#252: Tattoo War
Ever woken up on New Year’s day with a champagne headache and half a dozen pirate tattoos?
I know I have.
It started off so civilised. I put a pretty thing on my sister’s ankle.
I put another on the arm of She Who Must Not Be Named*.
CJ “volunteered” for a pirate flag.
And then I picked what I wanted, and CJ and I had a long conversation about Are You Sure, No Really I’m Being Serious About This, You Want To Do This? and, You Do Remember That We’ll Be Going To Church For Your Niece’s Dedication, Right? and, Okay Just Remember That I Asked.
My sister graciously helped me with it, which meant the cloth we used was extremely wet. It was rather a lot like standing under a waterfall, with my head held in a vice.
Worth it!
Also, I discovered I could make it dance.
At that point we still had heaps of tattoos, so I did the only logical thing: I slapped a treasure map on my sister’s leg.
She retaliated by putting the remainder of that sheet on my chest.
I struck back with a pirate ship on her neck (making sure plenty of cold water dripped down her shirt).
She gave me upside down skull drool.
And then, finally, the battle was over and it was time for dinner.
It was the slowest, wettest war ever.
As promised, here is my real tattoo which I had done on my belly to mark the year I gave up my dream of moving to Indonesia permanently (where tattoos are more difficult for Upstanding Folk to deal with).
It’s quite high up on my belly, in hopes that future pregnancy won’t utterly mangle it. If I remember (in however many years’ time), I’ll post another photo of it after I’ve had a kid or two.
It didn’t hurt all that much – the difficult part was lying on my back and thinking more and more about how the whole reason I was there was so the nice man could cut into my flesh. And then when I was finished, they put some cling wrap over it to catch the blood that kept running for the next hour or so.
I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but cling wrap doesn’t actually cling to skin.
But it’s all fine now, and fun whenever I wear a bikini top.
Today is 1/1/11, which is cool. It also means less than three months remain of my Daily Awesomeness experiment (not that I expect to stop being awesome anytime soon). Here’s the few remaining items from my SteffMetal.com list:
10: Trim (aka clothing attack)
8: Glow in the dark stars on a friend’s ceiling
19: Bells around my ankles
32: Seven days without TV or internet (two down. . .)
94: Pay off debt
89: Dinner and a movie. . . by myself
93: Collect something interesting
86: Starry night at an observatory
79: Karaoke (uh oh)
80: Sparklers
99: Mmm. . . sprinkles
28: To the theatre
12: Healing Stones
2: Sushi
95: Paddle pool
39: Learn Braille
4: Share the cookie wuv
73: Get away from it all (ie, go on holiday with CJ)
77: Go to a deserted beach (ditto 🙂 )
76: Up in the air (hot air balloon ride!)
And naturally, there are plenty of the infamous Ben suggestions coming up.
As always, feel free to make your own suggestions and I will almost certainly do them (especially if they’re free).
*That is, my mum. She’s a priest at a nursing home, so she was Concerned About Her Reputation and asked me to be sure to cut off her head. Which I did.
S#84: Notebook
I know! I promised you a photo of my secret tattoo.
It’s coming. Probably tomorrow. I left all the fake tattoos with my sister, which delayed things.
Don’t get too excited, by the way. The real one’s nowhere dodgy. Honest.
How was yesterday on the internet, by the way? I missed it. I missed it bad.
Today I’m entering a big novel contest, which is why I haven’t done your Scott Westerfeld reviews yet – too busy working on my own. I’ve done five drafts in six weeks, and each draft took about thirty hours. I will do the review, though.
Can you believe tomorrow is next year?
Today I booked a second honeymoon for CJ and I, at the exact same place we had the last one (a little over two years ago – the rationale behind the second honeymoon is that we gotta do it while we’re young and childless. . . and brimming with awesome, of course). Other than swimming at the beach and smooching in the giant spa bath, we’ll be going to Magic Mountain amusement park (aimed at roughly 12-year olds, so it suits us very well) and riding horses.
