Monday, 14 January 2013

A tale of tattoo cities.

I have wanted to be tattooed for as long as I can remember.
It was never a burning passion, I just appreciate good art, and especially when it's fixed onto people's skin. It's something I've always found beautiful.

I was in college when I started planning my first tattoo.

I wanted this on my hip.


Yes, I KNOW it's a tribal turtle. As fate would have it, I was saved from this terrible thing being on my skin forever by a rather nasty car accident. Tattoos got put on the back burner when I had several broken things to heal and strength to regain in my leg if I wanted to walk like a normal person again.

Fast forward 4 years, and I'm in a tattoo shop here in Christchurch, Planet tattoo, getting a man to shove a needle through my nose. And I thought hey, while I'm here....
I had a chat with a friendly young man named Elias. He drew a design, I loved it, I booked my appointment. Was totally psyched to FINALLY be getting inked.


A photo taken a few hours after it was done.

What it looks like now, almost a year later.

I was an absolute horror on the day. I'm surprised the poor bastard's head didn't explode with frustration.
I thought the best way to get through the pain was to talk constantly.
This went on for the first half an hour, Elias telling me to relax, me babbling ceaselessly to my bored friend about what we should have for lunch and other mundane crap, until I realised two things.
  1. The constant talking was doing nothing to alleviate the pain, which
  2. wasn't that bad anyway.
Eventually I took his advice, and when I did I felt so much better! Turns out when you brace against the pain, it makes it feel so much worse. I chilled the fuck out, tried to focus more on the vibration of the machine than the needle point, and left the place with a massive smile.

Since then I've been tattooed quite a bit. Dating a skilled tattoo artist has led to most of them.

My second tattoo, for my grandparents, who were less than impressed.
Actually they almost throttled me when they saw it.

The first tattoo Dreadlock Steve did for me. It is a painting by the awesome  Brian Froud, as are the rest of the faeries in my yet-to-be-completed faery sleeve.

My latest faery, on the inside of the forearm. He hurt like a motherbitch. He's one of the bad faeries and I love him.

My Sink faery. Brian Froud says "This malodorous creature lives down the drain."
I think he's hilarious.

The owl on my inner arm. Thinking of covering this one and having him re-done somewhere else. Love the tattoo but the placement bugs me.

This fills the awkward space between the end of my rose and my elbow. It's the save point symbol from the video game Silent Hill 3, with the names of two special people worked into it by me.

My lasting reminder of the first tattoo convention I went to. By a brutal German lady named Christineth Burlton.

My awesome steampunk girl, Lola. She had a rough time healing, so her hair is patchy where it's scarred. She'll be restored to her full prettiness one day. She is an original design by Dreadlock Steve.



My latest additions, by the wonderful Jules at Maid of Ink
in Lyttelton.





I have a decent collection so far, and I hope this year yields even more beautiful works of art that I get to wear forever!

If you're thinking of getting tattooed, make sure you choose a clean, professional studio (If you let your drunk mate have a go with the tattoo equipment he bought on Trademe and the skills he learned in prison, you'll end up in one wanting the mess covered up anyway, so save yourself the hassle and pay a little more for an actual work of art, mmkay?) and check out the artist's work and discuss your ideas with them.

If you'd like to check out Dreadlock Steve's work or find his shop, Google The Ink Spot or look it up on Facebook and you'll find him. Do it. He's like, really good.


Monday, 7 January 2013

“My skull is soundproof. And thank God too, or else you’d be able to hear all the horrible things I’m thinking about you.
”

What do you do when you have a day off work?
I'll tell you what I do. I paint shit like this:



This is a real sheep skull I found on a farm shortly after coming back to NZ. Most of the bones were gone but the skull was almost intact and really awesome looking. So after bringing it home and drowning it in disinfectant, I decided to do something decorative with it.
I did think about spray painting it, but when I finally had the time to sit down and do it I thought I'd do something more than just have it one colour, so I used acrylics (my favourite paints to work with) and did a Day of the dead type of thing.

A pic I took shortly after I found it



What the two of us look like now!


Back view





I like the idea of using it as a tea-light holder!




Lovin' it.




