Last Thursday morning found me at DFW airport, drinking a screwdriver with The Core in the Irish pub located in the international terminal. None of us gave a second thought to the fact that it was 8 a.m. and we were drinking. We were on vacation, logic and social standards be damned.
Fast forward through two drinks, a cup of yogurt and an hour later: we're on the plane. Sun Country Airlines offered us a delicious pre-packaged sausage biscuit with a sliver of cheese the size of a quarter and we were all happy as clams. However, after another 30 minutes of flight time the Martha Stewart Living had been read and People's special child star stories were devoured. What to do?
The Boyfriend and I had the following discussion:
Not Lisa: "What if you had to have your head shaved for one reason or another, or maybe you just up and Britney Spears'd yourself, and you realized that you had been living your whole entire life with a pentagram made out of moles on the back of your head?"
The Boyfriend: "I would be bad ass."
Not Lisa: "Wouldn't you be concerned? You had lived your whole life marked with a pentagram and had never known? Wouldn't you be scared of being marked?"
The Boyfriend: "No, because I'd be marked as 'Bad Ass'."
Not Lisa: "I'd be freaked out."
The Boyfriend: "That's because you're not a bad ass. Can I give you a tattoo?"
How's a girl supposed to say no to that? A red Sharpie was found in my messenger bag and this glorious piece of artwork was born:
I waited until he was finished to tell him that "beuty" is not the way you spell "beauty". He claims that he was concentrating too hard on writing in cursive to pay attention to spelling. I claim he's a copywriter who can't spell.
In case you're wondering, my claim is correct.
Also in case you're wondering, that image is a majestic dagger wrapped with a delicate rose. One represents pain, the other represents beauty. Or beuty, rather. It's pretty deep - it's okay if you don't get it.
The news of my intricate and detailed tattoo moved quickly up the plane and through the rest of The Core. My friend R ran back to our row and settled in between us, holding out her fore-arm and yelling "Ooh! Me! Me!!"
After much discussion and a practice sketch on the barf bag, R's tattoo was complete:
We were delighted with many things, namely the bad grammar theme that carried itself through to another tattoo (lifes' a beach, in case you can't see it), the cactus blossom detail and the idea of a potted cactus representing a beach. We were practically peeing ourselves at this point. The pun of "beach" instead of "bitch" and that we were headed to the beach and that someone's grandma had a shirt that said that and oh-my-gosh-that's-so-stupid - our heads were spinning with how hilarious we thought we were.
(Please note: as you're a reader of an anonymous blog, I should make it known that I have a mole on the back of my arm that stands proudly erect and that I will never remove. I can't see it and therefore, in my mind, no one else can. It's a pain-free perk of being a selfish person. This mole is well-known amongst The Core.)
Not Lisa: "I really want another one."
Not Lisa: "We should plan a tattoo around my mole!!"
R: "OOOH!! A clown face!!!"
And, just so you can get the full 3-D effect that made us laugh so hard until we cried:
HOTT. With two Ts.
You're a crazy person if you think I didn't wear that proudly at the pool, the beach and later dinner and the disco-tech.
I miss Molezo already. And his hat complete with squirting flower.
The new plan is to re-create Molezo and book an appointment with my dermatologist, telling him I was in the sun for five straight days and really need him to check my mole. Hilarity ensues.