August 29, 2004 - 12:54 p.m.

Wow. That was kind of hard.

I got a tattoo last night. Well, the outline of a tattoo. The color will be done in two weeks, and while I'm not looking forward to it, exactly, I am anxious for the whole thing to be done, because it is going to be gorgeous. It's a dahlia, and it's on my back. I purposely tried to find a design that was more aesthetically pleasing than deeply significant (I have a whole theory there that I won't go into), but I do like the fact that the dahlia, in addition to being pretty, is also the official flower of San Francisco.

Now, I knew going in that tattooing is painful. But Iggy and I have been spending so many weeks finalizing the design (Well, Iggy did all the work. I just said things like, "Maybe fewer leaves."), that I think I didn't spend enough time considering and preparing for the actual process of tattoo-getting. That is, the dragging-of-needles-across-the-flesh-and-also-my-spine part.

I also knew going in that I am a fainter. But all of my fainting spells in the past have happened when I was getting blood drawn (except for the one that involved taking a vicodin and drinking a Blue Hawaiian after running a marathon, but let's not speak of that). And even though there is a certain amount of blood in tattooing, I figured, "Hey, I won't be able to see the blood, so no problem, right?"

Wrong. Within, I think, the first 10 minutes, I went down. All my other fainting spells have just involved blacking out for a few seconds or so, but still being at least marginally aware of what was going on. This was the first time I've ever had that stereotypical, "Where am I?" experience upon regaining consciousness. Except instead of that dainty "Where am I" and a fluttering of the eyelashes, my eyes apparently rolled back in my head and I barked an annoyed "What?!" at Iggy as he woke me up. I bet I looked real pretty.

I'm told I was only out for 10 or 20 seconds, but it felt like I had fallen into a deep sleep. I'm pretty sure I was actually dreaming, but I can't remember what about. And I really had no idea where I was when I came to. Scary. Has anyone investigated a possible connection between fainting spells and alien abductions? Because I'm pretty sure that I "lost time," as they say in abduction-survivor circles. And while I don't feel as if I've been probed anywhere, one can never be sure.

Of course, I have the best friends in the whole world. Selila and K got me cold paper towels and water and told me that I didn't suck, even as I kept insisting that I did and felt like the hugest wimp ever. And Jen Wade ran to a nearby liquor store and brought me sugary drinks and an energy bar and yet more water.

And even though Iggy rather hastily rejected my suggestion that he just let me rest and keep going if I passed out again, he and the other guys in the shop were very sweet with the reminiscing about all the fainters they've seen over the years, many of them big military guys who passed out as soon as the needle touched their skin, and at least one of whom wet his pants. This made me feel better, but I also hit the bathroom one more time, just in case. Jen waited outside and called my name periodically, to make sure I hadn't passed out again. (Oh, and Picture Machine Tattoos has my absolute favorite toilet seat in all of San Francisco. It is not only cushioned, but also covered in plastic that is meant to resemble fake wood paneling. The incongruity of material and design is truly inspired, perhaps even genius.)

When I looked in the bathroom mirror I was chagrined to discover that only two leaves had been completed. Aside from making me realize that I was in for a long night, it was also a total surprise and a rude introduction to one of the weird things about the whole experience, which is that the sensations I was feeling had very little to do with what was actually going on back there. Not only could I have sworn that Iggy had finished at least a third of the design when I passed out, but I thought he was working on a completely different part of my back that whole time. This is pretty common, from what he and Jen told me, but it kind of freaks me out to realize that my nerves, or whatever, are such unreliable narrators. Stupid nerves.

My dad called while I was recovering and told me that he, too, would've fainted. He also, oddly, expressed some concern about my ability to wear sleeveless gowns, with a tattoo on my upper back (he may have meant backless; Dad's not really a fashion maven). Leaving aside for a moment the fact that I am not spending a fair amount of money and enduring a great deal of pain to just hide this tattoo, I have to wonder what kind of social life my dad thinks I have. One that involves a lot of formal wear, apparently.

I must add that K was there even though she is hosting a very fancy dinner party this evening, and that Jen Fu hung out for as long as she could, and offered much in the way of support and helpful suggestions. Well, one of those suggestions was that I get a Tasmanian Devil instead of a dahlia, but I'm 99% sure she was kidding.

Oh! And when K and Selila had to take off, Selila left me her iPod so that I could listen to soothing classical music if the Motorhead started getting to me. Her iPod, people. That is some love, right there. And she had already brought me a plastic bee and lollipops, and hung out in a tattoo shop for friggin' hours, so this was clearly above and beyond the call.

After the initial fainting, things went better, though I was hardly a champ (there was a little crying when I couldn't reach my boyfriend on his cell phone, of which I am not proud). I had to make Iggy stop a couple of times, but eventually I figured out how to breathe or deal or something, and even though it still hurt like hell, I was able to stick it out. Iggy also went fast, and did I mention that he was incredibly patient and nice about the whole thing? Because he was.

Jen Wade stuck it out with me to the bitter end, keeping me entertained with recaps of the Fantasy Island reruns that she's been watching on Saturday afternoons. Consenus: Mr. Roark was one evil motherfucker, and the bulk of Fantasy Island's clients were complete morons.

We finished up at around 11 o'clock, and while I definitely had a moment of "Oh, god, what have I done," that evaporated as soon as I saw the tattoo, which is just beautiful, even with just the outline. Jen Wade took pictures, which I may post, although I might just wait until the whole thing is complete. Right now, though, I have to go figure out exactly how I am going to successfully apply moisturizer to the middle of my back.

previous - next