Ranting by Dolomite
Hey folks, its Dolomite here. Well, for those of you that read the last ranting, you may remember that I was on my way to combating a viscous plague that had beset the fair (and not so fair) denizens of Mercyhurst College. Thankfully, we found the monkey responsible and spanked him hard. Then things began to fade to normal, or what we call normal around here. And as some of you may know, I like the abnormal side of life.
I began to speak with a few friends about current events. Basically, we were drunk and saw a newspaper headline about the whole Taliban thing and things took off from there. My one friend, John, was a ROTC nut and was practically drooling in anticipation to blow some foreign shit up. He kept going on and on about how the marines were going to wipe away all of the terrorists in Afghanistan. He then showed us a few of the new tattoos that he had gotten for the occasion. One was of a bald eagle holding a bloody turban in its claws. Another was of the American flag. We all nodded approval to this, because none of us had any to show. That was the night when I began to formulate the idea of permanently scarring my flesh.
As the week passed, the three of us that had been present that evening began to talk about the various tattoos that we might get. Josh was thinking of something along the lines of Indiana Jones or James Bond (his two heroes in life). Tony was thinking about either the Italian flag for his heritage or maybe a beer logo, his favorite drink. They asked me what I was thinking about getting.
I began to think and wonder about what would just look kick ass. I did not want a simple little design if I was going to get this thing done, I wanted to go full out. In one of my recent classes, we read sections of Milton's Paradise Lost. I had been thinking about warrior angels and demons since that reading. I decided to go for the gusto and told the guys I was going to get an angel of war. Some powerful angelic warrior, sword of living fire and a shining light behind him. Then there was silence. All began to think the same thing: Heavy.
I talked about the idea with some of my lesbian friends. Both were art majors and the one, ironically, was great with a pencil. She drew up my image. After a few hours of doodling and detailing, the image was done. It did not look as badass as I had hoped. She said she needed more detail. Some other picture would help her get the idea together. I found a few pictures of the wings I liked and a few body images I liked and sent them to her. Within a day I had a few different choices. I picked the one that just spoke to me, an angelic warrior of justice.
I went down to the nearby tattoo shop and talked to one of the guys there. He was a big metal head and loved the idea, thinking back to the cover of Metallica's Injustice for All. He scheduled me for the next day. The next day came and I was there right on time. I wanted this on my right shoulder blade at about a 6" by 3" size. I was there for the most excruciatingly frustrating hour I could have endured (next to the Lifetime channel of course). But after that hour, I had a kick ass tattoo for only a hundred bucks. I was told to take care of it and given some of the stuff needed for it (antibiotic ooze and an instruction booklet actually entitled "So You Have a New Tattoo").
What is the point of this story, you may be asking? First off, I am really loving this kick ass tattoo.
Second, it is meant to be a warning. The most difficult part of getting a tattoo is not the actual application process. It is the taking care of the damn thing. I can't reach all of it when applying the ooze. It itches like crazy and I can't sleep on that side. I have had about three hours of good sleep in the past week thanks to thins damn thing. Plus every girl that hears about it wants to see it. This would not be bad if it had already scabbed over and I had a decent body to show off since I have to remove my fucking shirt to show it off. If I had only planned this out more.