Moving on! Focusing! The notebook thing!
This is an awesomeness that is right up my street. Here’s the “notebook” I acquired (it’s actually a little box of recycled paper, with a lid that closes with a most satisfying tap).
Guess what it’s recycled from?
Hint: Take a look at the picture on the lid.
Yep, elephant dung.
I decided it was supremely appropriate to make my “which novels are with which publisher, and how late” pin board extra pretty (with flattened elephant dung), and that’s the first thing I used the paper for (after New Year’s resolutions with a bunch of friends. . . which I can’t talk about, but I’m really impressed by my friends right now).
Mmm. . . paper.
I also JUST bought a 2011 diary. It’s ever so shiny and empty and beautiful.
See you next year 🙂
#253: Tattoo a baby
How could I not?
This entry comes slightly early, because tomorrow (30/12/10) I will be visiting Real Life – which means no TV and no internet.
Scary, I know.
It’s definitely the hardest awesomeness from the steffmetal.com list – seven days of RL. I’m spreading them out, rather than attempting to spend a whole week in the *shudder* real world. Steampunk Earth Day was day 1; this is day 2.
Anyone out there got a tattoo? I do. (You’ll notice it hasn’t appeared in any blog photos thus far.) I’ll plaster myself with fake ones and post pictures of both real and fake tattoos for the next awesomeness.
Feel free to also suggest captions for the above picture.
#105: New cat toy
For Christmas, my parents gave me not one but two cat toys.
Indah was unimpressed.
Ana is a different creature. She likes to kill, kill, kill.
She also likes to lurk, then kill. Then lurk some more.
Once the killing was done, she was able to chillax (purring loudly).
#251: Presents!
I recently received a large pile of loot.
This is literally half of the loot under my parents’ tree (and no, they don’t have children living with them).
Among my loot this Christmas was:
a new printer (ours broke months ago)
a new phone (mine was held together by sticky tape, and would crash periodically)
a balloon flight voucher (don’t worry, I’ll tell you ALL about the flight when it happens)
sweeeeet delicious boooooookkkkkkssssss including work by Naomi Novik, Terry Pratchett, Derek Landy, Phil and Kaia Foglio, and Joss Whedon.
cat toys (CJ and I just made a video which I’ll post tomorrow)
What did you get for Christmas that you absolutely love – or hate?
What do you think is the worst present ever?
I once, during a rather desperate financial period (I spent an average of $5 a week on groceries during a 6-month period), gave my then-boyfriend a picture of myself that was (a) seven years out of date, and (b) a gift from a previous romance (it even included a message of undying love in the first man’s handwriting). Making it even worse, it was a 21st present.
Still embarrassing.
S#24: Candy to a stranger
Hello. My name is Louise Curtis, and I’m an awesomeaholic. Since late March 2010 I’ve done something awesome every day, and blogged about it.
Many of those awesomenesses were derived from a list at steffmetal.com/101-ways-to-cheer-yourself-up, including today’s one: Leave a present for a stranger in a public place.
I dreaded this one, because I had a suspicion that (a) no-one would be trusting enough to take it, and (b) there simply wouldn’t be enough people passing by (Canberra is just not a good place for crowds).
For those reasons, I left the present unwrapped, clearly labelled, and on a wooden table at a shopping centre – on Christmas Eve.
If scores of low-budget Christmas movies have taught us anything at all, it’s that the words, “It’s Christmas!” can excuse any eccentricity, up to and including minor criminal behaviour.
I even put this blog address on the card, figuring someone is more likely to accept free chocolate if they feel they’re being advertised to.
I have absolutely no idea what happened to that chocolate, and it is likely I will never know.
Side note: I extended the heiferness deadline until the new year, so keep those comments coming and you’re effectively giving to charity. (Yes, I admit it, I just like reading comments, no matter how random.)
#250: Gratuitous Baby Photos
It’s Christmas Day (still!) and it’s also the day CJ helped change a pooey nappy for the first time.
