Full Coverage: Links From All Over (Feb. 20, 2009)


[CNBC] Scandal rocked the worlds of sports, print media and soft-core pornography this week when it was revealed that Sports Illustrated digitally removed IndyCar racer Danica Patrick‘s lower-back tattoo from her photos in this year’s Swimsuit Issue. (The chilling photographic evidence is above.) When made aware of this startling injustice, Patrick’s camp issued the following response:

“Danica is aware of the edits and is comfortable with the final photos.”

What sort of high-level coercion are these Sports Illustrated fat-cats using to elicit this sort of timid, fearful response? The publication outright refused to comment on the subject, for at least a day, until CNBC’s Darren Rovell was able to squeeze the following explanation from an SI spokesperson:

“The Swimsuit Issue emphasizes natural beauty […] The freckles are left on and, in this case, the tattoos came off.”

Oh. Well, that makes sense. When you look at it that way, actually, this is a fairly historic move for the Swimsuit Issue. Indeed, the magazine’s photo editors also went ahead and Photoshopped all of the models’ breasts back to their original sizes, used only natural light, and limited their airbrushing to erasing offensive tattoos like Patrick’s. The issue has thus far sold seven copies.

[Citizens Voice] So you may have heard about the case of this cretin, this fool, Holly Crawford of Sweet Valley, Pennsylvania, who was arrested for selling what she called “Gothic Kittens.” These are just like regular kittens, except this dildo had pierced their ears, the napes of their necks, and cut off their tails and pierced the remaining nubs, and then attempted to make a business of selling these to … who the hell would buy these? Anyway, the case is going to court now, Crawford is facing criminal charges and, as such, more details are emerging:

“This was tying a rubber band around a cat’s tail so tight that it falls off,” said Deputy District Attorney David Pedri. “She caused the cats pain. She did this to sell them to make money.”

Crawford’s defense attorney, Demetrius Fannick, argued state law “goes on and on” about specific acts of animal cruelty, but nothing about piercing cats and docking their tails.

Prosecutors said a part of the cruelty included Crawford tying rubber bands around the tails of the cats so they would fall off. She’d then pierce the nub.

“There’s nothing in the statute that expressly says you can’t pierce your cat’s ears or necks, or even crop their tails,” Fannick said. “It’s a case that you will be for or against as an animal owner. Let the legislature say you can’t pierce or tattoo your animal, and it will be different.”

Magisterial District Judge Paul Hadzick said the case was a gray area in the law and predicted it might one day cause for a clarification in the law. At the very least, he said it’s a case that should be decided by a jury or a higher judge.

“I don’t think that the decision is for me to be made here,” Hadzick said.

While it’s probably true that this is fundamentally not all that different from pet owners who clip their pets’ ears and tails, this just seems particularly idiotic to me for some reason — probably the winning combination of animal abuse with the hoary old “piercings are goth!” chestnut.

[Scripps News] Good news, tattoo artists, the recession is over! For you, at least! The anecdotal evidence is in and has decisively shown that people would rather get tattooed than eat or give their children medicine.

“My question is ‘What recession’?” said Kate Hellenbrand, a tattoo artist for the past 38 years. “Every day, new clients are being born. The media promotes the industry. There are ads everywhere and sports heroes, rock n’ roll stars and models all have tattoos.”

While this may be true, it may also be a touch skewed coming from one of the most famous tattoo artists in the world, but nonetheless. The article goes on:

Sergio Reynoso of Salt Lake Tattootland was one of the few vendors who said the recession has hurt his business. Since about 80 percent of clients are Latinos, many experiencing trouble finding a job in a down construction industry, he has noticed a drop in business. He has, however, been doing a good business lately repairing or sprucing up bad tattoos done on the street by less qualified artists.

I’m not so P.C. that I’m going to act terribly offended by the implication all Latinos seem to be in the construction industry, but holy crap is this poorly written. Anyway, let’s bring it on home:

Even in Seattle — where thousands have been laid off in recent months — tattoo art is a shelter in the storm. Seattle tattoo artist April Cornell keeps quite busy.

“If you weren’t watching the news, you would not know there was a recession,” she said.

Artist Vinnie Almanza of Anchorage, Alaska, said he was booked all weekend in Salt Lake and is booked through June at his home shop. “One thing people definitely don’t have a problem spending on is their ink,” he said. “It’s like an addiction.”

