I don’t really understand why he’s picked up this habit, but Ramses has decided that he wants to bring all of my roommate’s dog’s toys up into my bedroom. I’ll wake up to at least four or five in my bed (one time, I woke up because he dropped a stuffingless giraffe on my face), then a few on the floor inside my room, and then a whole trail of them from my bedroom door and all the way down the stairs.
a) Dexter (the dog) has too many toys
b) my cat is an asshole who doesn’t understand the concept of personal property
c) I have to put them away every morning
d) my roommate does this a couple of times during the day (he works from home most of the week)
I only have four tattoos at the moment, and for the most part, I’m okay with this. The first one I got was when I was 19, and I literally went up to one of the sheets on the wall and pointed to a fish that reminded me of the ones from the original Fantasia.
My favorite is my back piece, inspired by the folk art of my Polish heritage, although it was insanely painful, as to be expected by having someone poke a needle in your spine, but the artist was incredibly talented and managed to make the experience significantly less miserable.
I got Wonder Woman on my right side, but she’s badly needing a facelift; the dude who did it didn’t really know how to do a comic book style, and Diana looks like she could use some Botox. Or … a nose. Sigh.
The most recent addition is the smallest – an om symbol on the inside of my left wrist – and is the beginning of a full sleeve. I already have a design in mind, and it’s gonna be beautiful. And expensive.