So I got some new ink. And its only a week old and I have, of course, had to mess with it a lot…and every time I look at it, I think what the hell am I doing? I don’t think anyone I know (including myself) would peg me as a chick with tattoos. But the more I think about it, the more I think these tattoos are my silent protests against the person I am becoming…the person I said I would never be….the person I’m trying not to be. The person who works in corporate America, the person who owns a home, the person who can’t pick up and leave at a moments notice, the person who is seeping into my every molecule.
I was watching LA Ink tonight and during the show two of the girls participated in a night of speed dating. Now I am way beyond the dating stage so I am REALLY relieved this is something I will NEVER have to participate in (i’m hoping). But as I was watching this weird, new dating ritual I decided I would really suck at it. I think I would probably just freak most of the guys out. The way I see it, you’ve got like 5 minutes to figure out if you like this other person. So I’m thinking I can’t waste this time on where do you work, what do you like to do type questions. I’d want something funny, some obscure fact, the weirdest thing they had seen recently, the most inappropriate thing they had recently heard. At some point I’d probably snort and then my 5 minutes would be up.
Like I said…I’d suck at speed dating.
The third day of February in Kansas provides nothing but cold, gray, dampness and a severe case of cabin fever, so I decided today was as good a day as any to try out this blogging thing. Besides I think my husband is tiring of my constant rambles. So….
My space of the planet is a college town in Kansas about 30 miles west of Kansas City. 10 AM on a Sunday morning finds me at a local Einstein Brothers as I wait for my newly purchased, iPod compatable car stereo to be installed.
Behind me is a table of two young guys and an older guy who (I’m pretty sure) is homeless…it looks like his belongings are in the suitcase he rolled in with. I cant tell if the young guys are homeless or just trying really hard to look that way. A fourth old guy (I’m assuming also homeless) joins them. His only concern for the day is how to get 4 blocks in the rain for cigarettes and how he’ll get money to purchase them. As they head out to the community center, I secretly wish my only concern of the day was how to get cigarettes.
Two college girls wander in, one of whom appears to be dressed for a night of partying. Based on the smudged, day old makeup, I’m assuming the outfit already witnessed a night of partying. I also assume at some point earlier that morning she took a walk of shame.
There is a young guy paying for his order who hasn’t taken his eyes off his cell phone since he came in the door. I find it fascinating that technology has turned us into a world of people occupying the same places but paying no attention to one another. I’m sure he couldn’t tell you how many people were in the restaurant or what any of them looked like. He certainly didn’t see me watching him.
As I’m getting ready to leave, a couple sits down next to me. She seems preppy…he seems pseudo-intellectual. She starts to read an article about Britany Spears…something about how the cost of paparazzi pictures has surged…and she has to ask what surge means. Ahhh, the institution of higher learning at its bes
I can’t think of a better way to start a Monday then driving to work and hearing Vanilla Ice. Every time that riff starts up on the radio, there’s that split second where you wonder if it is Vanilla Ice’s ‘Ice Ice Baby’ or Queen/David Bowie’s ‘Under Pressure.’ I always secretly hope it’s Vanilla Ice.