Inked.

I got my first tattoo 4 days after I turned 18. I had wanted one pretty much since I knew they existed outside of temporary butterfly sticker form. (By the way, why you would encourage your kids to play with in the first place, I've no idea. The concept to me is like candy cigarettes.) Anyway, I always liked writing on my body and it never bothered me that any image or text would eventually sag to the floor along with everything else perky at this moment. I guess I was just drawn to permanent reminders. That's my new theory. If you ever feel like you need to overcome any form of chronic indecisiveness, I'd say, get a tattoo. I've been a decision-maker ever since. Actually that's probably complete b.s., but it makes sense to me.

Anyway my first tattoo was of a fallen(ing) dove on my left shoulder blade. It's convenient, because most of the time I just forget it's there. However, when I'm standing in line at Rite Aid and I feel a creepy gaze upon my back, only to turn around and find someone admiring it, I breathe a sigh of relief that it wasn't just a creepy person ... staring at nothing ...

But I know. A dove, Tiffany? Really? On your shoulder blade? Do you want me to keep a log of all the clichéed truths of which you are an avid and guilty follower? No, I don't. And I didn't really think about how it might seem at the outset to be a cliché. I knew I wanted it on my shoulder blade, because I didn't want to see it all the time, and it's a beautifully feminine part of the body, and I knew I wanted the falling dove because I was going through happenings . . . that I didn't want to forget.

So why a second one? I don't know. I had been thinking about it for a while. Then one day, Jerry Fang so offhandedly asked me if I wanted to get a tattoo with him. I said "okay." And we did, three weeks later. Cool, huh?

Okay, but admittedly, there were a lot more "omgs," sweaty palms, and nervous jitters that went inbetween that decision and feeling the needle pierce my skin.

That's Dave, Jewish skateboarding, celebrity confidant, tattoo master extraordinaire.
(And yes, I brought Pengy along)

Jerry went first, and we're tattoo twinsies.

He originally wanted "The love of God" in Chinese, but got it in Hebrew instead.
Biter.

My second experience was a lot different from my first. Dave was an amazing comfort and the pain that I felt when the needle grazed the center of my wrist was unparalleled to anything that I've ever experienced. My knees were shaking, and there were pools of sweat dripping from my legs, and feet, and arms, and pretty much every orifice. But now every time I look down, I have a reminder that the Lord is with me. . . not in the cheesy, "yay God" sort of way, but in the "I really need You, God" sort of way.

And I did, and I do, and always will.