As I stretched my legs aboard Continental flight 667 bound for Seatac Airport, I meandered into a cramped airplane lavatory last Sunday.  While inside I reminisced upon what events had transpired that weekend, and how my behavior had affected regretful consequences.



Apparently I’m still that person.  I’m still the person you see on poorly made B-movies about college kids getting wasted and doing stupid things.  Yeah, I know, shocker. The only difference is I’m not in college anymore. 



Last weekend I jet-setted down to my ol’ hometown of Houston, Texas.  Thankfully some things are still the same as they were in college: Dad’s perfectly BBQ’d steak, his fully stocked bar, and my family is still batshit crazy.  Yee-haw.



It was Friday night when my favorite aunt, Elaine, and my half-brother (from my dad’s second marriage) joined us for drinks and dinner.  The drinks were flowing and I was cutting loose.  I had no kid, no husband, and all my favorite Texan family members around me.  Did I mention the drinks were flowing?  Yes, they definitely were – and they were hitting me hard. 



All I had to do was mention I had an itch for another tattoo. Suddenly, my aunt said she’d get one with me, my brother was making a phone call, and we were off to get inked.  Somewhere during the card ride (I think) is when a yellow rose became what my aunt and I were going to get.  Why a yellow rose?  Duh – The Yellow Rose of Texas!



Shut up.  It sounded good at the time.  I know better than to get a flower from anyone but Katie at House of Tattoo, but I was being stupid.  I definitely paid the price.   The yellow is fucked up, the leaves are not what I wanted, there are inconsistent black smudges around it, and it doesn’t run together at all.  I’m going to have Katie repair it after it heals.  Damnit if alcohol isn’t the devil.



It’s true what they say about getting ink while your blood is full of alcohol.  My arm bled like a menstruating vampire. Also, there was not nearly as much pain during the procedure as if I would’ve been sober.  I’m sure I looked like such a badass with my headphones on, chewing my gum, and winking at the shop’s onlookers.  I had Can-U on the iPod and mass liquid courage going for me.  Alcohol gives us courage and makes everything so much easier.  It makes things easier, that is, until the next day.



I woke up with the “What the F did I do last night???” headache and a “What the hell did you put in me???” song being screamed from the depths of my stomach.  My wrist was still black and blue surrounding the art (due to my BAC), and my arm throbbed every time I lay it down.  This thing is taking forever to heal, and forever is much longer than my last two tats took.  Wahhh.

That next morning I texted my husband, The KAke, and JCB about my new flower as I tried to not hurl up the drinks we had AFTER we left the ink shop.  (Why the hell did I go drink more?  No idea.)  My husband called me to sing me pop Top-40 songs about alcohol-overindulgence while I just laughed at his horrendous voice.  After ridiculing me for a few minutes, he was sure to remind me that times like these create the best memories.  It was a special night with people I love.  The hangover will go away, but the yellow rose will forever remind me of what a great weekend I had.