The summer of 2008 was the beginning of my Britney year. Whether it's over or not has yet to be determined. But it all began with my then boyfriend breaking up with me. In the aftermath, I was left to sort out who I was without my person.
Did I really like Wu Tang? (Yes)
Did I really like Dominos pizza? (No.)
Was I an awful girlfriend? (I mean, maybe sometimes)
Should I have given so much of myself to THIS NIGGA for so little in return? (Hell. No.)
One of the subcultures I got involved in while in this relationship was body modification, specifically tattooing. My then-novio's mother took me to get my first tattoo on my 18th birthday. I was prepared for pain, but something about it was quite soothing. The whole process took about 12 minutes, and I watched Thriller to drown out the sounds of the machine. Afterwards, I was completely obsessed with my right shoulder blade. I also decided that I didn't own anywhere near enough racerback tops.
When you get your first tattoo, there's a moment, when the artist is cleaning you up, you decide either you're never going to get another tattoo ever again, OR you're going to look like a New York City train in the 80s. I was the latter. Anyway, after this breakup, I decided that the small artwork that I had gotten was no longer adequate. I was rebelling and needed to make my body different the one that Ol Dude knew. Which is how I became a piercing enthusiast (read: doing the bare minimum to qualify as an enthusiast). So, one summer night, I'm with my cousins in (on?) St. Mark's, and decided to do something ~*CRaZii*~, and I got my first non ear piercing (for clarity, not on my doll parts) For eight years, its been holding me down as, like, this fun sexy secret. I was all like:
So this past Sunday, I get out the shower and its looking highly suspicious. I was worried that it was infected, so I call the place that I got it done and they tell me that because it's "well aged" that it's probably not infected, but probably aggravated and I probably need new jewelry. But I should come in and get an opinion from the piercer, who is at the shop across the street. I put it off for the week, and finally went to get it checked out last night.
I went to the shop DIRECTLY across the street from the shop, called Jewels 32, and the guy at the counter was a complete asshole. I mean, I went in there with some positive energy because we're not trying to have him mess up my delicate tissues because he's all mad. There also a couple of scene girls sitting in the front who were trying to channel Amy Lee and failed. When I finally made it to the place I was supposed to be, Elite Jewelry, I was greeted by Roxy, who was so helpful and fun. She informed me that my piercing had migrated and it was time so say buh-bye.
I felt like a part of me had died.
That sounds like an exaggeration, but its I really feel like a part of me is missing. I almost shed a real thug tear
I mean, nature answered the question of when I should probably phase out of my young and fun days, so that's a relief. So I guess this is another break up, of the abstract sense that's going to force to figure out who Old and Fun Kelli is. I'm looking forward to it, but I just might turn into 2001 Mariah.