A New Tattoo Is A New Reason To Think

I love tattoos. They really do become an addiction. Of course, there are several problems with this:

1. I would like to have a job someday. This puts major restrictions on where (and what) I can tattoo.
2. One day, when I do get around to getting married, I don't want tattoos showing in my dress. The day should be about my future husband and I (and God). I love my tattoos, but they don't need to be part of that. More restrictions on where I can tattoo.
3. Tattoos are expensive. Really expensive. Of course, they're worth the money (definitely not something you want to be cheap about...you get what you pay for!). It's hard sometimes to justify that kind of cash on a tattoo, rather than anything else you could drop hundreds of dollars on.
4. There are so many things you can do with ink! I feel like I always have too many ideas for tattoos, and it takes me a while to sort through and settle on the next project.
5. Pain? This actually doesn't really discourage me. My last tattoo was down my side, and after several hours under the needle on my second session I was exhausted and miserable. However, the pain is only temporary, and my beautiful new ink will be with me for a lifetime. I will, however, be waiting a while before I get anything else done on my side!

At the moment, I've got several ideas I've been kind of bouncing around in my head, that likely won't come to fruition for at least another year or so. 

For some time I've wanted a salmon styled to look like the artwork of the native tribes in the Northwest. I grew up salmon fishing, and turns out I'm from the Northwest. I love the style of the native totems, with their bold colors, strong lines and shapes (can you tell I'm not an art dork?). Plus, I've already got a ton of red ink, and this tattoo would give me the opportunity to finally work in some blue. Funny how I have no tattoos with my favorite color...yet. I'm not yet sure where I would place this tattoo...I'd initially planned for it to be on my left side (on my right is my Russian firebird), but I'd actually rather place it on the side of my calf. This goes back to problem #1, however. Until I figure out placement, it's been moth-balled. 

My other idea is for a seraph from the Hagia Sophia in Istanbul. I spent hours in the Hagia Sophia...it was simply breathtaking. And the seraphim mosaics absolutely fascinate me. Couple that with my dream to become a pilot, my love of travel (notice that my tattoos/ideas tend towards following my travels?), and the fact that this would give me some blue ink...I'd love it. So far, the only place I've wanted to put it would be my wrist, and again with problem #1 (and #2). We'll see. Until I can decide on a better placement, or get my dream job (the Navy will care less about that placement...but I wouldn't want to jinx anything by getting a tattoo with wings before I actually got my own!), it's had to join my salmon dreams on the back burner.

In spite of these roadblocks, I'm always dying for a new tattoo. At least I plan things through though, eh?

Also, I kind of stole this idea from a friend and fellow rugger...the Thirty Day [blog] Challenge. So thirty days of mediocre, prompted blogs. I kind of jumped ahead; Day #2 is tattoos and piercings (her entry inspired my writing today), but I have plenty to write about for that anyways. I figure I'll start Monday, since November has thirty days, and try and keep up with it. 

At the very least, once I'm responding to each prompt, I'll be more likely to be inspired and go off on something else. Ideally, this will be less like people's little Facebook quiz things and more like my prompted writing in middle school: about a paragraph of relevant information, and then about five more of whatever's on my mind, whether it relates to the prompt or not. Once I'm writing, it's just that much easier for me to keep going with...anything (I blog most when I'm taking breaks from school papers...procrastination ftw). Brace yourselves for stream of consciousness.

That was probably more than I needed to write about that. Anyways, keep an eye out for those, and I'll try not to bore you to death! 

Breathe In Your Morning Air

So after my post earlier today, the Gospel this evening at Mass dealt with pride. The passage read, Luke 18:9-14, describes a scene where a Pharisee and a tax collector go to the temple for prayer. The holier-than-thou Pharisee prays, 'O God, I thank you that I am not like the rest of humanity...'

Now, those of you who know me, know I'm definitely an elitist. Not as far as my religion (I at least don't imagine that I am better than others for their religious beliefs, just that some religious beliefs make less sense than others), but in general. And I am very judgmental--but almost exclusively of hypocrites or people who don't use the minds God gave them to challenge anything. At least that's what I try to limit myself to.

