Marking Up My Body

In a week and a half, I will have my fifth appointment with my tattoo artist in as many months.  Yes, I’m getting quite a bit of work done.

I got my first tattoo when I was about 30 or so, and then got four others over the next few years.  I finally decided to tie them together in a common theme.

Draft of Work to be Done

After my third tattoo, my (then) best friend remarked, “You’re just going along with this fashion trend, which is going to be tired and over in a couple of years.  It will be so passé.”  In retrospect, he was wrong.  I’ve yet to regret any of my skin art.

In proof of my fatherly influence, my son (upon turning 18 years-old) went immediately to the tattoo parlor and got a HUGE piece inked on his upper arm of a dragon wrapped around a sword.  He had planned to follow that up with our last name tattooed across his upper back in Old English style lettering.  I successfully convinced him not to go this gangsta route.

Having a large tattoo on my arm has presented a few challenges at work.  Since I work in a fairly conservative corporate environment, I wear long-sleeved shirts almost exclusively.  I only wear short-sleeved shirts if they cover down to my elbow. 

I plan on getting a full sleeve tattoo on my left arm.  My closest friend at work says at that point I should make sure to wear short-sleeved shirts as often as possible to show my anarchist nature (although, again, I wonder if tattoos are so nontraditional in today’s place and time.  I see small ones on co-workers and other people in the company quite often).

Although I do like to buck the system, I mostly just like to be me everyday of my life.  And that includes showing how I’ve decorated my body.  I can live with that.

Impatiently Training

In January, I resolved to go to the gym five days a week.  No, it wasn’t a New Year’s resolution.  I’d like to think I’m too unconventional for that sort of thing, thank you (besides, I didn't begin on January 1st).  At the start, I weighed 197 pounds.  As the days went by, I was excited to see the pounds fly off.  I reduced my weight almost daily.  Then my body caught on to the game.  I hit a plateau at 192 pounds.  Frustrated, I changed my workout to see if I could force the weight loss to begin again.  And it worked.  My weight dropped to 187 last week.  And then I weighed this morning.  192.  Really?!  C’mon!!

I’m trying to convince myself that muscle weighs more than fat.  I’m trying to concentrate on the benefits of all the exercise that I’m getting.  But, I want results.  Of course, maybe I shouldn’t have eaten that entire bag of popcorn this past Saturday.  I could have done without those three spoonfuls of crunchy peanut butter on Sunday.  The pizza Saturday night didn’t help.  The non-light Sunday evening beer didn’t either.  I’m not a monk, body.  Cut me some slack!

When on the treadmill at the gym, I watch the activity on the floor.  I am a people-watching addict.  One of the personal trainers at the gym also works out there.  I stare with amazement when he is on the treadmill.  As I plod along at my 2.5 mile per hour pace, he is sprinting at 7.5 miles per hour and punching wildly at the air in front of him.  He tires me just watching him.

There are some gym pluses:  I see other people giving their all and making slow simple progress like I am, the attractive young women who work the front desk all know me by name since I’ve been going so frequently, I see the buffed and built men there who give me additional motivation to reach my goal.

Swimsuit season is coming and I still have the body shape of the Grinch.  But one thought is running through my head:  at least I have four months until my trip to Cozumel. 

You've Got a Lot of Explaining to Do, Queer

“Explain yourself.”  You may have heard these words is an accusatory tone.  You may have heard them shouted.  You may have heard them from someone you hurt.

Me?  I just heard them matter-of-factly from myself.  So here we go … and I’ll try to keep it brief.  If you do not need an explanation from me, you know that we are already in trouble.  If you have read any of my essays, you know as well.  If this essay is an introduction to me … RUN!

Just kidding … but I will try to keep this succinct.  (I haven’t talked about my lengthy absence from writing… I’ll explain that later in another post). 

• I am sentimental (I’m crazy in love with the perfect man).
• I am crazy (I’ve got the papers to prove it … so, there!).
• I am strong (I’ve been through the death of:  twin sons [when I was 20] and mom [when 21].  It I could live through those, I can handle anything).
• I am smart (My dad – the smartest man I know – told me at my age of 18, “’Queer,’ you are smarter … more intelligent… than I’ll ever be.” … WOW).
• I’m fun (I sure have a lot of friends … I guess that I must entertain).
• I’m wise (really?...)

Well, I don’t know this yet … but I hope to find out.  Now for anybody else but for me.  I would hope that I would be wise.  The wisdom for living my life as openly as I can.  The wisdom taken from years that have passed.  The wisdom of raising an incredible son to adulthood.  The wisdom for honestly communicating in the now and knowing that the past is what got me to this point in time.  I would hope that I could share some wisdom.

So, I’m sentimental, crazy, strong, smart, and fun.  If you ask others in my life what I’m about, you might get helpful, manic, grumpy, sweet or furious.  It’s all possible

A strangely narcissistic essay, but I was once told that if you could recognize it, it was only “narcissistic- tendancies.”  Whew…

If this is an introduction, “Howdy!”  If this is not an introduction, it’s just an explanation, “You're welcome.”

So I’ll stop … Brief?  I don’t know.  You decide.