Lewd, Crude, and (now) Tattooed

It's done. I'm marked for life.

And it's fucking sweet. 

Still, having something permanently etched into your skin (especially where you can pretty much always see it) takes some getting used to. Last week, I moved my arm as I was talking to someone, caught sight of it out of the corner of my eye, and was like, "What the hell is...!!....oh."

If you've been keeping up with my snail's pace, you know this process started three weeks ago when I first went to Vivid Ink to see about getting branded. That day was fun what with my husband trying to change up our travel routine while I was already under stress. Anyone who knows what being an OCD-riddled panic sufferer is like knows that's just inviting bodily harm.

I think I married a man who occasionally enjoys living life on the edge.

Anyway, aside from that little hiccup, the rest of that day was fine. I didn't have a panic attack, opting instead to try and be normal for a change. Like it's a choice, right? Truth be told, I haven't had a panic attack in years because I've become quite good at talking myself through my anxiety, but still, having once suffered them on a regular basis sets a person up to be fearful of triggering one in the future. It's like walking around with a live grenade in your pants. So when I met Phil Vosburgh and talking to him immediately soothed my nerves, I knew I'd made a good choice. We set up an appointment for the 9th, I paid my deposit, and we carried ourselves off to dinner.

That was then. Two weeks of obsession and mounting excitement later, and there I was, making the same drive to Holt. Only this time, knowing that I was in fact going to be tattooed that day ramped up my nerves, as did the fact that I hadn't gotten much sleep (less from nervousness, more from my weird ass insomnia).

Anywho, Phil showed me what he'd drawn up....and here's where I'll hand out a piece of advice; trust your damn tattoo artist. If it's someone who does good work and you've seen that for yourself, trust him/her. What Phil drew up was better than what I'd envisioned in my head, and his design adds at least a little individuality to an already popular, sort of overdone design After discussing various options and deciding just what was going to be done, Phil went off to set up while we all all sat around and....well, waited. I didn't sit, though. I couldn't.

When it was time to get started, we all (I had four other people with me. I know, right?) moved back to Phil's cubicle, and he started getting everything prepped, including my arm. Strangely, the closer we got to starting, the less nervous I became. I still reached out for my husband's hand a couple of times because I needed the support at that given moment, but really, I was quite excited. Phil was awesome, showing me all the tools he was going to use as he opened 'em up, just making small talk. Then it came down to the needles. He asked if I was ready, I took a deep breath and said yes, and we were off.

AND OH MY GOD, IT WAS THE MOST PAINFUL THING I'VE EVER GONE THROUGH IN MY LIFE, SERIOUSLY THOUGHT I WAS GOING TO DIE, I WAS SCREAMING AND THERE WAS BLOOD EVERYWHERE.

People who say shit like that about getting a tattoo really need a fucking reality check. I'm not gonna say it wasn't painful, but really, the "most painful thing ever"? Now any time I hear someone say that, all I can think is, 'man, you really haven't been through much, huh?' I've torn the ligaments in my ankle, broken bones in my feet, gone through childbirth....fuck, I've had stubbed toes that were more painful than getting that fucking tattoo.

Pussies.

OK, OK, I'll settle down. I don't mean to insult anyone who maybe had a rough time of it. If anything, I envy you your purity (not really, I'm just trying to be nice after hoein' on ya so hard a minute ago). But hey, the fact that I kinda enjoy a little pain maybe made a difference. I seriously fucking liked it. A lot.

It's a dandelion. And yes, I know, sooo played out and overdone and "oh, my god, if I see one more fucking dandelion tattoo, I'm gonna scream!"...but seriously, I have my reasons for it. Anyone who knows me knows I've never done a fucking thing in my entire life just to go along with the crowd. If I do something, you can bet your sweet ass there's a damn good reason for it. It just so happens there are several reasons I chose a dandelion. Am I going to get into them right now? Maybe just one; the word "dandelion" comes from the English form for the French "lion's tooth". When I originally started thinking about what I wanted as my first tattoo, I considered a lion because I'm a Leo. Alas, I had a really hard time imagining anything that would look right, as most lion tattoos are either too cartoonish for my taste or merely look like they've been plucked out of a velvet painting hung in some dingy crack den. Classy. Plus, I later decided I didn't want anything with a face staring back at me for the rest of my life.

The music notes should be obvious. Music means a hell of a lot to me. It's kept me relatively sane and perhaps saved my life a time or two. The placement of them on this particular tattoo will also, I hope, serve as a daily reminder to me to let music float. I sing. I've been a singer since I was a kid, and even though I often tell myself I suck because my self-esteem is in the pits, I'm really quite good. I don't sing out nearly enough. (And see? I hated even typing that and am now tempted to erase it even though it's the goddamn truth and I need to accept it.)

Without further ado:

So the big question: Will I be going back for more?

That's Ms. Bared to You

Tonight I have the pleasure of bashing on reviewing the New York Times bestseller Bared to You by Sylvia Day.

Two out of five stars.