There you have it: A statistically meaningless sample size that likens the impulse to get tattoo work to your common booze and drug addictions, as proof that tattooing is recession-proof. I can’t wait to read several thousand more of these articles over the next 10 months, at which point I will have to sell my computer, to eat, or more likely, to get tattooed. Best recession ever!

Full Coverage: Links From All Over (Feb. 17, 2009)


[The Dieline] Surprisingly enough, this is not, in fact, some ass-backwards marketing campaign by foolish opponents of tattoos. No, instead, this is part of an art project by CCA student JuliAnn Miller, who, when given an assignment to design some sort of material for a political or social cause, she chose tattoos, and thus, the “Tattoo Tester” was born.

“This Tattoo Tester is a kit that comes with certain papers so that the user can create custom temporary tattoos (transfer paper and carbon paper). The kit also includes a brochure with information on tattoo statistics and a brief history of tattooing.”

The box is made from light cardboard and all printed material is printed on recycled kraft paper. All typography is in various weights of Myriad Pro.

The statistics are largely based on a poll that supposedly mentioned that most Americans who regret their tattoos do so based on the design and location choice, which, um, why else would someone regret a tattoo, really? At any rate, it’s a pretty slick looking project, and any effort to get people to give healthy consideration to tattoo work before getting it done is probably a step in the right direction.

[Gawker] So apparently there is some person named Peaches Geldof, whose father was Bob Geldof, and she is famous for, I don’t know, existing? Celebrity culture is just swell. Anyway, she was on a beach somewhere and lo and behold, she’s all tattooed! In the real world, this would mean she is a regular 19-year-old girl, but your common gossip vultures had a field day dissecting her tattoos, including the usually respectable-ish Ryan Tate:

– Doves = LOVE. Not to be confused with marrying a dude to his green card.

– Playing cards = good luck. Like being born to the right person.

[…]

– Unicorn eating chain of daisies = ???. WTF, because everything else about Peaches is deep and meaningful, you know?

[…]

– “An open book with a bizarre hangman’s noose hanging over the page” = to symbolize Peaches being “owned” by a metaphor-challenged ex.

Well, that was annoying. You criticize someone for being famous for being famous, and then you proceed to … give them the media coverage you’re criticizing them for craving? Hooray! Everybody wins/loses/dies, the end.

[CrunchGear] Oh what’s this, tattoos that people won’t regret or be made fun of for? What a concept! Some eggheads at the Draper Laboratory in socialist Cambridge, Massachusetts, have developed tattoo ink that will “change colors based on a person’s blood sugar levels,” which is an obvious benefit to people with Diabetes, or people who like to brag about their blood sugar levels.

The nano ink particles are tiny, squishy spheres about 120 nanometers across. Inside the sphere are three parts: the glucose detecting molecule, a color-changing dye, and another molecule that mimics glucose. When the particles are dissolved in water they look like food coloring, says Clark.

The three parts continuously move around the inside the hydrophobic orb. When they approach the surface, the glucose detecting molecule either grabs a molecule of glucose or the mimicking molecule.

If the molecules mostly latch onto glucose, the ink appears yellow. If glucose levels are low, the molecule latches onto the glucose mimic, turning the ink purple. A healthy level of glucose has a “funny orangey,” color, according to Clark. The sampling process repeats itself every few milliseconds.

This sort of immediate access to one’s blood sugar levels would be a major leap forward, although as with any technology, questions regarding the accuracy and reliability of such an invention have already arisen. Lab mice seem to be responding well to the initial experiments, however, and at this rate, it sounds like a human version may be ready within two years. Science, everybody!

New Article Posted! (Lizardman Interview)


Good morning, ModBlog! What better way to start off your week than by drinking a tall glass of the nectar that comes freshly squeezed from The Lizardman‘s mind-grapes?

It’s been a few years since we’ve heard from him here on BME, and really, it’s been too long. The world is a much different place now (well, marginally different, at least), and it’s always reassuring to have him around as a bright green guide through the chaos that surrounds us. He and I recently exchanged e-mails over a couple of days, talking about the new American president, the rigors of life on the road and the difficulties of making the transition from sideshow to stand-up.

To read The State of The Lizardman Address, click here.

[Ed. note: Comments on this post have been disabled. Hoot and holler in the forum attached to the article. Thanks.]

