The Lovers, the Dreamers, and the Ink I May Never Get

It's Spring, when a middle-aged blogger's fancy lightly turns to thoughts of tattoos.

And just like that, Alfred, Lord Tennyson
scores another royalty.

Guys, I just checked, and I first wrote about wanting to get a tattoo almost seven and a half years ago. I wrote about getting inked most recently a few years back as I was about to turn 50. Because that seemed like a pretty good milestone to commemorate, plus I was divorced and independent and all that shit that makes people think a tattoo would be the most eloquent way to communicate their state of mind to the world, I guess?

KEEP CLAM.

I don't think I've mentioned this before (or maybe I have but I'm too lazy to look it up), but Precocious Daughter recently got a tattoo. An oversized Johnny Depp on the thigh is not the choice I would have made, but it's her grown-ass thigh.

It could have been worse,
getting-a-favorite-actor-tattoo-wise.

Anyway, I didn't get a tattoo for my 50th birthday. And now I'm approaching another birthday that isn't any kind of milestone. In fact, I think I'm done with all the milestone birthdays. No one gives a crap about turning 60 or 70, and I sure as hell am not going to hit 100. You can't tattoo wrinkly 100yo skin, even if I did.

I might get this if I lived to be 100, though.

But maybe it's best to get your first tattoo not because of the time in your life, but simply because it's time. Like a hey, I've got 200 bucks burning a hole in my pocket and there's a tattoo place on the corner kind of thing. I don't know. All of this is to say that me sitting for a tattoo is probably not imminent. But when and if that time comes, it's definitely gonna be Kermit the Frog.

That decision right there is a huge load off my mind.

Honestly, the suspense was killing me.

So...it may seem as if finally settling on a subject is moving me closer to the day. But what is really means is that I may very well spend the rest of my life happily narrowing down exactly which Kermit should take up permanent residence on my arm. Or shoulder. Or ankle.

That in itself is a decision that could push me well into the Social Security years, so I'm not even entertaining it for now.

This Kermit from "The Muppet Movie" is the avatar on my Microsoft account and holds a special place in my heart:

This Kermit is an illustration from a book called "The Sesame Street Book of Letters." It was one of the first Sesame Street books published way back in 1971, and I loved it when I was a wee tiny thing. I like this Kermit because he wasn't an icon yet, so the drawing is looser and less "branded" than he would become later:

There's also the straightforward head shot we all know and love, which is iconic but frankly a bit dull for a tattoo:

Or Kermit with a banjo, which is surely one of the top Kermits of all time:

I could go for a classic Kermit flail, although it would take a very talented tattoo artist to isolate and reproduce just the right moment out of this:

I could go more contemporary, of course. Like the now-legendary Kermit sipping tea, which has only been around since 2014, although it seems like much, much, much longer:

Nonplussed Kermit just might be my spirit animal:

Or I could reproduce this utterly charming Funko Pop figure of Jim Henson holding the frog he lovingly created and brought to life. This one has really captured my heart, to be frank:

Full disclosure: In researching this post, I came upon the above Funko on Amazon. It's possible that I recently had to spend most of the latest stimulus check on unexpected expenses, and it's possible that I just now used the credit-card points from those expenses to give myself the early birthday present of the above Funko figure because dammit I need to catch a break in this young but painful year of 2021.

Maybe when my Jim Henson and Kermit figure arrives, it will be enough to put it in a place of honor where I'll see it every day.

Or maybe I'll take it to a tattoo shop and say, "Ink this on me."

I'll let you know. It could happen any time in the next 20 years. Stay tuned.

Oh, and let me know which of these Kermits - or others - you recommend. Thanks!

Once More Ink-To the Breach

So I've been thinking - and writing - about getting a tattoo for several years now.

Like here.

And here.

And here, too.

I have yet to go under the pokey-needle and actually get ink injected into my flesh.

Honestly, there is no part of that sentence that doesn't
make me feel queasy.

But here's the thing: In a few weeks I turn 50.

I'M TURNING FIFTY HOLY SHIT YOU GUYS.

But that's fine, you know.

Totally, not-barfingly fine.

If I'm going to turn 50 - and thus officially enter middle age, as I'm damn sure intending to live to be 100 - then I may as well grab 50 by the (slightly pendulous) tits and really do it, right?

So...maybe my birthday present to myself will be that tattoo I've been mulling over since I was a wee 40-something.

Maybe.

Do me a favor, Drunkards. If you have a tattoo (or more than one), please post a picture in the comments or on my Facebook page or Twitter feed. I want to see what the people I love for reading this blog have enshrined on their own precious flesh.

