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2004-02-28 - 11:58 p.m.

I went to see a man about a tattoo today.

I have one tattoo on my ankle already. Its of Minnie Mouse in a heart which I got when I was 18 years old.

I chose it because my Dad had the same Minnie Mouse on his shoulder and at the time he was already terminally ill. It was gesture of love and connection. The irony was that my Dad never mentioned it. At least not that I can recall.

This time I am doing this solely for myself. I've deliberated over it for several years. I've finally chosen a design based on two different wrought iron gates that I photographed on vacations.

I went to see Craig, my tattoo artist, today to drop off hard copies of the photos and discuss my design. I have an appointment for the thirteenth to see his sketches and have the piece done.

Its funny to me how many different feelings tattoos seem to bring up in people.

My friend, E, of the pierced navel is actually at a tatto place right now considering the act.

Her hubby is not happy about it. He feels that tattoos are trashy (or at least it would be on his wife). She's chosen to disregard his opinion and think about it for herself. I applaud her bravery in the face of criticism...a criticism I don't really understand. E is certainly not trashy and no infusion of ink will change that.

I've had friends tell me that they found tattoos offensive, self mutilating, and ugly. Others find them to be artistic means of self expression.

Personally, I find anyone else's reaction to something so superficial as my appearance to be unimportant. If you like, love or loathe the look of me its all the same. It cracks me up that people care about it more strongly than I do.

Recently we went over B's family's house for dinner and I was asked my opinion of B's facial hair. It was stated in such a way that I was obviously expected to have a negative opinion.

The question was so completely foreign to me that I simply said, "Its his face."

"Yes but you have to look at it," was the response.

That is, of course, true but I can't really imagine being unhappy looking at the face of the man I love so dearly, regardless of appearance.

Its like asking me how I feel about someone's scar.

Granted if B suddenly decided to tattoo a swastika on his forehead that might give me pause, but outside of branding oneself with hate symbols its hard for me to imagine trying to dictate someone else's appearance.

You know that old saying about beauty being in the eye of the beholder? I think some people take that to mean that what they behold should hold to their standards. I think this warped kind of thinking is indicative of a greater problem that we are all attributing far too much weight in our own opinions.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again...Opinions are like assholes, we've all got 'em...and most of the time they are a crock of shit! Lighten up, you may not live longer but you'll be happier.

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