Night of a Few Dozen Scars


Hey, look, it’s an article that combines some of my favorite things: Booze, random sex and scarification. But not in a good way! All Wayne Robinson, 24, of Fleetwood, Lancashire, wanted was a late-night drunken summer hook-up, like so many other 20-somethings. Unfortunately, he called up local idiot Dominique Fisher, who decided that once her suitor had nodded off for the night (with some help from noted sleeping aids vodka and Valium), she, uh, sliced him up for some reason? Seriously?

Mr Robinson woke to find his body decorated with a star on his back, ‘Dominique’ written on his upper right arm, and numerous slash marks on his left arm and shoulder.

[…] he was not awake during the incident on the night of June 14 last year.

Mr Robinson said he panicked when he woke up and took a taxi back to his home in Fleetwood, Lancashire.

He said: ‘I went to her place for sex, not to be tattooed. I can’t believe she did this to me and I hate her.

‘When I woke I was covered in blood. Dominique was snoring. I just had to get out of there. I didn’t even wake her to ask what she’d done.’

‘I’m scarred for life,’ he told The Sun. ‘I wish I’d never met her.’

Good grief. Look, everyone knows that it’s perfectly acceptable to tattoo people when they’re asleep — hilarious! — but this is really crossing a line. It’s a dangerous world out there, and really, if we can’t get shitfaced and pass out at the homes of strange ass, well, where can we take refuge?

Fisher was convicted of unlawful wounding, which sounds slightly worse than a traffic violation, and will be sentenced at the end of February. The article did mention, however, that she perpetrated the attack with a Stanley knife, a.k.a a box-cutter, therefore, she is a terrorist, throw her in a secret C.I.A. prison, the end.

One-night stand man wakes to find lover has carved her name into his arm [Daily Mail — more pictures here, too]

Body Modification Practitioner Arrested in North Bay, Ontario

As some of you may be aware, Andrew Niland — better known to many of you on IAM as xbolloxx — was arrested earlier this week in North Bay, Ontario, along with his girlfriend, Adrianne Carbone. Here’s the pertinent information from the North Bay Nugget, a local newspaper:

Andrew Niland, 29, was granted bail Thursday. However, he remains in jail until he posts a $10,000 no-cash bond and finds two people approved by court to be his sureties to ensure he follows his release conditions.

Niland and his girlfriend Adrianne Carbone, 21, were arrested last week and jointly charged with aggravated assault for performing a labia reduction on a woman Jan. 18 at his residence.

Niland is also charged with two other counts of aggravated assault for placing an implant in that same woman’s chest — used to create a shape under the skin — in September 2007 and performing another labia-reduction procedure last April.

Court heard there are exceptions to charges involving bodily harm when it comes to piercing which could drive the issue into Canada’s highest court for a decision on consensual body modifications.

Justice of the Peace James Bubba heard that the women involved had asked to have the procedures done to them.

If he’s released, Niland is not allowed to perform certain procedures — such as branding or scarring — although he will be allowed to continue piercing if the procedure is done to accommodate a piece of jewelry.

He’s also banned from having any weapons.

Niland is facing additional charges of possessing a prohibited weapon and careless storage of that weapon after police found a .22-calibre handgun at his residence.

The weapons charge is another matter altogether, and BME takes no stance on that aspect of the case. However, the fact remains that Andrew was arrested for allegedly performing procedures on consenting adults, and the allegations of “aggravated assault” are ludicrous. He was charged as such because, under Ontario law, a person cannot legally consent to the procedures Andrew performed (unless, of course, they were being performed by a doctor). But this has always been a debate central to body modification, and now that its profile is only getting higher, these are issues that are going to have be addressed with the public at large: How much control do we truly have over our own bodies? If a grown woman, of the age of majority, of sound mind, and of her own volition, wishes to have a private practitioner perform a labia reduction on her, or to implant a silicone star, or any other number of things we see frequently in this community, should the state be allowed intercede? And if so, where is the line drawn?

If the story told is accurate, then Andrew did not coerce these people into having these procedures done: They sought him out. He is only in custody right now because the law dictates that adults are not allowed to make certain choices about their bodies. This case has the potential to have massive repercussions on the body modification industry and on our extended community, and we hope that you’ll all follow it closely. BME, of course, will keep you all up to date as much as possible. We’re currently looking into ways for people to support Andrew and Adrianne, perhaps by way of a PayPal account to help with legal fees. We’ll keep you all posted.