Awwwww.
This is him holding our niece for the first (nice) time (about the third time altogether).
The second one of that group of photos was taken mid-smile.
And here, since it’s pretty and was taken today, is another picture of my niece, but this time with her mum.
And now – yes RIGHT NOW I’m going to go and take down all our decorations. Christmas is a great and marvellous thing, and I am deeply glad it’s finished now – and 2010 is staggering drunkenly to a close. (Technically, Christmas has 32 minutes left. Whatevs.)
2011 is going to be AWESOME. And with way less nausea.
#120: Midnight Mass
Last night, based on what seemed like a great idea nine months ago, CJ and I went to midnight mass.
Some of you will recognise this particular Jesus statue and my own penchant for Catholic ritual from http://shootingthrough.net/2010/10/18/215-ritual/.
I like the idea of staying up really late on Christmas Eve for something that goes against all the commercialism and noise of the weeks leading up to Christmas. This church did a fine job.
Men in robes – check
Candles burning – check
Large swathes of symbolically-coloured linen – check
Solemn processionals and recessionals – check
Repeating prayers – check
Sung prayers – check
Moments of reflection – check
Deeply uncomfortable seats – check
All good, and now it’s Christmas morning.
It doesn’t matter how cynical I get about Christmas – I still can’t get to sleep on Christmas Eve, or go back to sleep when I wake up far too early on Christmas morning.
As a present to all of you, here’s an extra special Christmas story that I think everyone should read:
http://hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com/2010/12/year-kenny-loggins-ruined-christmas.html
Rating: this entry PG for a little swearing, plus eating the Christmas story, throwing it up, and eating it again (Christians may object, but probably they’ll just giggle). The blog itself is maybe M-rated.
#247: Sarcastic Christmas Letter
The Year of Internal Parasites
Alternative title: Hey kids! Travel is ever so fun!
January
Went to China (cold) and Indonesia (hot). Walked the Great Wall of China in the snow, and accidentally trapped CJ in a windowless Indonesian toilet. Oh, and we got horribly ill – also in Indonesia.
February
Still sick, especially in the morning. Lost two kilos through sheer force of will. Took three pregnancy tests (all negative). Found out about a pregnancy – not mine, silly – my sister. But hey, *I* have a cat.
March
Told I had giardia. Decided it was totally just as cool as bringing a new (human) life into the world. Took medicine. Got worse. Stopped taking medicine. Annoyed at constant pointless nausea, I decided to “earn” the nausea with chocolate. Gained six kilos.
This pic is from wikipedia.
April
Blog of Daily Awesomeness got off the ground. Discovered I’m now allergic to fruit. Thanks, Indonesia! Less nauseous now, so faced the pain and lost three kilos.
May
Bought fish. Fish died due to parasites (theirs, not mine). Bought more fish. Fish didn’t die. Yay! Also, lost one kilo.
This pic is from wikipedia.
June
Went to Sydney for CJ’s cousin’s wedding. Disappointed no-one fell in the water. Otherwise good. Met a married couple related to us called Barry and Sharon (which, translated into Australian, is Bazza and Shazza). Gained and lost two kilos.
July
Went to Sydney for a writer’s conference. Chatted to Publishers B, D, and H. Realised contacts in the biz are the key to publication. Was asked if I was pregnant. Also went down the coast with family including my sister, who at six months didn’t look as pregnant as I did. My nephew ran away (can’t imagine why), but we knew another was on the way, so were not concerned. Lost one more freaking kilo, and reached the healthy weight range! Ta da!
August
CJ was promoted at work. I spent all the extra money on writing conferences.
Went to Sydney for my grandpa’s 90th. Went to Melbourne for massive writing festival. Connected with Publishers A, C, D, I and K. Discovered getting up at 3am to fly interstate doesn’t increase my publisher-schmoozing skills. Or healthy-eating skills.
