The Best is Yet to Come...

Yesterday, we took a ride down to Sinful Art Tattoo in NJ to get some fantastic and unique ink done by Amy Nicoletto. She's on the TV show LA Ink as a member of the "other" shop, American Electric, for those of you playing along.

It was well worth the 2.5 hour (each way) trip: the tattoos are the perfect blend of badass and beautiful, and the staff was super friendly. As a bonus, they have Wawa stores in that area so we had some great coffee to boot.

My piece is very sore and ruddy, so I'm not going to post photos yet. It's also in a difficult-to-photograph area as it wraps around the curvier part of my calf (yeah, it's bigger than I was thinking it would be). So stay tuned...

But I will post a few snapshots of the surrounding sights so you can soak in the Sinful Art ambient experience. Here we go!

The shop was formerly a garage. They no longer service cars (this may seem obvious, but someone actually asked one of the artists if they could fix her windshield). Oddly, they do sell propane, as evidenced by the flammables cage on the right. This is in contrast to just regular "pain" -- for which I opted.

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If you need a breather from your tattoo, you can always take a walk accross the street to the "Kashmir Gentlemen's Club." (Side note: the "i" in "Kashmir" is comprised of the silhouette of a naked lady. God, I love great design!)

Judging from the shitbox central that doubled as their parking lot, I surmised either: A) no gentlemen were in attendance; or B) they were all so discrete that they rented rust-buckets to pose incognito. I imagine scenario "B" works well in such situations. I mean, who wants to attract a stripper who is only interested in money or cars? Good thinking, gentlemen.

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Oh, and this Airstream-ish thing drove by. No significance; I just don't see shit like this often.

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Anyway. When the day was done (we started at 1 PM and finished somewhere in the 7 PM hour), I figured I'd ask for a photo with Amy. As she'd been working all day and I was experiencing some level of what I can best describe as "pain-induced body shock," we really couldn't get a great photo going. Thus, we agreed on this one and I promised to publish in black and white.

And, like the title of this post reads...the best is yet to come. Once this sucker heals up, I'll throw some photos up here.

Looking Up

Today I found myself smiling up at a hallway security camera. Not because I’ve come to terms with the fact that we live in a scared, stressed, and sinister society of surveillance, but because I truly expect someone to jump out and say “Smile...you’re on Candid Camera.”

Any day now...c’mon...

Purple Hair, Purple Hair

Ditched the red highlights for something different...it's very dark since I just got it done...you can see it better if you click the pic!

709 Days

It’s taken me nearly two years to download this photo off of my phone (and, no, not because of technical ineptitude):

On July 8th of 2009, I had my first dose of chemotherapy (this followed surgery and preceded the start of radiation). It seems I thought it would be a good idea to take photos showing the process, literally, from my perspective. Along with the above snapshot, there is another photo from that day of my right arm, which was attached to the pump. While not graphic per-se, it’s a little hard to look at.

There is a stark difference between the two photos. This one has a kind of cool, Gen-X vibe – you know, with the shorts, Converse, and oversized coffee cup. There’s even a spray of light coming through on the left side. If you ignore the steri-packaging in the trash and the infusion station in the background, it could have been taken anywhere. However, the other photo is clearly one of someone who has “a problem.”

Though I’m not ready to write in detail about my experience, I will say this period wasn’t the worst of the treatment process. I had no idea what was to come when I took this photo. But as I am often reminded, the side effects could have been a whole lot worse. And the alternative to treatment was not an option.

People sometimes say to me “I don’t know how you did it” in regard to treatment. And I’m not being a wise-ass when I tell them “Neither do I.” Because I really don’t. It was fucking hard, but I just made up my mind and plowed through.

Two years later, I wonder if I still have that strength. Or if it even was strength. Maybe, just like it is with these photos, it was simply the choice of one perspective over the other.