EDIT: Andy’s paypal is linked to [email protected] Please send paypal payments to that address in order to help him. I’m not linking a direct “donate” button for reasons mentioned in the comments below.

CSI: Guelph?


So Allen “Eagle Eye” Falkner was sitting down for his nightly chamomile and CSI when he noticed, hey, that poster on the right side of the screen looks familiar, doesn’t it?

Oh, it’s Orbax! How about that? One may think the CSI set designer is just a fan of Rue Morgue, but I’m not so sure. Sometimes a poster … can be covering up a secret.

[puts on sunglasses]

CSI-Orbax Sighting [Hooker Life]

The Super Bowl, Ass Tattoos and You


With the Super Bowl just around the corner, it’s the season for poorly conceived bets and all manner of bribery in exchange for tickets! What fun, right? And really, what better way to prove one’s devotion to a football (that is “soccer,” to Europeans, or something) team than getting a tattoo of, wait, a radio station logo? Hey, whatever works. Fredy Gutierrez, a fellow Arizona Cardinals fan, desperately wanted to go to the big game but could not afford the estimated million-dollar ticket price, but luckily, Phoenix-area radio station 620 KTAR was having a sadistic contest in which some poor sap need only tattoo their ass with the station’s call letters to receive two of these golden tickets. Mission accomplished! Photographic evidence above.

Gutierrez is taking his nine-year-old son, Marcus, to Sunday’s game.

“The only thing I can say is that I hope that my son enjoys it,” Gutierrez said about the game.

Marcus said he is looking forward to going to the game, and will likely have memories from the experience that will last a lifetime – just like his father will.

What does Gutierrez’s wife think about the new tattoo?

“She thinks I’m pretty crazy,” Gutierrez said.

Ha ha, crazy indeed. At least he got something out of it, though — consider the curious case of Deadspin editor A.J Daulerio, a Philadelphia Eagles fan who made a bet with former Deadspin editor and Arizona Cardinals fan, Will Leitch, when those two teams played each other in last week’s conference championship. Among the items Daulerio put on the line in the event of an Eagles loss (others included treating Leitch to a sushi dinner and letting the former editor smash him in the face with a cookie sheet, on video) was getting a tattoo of a buzzsaw — a reference to a depressing nickname for the Cardinals — on his ass. He was very excited about the prospect!

Let it be known: I currently have no tattoos on any part of my body, have never had any desire to get one, nor would I even take this bet unless I was 100 percent convinced there would be no possibility of me losing. So there. Shock me, Buzzsaw.

But because God hates a boaster, and patchy facial hair, the Cardinals were indeed triumphant over the Eagles! Daulerio took it rather well:

If anyone knows any tattoo artists who are willing to put a buzzsaw on me, well, let me know. This fucking sucks.

And indeed, last night, the soon-to-be-tattooed design was unveiled:

Hey, that’s pretty tasteful! Meanwhile, Daulerio has quietly accepted his fate.

I’m meeting a prospective artist over at DareDevil Tattoo in the Lower East Side in a few minutes to find out just how long, painful, and ridiculous-looking this image would be. Many people have tried to talk me out of following through with my end of the Mayor’s Bet (including the Emeritus himself), but, personally, I feel like not following through with it would be even more lame than actually having a buzzsaw tattoo forever.

Well, Daulerio is nothing if not a man of his word. This afternoon, he did indeed make the journey to Dare Devil Tattoo, and displayed the stoicism one hopes for in a “blogger,” as it were.

I was under the impression that tattoos, even the most pedestrian ones in the shape of power tools, would take a long period of time. Thankfully, Michelle from Dare Devil Tattoo is well-honed in her craft. It only took about 20 minutes, was relatively painless, and no blood was spilled. But now I’m forever scarred and, also, forever an unintentional lifelong supporter of The Buzzsaw That Is The Arizona Cardinals. Or woodworking.

Hey, it could be worse! You could be getting hit in the face with a cookie she— oh, right. Well, all’s well that ends well, or something. Did Daulerio at least learn a lesson from this sordid tale of intrigue?

I will never, ever bet on the Philadelphia Eagles again.

[…]

Fuck you, Eagles.