Not that this justifies it. At all. But that's my rationale.

I speak out and argue not to tear a person down. I argue to break down their argument, and test their intellectual ability to examine their own views in a critical light. Not simply "oh this is what liberals think" or "oh this is what my parents think" or "this is what my priest thinks". But to really examine where their ideas came from, and to challenge them to support their ideas with reason.

Not that I'm always reasonable, because I'm definitely not. But I do contemplate my reasoning, and try to at the very least understand it. And for whatever reason, I often feel compelled to challenge others to do the same, because I feel it isn't done enough.

This doesn't make me many friends. I'm okay with that.

I am a hypocrite. I am judgmental. I'm sure I always will be. I'm human. At least I acknowledge my flaws. And when I'm the one getting put in my place (especially by scripture), I at least take the time to look at what's really going on.

On a completely unrelated note...tonight I carved my pumpkin!

So Thankful I'm Not One Of Them

So maybe I'm weird but this bothers me:

"I'M A HANDFUL!! Unfortunately most women won't repost this. I'm strong-willed, independent, a bit outspoken and I tell it like it is. I make mistakes, I am sometimes out of control & at times hard to handle. But if you can't handle me at my worst then you sure as hell......don't deserve me at my best. If you're a HANDFUL, repost"

Girls have been posting this on Facebook right. Like it's empowering or some shit. But it implies that there's some element of control anyways. So, what, you just want a longer leash?

I don't know about you, but I'm not a handful. Because I'm not here to be "handled".

I Feel You Missing From My Heart

I've been really homesick the last couple weeks and it's weird. Not for Seattle. But for that "home" feeling. I still feel like I'm just a visitor here, temporarily displaced. I have no intention of making Blacksburg a long-term residence. And everything that's important to me is scattered all over the world. Literally. Everywhere but here.

My boyfriend is on the other side of the world. My friends and my family are mostly in the PNW, but definitely not here in Virginia. My dog is in Louisiana. My cats are in Idaho. My (other) fish is in Bellingham. Almost everything I own is sitting in my apartment in Seattle.

So here I am, in a half-empty apartment, thousands of miles away from "home", any way you look at it. I feel like my apartment here must...cold, fragmented, half-empty.

I'm more than ready for my life to start to come back together.

Convince Myself It's True

So this is my blog. It's my thoughts. My experiences, my dreams, whatever it is that I'm entertaining myself with at a given time...whatever.

So why do I still hesitate to write so many things on here? One of the great things about the internet is the distance. While this doesn't really grant me anonymity (pretty sure everyone who reads this follows the link on Facebook, so you already know who I am), it saves me the potential emotional exchange that accompanies any conversation. I say my piece. You may say yours. And we can happily cut out any awkwardness or mute any emotions as we please. Only I'm still terrified to speak my mind. And there's a lot going on there lately.

Maybe I'll get past this. As much as I'm sure even out of the people curious enough to follow the link here aren't going to judge me that much about what I have to say, I still worry. Irrational, I know. Until then, I guess I'm just writing about the fact that I'm writing [offline]. Yeah.

We'll see.

But Nobody's Home

I don't even know what to write. For whatever reason just felt like I should be writing.

I got to talk to Jude tonight :) And last night. It's great to be able to talk without the crazy-long delay for a change. I always feel like I don't have enough to say, but at the same time too much to say. Nothing I can just chat with him about...but so many conversations I would love to be able to have.

Today we talked about rugby :) Jude's team played their first game yesterday, and held their ground pretty well for being a bunch of newbies who've just had a few practices (and in a hangar, no less). He said they lost 14-19, but that's not bad at all. They now know more about how gameplay actually flows (as opposed to drills, and maybe having watched some rugby previously), and will have a good idea what their weaknesses are, so those can be addressed before the next match. And of course with rugby matches come rugby socials, so he got his first real taste of rugby culture haha. I love that he's so excited about playing rugby now (yet another thing to add to the list of things we have in common!). And I'm so glad he's having so much fun with it. It's a nice break from the regular grind. Rugby was always a great escape for me. And an amazing way to get some aggression out! There's a club team here he wants to play for. Which would be awesome :)

I'm just excited for him to be home. It's hard being this alone. Even though Fizz is an awesome roommate, he's not much of a conversationalist. Or very good at hugs.