September
Went to Brisbane for writing festival. Connected with Publishers D and J. Specifically, I woke up in Melbourne at 3am and showered, then went to Brisbane, Sydney and Canberra before my next shower (the cats found me utterly fascinating). Gained ten kilos from all the writing conferences. Another person asked if I was pregnant. Nope – just fat, nauseous, and irritable.
October
Publisher B let me know my books were “progressing”. After 18 months, this was thrilling news. My sister had her internal parasite removed (aww). Mine stayed (ohh).
November
Finished up six weeks without chocolate. Lost seven kilos, and the will to live. But we’ll always have the (accidental) diet coke and mentos rocket.
December
Gained three kilos. Lost six by inventing the anti-Christmas diet (hint: it doesn’t involve overeating). Was still asked if I was pregnant – immediately after losing seven freaking kilos. Still got no answer from Publisher B.
On the up side, my whole family plus the newest member ate Christmas dinner together for the first time.
Merry Freaking Christmas. Good to know that I didn’t get any less published than last year, and that I lost a total of (wait for it) three kilos in twelve months.
But I did scrape back into the healthy weight range for the finish; CJ and I still like each other (and contraceptives, thanks very much for asking); and I met eight major players of Australian publishing face to face.
Here’s to next year. May it be awesome.
“Meg the Egg” story so far
Yep, all comments this week will magically turn into donations to Heifer International.
4
Mum walked in on Hugh and I kissing. “Sex ed clearly isn’t enough,” she said, and gave each of us an egg with a drawn-on face to look after.
She said it was the latest technology, and it would teach us about parenthood. Hugh freaked out and went home. My egg began to cry.
Mum made me walk up and down with the egg cupped in my hand until it finally shut up. I named it Meg, and decided never to have kids.
5
Stupid Meg is stupid crying and it won’t shut up. From now on, I’m only kissing Hugh if we’re both wrapped in cling wrap. Just in case.
Hugh tweeted that he didn’t want kids. Perfect. I wonder if sixteen is too young for him to get a vasectomy.
Discussed vasectomy with Hugh. He says he’ll do it if my Mum takes the eggs back. Definitely worth it. Meg makes my hands itch.
6
Miss Bobbit asked us what we were holding under our desks, and when we explained she had a coughing fit and left the room. NOT FUNNY.
Meg is oddly compelling. I feel funny without her neat warmth in my hand. Her little marker-drawn face looks like it’s smiling.
7
My BFF Sasha said that if I have to face parenthood my Mum should let Hugh stay with me so we can experience the pitfalls of married life.
When I asked Mum why she disagreed with Sasha she sent me to my room. Meg was making little gurgling noises. Pretty cute for a robot.
8
Meg was doing so well, and then at 3am she spat out some kind of green goo. Mum sucks! I never woke HER at 3am when I was a baby.
Fell asleep and missed drama class. Why couldn’t I fall asleep in maths? What’s wrong with me? I LIKE drama. Uh-oh, Meg needs a walk again.
9
Hugh pulled me over at lunch to show me something cool. He threw his egg (Sven) up in the air. It made a squealing noise like it was happy.
I wasn’t sure I dared throw Meg anywhere, even if it helped develop her motor skills in later life. Hugh grabbed her and chucked.
Meg flipped over and – yes, she was laughing! Hugh stepped forward to catch her and slipped. I dived facedown and JUST got her. Never again!
10
Rough night. When I woke up, both my hands were dark purple with bruising. Hugh came over and his hands were the same – especially the left.
“It’s Sven,” he said, “because I hold him in my left hand so my right is free for the remote.” “Should infants be watching TV?”
“Not the point,” said Hugh. I said, “Fine. We’re – allergic, or something. Should we tell Mum?” “What if she makes us give them up?”
11
I walked into Mum’s room without thinking, and saw her getting dressed. Her skin was green and slimy, and she pulled on a human skin suit.
She turned slowly and looked at me with two bulbous eyes on stalks: “We need to talk.” I stood frozen: “You’re not Mum.” “No.”
