My Next Tattoo: And I Am Happy

Tattoos. You either love them (like I do) or hate them (like my husband does.) I have written about tattoos before, and back in 2010 when I got my last tattoo I shared a picture of it. I’m a fan, and I’ve been considering getting another one.

For me, tattoos should have meaning. They should represent something important to you. Maybe it was a situation you went through, a stage of your life, or words that mean something to you. Whatever it is, if it’s going on your body forever, you want to make sure you won’t regret it (like one of the ones I have.)

The tattoo I’m thinking about getting – maybe along the side of my foot? – is just four simple words: And I am happy.

Now I’m not always happy and sometimes I’m miserable. But overall, my life is so blessed and when I eventually get to those pearly white gates I will be able to say that I lived a happy and good life.

Where do the words come from? My nana. My nana was a pretty amazing woman. She passed away shortly before I started writing this blog. In fact, My Nana was the second blog post that I ever posted! It’s still one of my favorite posts, and I hope that you’ll read it.

If you don’t have time/want to, I’ll give you the short version. My nana raised 9 children, which I cannot even imagine trying to do. I’m sure she had little time (read: no time) to herself, but I found out after she passed away that she loved to write. She wrote journals and poetry. After discovering my own love of writing, I would do anything to be able to talk to her about it. To find out what made her want to write, how she found her love for writing, how long she had loved doing it, what she wanted to write about. Did she ever try her hand at fiction?

Anyways, back in March 1980, she sat down one day and wrote a poem. It was a poem that she never shared with anybody. It was a poem that my mom and her siblings didn’t find until after she passed away in March 2010.


Those four words mean so much. They express love and light, they hold memories, they show the importance of family, they give a glimpse into my nana’s life, and they remind me about what’s really, REALLY important in life.

So I know what I want to get tattooed and where I want it. Now I just need to find the perfect script to have it written in. I’m going to ask my mom where that poem is. Maybe I’ll have it tattooed in my nana’s own handwriting.

The New Tattoo: Tattoos With Kids Names

I wrote a post back in May titled Do You Tattoo? Some people do, some don’t. Some have and swear they’ll never get another one, some want to but haven’t, some never will. But if you have kids, you might be open to considering tattoos with kids names.

I happen to like tattoos and have three (one was covered up, so I only have two that you can see). I’m sure I’ll continue to get them. One thing is for sure and anybody with a tattoo will tell you the same thing: If you are going to get a tattoo, make sure it means something to you and that you won’t regret what you put on your body and where you put it!

In honor of Poppy’s guest post on Tuesday, Tatted and Toothless (if you haven’t read it, go read it now, it’s HILARIOUS!), I have decided it’s time to unveil my new tattoo:

An idea for tattoos with kids names.

I wanted something bold, but simple. Something that would always remain true and constant throughout the rest of my life. Something that, no matter what, would never change.

It is an infinity symbol with my three children’s names. Infinity means “to continue with no end”. And they are my forever. They will continue to be the most important thing in my world forever. My love for them will never end, no matter what may come in the future.

The various shades of green represent the color of their birthstone (they were all born in August)…and their birthstone is Peridot, which is green.

My other tattoo is, to put it simply, boldly stupid. It is on the inside of my left ankle. It’s the Chinese symbol for love (yes, it has been verified by a friend of mine who is Chinese), along with some other stuff around it…flames and a lotus flower. I love the symbol, and hate the tattoo. How it came to be is a long story for another time…let me just give you all a word of advice: NEVER get a tattoo while drunk. NEVER.

So… you tattoo?

Tatted and Toothless

No…not me, I’m not tatted and toothless! I’m only tatted. But that’s now what this is about.

It is no secret to anybody that I adore Poppy of Funny or Snot. If we lived near each other I know we’d be BFFs. Poppy isn’t so sure we’d be friends because she doesn’t necessarily believe I’m a female. But I know that we’d spend our days drinking wine and eating bon bons.

And on the days that she had a marathon or triathlon or whatever other crazy running stuff she does, I’d sit on the sidelines and cheer her on, happily drinking enough wine for the both of us. Though I know once she was done she’d catch up. Now that I think about it, it’s probably better that we don’t live near each other. I think we’d get into a lot of trouble together…I’m sure she’d be a horrible influence on sweet, innocent me.

Anyways, I’ve been waiting a long, long time to get Poppy over here for a guest post. If you don’t already know her, I’m sure you’re gonna LOVE her after you read this! Enjoy!

Tatted and Toothless

The coolest part about guest posting is that I can write about things that I haven’t been willing to share on my own blog. I’m pretty open with my readers, but there have been some topics I haven’t felt comfortable tackling due to who I know is reading. Natalie gave me free reign and no censorship. I am tempted to tell you how I found out a couple I know were swingers when they ended up naked in our hot tub after we had them over for dinner, but I’m sure that happens everyday where you live so I won’t bore you with that awkward encounter.

There was an email circulating earlier this week amongst a handful of bloggers discussing a possible trip together. I don’t know how serious it was because I checked out of that conversation immediately. Usually when a girl’s trip is mentioned I am the first one with my hand up and my check filled out. That was before.

Before I had flown down to Florida and spent a weekend trapped with mostly crazy ass bitches that I had met online while hopped up on narcotics after my tummy tuck.

