So. Here's the time line for Beka's Bachlorette Weekend Madness.
Noon: I haul ass out of work.
Noon-thirty: drop off some artwork at the tattoo studio. My normal fellow is booked until July, so I agree to try out the guest artist. He wasn't sure sure about what I wanted over the phone, so he requested some ideas. This is normal procedure - I hand you a handful of shit that I love, you make me something beautiful that no one else has.
One: pick up lunch and wait for the husband to get out of surgery. I might have taken a cat nap.
Two-thirty: Husband comes home! Eat the still-warm Japanese and stare lovingly into each others' eyes. We aren't apart very often or for very long.
(We didn't really stare.)
Three-ish: drop the Man off. Get goo-goo eyes.
Dropping my dead-sexy ginger husband off at the airport.Remind me at some point to wax poetic again about this guy's dedication to fitness and improving his quality of life. It's an amazing tale of hard work and sweat.
Three-thirty to five-fifteen: Go home and maybe (absolutely) take another nap. Not enough time to get out to the barn and back. It would be like.. petting the pony and hauling my sweaty ass away.
|From the stack of photos that I left the artist, these were his custom interpretations. Bigger than I initially wanted, but how could I say no?|
|I liked #3 the best, but I didn't like the big circle in the middle. It didn't flow well to me, so we adjusted.|
|This is a weird fucking photo that could potentially be interpreted wrong. But you can kinda sorta see my regular artist in the background, facing me.|
He asked initially if I wanted any color, because one of the photos I gave him had some really awesome color and shading. I said, you know, we could pop a little blue in there. I used Sammy and Sparky (two of my alive owls on my arm) as reference.
Mid-tattoo, he told me that he felt the color choices were perfect. I said, yeah, of course, because it's the same colors I use in my blog! I pulled up the header on my iPhone and we talked for a moment about what the blog was about. I found out that his aunt breeds racing quarterhorses in Florida. Could we think for a moment about an OTQH? A sane brain, a big butt, and a sprint to die for?!
|I told him that I wanted just the slightest bit of peeking from my shirt. Nailed it.|
Seven-fifteen: not pictured: picking the gorgeous ginger up from his cancelled flight!
I'm sad that he didn't get to go to this city that neither of us have been to, but I can't say that I regretted cancelling my own planned tack store trip. We spent the day together in Hilton Head, outlet shopping and getting me drunk off moonshine.
About the tattoo:
OR and I were texting about this, because she's in the process of planning her next one. This is why we're friends. (Hi, stalkers!) She asked me what the meaning was behind this guy, and I derped a response, "Bold Archer!" She replied, nicely, something to the effect of no-shit, the arrow was for Archie? So then I gave her the deeper meaning.
Native Americans painted their horses, right? The Choctaw painted their war horses with various things. Some things meant "this horse saved my ass" or "this horse and I might die".
The arrow pointed towards victory. And what do I want my horse and I to conquer?
Nothing else holding us back.
Ps. This isn't the first time my solo time has been cancelled.