to me and I’ve always admired the Ghanaian people and their practices. It was quite a life changing experience. Friends asked good questions, “why couldn’t you just think Gye Nyame?” Another asked, “aren’t you too old for a tattoo?” Still another asked, “what is that going to look like when you’re 80?” I don’t have an answer for any but I must admit I love my new tattoo. I’m sure when I get old it’ll look like a little blob on my arm but that’s ok, I’ll enjoy it while my skin is still tight. Check the tattoo party pics below.
Cleveland or NYC; You Decide…