Almost three months down. Only four more to go.

Never Really Know

For those of you who don't know, this week we lost one of our own.

A fellow Viking was tragically and prematurely taken from us.

His name was Dwight Clark. He was a freshman, just beginning his college career. Just beginning his life.

On September 26, he left a party to return to his dorm. He never arrived.

Over the last week and a half, the community of Bellingham, and within it, the Western Vikings, have banded together in a powerful display of love and compassion in an attempt to safely bring Dwight home. This morning, he was found. In spite of the efforts of everyone involved, he had not survived.

I didn't know Dwight. But he was one of us...even if only for a short time. Those of you who also are or were students at Western understand how it's one of those campuses where everyone seems to know everyone else. There are few degrees of separation. Dwight was part of us all.

This is also one of those times where I reflect on my time at Western...and I am painfully aware that this could have easily been me. Or any one of my friends. Someone earlier said it well: we had a false sense of security. Bellingham has a nice small-town feel, and a close community. You would never expect that something bad could possibly happen. But it's always possible.

So please, no matter where you live, be safe. Take care of yourself; take care of your friends.

And tonight, keep Dwight, and his family and all his friends in your thoughts and prayers.

"From those who never knew you,

From those who tried to find you,

From those who could've been you,

From those who will remember you."

Watching It Go By

I hate being sick.

I know people (yeah, you know who you are) upon whom the universe smiled, and were blessed with herculean immune systems. I am definitely not one of them.

I get sick a few times a year. Usually nothing major, just a few sniffles, bit of achyness, and I'm dead to the world for a day or two. And then I'm fine again. Every once in a while I get one of those knocked-on-my-ass, feverish and hallucinating kinds of sicknesses. But not often.

I grew up with one of those awesome moms that is always there when you're sick. She'd bring me saltines and sprite and Lipton soup (which to this day I always keep on hand for when I'm sick...it's comforting). My parents learned pretty early on that liquid cold medicine + me is about the worst combination ever. My stomach vehemently disagrees with it, and everyone loses. So I tough it out.

I remember the first time I got sick after moving away to college. It was horrible. Not the sickness, it was one of my normal, feel gross for a few days kind of experiences. What changed was the mom-factor.

I hadn't prepared myself for getting sick. I'd never had to really think about it. This time, though, I was sick, and alone, and I didn't know what to do. I trudged my pathetic self down to the store for my saltines and sprite (and cold medicine...thank God for gel caps!). Finally, I got back to my dorm and curled up in my bed, shaking from fever and weakness. Another day or so and I was fine.

I learned two important lessons from this. One, ALWAYS BE PREPARED. I know have my own little "pharmacy" bag that I even travel with, that has all the basic medicines (cold, allergy, immodium for those international jaunts...). There's typically a box or two of my soup in the cupboard. When sickness hits, and it always does, all I have to do is burrow under my covers, and occasionally shuffle out to the kitchen. No arduous treks required.

The second, and arguably most important lesson is that moms are awesome. When we're little, they're our best friends. As we get older, we start to take them for granted. By the time we're in high school, we're ready to get out of there. That saying, distance makes the heart grow fonder? So true. Once we're on our own, we start to see all the little (and big!) things our moms did for us. Did I mention moms are awesome?

Every time I've been asked if I have advice for new college freshmen, I always tell them to stock up on a "sick day" kit. All those things your mom would bring you to take care of you...have them ready. When you're sick and miserable and incapacitated, the best thing to have is a little bit of home.

This weekend, I've been sick, thousands of miles from home (though, incidentally, my mom is also on this side of the country right now haha). It's been five years since I left home, and I've learned of course how to take care of myself. But I don't think I'll ever get away from the homesickness that's always an extra symptom of every other illness. So here I am, with my sprite and saltines and bowl of Lipton soup (only the noodles; I hate broth).

Love you mom :)