Soul Mates

I am not a Romantic--not with a capital R or a lower-case one; I'm too cynical for that. Don't get me wrong, I love a love story, but I don't believe in a perfect soul mate or that every person has one "true" love. I married the first person I met who I could imagine talking to every day. I love him, and I am grateful that he is in my life. But in all honesty, I would be okay if he weren't. I like Elizabeth Bennett more than Jane Eyre. I hate Angel and Buffy as a couple. Romeo and Juliet makes me laugh (which I will argue was actually Shakespeare's intent, but that's a different blog post). When I was in high school, a friend of mine told me she wasn't going to get married until she found the person she couldn't live without. She wanted to NEED her spouse. We had a huge fight over this because I told her I wouldn't marry someone I couldn't live without. I would go see a shrink instead. This is actually something on which high-school me and present-day me agree.

There isn't one person that completes me, but there are a few people that make my journey way better. A few weeks ago, it was my birthday. My sister made me the coolest present--a Firefly cast cross-stitch. My friend, S, left me a message that brought tears to my eyes. Another friend, A, made a Hemingway coat of arms that he left on my Facebook. K, yet another friend, sent me a link to the Home Movies birthday song, which she has done every year since learning of our mutual love of the show. When I came home from vacation, I had a book that I have been wanting for ages waiting for me from another friend. And these are only a few of the kind, hilarious, thoughtful things people have done for me. I'm an introvert by nature. I prefer to be alone, but my life is richer due to the friends and family I have--people who refuse to leave me to my own devices entirely. I might not have a soul mate, but I definitely have bosom friends, which works out in my favor I think.

Adventuring and Art

Last weekend I went on an adventure. One of my favorite tattoo artists, Mark Hartenberger, was tattooing at the InkLife Tattoo tour and convention in Fort Myers. My sister, brother-in-law, and man-friend (have you noticed the awkward way I avoid saying husband? I don't know why, but I have never really liked that term) drove the interminable distance so that my sister and I could get work done. The drive was made longer by the fact that we were dropping the littlest members of our family off to stay with grandparents because the only thing worse than going to a tattoo convention would be dragging children to a tattoo convention.

We arrived in Fort Myers late in the afternoon on Saturday night, which left enough adventure time for roaming to the beach, acquiring snacks and cards for at the hotel, and eating dinner. I know this sounds like a fairly laid back adventure, and it was, but with my companions laid back adventure is kind of where it's at. These are the best adventuring companions around. It's mostly because they are all hilarious and really smart. I don't want to brag, but I've got some of the best friends around.

We went to the beach where we froze our asses off in the wind. I thought the ospreys were going to drown themselves due to the wind strength, and a sailboat gave up on its sunset cruise.

The wind off the Gulf was cold. I thought I was going to lose toes.

The wind blew the ospreys off course.

For some reason, we decided that walking in the water was warmer.

This could be their album cover.

Lovely sunset.

On Sunday we woke up, ate bagels, wandered in a park for a while, and then the boys left to while away the time. The lovely sis and I waited around for the convention to start. Conventions in general are funny things, but tattoo conventions draw such an interesting assortment of people. It's not the ideal environment for me to get a tattoo, but after waiting nearly five years for Mark to come back to Florida, I wasn't going to miss him. The sister started things off, and damn, she's tough. She spent about five hours in the chair.

This is the outline for the new work.

 

And this is the new addition. It's not finished yet, but it's pretty incredible. 

My tattoo took somewhere between three and four hours. I added a kestrel to the inner part of my upper arm--on the outer portion, Mark had already done a peacock for me. This won't shock anyone who has had an inner-arm tattoo, but they hurt worse than the outer arm, and due to the limited space in the booth, I had to hold my arm at an odd angle for the duration of the tattoo. But I love my new piece, so all-in-all it was worth it.

This is my finished kestrel.

I can't wait for my arm to heal completely. I love my new piece. And with every new tattoo, I love tattoos more. I carry my art with me. I carry it on my arm, and neck, and back, and leg. I know tattoos aren't for everyone. I know there are jobs where having my arm covered in birds might not be ideal. I know my skin won't always have the elasticity it does now. But goddamn, I love art.

Sisters!

Last year, I had the pleasure of teaching two sisters. K and C are amazing. They are both empathetic, smart-as-whips, and beautiful. They were not in the same class, so I was lucky enough to hear them talk about each other. They often referred to their "sister-bond." Now, I was their teacher, so it's not likely that they were going to air their squabbles to me, but we did spend a lot of time in their classes talking about our feelings. I feel like I know these girls fairly well. And the thing I love the most about them is how supportive of each other they are. They love each other and are proud of each other. I like seeing female relationships that take this tack. Too often it seems we ladies fall into the role of jealous and bickery rivals. The world can add to this competitive feeling in many damaging ways. I enjoyed seeing two sisters throw all that shit aside and revel in their individual and shared accomplishments.

