Got Ink?



We love tattoos. 
But we have our limits. 

Here's our tattoo story:



















Guik
Do you remember your first tattoo? I certainly do. It was the most painful thing I’ve ever experienced in my life. When I first thought about getting a tattoo, I was with Karine and another one of our friends. We were 15 years old and badly wanted a tattoo! Of all the things I could have wanted in my 15-year-old mind, it was a bar code on my neck. Was it a “thing” back then? Maybe it was the year The Matrix came out? Well guess what…. I chickened out! Not because I didn’t want a tattoo but because didn’t trust that the tattoo artist was good enough to do those straight lines.

When I turned 18 (1999), wanting a tattoo resurfaced. You would think that I would have done more research by then, nope. I remember walking into the tattoo shop and talking to this guy that looked like Snoop Dogg (probably stoned too). I didn’t really know what I wanted but I knew I wanted it on my lower back. That’s right. The famous tramp stamp! Or as Barney Stinson from “How I Met Your Mother” would also call it, a “Panama City Licence Plate”. I started looking at the different drawings on the wall and I saw something that caught my attention. It was very delicate drawing of green leaves with a Hawaiian flower in the middle. Rather than going with the tattoo as it was, I wanted the leaves black which would make it look a bit more tribal, a replaced the flower by a flame with my first name in Chinese character. I showed up for my appointment a few days later, definitely not knowing what was waiting for me. The tattoo artist finalized the drawing and placed the stencil on my lower back. I laid down in the most vulnerable position you could think of in front of this stoned stranger. While I was on the table, he told me that he would start with the outline first. The buzzing sound started and then the needles touched my body. That’s when I knew I was going to regret this. It was painful. Really painful. I couldn’t believe what I had gotten myself into. How stupid was I to have picked such a big tattoo. I later found out that the lower back is one of the most painful areas on your body to get a tattoo (way to go 18-year-old me!). All I wanted was to tell him to stop but it was too late. So, I sucked it up and cried for 25. Fucking. Minutes. He then paused and told me the outline was done. I couldn’t help but think “What? That was only the outline??? God dammit!” He tried to reassure me that the shading wouldn’t hurt as much. Back on the table I was, and he started the shading. Holy mother of god. I couldn’t take the pain anymore, so I told him to stop! I told him that I would come back for another session, that I had had enough for one day. He was shocked and told me that I had to wait at least two weeks for the tattoo to heal. I looked at him and said: “I will wait as long as I need!”. Two weeks later, I did go back (didn’t think I ever would) and it wasn’t as bad as it was the first time. The shading wasn’t as painful but trust me, it still hurt! I promised myself that I would never get another tattoo …ever….never. Within two weeks, I was over the pain and was ready for another one, go figure. 


It took me 10 years before I got my second tattoo (2009), and guess what, I got a Hawaiian flower on my right shoulder blade, a plumeria to be more precise. The experience was quite different. It was the same buzzing sound from the needles and the pain rushed right back but this tattoo didn’t hurt as much. I think I knew what to expect, was somewhat mentally prepared and, it was on a different body part. Since I couldn’t see what the tattoo artist was doing, I wondered why he kept tattooing the same spot even though he was working on different areas. Oh, and that cloth he used to wipe the ink over and over again, it felt like he was doing it on purpose and rubbing off my skin. Thankfully, it only hurts while the needles are inking your skin. The pain goes away as soon as they stop. For some odd reason, I seem to forget how painful it is getting a tattoo after each one.




Since then, I’ve had several tattoos. Some have hurt more than others and I keep saying that it will be my last one. I’m not fooling anyone? I had my most recent one done three weeks ago. It ended up being much bigger than I expected. I was 10 minutes in and I was already complaining. Ha! The tattoo artist had originally told me it would take 3 hours to complete. After 1.5 hours, I started swearing like a sailor, and I was making a fist with both hands. I told myself, again, that it was the last one and kept reminding myself I didn’t want to go through this again. At the 2-hour mark, I was about to tell him that I didn’t think I would last another hour but luckily, he was done. What a relief! The tattoo is healed now… but there’s one more tattoo that I want to get done, THEN I’LL BE DONE. I SWEAR!





Karine

I got my first tattoo at the age of 15. Obviously, I wasn’t of legal age, so I couldn’t just walk into a tattoo parlor without my parents’ permission. So, my friends and I found this guy who willingly tattooed underage kids at his house. I know. I know. It was stupid. And that’s not even the worst part. HE REUSED HIS NEEDLES!!! If I could turn back time and slap the 15-year-old Karine in the face to make her realize how stupid that was, I would. But back then, I didn’t think twice. I really wanted a tattoo and didn’t care what it took to get one. My first tattoo was an angel on my heart. I think that angel protected me because, thankfully, I didn’t catch anything from those needles. Oddly enough, it didn’t hurt one bit. I remember wondering why everyone said tattoos were painful. As my…heart… grew bigger, the tattoo got bigger and became deformed. 


So, at the ripe age of 31, I got a cover-up tattoo. This time, I did my research and made sure everything was clean. It’s only with that second tattoo that I fell in love with the art. I find that a well-done tattoo really transforms your body into a piece of art. At least, that’s what it feels like to me when I look at my tattoos. Now, several tattoos later, I love every one of them, but I have less tolerance to the pain that’s required to get another. Some of my tattoos, I’ve had done without telling anyone. Not even my husband. You see, he’s a tattoo virgin and that’s fine with me but I don’t want to have to explain why I want more. There’s no rhyme or reason. I just do. I guess I haven’t really matured in that department.






I had my last tattoo done in the fall last year. It’s a phrase my parents used to tell me, and in turn, I’ve told my kids a thousand times if not more. I love it.


Now, I think I’m done. Maybe. I don’t know. Let’s just take it one day at a time. Because like every piece of art, you’re never truly done unless you run out of ink or canvas. 



Karine & Guik


Comments

Popular posts from this blog

To be or not to be...a Mom

Introductions please