Tell Me a Story.

Last night I had one of those rockstar moments. I was at the Local about 3 drinks in when someone got the bright idea to walk across the street to Liberty to get a random tattoo. My friend decided to get her roommate's boyfriend's name put under her arm where no one could see it. Except maybe whoever she marries. Or anyone who sees her in a bathing suit. There's a story behind why she did that (mostly as a joke, and somehow an instance to prove something), but I won't get into it. Now, I've been having the itch to get another tattoo for some time now, and thought, "What the hell? I'll go, too!" So I took the lovely little picture of an anchored cross I've had in my wallet for over a year, specifically for an occasion like this, and went to Liberty with my friend, her roommate and her boyfriend and got myself another spot of ink. It was the shortest amount of time I've ever spent in a parlor, and I must say, it hurts a hell of a lot less after 3 drinks.

These are the kind of stories that one day, my great nieces and nephews, or, God forbid, grandchildren will want to hear from their kick ass rockstar family member.

I have so many stories about things that have happened to me, which might have turned out to be boring, except that when I feel something significant coming along, I intensify it and make it more interesting. Not dramatic, just a better story to tell. I don't know why I do that, but I know that I have fun and I can floor people with some of the stuff I tell them. I'm sure if I was famous and had lots of money, these stories would be tabloid worthy, but I'm just a single chick living in the city. And that's it. And there are many of us. But I feel like I gravitate toward the ones who don't tend to censor themselves the way the majority of girls do. I know why they do it, because they don't want to be single and feel like they have to repress themselves. I, on the other hand, am everything you see. That's what you'll get. Why hide it?