The Wormlips Scrapbook

This story of Yo-Nenny’s fourth tattoo is one (in her own words) of pain and vanity. We don’t get to see it since she’s since covered it up with another tattoo. Like tattoo number three, it was hand-done by a friend.

“Does it hurt more to get a hand-done tattoo than a machine-done one? Every jab must hurt.”

Uh huh. Somebody who’s not skilled possibly has a heavy hand. There’s a way the tattoo gun, the droning, is constant enough that you’re forced to zone out. When it’s by hand you feel it each time. Each one is a distinct thing of your skin being punctured. How do I stand the pain? I don’t know. I just do. I think we were just chatting, drinking beer and listening to music. It hurt like hell but it’s fleeting. It wasn’t unbearable. I just wanted my tattoo. And it was only an outline. Vanity is a very powerful thing.

“How does this relate to vanity?”

It just seems so obvious. That’s the only reason I get tattoos. The point is that people see it, which is also why I started getting ones that could not be covered up. You want people to look at you. Why else get tattoos?

“What’s it like to give a tattoo? It must be creepy.”

You want to be steady and slow. You don’t want to push too hard. It is creepy. It’s creepy hearing the skin pop. Every time you put in the needle you’re opening up the skin, I guess. It is what it is. They asked you for it. I’m not particularly squeamish. As long as they’re being mellow it’s not that unpleasant.

“So tell me about your fourth tattoo.”

It was a small jagged lightning bolt which could double as a runic “S”; neither of those things mattered to me but I did kind of like the shape, the pointiness. It was homemade by an old friend. It wasn’t anything detailed or creative. He did it himself. We can’t see it any more because it was ugly so I got it covered up. It was teeny. About an inch.

“You didn’t like it?”

No. Not at all. Never. Not in the least. But it was a tattoo and it didn’t matter to me. I wanted a tattoo on the inside of my wrist and I got it. I have no idea why I wanted it there, except that I wanted it to be visible. That’s the only reason I can think of.

“I don’t understand why you’d get something permanent that didn’t mean anything, and that you didn’t like.”

It’s the only one I’ve ever gotten covered up. It was ugly. It was stupid-looking. I was aware of it. I was self-conscious. Maybe a month later I got it filled in with green professionally. A bright green. I don’t know why I chose green, either. It was a feeble attempt at making it a little more tolerable. It turned out to be a lot less appealing than the original. I went on to get other tattoos before getting it covered up two or three years later.

“What did you get it covered up with?”

[Laughs] A larger black lightning bolt. It’s a little incongruous. It’s black and my other tattoos are colored. I only have one lightning bolt. I thought I might get another one on my right arm but I changed my mind. I mean, I’m not Wonder Woman. I don’t embody lightning: quick, having an acute sense of things, a barbed wit. But maybe I’m a little thundery.

“You’ve talked about symbolism not mattering when you pick a tattoo, but now you’re suggesting that symbolism is important.”

It’s not that symbolism isn’t important but that it wasn’t that well thought-out with the lightning bolt. It wasn’t creative. It might as well have been picked off the wall, like a panther or cherries or stars or anchors. It seems like my other tattoos could be interpreted by an outsider as having private or sacred meaning. But the lightning bolt could have come off the wall. I don’t want to look as impulsive as I am. I don’t like being someone with stupid tattoos. It’s embarrassing. But I am impulsive.

Artist’s rendering of where the old tattoo is hidden in the newer one:

Want to get your name written in runes?

Yours truly,

I signed up for a Spanish class! It’s offered through my local adult education program and though I didn’t have high hopes for it, the first two classes have turned out to be fun. The only problem is that it’s geared for people who know the reason for and conjugation of all the verb tenses, plus a shiteload of words. I’m not among those people, so half the time I have no idea what’s going on. But life has taught me to be good at pretending to understand what’s happening around me, so I’m getting by. It will be entertaining when it comes time for my class project: a 20-minute presentation about the topic of my choosing. I think I’ll do it in mime.

Back in mid-March I got an e-mail from my Guatemalan van-driving friend Cesár. He was one of the many who, during my visit a couple months ago, asked if I had an esposo and why not. In this note he wished me luck in amor and offered to find me a boyfriend in Guatemala, should I need one.

hola ginna como has estado, en verdad no crei que me enviaras la foto espero te encuentres muy bien gozando de mucha salud, y ya sabes que ya me tienes como un amigo tuyo aqui en guatemala. cuidate mucho y espero te vaya muy bien en el AMOR.

si no pues te prometo buscarte uno aqui en guate ja ja ja (broma). bueno pues hasta una oportunidad.

If you know me, you know I’m terrible about writing to my friends. If I don’t speak your language, I’m even worse. But taking this class has inspired me to reply. I drafted my response and last night my teacher corrected it. Boy, were there a lot of corrections. But here’s what I sent today.

Estimado Cesár,

Lo siento por no haber escrito antes. Es my difícil escribir porque me español no es muy avanzado y ya se me olvidó mucho de lo que aprendí en Guatemala hace trés meses.

Ahora tomo otra clase de español (y la maestra me corregió la gramatica de esta carta). Un día voy a poder hablar español un poquito mejor.

¿Cómo estás? ¿Y cómo está Daniel? Tienes más fotos de él para enviarme por correo electronico?

¿En Guatemala hay muchas noticias de los elecionnes en los Estados Unidos? Espero que Obama gane. ¿Te cae bien? ¿Quieres que te envie un botón que dice “Obama ‘08”?

Espero que todo vaya bien para ti. Mi saludos para Daniel, y también para Semuc Champey.

Saludos cariñosos,
Ginna

— Todavia no tengo un novio. Es posible que vas a necessitar buscarme un hombre guatemalteco. bromo bromo

After I sent it I realized I’d made a mistake and sent a follow-up:

“Ay, caramba. No es “bromo.” Es “broma.”

I don’t know what “bromo” is but I hope it isn’t bad.

Yo-Nenny got her third tattoo a month after her second, when she was sixteen.

It was one of those things … I was hanging out with a friend — I wasn’t close to her — and it just came out of boredom. She gave me the tattoo. I gave her one, too.

There was no reason for me to choose a star except it was kind of innocuous. It was the beginning of my having tattoos that could not be hidden. I started getting “job killers” after that.

How did your friend give you the tattoo? I asked.

With a sewing needle and India ink. There was thread wrapped around the tip of the needle to hold the ink. She punched little holes in me: teeny little dots. I think she did the outline first. I gave her one too, but I don’t even remember what it was. Shows how meaningless it was.

If it was meaningless, why did you do it?

Because I wanted a tattoo on my finger.

Why did you want a tattoo on your finger?

It was my big F. U. I didn’t want to hide my tattoos any more. It’s because I cared about coming across as though I didn’t care.