Let me back up a bit. At the time of my surgery I didn’t know anyone personally who had a tummy tuck and If they did, they weren’t talking about it at T-ball practice or playgroup and I wanted information and I turned to the world wide web.

I joined a message board full of very helpful women at various stages in the process. Some were in the planning phases such as myself, some were just recovering, and some had been post-op for quite some time. I immediately felt close to these women because they could relate.

The surgery itself knocked me on my ass for several weeks and all I had was my laptop so I chatted with these women and developed what I thought was a close bond. It wasn’t long before we planned a trip to compare scars.

I got off the plane excited for my weekend and was picked up by the woman who I was closest to and convinced me to break out the lube to get “permission” for a 3 day girls trip. So far, so good. Until we picked up two others. For anonymity, I’ll just call them Tatted and Toothless. Also, I still have PTSD and still fear they may be watching me. I was trying hard not to jump to conclusions because I really “knew” these women and now I think it was because I had seen them on several episodes of Cops.

When they got in the car, we did the requisite hugs hello and then they all lit up their cigarettes in the compact car and proceeded to tell the story of how they were pulled over at gunpoint earlier in the day because they matched the description of bank robbers in the area. They were outraged. Frankly, I’m still suspicious.

Back at the condo, was a group of other women. Sane women. Little did I know that the group had completely splintered when I was in my drug induced haze and I had inadvertently been made the prison bitch of the Rough Riders back when I was drooling on the couch. I was too chicken shit to defect now. Partially because the not crazy camp was only staying for the weekend and I was stuck an extra day with the Manson family.

And it was tense. I had no idea group A didn’t like group B. I also had no idea that group B was really as rough as they were. Sure, I noticed a few spelling and convention errors when we were chatting online, but big deal. I don’t spell check everything and I throw in a few aints and gots every once in a while. You know, intentionally. But these bitches be crazy. Really, really crazy.

On Sunday morning when the nice group was about to leave and I was alternating playing dead on the pull out couch and mouthing “help me” when Tatted wasn’t looking, it almost turned into a UFC fight. I was really worried because my money was on Toothless.

Someone said something that “disrespected” Tatted’s husband and the fight was on. It was verbal only with threats of physical violence and ensuing drama. The worst part was that I didn’t say a damn thing. Toothless and Tatted were so wrong and I kept quiet out of self preservation. Woulda, shoulda, coulda handled that differently, but TSA did confiscate my mini Leatherman.

In general the behavior I witnessed was disgusting. Lying to their husbands. Why? Grown women threatening other grown women with bodily harm? So trailer. Out drinking me 3 to 1. Fucking Insane.

It wasn’t all horrible. I had a nice ride to the outlet mall on the city bus because I asked to be dropped off at the airport 8 hours before my flight.

So as much as I’d like to confirm Natalie is a female and that indeed her tattoos are tasteful, I’ll need to get 3 references and a credit check before I book my plane ticket for Vegas.


Poppy…I want that swinger story! I’m inviting you back to do another guest post, but this time I’m asking that you write about that. Please??? Anyways, thank you Poppy, you know how much your friendship means to me and I owe you one for doing this for me. And my references and credit check should be arriving on your door any day now.

Now you all love Poppy, right??! Go visit her blog for even more of her humor…she’s not known for holding back her true feelings or profanity, and there are no off-limit topics. If you’re good with that, you’ll love Funny or Snot as much as I do.

And so it goes…

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Do You Tattoo?

No, I do not have a tattoo on my head, but that’s one patriotic tattoee right there!
So….do you tattoo? I have a prettty big tattoo on the inside of my left ankle. I’ve mentioned that before. It’s actually my second tattoo. The first one I got when I was eighteen. It was tiny. A little heart with some ivy trailing off of it. The next one was much bigger, and covered the tiny little tattoo that was my first.
My cousin is a tattooer. About ten years ago, I took him a picture of what I wanted…the Chinese symbol for love:
Why? Because family is so important to me and because love symbolizes that….for me, anyways. Why didn’t I just get the symbol for family? Because I didn’t like it as much!
Anyways, the tattoo is there and it means a lot to me for many reasons. I won’t go into all the details of when he gave me the tattoo, but let’s just say it’s a lot bigger and has a lot more going on than I really wanted. And I had waaayyy too many beers to be getting tattooed and making decisions of what would be permanently etched into my body for all of eternity. Bad story, and not one I want to relive!
I have four siblings and my mom and dad are still married (going on 37 years!). Out of the 7 of us, 4 of us have tattoos: me, my Sister H, my youngest brother, and my mom. Yep, my mom only has one, but it’s a BIG one! The rest of us have multiple tattoos.
Anybody that has gotten a tattoo before is in one of two boats: regret it and hate it -OR- love it and need another one. I fall into the second boat, and I’m now contemplating tattoo number three. One that will incorporate all of my kids names into it.
The next one is going in between my shoulder blades and will be a pretty big tattoo. With the kids names in it. Something that can be there forever that will never lose its value or meaning. Hubby HATES tattoos and really, strongly (without telling me “NO”) prefers that I do not get another one. I wonder what the kids will think of my tattoos when they are older? Hmmm….
So, who’s got tattoos? How does your husband/significant other feel about them? Would you get another one? Dish!
In separate news…thanks to the Bloggers Club for featuring me on their blog yesterday! It was a very pleasant surprise and kicked my weekend off to a good start! Go check it out!
And so it goes..