Yeah, that got your attention. No, I did not tattoo my genitalia. I did, however, get a tattoo — despite being just about one of the biggest wimps when it comes to needles ever, as well as a chronic over-thinker.
I’ve wanted to get inked for a while. Hell, don’t all angsty teenage girls want to get some sort of tattoo at some point? A butterfly or a fairy or a California license plate that’s all tribal and shit. I’ll confess — when I was 15, I wanted a triquetra on my left shoulder blade. Why? Because it was on frickin’ Charmed (Wednesdays, 8PM on Star World).
So this idea of a tattoo remained nascent in the back of my head, playing with other forms of teen rebellion –- like that one Slipknot track on my playlist which made me feel alternative and badass beyond measure, or the propensity of my pimply self to misquote Nietzsche. Thankfully, while stupid is forever, youth isn’t. With age comes slightly less tacky ideas for tattoos.