Godammit, I’m Mad!

It’s taken a while to decide on a  tattoo  tribute to Max. I finally felt ready and went to my local tattoo parlor, Ink Ink, in Venice. I talked to a veteran artist named Stephanie, who turned the elements I wanted into the beautiful design you see above.

Stephanie was the best choice I could have made! She was kind, funny, insightful, and takes her work seriously.  It is her true calling. I felt so relaxed in her hands that I felt no pain, just a mild sort of friction..  I was delighted to hear her squeals of excitement over the vibrant colors.

We talked about all kind of shit, having discovered that we are the same age. We talked about all the times we’ve seen The Band. When I told her that  I used to have a huge crush on Rick Danko, she replied, “Who didn’t?!” It’s great to hang out with someone who shares your history and your culture.

The honeysuckles remind me of how Max used to suck the nectar out of the flowers outside our front door. When Charle was little, Max showed him hwo to do it. The morning glories remind me of putting them over our noses to see how long we could keep them there. Max called them “morning gorlies” and that’s how I still think of them

Some days go by like nothing is wrong. They make me wonder how a human being can just keep plodding along, through habit and conditoning. Other days are crushing, filed with the unbearable heartbreak and remorse.

But the tattoo is a comfort. I really love it. If you’re thinking of getting a tattoo, you can’t do better than Stephanie.

My new tattoo was inspired by this product from an online botanica. My Adopted Son (long story) got the same tattoo, and then we ate dinner at a bowling alley. My husband was displeased that he hadn’t been notified about the tattoo, but I can’t remember every little thing, can I?

It’s not really big, I’m just too stupid to size my pix properly, and I took this one with my cell phone. However, I can lead you to The Voodoo Professor, who is fun to listen to. For more serious Voodoo needs, I suggest going here.

There I was, minding my own business, and by that I mean I was trying to research a disorder called somatoparaphrenia, when I came across a blog called Transabled.org.

It’s like a mini-mother lode for anyone who’s ever been curious about Body Integrity Identity Disorder. You know, the one where people feel that they can’t be happy unless they have a limb amputated. You have to love it. I actually saw a documentary about it, featuring several British guys with BIID.  The Britishness was an excellent counterpoint to the disorder: It was like a surreal Monty Python sketch.

Anyway, over at this blog, there is a discussion about the disabled community’s ‘ableism’ in refusing to acknowledge the transabled as deserving of sympathy. Since ‘transabled’ is defined in the blog as ‘wanting to be disabled,’ you can see the problem.

I love disorders! Somatoparaphrenia is the delusion that one of your limbs belongs to someone else, like your doctor or even a stranger.  It could be useful, like if you punch someone in the face you could blame your doctor! Or in my case, I could tell my husband that my new tattoo (which he hates) is actually on the wrist of someone we don’t even know!

I’ll try this when he gets home.