Tattoos, Madonna and narcissism. What more do you need in a title?

So as I was recovering from a recent bout of laziness and was flipping thru my On Demand cable options, I came upon TLC’s choices for my viewing pleasure. One of the shows was Miami Ink. If you don’t know what this is, it’s a documentary type of show of a Miami Tattoo parlor.

I was oddly fixated on this show and watched a few episodes. Yes, I will admit I found Ami (that’s pronounced in the French way like in, “Mi ami” not as in the woman’s name, “Amy.”) oddly sexy too. (What I want to write is HUBBA HUBBA but that would just be tasteless and a little crass and I am way too mature for that) HUBBA HUBBA. But besides him being sexy, and the other tattooer people being weirdly interesting (mostly because they inject ink under people’s skin with a tiny needle and make it into art for a living), what I was fixated on were the people who came in to get the tattoos. Some were sad, some were weird, and of course there were some obligatory college bimbos wanting cheesy butterfly tattoos that they will surely regret when they’re 30 even though they may be an appropriate accessory for them now. There was one guy who wanted his new rap album cover tattooed on his arm. Puh-lease! Buddy, you are not going to be a “star” and in ten years are you really going to want that constant reminder complete with naked woman sprawling across your inner arm, when you’re the manager of a McDonald’s? Even Madonna was smart enough to not tattoo her “current” image on her arm. She had the decency to publish a coffee table book of nude photos of herself and share it with the world that way instead.

I don’t have a tattoo. I’ve thought about getting one. Usually while drunk or when I’m feeling a bit self righteous about something but, as they say, this too shall pass, and it has. As I sat there and watched I tried to think about what I would ever possibly want tattooed on my body that would be there for the rest of my life - or until I had it lasered off along with those 2 chin hairs that keep growing back. (Seriously, what is WITH THAT?!? HElllllooooo, no one tells you when you’re young that you’ll get those as you get older. And for all you guys out there, seriously, EVERY SINGLE WOMAN gets them. She just plucks them out before you ever see them lest you thing she’s some transsexual freak.) I could not think of one thing I would ever want to have tattooed permanently on my body – even IF it didn’t hurt at all.

But now that I think about it, having my name or at the very least my initials tattooed might not be a bad idea. You know, in case I get amnesia and wander off or really, just because I’m a narcissist.