That’s the spirit! Go Buzzsaw!

He Did What? [620 KTAR]
Hope. Change. Buzzsaw Tattoos, The Buttsaw That Is The Arizona Cardinals [Deadspin]

Full Coverage: Links From All Over.

[Premiere.com] Long-time BME supporter (and full-time-job-having sell-out) Jenni recently interviewed Vera Farmiga, co-star of the new amputation-fetish film, Quid Pro Quo. Nick Stahl takes the lead as wheelchair-bound journalist Isaac, who, while researching the subculture of voluntary amputees (some of whom mention their jealousy of Isaac’s condition), meets Fiona (Farmiga), a woman with Body Integrity Identity Disorder who wants nothing more than to spend her life in a wheelchair. Something tells me Farmiga’s been reading BME. From the interview:

Farmiga: You know, you read these testimonies online and there’s such a sense of aloneness and this desolate feeling of despair, just feeling so alone in this, and self-demand amputation is illegal [except] under only the most rigid psychiatric evaluations and testing. There’s only a handful of doctors and hospitals that will approve self-demand amputation, so people go to great lengths… throw themselves in front of trains, use shotguns, hurt themselves. I don’t know what to think. I can’t even imagine… This obsession completely possesses these people, and there is a real sense of spiritual unrest. The cases I’ve heard of and read about of people actually going through [amputation] — whether they’ve done it themselves or had it professionally taken care of — there is a ninety-something percent satisfaction, that these people say that they feel more spiritually fulfilled and it’s not a case of being disabled any more, it’s becoming able-bodied… feeling whole in relation to that broken person within. I cannot pretend to comprehend it, and it’s very difficult. I mean, this is like the same thing as transgenderism a while ago; people couldn’t fathom it… I have no personal feelings towards it; I couldn’t, especially having to play Fiona.

[InkedMag.com] Athletes with tattoos hardly qualify as breaking news, but Inked Magazine just put together a rather entertaining profile of Florida Marlins pitcher Justin Miller, who is pretty much tattooed from asshole to elbow. He’s so heavily covered, in fact, that Major League Baseball insisted that he wear long sleeves, as his various pieces of work were apparently too much of a distraction to opposing batters. Luckily, his teammates seem fine with it:

[…] it was revealed that Miller had “I (heart) Billy Koch” tattooed on his ass after losing a bet with teammate and friend Billy Koch. In exchange, Koch gave Miller $2,000 for his trouble and paid for the tattoo. As word of the bet spread, Koch felt so bad that he gave Miller’s wife $500 as compensation for her pain and humiliation.

“It was a silly bet. Honestly, at the time I was getting a lot of tattoos. [Koch and I] got traded for each other a couple of years before. I have fun telling that story, and we’re boys to this day. He’ll definitely never let me forget about it,” Miller says. “I think [my teammates] wait until the shower just so they can peek instead of asking to see my ass.”

Of course, it’s hard to live down the reputation one receives after getting teammates’ names etched on one’s hindparts, I guess:

Marlins pitcher Scott Olsen, who had been pulled over by Florida police the previous summer and charged with DUI before allegedly being shocked with a taser, approached Miller with a proposition of his own. “He wants me to get his mug shot tattooed on my ass. I don’t think that’s going to work,” says Miller. “I don’t think my wife wants to see Olsen’s picture there. So we’re not going to go with that.”

Geez, you lose one bet and everyone treats your ass like the community mural. Remind me to convert to a religion that prohibits gambling. (Via Deadspin)

[MSNBC.MSN.com] Speaking of religion (Ed. Note: That’s how you do a fucking segue, friends), Jessa sends in this story about Todd Bentley, an evangelist from British Columbia, Canada, who is not the average preacher. Bentley, the founder of Fresh Fire Ministries, leans toward the Pentecostal range of practices — none of which, luckily, seem to conflict with the fact that he is likely one of the more heavily pierced and tattooed evangelical ministers around. Apparently, such appearances are insignificant when you can flex your God-ceps the way he claims to be able to:

Bentley claims that God has used him to supernaturally heal hundreds of people of diseases ranging from glaucoma to diabetes to even cancer.

[…] he doesn’t know exactly why now, why him, […] and he does not promise that everyone who comes to him will be healed. But he does maintain a pragmatic posture toward prayer.

