Thursday, June 28th, 2012
I got my tattoo when I was 17. The first among my friends to do so. I was the coolest chick on the block (according to a survey I did which involved only me). I had planned it out for weeks on end, my parents (because they are the coolest parents known to mankind) helped me pick out the design. I was obsessed with Japan and always loved Kanji, so I settled on the Kanji symbol for ‘Love’, which was my positive, uplifting message to the world. The first few years, I didn’t mind it, then I reached a point where I was embarrassed by it. Speak to any tattooed woman in her late 20s/early 30s and somewhere around 1998, we all just went Kanji crazy – there are legions of us. I knew I wouldn’t be able to stand the pain of having it lasered off, so I thought I’d get it covered. I wanted to go through the next phase of my life with a belly I wasn’t embarrassed to look at. (Lots more pics below)
Friday, July 9th, 2010
There’s been a definite rise in the popularity of tattoos over the past few years. There’s the Suicide Girls (sexy chicks, posing half naked, showing off their bad ass tatts), shows like Miami Ink, LA Ink, London Ink, Peckham Ink (I made up the last one, but let’s face it, it won’t be long). People are pretty quick to show off their tattoos and sit you down for lengthly discussions about their meanings. I don’t necessarily object to tattoos per say, I just object to bad ones.
Little known Bangs fact: I actually have a tattoo. Yeah, that’s right. Check this bad boy out:
Yeah, you didn’t think I was that bad ass did you? (Excuse the attire – I was rushing out the door to boxing class, which in itself, proves that I am in fact, pretty bad ass).
I got that when I was 17. It means ‘love’ in Japanese. It is the corniest of corny tattoos. I agonised over what to get for months. Talked it through with my parents (who are obviously very liberal). I initially wanted to go with a sign of where I’m from, so was going to have half a shamrock and half a maple leaf (Ireland and Canada) – oh the horror. As I’d always been fairly obsessed with Japanese culture, I somehow settled on this.
Now, 12 years on, do I hate it? No. But I am super glad I have it in a place that is covered most of the time. If I ever get pregnant, it’ll just be a bunch of nonsensical random lines on my stomach. I don’t particularly want to go through the pain or expense of getting it removed, so it remains, as a sign of my youth. I made great decisions as a youngster – I didn’t drink, do drugs, have underage sex – but the tattoo? My one error in judgement.
As errors in judgement go, at least I had the sense to keep mine small and discreet. Other people clearly don’t think their body art through. Don’t get me wrong, I have friends who are tatted to the rafters and I think they look great. It’s part of who they are, they have put a lot of thought into what they get, it’s who they are and it’s a lifestyle choice. But then there are the women who get them on their upper arms, which is awful. I don’t care what you have there, you look like you’re ready to fight at all times. It gives off a horrible impression. Most times it tends to be something terribly tacky like a heart (bitch please!), a devil, their star sign – yawn, yawn, yawn. Come on! Or a tramp stamp, which it synonymous with tackiness.
Worse is someone’s name. If you have someone’s name tatted on you, you’re an idiot. A partner’s? That’ll look great when you break up. Your kids? Why? You can’t remember their names? If you want something to show how much they mean to you, walk on hot coals and take a picture. Your own name? Why in the frik would you get your own name tattooed on yourself? That is the height of douchebaggery.
Overall, there are very few people who can pull off tattoos. I say, if you’re gonna do it, go big or go home. None of this devil on your shoulder crap. I’ve never seen an old person look good with tatts and that’s what I always think when I see these young chicks tatted up – what happens when you have to wear a ball gown to a formal event and you have ‘Mike’s 4Eva’ inked across your shoulder blades. Hmm, classy. Think it through!
Cosmopolitan has launched its Blog Awards and I would be so grateful and honoured if you would take a moment to nominate Bangs and a Bun in the ‘Lifestyle’ category. It only takes a second and I will love you long time if you do.Click here and make my day. Thank you!
Friday, October 23rd, 2009
Do you have any regrets? You’re probably saying ‘no, because there’s a lesson in everything,’ right?
Oh sure, there’s lessons we learn along the way, but you’re kidding yourself if you honestly think you don’t regret some of the dumb choices you’ve made in life. I have a whole village of regrets and a river runs through it! Here’s a little sample of things which will thankfully stay in the Bangs Vault of Shameful Things Past:
My Tie Dye/Doc Martin Phase
Whew Lord. I mean, I was young, but not too young to be bitch slapped. This ‘phase’ of mine lasted about 2 years. I had tie dye dungarees for God’s sake! Dungarees! Oh, for shame! In my mind, I was Angela Chase from My So Called Life (quick side bar: I’m still pissed that show got canceled after only one season), but the kids at school saw it differently. I went to school in Chav central, so my hippie chic was kind of lost on them. And unlike Angela Chase, I didn’t have a sexy ass Jordan Catalano following me around. None of the guys were turned on by the tie dye laces in my Doc Martins, I guess.
