This was an interesting experience. First I walk into the place (Iron Age studios in the Loop, for my fellow masochistic St. Louisans) and exchange a few pleasantries and try to get some basic information out of a clerk who is too drugged up to concentrate on both keeping her eyes open and sitting upright on a stool at the same time. Unfortunately that is not enough to deter me, and I sit around for 35 minutes, until 'the artist' can see me. In the mean time I peruse some photo albums of past customers. Of particular interest was the section on peirced genitalia. Rotten.com could not come up with worse pictures than what these crazy fucks have done to themselves. It used to be that putting a ring through your scrotum was pretty shocking. Bullshit my friend. Here's what impresses the ladies today: Make 5 circumferential slits along the length of your cock. Insert a C shaped ring into each slit, sew it up and let the skin heal over it (the openings in the rings are lined up along your urethra so you can still actually piss). You now have a metal ribbed penis, you are special. While shaking my head numbly over the descent of humanity, I am finally summoned into one of the back booths.
'The artist' turns out to be a kid about my age wearing a "Hail Satan" T-shirt and well adorned in his trade's handiwork. So then I say to this bizarre punk, here's 70 bucks, could you please stab me in the arm over and over for the next 45 minutes, so as to scar me for life in the following pattern? The artist readily agreed and after stripping to the waist and being invited to sign a form waiving liability for gangrene and artistic 'misinterpretations', I grit my teeth and get down to business. Despite my fears, the artist did a satisfactory job, but I'm still thankful I chose a monochromatic design consisting entirely of straight lines.
So thats the story of my first and definately only tatoo. When I'm 80 I'm confident I will be glad for both.
Later that night at aproximately 12:10am I made my first legal alcohol purchase at some crummy gas station, a dubious honor at best. Then on my actual birthday, my brother rounded up enough suckers for another big poker tourney. I did my best yet, finishing 4th and profiting 20 bucks. John secured 2nd place in a series of miracles and won $80.
The following day, I went home and was showered in my relatives generosity, and now have more than enough cash to get what I really want. I talked to my uncle (right wing gun nut extraordinaire) and he now sees it as his personal mission to get me outfitted with the best tool for the job. I'm hoping he can sell me something cheap or else I'll have to go fill out a some forms at city hall and go shopping. We also discussed concealed carry techniques, which was very encouraging. I was looking forward to picking up something right away this weekend, but I supose if I've waited 21 years, I can wait another week.