Sunday, 6 January 2013

Movie review: Shutter (2008)

(Thanks for the poster pic, Wiki)
So here are my thoughts on Shutter, an american remake of a Thai film by the same name, made in 2004.
I watched the original a few years ago, and loved it. It takes a lot to scare me (says the girl who used to hide behind the couch when Goosebumps came on TV...) but Asian horrors usually get me.

Shutter was on TV, so I sat down to watch, Dreadlock Steve tapping away on his netbook next to me, and for the 85 minutes it went on all I did was complain.

"The leading lady would look much nicer with a more natural hair colour."

"How long does she want to spend running this bitch over?"

"The soundtrack is so lame."

"HA! Babe! Did you hear that?! That woman just said Oh! you're showing me photos with spirits in them! My -ex-boyfriend works for Spirit Photo magazine! Blimey, what a fucking coincidence THAT is."

"Okay, this scene in the original made me shit my pants. They've done the exact same thing but made it boring! Argh!"

"Flies again? how much do they want to borrow from The Ring? Flies aren't even scary, Jesus..."

Basically, it's the same film as the original, almost scene for scene, but it's BORING.
The acting is poor, and it ignores the basic rule of horror= if you can see the scary thing clearly and up close, it's not scary. Even if she has flies crawling under her skin.

(Clingy-est girlfriend ever. BUT NOT SCARY)


If you haven't seen it, don't bother with the remake, watch the Thai version.
Yes, you have to read subtitles, but it's worth it if you're looking for a good scare and not a total YAWNFEST.

Saturday, 5 January 2013

For the love of smoking.

"A cigarette is the perfect type of a perfect pleasure.
It is exquisite, and it leaves one unsatisfied.
What more could one want?"
- Oscar Wilde

(Source unknown)

I promised my little brother I'd give up smoking before I turned 21.
The original promise was 25, but the little bastard wore me down and I agreed to 21. And he has a video of me promising this, so there's no way he's gonna forget about it.
So I'm trying to quit. And it's not the first time.

When I stop, I have a hard time correcting behavioural stuff like smoking when I get in the car or with the first cup of tea in the morning. And I don't get any cravings but as the nicotine works its way out of my system I get really irritable.

(Source also unknown. If only I looked this glamorous while smoking myself into an early grave)

I first started smoking 5 years ago. To impress a girl.
At the time she was the girl.
The first person I ever fell in love with.

She was the new girl in school. when I met her she wore her hair in two braids, with a sweeping fringe that fell right over one eye. She wore thick black eyeliner and wore a black army-style jacket to school.
She had hazel eyes and a slight Roman nose. She had a raspy voice and an infectious laugh.
She was everything dorky, plain, 15-year-old me wanted to be.

Here I am at 15...

She and another school friend came over to my house after school one day, and we ended up standing out in my back garden, freezing our tits off, while my girl puffed away on a cigarette.
And she offered it to me. And did I say "Oh no thank you, I don't smoke." ?
Did I bollocks.
And I've been a smoker ever since.

Here I am 5 years later, looking absolutely vile, piss-drunk at a New Years' party.

Ever since those school days where I'd smoke during my lunch break, blowing the smoke down the front of my school jumper to avoid the attention of patrolling teachers, spraying myself with cheap body spray to cover the smell (God that was a horrendous idea...) I've rarely been seen without a fag in my hand.

But it's time for that to end! I must keep my promise!
My brother will never let me forget it if I don't!

Also, about the night I smoked my first cigarette with the girl I loved...
My Mom confessed years later that she always thought us three girls were up to something 'sexual'.
I should be so fuckin' lucky!
The girl never found out how I felt about her.

Friday, 4 January 2013

I don't think I deserve to be called an adult when I buy shit like this.

Firstly, check out the cats playing a game of "who can take up the most space on the beanbag"


Secondly, what happens to my brain when I enter Cosmic Corner with the knowledge I have money in my bank account?


Why must they have such an excellent range of badges?


I swear, when I enter that store, I completely lose my shit. It's just jam-packed with the most amazing bunch of THINGS.
Among my purchases was this jumper, which was hand-made in Outer Mongolia or some shit, and the thing that made me want it the most is it had a pointed hood.

