Bananas. I've said it on more than one occasion in my life because I've found this to be the norm for me. Remember the Gwen Stenfani song? "This SHIT is bananas. B-A-N-A-N-A-S!" My LIFE is bananas.
I'm just one of those types of people that crazy stupid things happen to, either to teach me a lesson or to amuse me. Or maybe it's to share it with the world so I can be a little amusement in someone's day of bullshit. And I'm not talking about the kind of bananas like "my life is so hard" or "I get dealt the WORST hand of cards ever ever ever." I'm talking like straight mushy, rotten, smelly bananas like all ya can do is laugh that it just never ends. I even got a tattoo on my ankle of a banana. And ya wanna know the crazy part? My life is SO freaking bananas that the tattoo artist FUCKED UP the banana! I'm talking I precisely went over what to do, the coloring and shape and all, and the guy starts drawing pink blobs outside of the banana. "Um what is that?" I ask. "Oh I'm just adding color to make it stand out." "Okay, well I don't want a pink blob outside of the banana to make it stand out."
So at this point, I have pink ink blobbed all outside the banana, its irreversible and I have NO idea what to do. Then he starts to make STARS out of the blob. "I can make these stars so it looks like something." What the HELL do stars have to do with bananas!? "Ummm okay I guess."
After he finishes my tattoo, I go to my friends house (in North Carolina) and tell her the story. "Let's go have it fixed," we decide. I get to the tattoo shop and they look down at my left ankle. It's twice the size as my right, bright red, and quite frankly just LOOKS infected... Well, because it has PINK BLOBS all around it. They say they want nothing to do with it because it is infected. Understandable. Then one guy tells me to go to soak the tattoo in epsom salt and it will come right out. I say, "Yeah right." I know what you are thinking. There's NO way I'm that gullible, right? But then the other guy says, "Yeah we have a lot of people that get a tattoo and go swimming in the ocean and it just comes right out." So I think, whats the worse that could happen? Well soaking an open wound in SALT, in HOT WATER mind you, isn't exactly pleasant. And considering I was on vacation, it didn't exactly add to the fun. In fact, it felt like getting a tattoo for three days straight. Yes, I did soak it for three days. However, contrary to my belief, it did not come out.
I decide a year later it's time to try and have it fixed. I go to my boyfriend (at the time)'s favorite tattoo artist. We draw up a REALLY awesome cover up for it. There are vines around it covering the pink blobs and even a "chaquita" sticker in the middle. I spend 300 dollars to get it fixed and it takes him FOUR hours. He doesn't even finish it and tells me that cover up tattoos can sometimes take more than one or two times. I'm thinking, "I can't afford that many times!" Regardless, I am stoked I am finally getting it fixed.
Three days later, the tattoo comes out. I stayed out of the sun, I stayed out of the water and pools, and I applied tattoo cream multiple times a day. The tattoo I actually WANT to stay in, comes out. Go figure. At this point, I learn a valuable lesson. Bananas. The best word I can describe my life. The kind of stuff you just can't possibly make up because it's just too ridiculous. And sometimes, there is just nothing you can do but laugh about it and move on.
And so, I did. My half done tattoo remains. And I won't ever change it. It's a constant reminder that no matter how hard we try to make life go right, crazy shit is thrown our way that we just gotta take with a grain of salt and move on.