Stage(ing) Mom

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Recent, complete remodel of interior architecture will suit the modern buyer. Features include: genuine oak hardwood floor throughout; custom kitchen with granite counters and ledgestone-accented bar; stainless steel appliances; full bath with granite accents, ledgestone wall, and rain shower/soaking tub; convenient half- bath (both baths feature European-style designer fixtures and imported tile); light soffits with customizable 3-way lighting (recessed, up lighting, and ambient); skylight in entranceway; and newly-installed Hunter Douglas insulated horizontal blinds & vertical blinds – offering energy efficient, green living plus a variety of options to frame the stunning view.

Newly renovated, friendly building has doorman, roof access, and laundry facility on-site. Conveniently located near public transportation, NYC, and many major highways.

Uggh.

Try to See It My Way

When I started dating John, he used to call me “Enid doll – actual size” like it was a compliment. For those of you who have no idea what I’m talking about, I’m not going to make this easy. You’re just gonna have to Google “little Enid Coleslaw doll.”

This nickname lasted awhile and even caught on a bit. In fact, one of my sister’s friends made up some weird song about it that he’d sing when I walked by.

While the pigtails went by the wayside years ago, I still need the glasses. The odd thing is that I’ll put Marilyn Monroe’s Pola Debovoise to shame anywhere, anytime with my refusal to wear them. Truthfully, I’d much sooner get my fucking forehead injected full of Botox from squinting at the oven clock before I put them on to do something other than drive or work. Oh, who am I kidding…I want the Botox anyway. Consider it backlash against a hi-definition world; consider it vain. The reality is that I really just prefer to not see things over having something resting on my nose. Thus, I live with the consequences: I've learned how to set the oven timer so it beeps.

My extreme refusal to be bespectacled is a bit baffling, but it is not nearly as bizarre as a “street style” phenomenon I recently read about. According a to fashion interview on CNN Living (see the problem already?) with the creator of the Urban Weeds blog, there is an entire city who revels in wearing glasses – even when they don’t really need them.

It seems some trendsters in Portland actually think wearing non-prescription glasses makes you look intelligent. I suppose this makes sense in the same way wearing a jock strap would make one look athletic, or wearing a surgeon’s mask would make one look like a surgeon. My point is that if you don’t need it, don’t wear it. And this is not just out of sour grapes, it really is for your own good. You see, if someone of actual intelligence finds out you see 20/20, you’ll not only look the complete opposite of “intelligent” but you’ll look downright, well, not quite right. You know, like the keyboardist from Prince’s Revolution.

The idea of wearing glasses just to look smart is preposterous and to entertain it proves you’re lacking upstairs regardless of how you appear. And to my fellow four-eyes: like anything else, if you have to do something, you might as well rock it (my frames are Chanel, after all). As a “look,” legit lenses do work pretty well for some people. But not for me, and certainly not for any of the jokers on that “style” blog.

Fashion Model

Objects of my affection are usually just that: objects.

My habit of stalking inanimate goods was recently mocked by friends following the near-miss of a potentially injurious rubbernecking incident involving a vehicle storage facility on S. Van Brunt. In my own defense, I would like to point out how preposterous it is to suggest that my pursuit of things makes me “different” (and they do mean “different” in the “but we love you anyway way”) from those who, you know, stalk other people. Like somehow it’s more unusual for me to go from shop to shop to see if a certain handbag, necklace, or lipstick shade is in stock, than it is for them to wonder what a boy they kissed in the 3^rd grade is up to these days.

My most recent fixation was the 500 by Gucci accessories collection. Since reading about the special Gucci Edition Fiat 500 and said accessories, I’d been on a mission. It took visits to four different boutiques, but I saw each and every piece. And each and every piece was just as impractical as the promo photos led me to believe they would be. It would require a fleet of 500s just to tote all the accessories around. How glamorous!

While I’ll never have the car (in all honesty, I don’t even know if it’s any good), my Nordstrom Café-fueled heart skipped yet another beat when I saw this adorable gal in the showcase of the Garden State Plaza Gucci store:

But it didn’t matter. After selling me a bunch of stuff that, strangely, resulted in a “suspicious activity hold” on my debit card (don’t they know who they're dealing with!?!?), the lovely brand ambassador informed me the model was for display only.

Have a heart, lady. Don’t you know I stalk objects? I’ll be back...