“I say, you have nothing to lose but your sickness. If the doctors can’t help you, why wouldn’t you give God a chance?”

Pragmatic indeed! But I hear you saying, “Well, religion is a crutch and a fairy tale, why travel such a distance and at such an expense when I could just as easily pray to the water stain on my bathroom wall?” To which I say, if you’re not willing to give yourself up to the will of a man who lists on his MySpace page the people he’d most like to meet as “Jesus, King David, Paul the Apostle [… and] Hulk Hogan,” well, then you probably deserve the Gout or whatever the hell it is that’s wrong with you.

How I Learned to Stop Being a Vapid Moron and Kind of Love a Guy With a Tattoo.

Via those sassy dames over at Jezebel (“sassy dames” is the preferred nomenclature, right?) comes this inspirational story of a courageous woman named Sarah Robbins who learns to see past the gruesome disfigurement terrorizing the precious corpus of her boyfriend. Or something. Let’s give this the thorough FJM’ing it deserves.

Is Love Skin Deep?
One guy’s scary body art puts his girlfriend to the test.

Hey, we’re all pretty experienced, erudite fans of body modification here, so the chances of one of us finding body art “scary”? Probably pretty low. That said, I can certainly sympathize with the average un-modified person (let’s do everybody a favor and bury the term “plainskin”) who may be fascinated, disturbed or even, yes, scared by someone like, say, Skullboy. If body modification were totally foreign to me for whatever reason and I ran into him randomly? Might be a little spooked.

So … clearly the “scary body art” referred to in the title here must be something like that, right?

[…] on our third date, he made me dinner at his place. By then, I was really liking what I saw: a handsome, short-haired, glasses-wearing guy who owned his own business and attended the ballet with his mom.

OK — probably no skull tattoos on his face. Split tongue, perhaps? That might be scary. Come on, split tongue!

I was admiring the way he decorated his apartment with both framed photos and living plants when suddenly his lips were on mine. Kissing him was even more warm and wonderful than I’d imagined.

Damn it. Genital beads? Gotta be it. Hulking, intimidating, mountainous, pulsing genital beads.

Then he pulled off his sweater, and something came between us.

Third arm! Fuck! That was totally my next guess, too.

Technically, it was someone: a tattoo on his upper left arm of a vibrant, crazy, and most unmistakably skinless man. Not a skeleton, mind you; a man with no skin—just organs, graphically rendered in sickly red, orange, and yellow swirls.

Oh. Just … a tattoo? Huh. That sounds like a pretty cool tattoo, actually. Attention, gentleman with the crazy girlfriend who writes for Marie Claire: please send a picture of your cool-sounding tattoo to BME.

I was shocked by the aggressiveness of it. He’d seemed so…normal. Gentle, even.

Little did she know that he kidnaps men, peels off their skin, uses a complex system of rays to shrink them down and then buries them deep within his arms! Ahhhh!

“What is that?” I blurted.

Totally the sort of thing you’d blurt out after … seeing … a tattoo … on a grown man?

I regretted it right away. With those three words, our makeout session came to an abrupt end, as he pulled back, giving me the chance to sneak another look at that thing on his arm. Yes, there was no getting around it: a man made entirely of muscles and guts, with piercing green eyes.

I’d say he was probably actually made mostly of ink. And some sweat. And maybe just a little bit of love.

“What, this?” he asked. “It’s a tattoo.”

Excellent answer. Quick, to the point.

Uh, yeah. It was actually the biggest, brightest, scariest piece of body art I’d ever seen close up. “But what…is it?” I inquired, a little more gently this time. “What does it mean?”

Maybe I’m just antisocial, but I hate answering this question more than just about anything. I’d rather every meathead on the subway ask me, “How much them shits in you ears hurt?” than have to explain away my ill-fated high school interest in sacred geometry.

Anyway, not to be too much of a jerk, but I have a hard time imagining a place in modern-day North America where a grown woman could live 25-30 years (I’m guessing) without ever seeing (what sounds like) a half-sleeve in the flesh. Were you just released from a basement in Austria?

He tried to explain: It had something to do with his interest in the medieval artist Hieronymus Bosch. And there was a mention of total respect for the tattoo artist. Oh, and, “These designs are exactly what brain synapses look like…”

I’m seriously liking this guy more and more. Is it too late to invite him to ModProm?

