Saying I do with a tattoo

Well, we made it to 2012. According to the Chinese, the year will bring great luck and success – being the Year of the Dragon and all. For the Mayans, this year will be the end of the world as we know it.
Somebody is about to be proven wrong in a big way.

I am putting my money on the Chinese, though the Mayans were correct about their world ending. Their prediction is just 300 years too late. Bless their indigenous hearts.

With a new year comes new resolutions to go along with all the predictions. Mr. Waste and I make our New Year’s resolutions while baking on the beaches of Puerto Vallarta. Then we hide them behind the velvet parrot painting above our bed in the condo we rent each year. It’s a pretty safe place to hide most things, judging from the layers of dust and cobwebs behind the velveteen masterpiece. It’s not true art until it ends up on velvet.
Upon our return to Puerto Vallarta each year, we pull out our resolutions to see how many we kept.

Last year Mr. Waste resolved to get his first tattoo. I was reminded of this when he did drag at my Island of Misfit Toys Show in December as a benefit for the Colorado AIDS Project. Dressed in a red, sparkly sleeve-less gown, his new tattoo was available for all to see. It struck me that my artwork was now permanently etched into the arm of another human being.

I designed the tattoo inspired by one of our previous trips to Mexico. I added our initials to the design, along with the initials of Puppy Waste One and Two. I guess Mr. Waste is planning to stick around for quite some time.

You just don’t get all permanent with names or initials on your body unless you think the relationship is going to last – 15 years so far and counting.

As for me, I have no plans of getting tattooed. I can’t think of anything I would want drawn on my body for the rest of my life. That’s a big commitment.

I did take a tattoo for a test drive once while in Mexico.

A vendor, who sold pipes on the side along with certain medicinal plants, convinced me to give a henna tattoo a go.

I picked a rather intricate Celtic armband.

I should have known from his blood shot eyes and shaky hands that this would not end well. Instead of a delicate tattoo, I ended up with a hideous black blob around my bicep.

I immediately ran to the Mercado and purchased a bottle of bleach to eradicate the disaster. But I discovered that the only thing more ugly than a henna stain around your arm is a ring of raw skin scabbing from bleach burns. I’ve been a little tattoo shy every since.

I’ll stick to this ring of white gold around my left finger as my sign of love. It’s always about the accessories anyway. l

Dog treats. Do you name yours?

Demented Diva Portia Potty does.

Her two pooches, Fergus and Trevy get to choose between “bacon treats” and “papa treats.”

The former being bacon flavored and the latter, well, they don’t taste like papa but they do come from papa.

When Portia’s sister lost one of her big dogs to puppy heaven, she gave Portia the large sack of doggie treats left behind. Now “dead dog treats” have been added to the menu.

Mmm, treats inherited from a dead dog. Of course, the dogs don’t know that. Fergus and Trevy go nuts when Portia Potty yells, “Who wants dead dog treats? Who wants them? Who’s been good boys and deserves dead dog treats?”

You’ve got to love a drag queen with a twisted sense of humor. Present company included.