I think it was about two years ago when I last wrote about getting a piercing. That one happened on Spring Break also. It seems to be that any time I spend a bit more than a few days outside of Michigan [when not in conference], I come home with a new hole in my body.
At least, this time, I shot the idea past my mother like a homerun in the bottom of the ninth. She didn't exactly make the happiest noise, but she wasn't threatening death--so I took that to mean that all bets are on.
I'm not too sure how well my grandmother will respond--but hopefully she won't notice it. Not many people have. Even some of the Wisconsin kids hadn't even noticed it and they saw me immediately before and after the lovely experience.
I don't remember the name of the piercing place--maybe smething like the piercing parlour. Nothing too catchy. The industrial that I got in my left ear was done at The House of Freaks in Melrose, or Santa Monica. The piercer's name was Angie and she had this long, red hair and looked like she was standing too close to a freckle bomb at detonation.
There's something about piercings--and hopefully I'll never move onto tattoos because, well, that would be disasterous. It's the smell--something about provon that is absolutely exquisite. And the whole experience. When you sit down and think, holymotherfucker, I really shouldn't be doing this, huh? Dropping sixty dollars for someone to inflict pain upon my stupid self. But it's always worth it.
That's when you notice the gloves on their hand and they open up the package with the needle and pop the jewelry out of the disinfectant. That's also precisely the moment when your heart starts to race and you try to remember what the last piercing felt like, if this one will hurt more or less--was there cartilege involved? hmm.
It always hurts worse the morning after, but it wasn't bad this time at all. Tiny little dot on my nose. I dig it. Doing the sea salt is a pain and a half, but it's really not that bad either. The jewelry itself is also weird as hell and maybe i'm not that big a fan of it, but I dig the way it looks--so it's in.
It's just funny. The way that time passes--that's what made me start thinking about all of this. Rachel was with me when I got my first one. There was this place right across the street from the dorm and I remember that I called right before we were heading out to a show and they squeezed me in before they closed. Sarah was with me on the second in Cali, then Stacey was with me this last time. The tattoo is coming up soon--and I think I know what my next piercing will be. We'll see.
But. Yeah. You know, just a weird time. Odd, odd time when you're moving from one stage to the next. And this transition is harder. Because it's a build up on all the old ones--and, well, there are other transitions to be made than simply leaving school. Right? pssh.
All I know is that I have this jones to go climb a tree. So I can't wait until the spring. I'm making a list--so far it includes baseball, laying in the diag looking up at the trees instead of being in class, and climbing a tree.
At least, this time, I shot the idea past my mother like a homerun in the bottom of the ninth. She didn't exactly make the happiest noise, but she wasn't threatening death--so I took that to mean that all bets are on.
I'm not too sure how well my grandmother will respond--but hopefully she won't notice it. Not many people have. Even some of the Wisconsin kids hadn't even noticed it and they saw me immediately before and after the lovely experience.
I don't remember the name of the piercing place--maybe smething like the piercing parlour. Nothing too catchy. The industrial that I got in my left ear was done at The House of Freaks in Melrose, or Santa Monica. The piercer's name was Angie and she had this long, red hair and looked like she was standing too close to a freckle bomb at detonation.
There's something about piercings--and hopefully I'll never move onto tattoos because, well, that would be disasterous. It's the smell--something about provon that is absolutely exquisite. And the whole experience. When you sit down and think, holymotherfucker, I really shouldn't be doing this, huh? Dropping sixty dollars for someone to inflict pain upon my stupid self. But it's always worth it.
That's when you notice the gloves on their hand and they open up the package with the needle and pop the jewelry out of the disinfectant. That's also precisely the moment when your heart starts to race and you try to remember what the last piercing felt like, if this one will hurt more or less--was there cartilege involved? hmm.
It always hurts worse the morning after, but it wasn't bad this time at all. Tiny little dot on my nose. I dig it. Doing the sea salt is a pain and a half, but it's really not that bad either. The jewelry itself is also weird as hell and maybe i'm not that big a fan of it, but I dig the way it looks--so it's in.
It's just funny. The way that time passes--that's what made me start thinking about all of this. Rachel was with me when I got my first one. There was this place right across the street from the dorm and I remember that I called right before we were heading out to a show and they squeezed me in before they closed. Sarah was with me on the second in Cali, then Stacey was with me this last time. The tattoo is coming up soon--and I think I know what my next piercing will be. We'll see.
But. Yeah. You know, just a weird time. Odd, odd time when you're moving from one stage to the next. And this transition is harder. Because it's a build up on all the old ones--and, well, there are other transitions to be made than simply leaving school. Right? pssh.
All I know is that I have this jones to go climb a tree. So I can't wait until the spring. I'm making a list--so far it includes baseball, laying in the diag looking up at the trees instead of being in class, and climbing a tree.
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