Here I am, wearing said jumper (note my COMEDY-SIZED HOOP EARRINGS. Small children could swing on those fucking things.)
Those bears would totally make out, but the zip kind of cock-blocks them.

Is it nice? Yes.
Does the pointed hood justify me paying $130 for it? Er, not quite.

Living in utter madness.

I recently did something I've never done before.

I started living in the same house as my boyfriend.
In a "Yup this is permanent, there's no getting rid of me now!" kind of way.
And a friend asked me, what's it like living with him?
My answer was: It's fun.

Said boyfriend turned to me last night, as we settled on the couch with our hearty, nutritious dinner of Kentucky fried chicken, and said something like "I feel like I should apologise for being really boring."
I actually laughed IN HIS FACE and said "Are you fucking kidding?"

I never thought living with a partner would be like this. I imagined cleaning rosters, nagging about laundry, sitting in the background with my head in my hands while he or she whiled away hours in front of a playstation game.

But it's nothing like that! Thank God!

Here he is, posing for me before getting dressed for work.

I suppose his insecurity about the "fun-ness" of our life together comes from the fact he's 23 years my senior.

But we started off as friends, the romance followed, and whether he's hauling my drunk ass home from a wild party or chilling in front of the TV with my feet in his lap, it's ALL GOOD.

Here's a few things I think makes our relationship awesome:
  1. We appreciate each other. We share housework, cooking duties and more without bitching about who's turn it is, and if I clean something he thanks me, and if he does a job I didn't fancy doing (like cleaning the bath, eurgh) then I thank him. We don't do it for the thanks, but it makes me feel like what I do is noted and appreciated and it makes me feel good.
  2. We don't do the washing up every night. Along with most household chores, we don't keep tabs on when shit gets done, and I think it takes a lot of pressure off of everyday living. So what if the dishes sit around for a day or two? Do them when they need doing. There's enough to worry about without stressing over stupid shit like washing a few cups.
  3. If one of us has an issue, instead of getting mad or moody, we talk. Yes, we sit down and have a conversation about it until a solution is found. Communication is key. Yelling and throwing stuff gets you nowhere, and no-one wants to live with bad vibes.
It also helps that both of us are a little bit mad. We have the weirdest conversations (About squirrels directing movies, for example) and we make each other laugh.

The other night, we were at a friend's house party, and fun was had, but when we came home, we both got into bed with our books, and as we sat quietly reading I got a definite sense of peace.
It's a peace I've been searching for my whole life. 
My home life is a perfect balance between exciting and calm, and I wouldn't have it any other way. 
I hope you feel the same about yours. x

Wednesday, 2 January 2013

And now, a tale of a vegetarian who sucked ass at being a vegetarian.

Right, let's all be serious for a quick moment so I can get this off my mind.
Ready, one, two, three, *serious face*

Okay, I used to be proud to say I was a vegetarian.
It was my New Years resolution for 2010, and the only one I've ever managed for longer than five minutes.

It all started with a programme Jamie Oliver did.

(Pic thanks to Telegraph.co.uk)

It was called Jamie's fowl dinners, an attempt to get Britain to eat free-range.
Well, it sure worked on me.
He showed the kind of living conditions these animals have to suffer, how they're killed, and even showed how the male chicks are put to sleep because they're of no use to the industry.

I watched the little creatures breathe in the gas in the small glass box. I watched their eyelids flutter until they closed, and they laid down and stayed there. Tiny lives extinguished all because they served no purpose.
(Because of course, you don't get eggs from males, they only want the female ones to live.)

My heart broke.

I always feel like I'm thrown in the same category as activists like PETA and the like, and thus dismissed and told to go hug a tree when I voice my opinion on this matter by most people. 
But it's something I believe in very strongly, that animals should not be forced to live in disgusting conditions before mercilessly slaughtered just to feed us.