Last Thursday, I drove down to the attraction area with my sister and our daughters to visit our grandparents.* It was great to have some uninterrupted time with my sister. You see, my sister is (my 14 year old self is struggling not to call her the bomb) fucking awesome. She's funny, tall, smart, beautiful, creative, smart, tall, and all around bad-ass. For proof of the tall, beautiful, and bad-ass part see below. This is us at the best New Year's Eve party ever, which she hosts. EVERY YEAR.

Back to Thursday. It was great because although we live near each other, we usually only hang out about once a week because I am a ridiculous home body. When we hang out there are usually tons of equally awesome people, which leads to great discussions and fun times, but not a lot of one-on-one sister time. We had to drive in rush hour traffic from our homes in real Orlando to where our grandparents were staying in Kissimmee, which means lots of time. We talked about art, life, books, the tattoos we will be getting soon (I'm so excited!), feminism, douche-baggery, our awesome brother, and lots of other things I don't remember. But it wouldn't have mattered what we talked about because my awesome, beautiful, intelligent, insightful, hilarious sister made a usually horrible drive wonderful simply by being herself.

Yay for the sister bond. Whether it be between biologically related sisters or non-biologically related sisters. Yay for the relationships in your life that make you happy even when you are doing things you hate the most--like driving. Celebrate the people you love. Celebrate the people who make your world a better place. Celebrate the people who make you want to use way too many adjectives in your writing.


*On an unrelated note, why do all relatives who visit Florida say they are in Orlando when really they are in Kissimmee? It's not the same place.

Learning Skills

Growing up I liked sports: playing them and watching them and arguing about them. I had crazy, curly hair that my mother--who has the straightest, finest hair of any person I have ever met--had no idea how to tame, and I didn't give her much time or help in that endeavor. I liked cowboy boots and comfortable clothing. My family didn't have much money, and as I got older, I decided that I didn't care about clothing and accessories and make-up. Part of it was a coping mechanism--I couldn't afford what the other girls had, so why bother with any of it? The other issue was that being pretty was a bonus, but you were never supposed to try too hard or act like you cared about these things too much. If you did, you were vain, superficial, probably dumb. Girls were somehow, magically, supposed to be flawless seemingly without anytime in front of a mirror. So I ignored style and make-up and everything else I deemed "too girly." And I took away the lesson that I wasn't a pretty girl. I was smart and funny, but not pretty. That wasn't me.

Fast forward 10 years, and you have me today. A grown-up with no idea how to do my make-up or paint my nails, which isn't a bad thing except that I really want to do my nails and wear make-up. And this is where friendship comes in. My friend, L, always has amazingly painted nails, and the thing I love about it is how obvious it is that it is for her. She doesn't paint her nails because she has to; she paints them because she loves it. After commenting a few times on her nails, she generously offered to teach me. Something I always felt intimidated and embarrassed by has become one of my favorite ways to relax. I discovered that my weak, flaky nails hold up better when I paint them regularly. The painful breaking happens less often, and bonus, my nail color occasionally matches the colors in my tattoos.

Nail polish was the tip of the iceberg for me. I decided I was going to embrace the side of me that likes sparkly things and always wants to buy eyeshadow palettes at the drugstore even though I don't know what to do with them. Enter another awesome friend, S--at this point, you are probably thinking I'm just rubbing in how many awesome friends I have, but that's not the point...or at least not the whole point. S is great at make-up. Sometimes her make-up is subtle. I can't even pinpoint what she has done or if she is wearing it at all, but she looks fabulous. Other times her make-up is funky, or sexy, or loud, but it always works for her. On Friday, I went over to her house, and she taught me how to do my make-up. Because she is great, and fun, and smart. I didn't even have to ask. She called me up and told me to come over because we were going to have a fun time playing with make-up. She broke it down for me in terms of painting, which is something I can understand. She taught me something I really wanted to learn, and she helped me overcome an old lesson.

Growing up I felt a lot of pressure: to look a certain way, to know a certain skill-set, to care about certain things. I rebelled against the gender pigeon-holing which I found to be stifling, but I didn't leave room in my rebellion for the other side. The side that embraced these things without embracing the misogyny. The side that liked nail polish, clothes, and make-up AND liked football, climbing trees, and science. Through my friends' know-how and their support, I am learning to embrace all the sides of me instead of belittling the parts that teenager-me found "too girly," while secretly longing to know more about them. I'm learning that pigeon-holing oneself in response to outside pressure is as bad as bowing to that pressure. I'm learning that I can be pretty, smart, funny, or almost any other adjective I wish--except tall, I'm never going to be tall.