Also, suggestions are welcome, although honestly it's probably going to be Kermit, Pikachu, a monkey, or a Miyazaki soot-sprite. But who knows, one of you may inspire me to think outside the painful, red, swollen skin-box.

And...go.

Stubs

Here are bunch of stubby little thoughts. They're all too weak to make an entire post out of...out of which to make...whatever. So I'm mashing them all together into one barely adequate post. And I get to throw away all these random scraps of paper with sentence fragments scrawled on them. They're like creepy fortune-cookies written by a marmoset with ADD.

I totally used that simile so I could
use this picture.

1. Obviously, when someone sits on their cellphone and accidentally calls you, it's called a butt-dial. But what if the phone is in their front pocket? I've decided it's called a nut-dial (for guys only, of course; I'm still working on the female version).

2. I realize that there is only a tiny subset of my already tiny body of readers who will get both halves of this comparison. But I'm not going to let that stop me. Does anyone else think that Robert De Niro as the young Vito Corleone in The Godfather Part II is a dead ringer for Kendall from boy band Big Time Rush?

This is haunting me.

3. Snickers Peanut Butter Squared is advertsing that it now contains 125% more peanut butter. Longtime readers know that I have had a passionate love affair with Snickers PBS. But now I don't eat sweets. So this news only makes me yearn for my former love like a middle-aged woman at a Rick Springfield concert.

I've hungered for your nuts...

4. I spent several hours yesterday reading David Thorne's blog 27b/6 (which you seriously need to stalk if you don't already). He is, hands down, the funniest blogger on teh Interwebz, and I only stopped reading because the urge to kill myself in a fit of writer's envy was growing unmanageable.

5. I've almost decided on what to get as a tattoo, assuming I ever decide to get a tattoo. Or I thought I'd almost decided. And then I saw this.

How do you say "squee" in Japanese?

Miyazaki soot-sprites for the win. How does one choose between this and Kermit the Frog, pray tell? And don't say both - I don't even know if I the nerve to get one, let alone two. But OMG, such cuteness in ink.

6.  Finally, Benedict Cumberbatch is making a movie called Black Mass. It's set in the 1970s. Check this out.

That tie. That hair. Those sideburns. Far out, man.

Stubs out.

Distraction

I was going to post about how sad I am because tonight I said something completely stupid to my spouse and he reacted with hatred and venom and I realized how bad things are between us beneath the carefully burnished surface we've erected over our problems so that we can survive our final months together.

Then Precocious Daughter and I watched a bunch of episodes of "Big Bang Theory" on TBS and afterwards "Cougar Town" came on and we watched the first five minutes.

What the freaking hell has Courteney Cox done to her beautiful face???

I get that none of us is 25 any more. But Jesus...
when did Heath Ledger as the Joker become a standard of beauty?

I had never seen an episode of "Cougar Town" before. I guess I hadn't seen Courteney on any talk shows, either. I guess I haven't seen Courteney at all except in reruns of "Friends."

She was so damn beautiful.

Not what faces are supposed to do.

I feel bad that Courteney Cox feels the need to defile herself in this manner because a certain percentage of the public would rather see her remain artificially young than grow old gracefully.

But I appreciate the distraction from how miserable I feel tonight. I'm grateful that I can focus my sadness on the plastification of a great natural beauty for the sake of an unrealistic ideal, instead of the fact that a fragile truce between my estranged spouse and me has been revealed as a sham based on avoiding honest discussion.

I'm no beauty, but I come by my
mediocre looks honestly.

So thanks, Courteney. Also, I'm sorry, Courteney. You didn't have to do all that for me, that's for sure.

Tattoos. I definitely would go for tattoos before plastic surgery.

Unlike plastic surgery, I can hide it away.

Think Before You Ink

So you might know that I'm thinking about getting a tattoo.

All the cool guys like a lady with ink.

Naturally, I'm going about my deliberations in a logical and practical manner.

So I went to Toys R Us and bought a package of temporary tattoos of little baby animals.

How. I. Roll.

I chose a sleek, classy, and realistic image of a Siamese cat to apply to my arm.

In honor of my fat, dumb, silly Siamese kitten.

Except that my Toys R Us temporary tattoo looks nothing like that.

I'm told it looks like a vaccination scar surrounded by flowers.

I think it's gangsta, but apparently I'm in the minority.

It's there until it wears off. Personally I like it. I think others of my acquaintance are glad the weather has turned cool so that I'm wearing long sleeves.

Still, it's a serious contender for my final, permanent tattoo.

Mostly because Precocious Daughter already vetoed the baby orangutan.

She's not down with my swag. I think that's a thing.