Fuck The World – Do It Yourself

[Originally written 4.17.03]

Sitting here at the library since my computer suddenly decided to stop working, so I have to make this as quick and informative as possible.

Last Friday I graduated cosmetology school.  The girls were really sweet and bought me balloons.  They just had to embarrass me with the stupid hand bridge [don’t ask] and I was rewared with my 1200 hours of time with some pieces of paper.

Scored digits from Shane, who I am going to miss a whole lot.  Told him so a few times, and he said “Of course“.

Monday I was in much better spirits, meeting up with Jon in E-town in the afternoon and had an unhealthy but cheap and tasty lunch at White Castle.  Then we went across the street to Ron’s Tattooing so I could get inked.  Selected some nice Old English lettering to go on my wrists.  FTW on the right, DIY on the left.  The whole experience was definitely uplifting, and I am so happy with my new tattoos.  Could not have done it without my best friend, and thank him from the bottom of my heart for sharing the moment with me.  [Not to mention paying for work.]

Afterward, I was pumped with endorphins and obviously did not want to come back to the house, so Jon suggested that I get in is Chevy and we could go for a ride.  Of course I held no protest, but was incredibly curious of where we would be going.  He lit a joint and passed it to me, a strange little smile tugging at his lips as he tells me I took the tattoos like a champ.  Well, it’s not like they were incredibly big or in a very painful spot, but I accepted the compliment anyway.

Hours later, I realize we are in South Jersey, rolling into the Pine Barrens.  The endorphins have mixed with pot by this point, so I am definitely feeling really good.  We step out of the Chevy and I’m kind of in a daze as I follow him into the woods.  There is a soft orange glow coming from somewhere between the mass of pine trees that span before us.  My hand slips into his as we continue to walk, the smile still firmly fixed on his face.

Then it finally hits me as I see a small group of familiar faces sitting around the fire.  There are shouts of recognition by the Outlaw Cirkus crew as greetings are exchanged.  Jon takes my hands in order to show them all the fresh ink.  Smiles infect those assembled as they point to the same lettering that adorns various parts of their bodies.  Everyone there is marked with them, in fact.  Next thing I know, two jars [one full of ‘shine, the other full of ‘shroom juice] and quite a few blunts are being passed around.  The hours are lost to a variety of stories and being sucked into the anonymity of the surrounding pine trees.

When I find myself in bed, I wonder if everything had been some sort of beautiful dream.  Glancing down at my wrists, the tattoos are still present, and I savor a tiny smile as I succumb to the visions that dance in my head.

Went on an exploration and massively stupid trip into Northern New Jersey earlier this week, where I get the idea to finally buy myself a cell phone.  Might as well, since I tend to not get messages that are left for me at the house, nor do I ever want my mom to pick up when Jon calls.  Which is pretty rare anyway, since we mostly communicate via e-mail and pay phones, but I just thought it would be a nice way to show off my independence, even if my Dad doesn’t think it’s a necessity.  In any event, long story short, now I have my own phone.

On a good note, traveling thru that part of Jersey, I discovered several new diners that I didn’t know about before.

Going to make use of previously mentioned cell phone now.

Advertisements

Feedback Appreciated

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s