I wanted to like it—to dig the anatomical accuracy and artistry—because I liked him. But the truth is, it was a turnoff. Skeletons and synapses? No thanks. While my mind reeled, he kept talking.

Was your mind really reeling? It sounds like you two were about to get busy, and now all you can think about is the tattoo on his arm? If someone were trying to tattoo a skeleton onto his penis while you two were having sex, sure, maybe that would be a turnoff, but you’re just being ridiculous, lady.

“…And I can’t wait to finish it.”

Turned out, he hadn’t had time yet to complete his masterpiece.

I hope when you’re cooking him dinner some day, he walks over, tastes a piece of uncooked chicken and then, in between retches off the balcony, makes a bunch of bullshit catty comments about how lucky he is to have such a talented gourmet chef in the house.

When my friends heard the story, they reminded me that not only are tattoos totally common (more than a third of 20-somethings have at least one), but ink is, for many, a big turn-on. Bottom line, they said: A tattoo, no matter how weird, should not be a deal-breaker. The guy had too many other great qualities. Plus, it was still winter—there were plenty of months of sweater weather ahead of us.

They “reminded” you of this? Because you were just so mortified, so absolutely dumbstruck that these difficult and complex points just could not penetrate? You are so brave.

As the weeks wore on, I tried befriending the skinless man who slept between us. One night, after a few glasses of wine, I gave him a name: Telly Savalas, after the late, bald actor who starred in a detective series when I was a kid. Let’s face facts: It’s not like the tattoo was going anywhere. I was naming the elephant in the room.

You should have made an ultimatum. No, really. I would have loved to see how that played out. Also: you were seriously still hung up on this after a few weeks? Apparently Marie Claire needs to get you copyediting or something to occupy your time.

Our meet-the-parents moment came in the midst of a serious heat wave. Even sandals felt stifling; long sleeves were out of the question. Although Telly peeked out just a few inches past my boyfriend’s T-shirt sleeve, I was a nervous wreck, keeping tabs on which side of my mother my boyfriend walked on. Blessedly, my folks didn’t say a thing.

“Well, Jim, you’ve got a good job, handsome features, a winning disposition and you’ve never been anything but a perfect gentleman to Sarah. Unfortunately, it’s been brought to my attention that you have a small tattoo on your arm. In light of this, the guards will escort you to the gate, and a laser fixed to a satellite will disintegrate you if you come within 100 yards of my daughter. You asshole.”

As the work of art neared completion, strangers couldn’t help but take notice.

“Dude! What is that?”
“Can I see?”
“Where’d you get that?”
“Why’d you do it? Did it hurt?”

The questions came from all sides—in the subway, on the street, at restaurants and movie theaters. My boyfriend just blew them off. “Imagine complete strangers feeling entitled to touch you,” he told me. “Plus, I did it for me. I shouldn’t have to explain myself.”

Uh … yeah! I can totally see why you’re into this guy. Fuckin’ on point, man. Are you doing anything later? Let me buy you a beer. As friends! Just friends.

I was surprised, and a little irked, by his reaction: Why walk around with something so nutty if not to provoke a response?

Because not everybody is a narcissistic dingbat who puts the minutiae of their lives up on a national pedestal for everyone to scrutinize (and, ideally, praise). You know, like a columnist writing a dumbshit article about how difficult it is to love a wonderful man who has a single tattoo.

Seriously though, is this for real? You don’t understand why getting a tattoo in a visible place isn’t an invitation to strangers to come and touch it? This is surprising? Irksome, even? Did you get your journalism degree from the University of Phoenix?

I started thinking about our future. After all, a tattoo in your 20s is one thing, but what about in your 70s? If we had kids together, would they be terrified of that monster on Dad’s arm?

No.

[…] Telly has actually taught me a few things. A little about anatomy, sure, but more about the ways I can be superficial. I’d long trusted that my boyfriend’s love for me runs far deeper than the way I look; now I can say unequivocally that I feel the same about him. It’s a truth that, every once in a while, bears repeating.

So, you acknowledge that you’re totally superficial, and rather than try to change that wholly unappealing part of you … you embrace it completely and, in fact, claim some sort of moral victory due to the fact that you’re occasionally able to set aside your own glaring flaws and not be disgusted by this entirely inconsequential part of your boyfriend (who sounds awesome, by the way) that actually means a lot to him?

Um … sweet.