Can’t update my blog or respond to some of the comments from work, but by the miracle of modern technology, I can still add a new post! Righteoussss. Or Fuckin’ A. Or whatever floats your boat. Or mine.
No matter how badly I would like a tattoo, it won’t happen. I’m all for protecting the sanctity sanity of my marriage. But if I COULD…yeah, I would still do a half sleeve on my upper arm without regard for who will or won’t see it because as visible as it might be on a “normal” person, it would remain as hidden on me as if I were to put it on my butt cheek. I was biologically blessed with the glandular dysfunction of a ‘roiding teen-age boy and have acne scarring on not just my upper arms, but back, chest and neck. I roll in the sexy, no? A tattoo would actually improve my self-confidence by hiding some of the scarring.
At work, I never wear sleeveless tops, even though currently it would be allowed. But if I was to ever find myself gainfully employed in my area of expertise, going sleeveless would most likely be a no-no. Business casual/dress for me, thank you. That means the only time my tattoo would see the sun would be when I’m intentionally trying to get some sun, as I don’t even wear sleeveless tops without something layered; or when someone other than my family is around; or without a really good tan, which seems to minimize the nasty appearance of the scarring.
In the weeks before I lost my job, Sparring Partner was encouraging me to seek out a skin peel or dermabrasion because I am so very self conscious about my skin. It’s one thing to have it on your face. A little make-up and voila’, I am presentable enough. But formal attire and summer clothing styles and swim suits are all so adorable, but sadly I avoid them at all costs. For those of you who are astute in recalling my photos from the fundraiser where I was baring quite a bit of skin and you don’t see anything amiss, all I can say is that I’m so thankful I found 3 cans of discontinued spray-on stockings through ebay. Yes, really. That and dim lighting are life savers in that regard. Shopping for my wedding dress was very bittersweet because in my head I had this image of myself wearing a sleeveless, or even strapless gown, but couldn’t. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to find a wedding gown that has sleeves that don’t look like legs of mutton attached to your earlobes? This was in 1997 when Google was just a funny word and the familiar noise of the computer getting connected with the internet included “beeboobeebeeboopsssscccrrrrrrrreeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeewoppleworpscreeeeeee!!!”.
Now you know just one more of my many, many insecurities. If we ever are to meet in person, I won’t hold it against you if your eyes wander from my face. Pretend you’re checking out my boobs, mmkay?