The alien explained that my real Mum was in Barbados and would be back for Christmas: “Call me Xarla.” “Oh. . . sure. Er. Nice name.”
12
Hugh and Xarla and I sat down with the eggs. “We need human blood to feel our children,” she explained – “so, sorry about your hands.”
“Why don’t I remember Mum saying she was going away?” I asked. Xarla said, “Short-term memory wipe. Give it another day or two.”
I called Mum in Barbados. “Are you doing your homework?” she trilled. I said, “Um. Yes. So you’re fine?” “Time of my life!” “Okay then.”
13
Meg was crying again, so I walked around with her in my hand for over an hour. Now I knew she was doing it, I could feel tiny pinpricks.
I called Hugh. “Is Xarla implanting me with something? Because I’m finding it cute how Meg drinks my blood.” Hugh was silent a long time.
“No,” he said at last: “They’re not altering us to like the eggs. Humans are biologically programmed to like small messy helpless things.”
14
Hugh and I sat close together at the back of English and discussed whether or not we were aiding an alien invasion of Earth.
I decided, “I don’t THINK we’re betraying the human race. I think we’re just. . . babysitting.” Hugh nodded.
“If the aliens do take over, do you think they’ll abolish school?” said Hugh. I said, “Another excellent point.”
15
For the sake of the children, Hugh and I skipped maths. I know I’D wipe out humanity if that was what I saw of it.
16
Hugh and I had dinner with Xarla – she cooked a great lasagna. I said, “Er. . . would you mind putting your human skin suit back on?”
“No problem,” said Xarla. Hugh whispered, “Adults are sooo gross.” “I know.”
17
We took the eggs to a Lady Gaga concert. They moved around a lot, but I couldn’t tell if they were dancing or trying to escape.
18
Woke up to dead silence. Why isn’t Meg crying? I can’t tell if she’s sleeping peacefully or if someone snuck in and hard-boiled her.
It’s fine! Meg was just sick. Still is, a bit. Anyone know a good anti-ichor soap? Parenthood is so gross.
19
Hugh’s Dad asked us what our plans were for Christmas Day. I said, “Xarla said we should both stick around for. . . celebrations.”
Hugh rallied desperately: “Why don’t you and Mum come?” I cut in, “Um. . . I have two Mums.” Hugh’s Dad said, “We’ll be there.”
I glared at Hugh. His Dad said, “Don’t worry kids. We’re VERY tolerant.” I said, “Oh. . . good. See you on Christmas then.”
20
http://pubrants.blogspot.com/2010/12/year-in-statistics-2010.html
Hugh’s call woke me, and Meg began to cry. “What?” I mumbled. Hugh said, “It’s Sven! I dropped him! Quick, tell me what to do! Is he okay?”
21
Xarla and Hugh and I stayed up all night in case Sven woke up. “It’s touch and go,” she said. Hugh’s face was grey: “What have I done?”
I called Mum. “How did you cope when I was sick as a baby?” “I didn’t – not until you were well again. Love you, see you on Christmas Eve.”
22
The phone rang again. It was Hugh. My heart pounded. One way or another, this was the call that would tell me Sven’s fate.
Hugh was crying. “He’s all right! Just now he woke up hungry, screaming for blood as if nothing happened.” “Oh, thank goodness.”
23
Cops came to our door and invited themselves in. We hid the eggs in a rack of others in the fridge, and held our breath as they searched us.
One cop took Xarla aside. “We know you’re a good, upstanding citizen. If you see anything suspicious, you’ll let us know?” “Oh, of course.”
24
Mum swept in with a new pair of pink cowboy boots, plus intense sunburn to 75% of her body. “Hey kid, what’s been –” She stopped dead.
I said, “Mum, this is Xarla. She’s been cooking and. . . stuff. And she gave us her eggs to babysit. And feed. Until they hatch. Tomorrow.”
Mum carefully examined Xarla’s green skin and human suit. “Well, it’s certainly true that sex ed these days isn’t enough. Nice to meet you.”
Felicity Banks 