However.
After two years of being a strict vegetarian, checking sweet packets for gelatin in the ingredients, struggling to find easy and nutritious food that didn't have dead things in it, being the awkward dinner guest, I started eating meat again.
Little by little, it crept back into my diet. 
Working in a kitchen didn't help. It was always available, and I'd think well fuck, the poor thing's already dead so I might as well eat it, otherwise it's lost it's life only to be thrown away.
It started off as I'd only eat lamb. Then lamb and pork. Oh, but I'd never touch chicken, or beef...
Until I started eating chicken again.
And every time I eat it, thoughts of those poor wee animals dying claw at the inside of my head. 

And yesterday, I went to lunch with Dreadlock Steve, and ordered a stone grill meal with pork, ostrich, kangaroo and venison.
My V card was officially revoked at that point.
And Dreadlock Steve told me about how animal activists had stopped deer being hunted in New Zealand at one point, but then their numbers grew and they started starving to death because there wasn't enough around to feed them, so after all that we went back to hunting them and deer eventually made it's way onto restaurant menus. It was actually better for the deer to be shot and killed rather than a long, drawn-out suffering from starvation. So maybe it's not so bad that humans eat animals?
I'm not sure how to feel about that.

Being vegetarian, especially when the person you live with isn't, is harder than you imagine it will be. 
But instead of pulling a sad face at Steve and going "Am I a bad person?" every time I eat something, I've decided to still make an effort. I still buy free-range eggs, because cage eggs are fucking horrible anyway, I still try to limit the amount of meat I consume and still cook vegetarian foods because it's better for you too, and yes, I text the number on the SAFE ad, the one with the lame singing pigs, to send them a donation.

I can only hope other people start to care a little more.


Check these guys out ^ if this topic interests you.


There's a Midget in my lap.

This Midget, to be precise.
As she purrs like a chainsaw, pounds my lap with her tiny feet and covers my jammie pants in multicoloured fur, I ponder what to write for my

FIRST BLOG ENTRY EVER.

Dun dun duuuuun.....

Well, we are a mere 3 days into the new year. A year a lot of doomsday enthusiasts thought we'd never see. So I suppose I could do a review of my 2012, and share with you my hopes for the year we've just started.
So! without further ado...

THE YEAR IN BRIEF(s)
2012

In no particular order, the following things happened!

My hair changed colour 12 times. Not of it's own accord, I dyed it of course.
Some of the colours included hot pink, blue, green (god, that was a mistake) and violet.

My hair also made me internet famous. This photo of me and my gorgeous kitten Tiger was featured in a post on one of my favourite blogs, Effing Dykes. Read it, it's awesome.

Lonesome George, a giant tortoise who was the last of his kind, died on the Galapogos islands.
He was over 100 years old.
(Thanks to Sky news/ Rodrigo Buendia for the pic)

I'm proud to say I got well and truly out of my comfort zone
. I got tattooed for the first time, I finally saw more of my beautiful country, travelling both up and down New Zealand, I learned to cook, I met new people, I got my kit off and  went skinny dipping in the ocean, I read many wonderful books.

(A view of Kaikoura on my trip to the north Island)

I also met the love of my life, Dreadlock Steve.
Here he is, having his dreads cut off by his lovely friend Shayna. 
Which technically makes him Dreadlockless Steve.

There were yet more natural disasters. People I know lost people they loved. The Olympics were held in my country of origin. I saw someone almost die.
I learned the virtues of drinking gin responsibly.
Obama was re-elected thank dear sweet baby Jesus.

God, it was a bit full on, wasn't it?

Now, 2013. 


Yes, that, and the rest of my New Years' resolutions are

~ A MYSTERY ~

While I was still (slightly) sober at the New Years party I attended, I suggested the Jar.
THE JAR OF DREAMS.
Everyone was forced (by me) to write down anything they wanted to happen in 2013, and they all got stored in the jar. And the idea is they will all be revealed on the last day of December this year. 
How exciting! I thought.

Actually, it's quite terrifying. It will either be an epic win or an epic, epic fail. People will either be happy and proud that they achieved what they wanted to throughout the year, or horribly upset that NOTHING got done. And the worst thing is no-one knows what anyone else wrote down, so we can't go 

"Oi, aren't you supposed to be doing blahblahblah? 
well it's almost the end of the year so hurry the hell up!"

Oh, the likelihood of everyone forgetting they're supposed to be doing shit and the jar of dreams being thrown at my head at the next New Years party.