Possible spoilers and definitely NSFW (unless your workplace is made of awesome).

Oh, my god, you guys, this book! Oh, my god...

I went into this thinking it was going to be completely and totally lame. Another Fifty Shades of Moronic Writing. Another horrifying testament to the standards which modern writers are apparently held. And do you know what? It WAS. Buuut...for the most part, I had a good time. How? By laughing uncontrollably at nearly every sex scene (and believe me, there are many).

There isn't much of a plot, but then, I guess there doesn't really need to be since it's just smut cleverly (*snort*) disguised as literature. But fans generally defend the story, and I've gotta say, as far as stories go, it's pretty lame. I mean, come on, peeps. They're damaged, they're melodramatic, they're whiny and self-absorbed, they're like, sooo hot, and the entire "story" is them fucking and then whining about it, and then fucking some more. When I first got started, I was terrified because I hit pretentious wordage in the second sentence:

"I wasn't surprised by my roommate's emphatic pronouncement."

The entire book goes on in a similar vein. Plus there's the added bonus of being told very inconsequential details, like what color shoes Eva's wearing, how many steps she had to climb, how often she eats yogurt to keep regular (I'm making up my own, but you get the gist). Having your eyes raped by adjectives and other useless textual diarrhea does not usually make for a highly compelling read. There is seriously a point where Eva tells the reader how in love she is with New York because it's so different from her hometown of San Diego with all the people and activity and sights and sounds (I'm really not kidding). The first quarter of the book was basically just useless info dump nonsense.

Things picked up a little bit when Eva first met Gideon, only because the writing in that scene was so ludicrous. Phrases like "exquisite masculinity", "magnificent maleness", "scorching force of will"...and let's not forget such treasures as,"I thought for a moment that he might be able to make me orgasm just by talking long enough." And "I looked at him in his civilized, urbane, outrageously expensive suit and thought of raw, primal, sheet-clawing fucking."  Say that three times fast!

This was also when I was introduced to Gideon's apparent mind control powers. Eva just goes on and on about how he's put some kind of spell on her, she's inexplicably drawn to him, caught up in his magnetic force, blabbidy blah blah. I suppose it doesn't hurt that Gideon is "savagely gorgeous", and that Eva's eyes "burned just from looking at him". 

 But then! Oh, then I got to the good stuff. I'm not saying that as a pervert, but as a lover of all things inappropriately hilarious. If I didn't know any better, I would swear to everything holy that this book is satire. Because while some of the sex scenes were hot, they were almost always laced with one or two lines that had me laughing so hard I was in tears.

Without further ado, I'm going to treat you to a small sampling. Seriously, prepare yourselves for this. Take a deep breath, make sure your bladder is empty and that you've got water and aid nearby in case you fall over. And for the love of eye bleach, don't let your kids read it:

"...his powerful body straining with the primal need to mate."
 

 "The rhythmic slap of his heavy balls against the curve of my buttocks."

"Then he ripped open his button fly and pulled his big, beautiful penis out."

"Gideon battered my tender sex with that brutally thick column of rigid flesh..."

"...his breath leaving him in primitive grunts every time he hit the end of me."

"'I'm so deep in you...I can feel it against my stomach...feel my dick pounding into you.'"

 

Seriously, is that shit supposed to be sexy? Because I was laughing and cringing at a lot of it. Especially that last bit there ^^^^ Yeah, WTF? She calls her ass her rear, and that's silly when you're talking about a guy finger banging your fart box, but when Gideon jammed his finger into her "puckered hole", I nearly lost my dinner/sanity/sense of direction. Just take your pick because my mind shorted out for a few seconds. I hate the word "puckered" and all its variations now. I really wish she'd just called it her puckering poopshoot and gotten it over with. Did I mention he's apparently ramming his semen in there? Oh, and this is after she stands up and drips his load all over the floor, making Gideon all hot and bothered because, apparently, lack of adequate hygiene is a major turn on for rich, neurotic alpha males.

At one point, Gideon says he feels a desire to "mark" Eva like she's his property...

I always get sidetracked when writing reviews like this because all I ever want to focus on is how funny it all is, but maybe you want to hear how the story stacks up, how the characterization is, how the plot progresses, or what the obstacles are. I can probably sum each area up in five words or less.

Story: Two people fucking.
Characterization: Cliched and irritating.
Plot progression: It's two people fucking...?
Obstacles: Sexual abuse and shallowness.

Yes, they're both damaged and need each other and he's dark and brooding and she's blonde and angelic and the two of them end up in this mindfuck of a relationship, this monumentally codependent clusterfuck of sex and jealousy and petty mind games, and when I wasn't laughing, I kinda wanted to shoot myself in the face.

Guess what else?! Gideon gets all rapey when he's sleepy!

It's stupid.

Really, really stupid.

But I give this book two stars. Why two stars? I'll tell you why two stars...

"The room lit up in a sudden flare of illumination. I turned toward him...
And found him masturbating with shocking viciousness."

 Happy Reading!

\