Your body is a temple, but how long can you live in the same house before you redecorate?

I don’t have a tattoo. I don’t think I want one either. It’s not that I don’t like them, because I do…sometimes. I appreciate them, especially a quality one. I abhor the cheesy ones.

Now, before you get all uppity up in here, let me say that I don’t mean your tattoos or your friend’s tattoos. Those? Are bitchin’ as hell.

Some of my dear friends have the ink. Take for instance, this guy, Captain Dumbass, famous to tens of people on the internet and always first in my reader. He’s got himself an entire mural going on.

(FYI: The Captain is famous to thousands on the internet.)

This next tattoo belongs to Miss Grace. She is not only one of my favorite bloggers, but she has THEE best tat in the functional/literary category. (I guess the Captain's would be first place in the scary mythical creatures that breathe fire and will most definitely kill you category.)


(In case you can't quite make out exactly what her tattoo is, it's a scene from Where The Wild Things Are.) I imagine if Miss Grace ever gets really tired when she’s putting her son to bed, she could just roll over and let her back do the talkin’. How cool is that?

Even my daughter’s cute little birthmom gave herself a tattoo as sentimental reminder of Reese to carry with her always. (It’s on my facebook photo page if you’d like to see.) To be clear, I don't think she gave the tattoo to herself. I'm pretty sure she paid someone to do it....

I’m just too fickle to get tattooed. I can't make my mind up for more than a minute. I once indulged in a Henna tattoo at a carnival and wished I could change it moments after the seemingly buzzed and definitely sweaty guy began painting it on my arm. Although, it could have been the mixture of the suspect corn dog I had just eaten and the mustard stain in sweaty guy's beard from the corn dog he had just eaten. We will never know.

Last week, Jeremy and I were talking about the flesh ink and we began throwing out ideas for tats that would be fun to see on someone else, someone more secure in their choices. We have assembled a short list of five designs below. Any feedback or suggestions you have are welcomed:

1) A beautiful, but barely legible script font along the back neckline that reads: I have made a huge misteak.
2) A smallish representation of The Simpsons Comic Book Guy with a thought bubble coming from his head with the words: Worst tattoo ever.
3) A lower back tattoo, or “tramp stamp”, if you will, that reads: You’re welcome.
4) Another lower back option. This time it would be a simple, yet noticeable red dot with the words: You are here written next to it.
5) And finally, in bold sans-serif print, anywhere on your body: Love lasts forever, but a tattoo lasts six months longer.

Special thanks to the Captain and Miss Grace for letting me use their backsides in this post!

My Ever Changing Body and Heroics

Today my Mom and I had a girl's date. She and I had planned on seeing Mama Mia together and then doing a little light shopping. When I called her to confirm, she let me know that we would be going bra shopping after the movie. I was thrilled. I thought to myself that this would make great blog fodder. When we met up, I asked her if after we tried on all the bras, if should wouldn't mind setting aside some time to talk with me about my every changing body.

"Oh, Jennifer," she said as she brushed her hand in my face. She then nervously laughed a little bit. I think she was silently wondering to herself if I was serious about this. I totally was. She must have wisened up to me because at the end of Mama Mia, she told me that she would go bra shopping alone. Drats.

Let me take you back to before the movie started. We had a little mix up with the theaters. Our tickets showed that we would be in theater 14. But once we got to the doors, we noticed The X-Files was sheduled to show there. A group of us Mama Mia-ers gathered outside theater 14's doors. As I surveyed the small crowd I could see that all twelve of us, were above the age of 55 with the exception of me, a teenager and the five week infant she brought along to the movie. I KNOW. What's the teenager doing there, right?

It felt like the most uncomfortable forty seconds in my life as the group of us stood around and wondered to each other out loud, "Should we just go in? Do you think the candy people would know anything about this mix up?"

I had just seen The Dark Knight the day before and I had learned from that movie that every situation calls for a hero and sometimes an unlikely one. I was just trying to recall verbatim the whole speech that Christian Bale had worked up about this very topic because it seemed oddly appropriate for this very situation. Just when I was going to start launching into my 'unlikely hero speech' something overcame me and I suddenly stepped forward and said very slowly, very deliberately, "I will get to the bottom of this."

It was nothing profound by any means, but just how long were we all going to stand around and look at each other shrugging our shoulders? Also, just how long was that infant going to make it through the movie?

With that, I was off. I scurried up the hall, past the candy people who apparently were all busy trying to breaking a $20. I then walked confidently up the ADA ramp to the gangly teenage ticket usher named Jaren who probably got a ride to his theater job from his Mom. I briefly explained our situation to Jaren. He looked at me like I had worms crawling out of my ears. I had to use props and hand gestures to gain his understanding. But after my game of charades was over this kid gave me the answer I needed.

I then turned around to meet the other eleven movie goers anxiously awaiting the verdict at the bottom of the ramp. One of them spotted me coming and pointed in my direction and exclaimed, "Here she comes!"

It suddenly dawned on me the power I held in my hands. These people were all waiting on me. I drank it in and shortened my stride a little to savor the anticipation a little more. I concentrated really hard on keeping my best poker face as to not let on either way what the answer might be. At the end of my promenade, I proudly walked up to those ten strangers and my Mom and said a little too dramatically, "Come on folks, we're in theater 8."

I would like to say that's where the story ends. It's such a nice tale. But no. In a panic that theater 8 might only have a dozen seats my dear Mother thrust me forward and said in an urgent voice, "You go on without me! Get us good seats. RUN!"

Also in the 'I would like to say' category, my Mother did the loudest girl inhale when the preview for The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants 2: Electric Bugaloo flashed on the screen but passed harsh judgement on the High School Musical 3 trailer. Eck. Who would see HSM3 anyway? (Seriously, Julee, call me. We'll make plans.)