What heathens do on Wednesday nights

Tater and I took off last night for Joplin with the sole purpose of getting my tat. My last ink, the one on my foot, was done at Eyewitness in Joplin, so that was where I wanted to go. The guy that did that particular tat doesn't work there anymore, he's in Tulsa doing piercings, so I was a bit apprehensive about anyone else doing the work. The guy that did Paul's was the one that was there last night. He couldn't get me in and neither could the other dude there, but Kelly said if I could come back on Friday he'd knock the price down to $70. Yikes! I hadn't really planned on paying that much, but it's also been three years since my last one, so I guess prices have gone up. I told him I'd be back, but I wasn't so sure about it all.

After driving around a bit, I asked Tater if she minded if we checked out Punkteur. A friend got one there a few years ago and hers is gorgeous so I figured it wouldn't hurt to check it out. The pierced-up little dude that greeted us said he has an appointment coming in in 15 minutes, but he'd check with Cory. Cory looked at my design and said he could do it for $60. I told him he was the lucky winner. I told him if he wanted to dress up the art a bit that was fine. He came back a few minutes later with a redrawn image, but with one extra bud. I explained the signifigance of the tattoo and he took off the extra bud.

Tater and I checked out some of the flash in the shop and she was amazed at the number of tatas on display. I guess some people just really like nekkid boobies all over their bodies. We also stood at the display cases and marveled at the doohickies that folks use to making gaping holes in their earlobes. Hey, but who am I to judge - I have four tattoos. It's not something I'd do, but I also know of people who wouldn't dream of getting a tattoo either.

When he came back with the finished piece and picked up the form I filled out declaring that I'm not on bloodthinners - like Tater - and hadn't had any alcoholic beverages, Tater asked him, "So, I just have to know. When someone comes in for a tattoo of flowers, do y'all laugh at 'em?" His immediate reply, "Not to their faces." Holy crap, I had made a mistake. Then he gave us this big ol' grin and laughed. I said, "Uhhh....great, I feel better now. But at least it's not a fairy, right?" He laughed again and told us to come on back.

I also made sure to ask him right away if Tater could snap a few pictures for my blog. He grinned and chuckled and said, "Not a problem. Just warn me so I don't end up drawing a line on your back that we have to turn into a flamingo or something." He was rather amusing and sang Johnny Cash to us the entire time. He had a pretty good voice, too, so it wasn't a bad experience. I also knew he was cool when I saw on his bookshelf a copy of The Catcher in the Rye and a few Stephen Kings. He was good people in my eyes then.

It didn't hurt too bad and certainly not as bad as the one on my foot. He asked where my others were and when I told him I had one on my foot he said, "If you can handle a tattoo on your foot, you can handle anything." I'd have to agree. There were a couple of lines, especially the stem, that I felt like he was trying to tattoo my gizzard by way of my shoulder, but other than that it was a pleasant experience. An mere hour after we came in, $60 poorer and one tattoo richer, we left.

We decided to have dinner at the Outback. I will never step foot in that place again. Talk about nasty food. Omg, it was horrendous. I always order my steaks medium rare. I like a good rare steak. The waiter told me that medium rare there is very, very rare so I bumped it up to medium.

My steak came out mooing.

Tater couldn't even watch me eat it. And frankly, I had a hard time with it myself. It was so charred on the outside that I tapped out a little tune on it with my steak knife and so raw inside that it bled into my mashed potatoes which is a waste of good garlic mashed potatoes in my opinion. I managed to snag a couple of bites around the edges, ate a few bites of potatoes from the top of the pile and threw in the towel. Tater told me to send it back, but I have seen too many Datelines and I know they'll spit in your food. I took my chances with Mad Cow and ate the bloody steak. Or part of it anyway.

She told me if I started sprouting fangs on the way home she was booting my butt out of the car.

Tater's cell phone rang not long after we got on the turnpike. It was Mom. The first words she said to Tater were, "Well, is your sister conscious?" Tater, without missing a beat said, "Yep, we just left the hospital. She has Hepatitis C and is neon yellow, but she's feeling fine now." Mom just sniffed and mumbled. Of course, that afternoon when I had talked to her on the phone, right before hanging up, she said, "You two be careful tonight. I love you. And hey, try not to get Typhoid tonight, okay?" She loves me even though she thinks I'm weird.