My Eye Liner Worn as Lip Liner Phase
This came right after the tie dye phase. I decided to go all the way to the other end of the spectrum. I cut all my hair off, wore jeans for the first time and decided that dark brown eye liner lining my lips would be a good look. Ahh, the sweet smell of rebellion. This time, my mother did try to tell me on multiple occasions that I looked like a wanker, but I was convinced that looking as scary as possible was the way forward. Ironically, there are many women with bad perms still rocking this look in Alabama.
When I was 17, no one was gonna stand in the way of me getting a tattoo. After lengthy discussions with my parents, I decided to get…oh yes…the Japanese kanji for ‘love’ tattooed on my belly. Does it get any more cliche than that? (Well, actually it does, I could have gone with the ‘rose on the shoulder’ or the ‘heart with an arrow through it on the upper arm’) The only saving grace here is that no one ever sees it (I tend to not roam the streets in just my bra, however tempted I may be to do so). If my life takes an unexpected turn and doesn’t go the way I think it will (ie, a lonely, barren existence that ends when I die) and I actually ever have kids – when I’m pregnant, this tattoo will just be a bunch of random lines on my belly. Or, Japanese people will think I’m an extremely loving person.
My Dating a Crackhead Phase
I’m referring to the actual, literal crackhead I dated when I was 19, but really pretty much any man I’ve dated falls into the crackhead category. But, for the sake of this ‘ruing the day’ exercise, let’s stay with the actual crackhead. Surely yes, we can say there were some lessons learned, but if I had my time again, would I date him? Hell to the motherbitchin’ NO!
There are countless more examples I can give from my 20s (mainly involving men I should have never even have given my phone number to, let alone dated), but I don’t want to bore you with all that.
So, what are some of your regrets?
Tuesday, April 21st, 2009
Ladies, please, this is not cute. Any woman with tattoos on her upper arms, forearms, neck, shoulders, legs or anywhere else obvious looks like she just got out of prison. And they’re never small, subtle tattoos. They’re giant inked cliches. A Rose? Really? A heart with an arrow through it? Yawn. Bitch please. Whenever I see a girl with a tattoo on her upper arm, I assume a defensive stance and prepare to block a choke hold – because you just know chicks with those tattoos want to fight. (In case you were wondering, the technical term for that defensive stance is the ‘Back the Fuck Up’).
You’ve got to know when to stop. What’s next? Tatooing your face, like Lil Wayne? Plus, you are kind of limiting your career options to only ever working in a tattoo parlour. Or a biker bar.
If you have a tongue piercing, let me clear up what every person you’ve ever spoken to has been thinking: they’re having an internal dialogue with themselves about the different ways they can rip that shit out of your mouth. It’s so intensely off putting. Scarily, I think girls with tongue piercings think they’re sexy. Our survey says? HELL NO!
I can’t stand plastic fingers (AKA acrylic nails). When the manicurist is doing that, they wear a frikkin’ surgical mask – that alone should tell you that shit isn’t healthy. But more annoying than the myriad of spray painted colours people tend to get splurged all over them, is the french manicure. Is it just me, or do chicks with acrylic french manicured nails make more elaborate hand movements for everything. Flaunting their nails around here, there and everywhere. To those ladies I’d like to say: They’re not your nails! I don’t care if you paid $35 for some asian dude with a surgical mask to super glue those shits on. It’s tacky. Stop it.
Sunday, September 14th, 2008
I’ve been having some pretty strange dreams recently. Each one leaves me more baffled than the last. I don’t want to look up the meaning of them on some dream website because frankly, I think it’d be a terrifying glimpse into my psyche. I’m sharing my top three weirdo dreams here – if you have any idea what they mean, feel free to leave your two cents in the comments section.
The Tattoo Dream
I randomly decided to get a full sleeve tattoo on my left arm. Then I added to it, extending it down to my hand. I went on numerous job interviews and people would always ask about my tattooed hand. ‘It’s actually a full sleeve’, I’d tell them. ‘Wanna see?’ Then, I’d either roll up the sleeve of my shirt, or in one instance, take it all the way off, to show off my ink artwork. Every time I did this, the reaction of the people interviewing me lay somewhere between befuddlement and disgust. I hate tattoos like that, especially on women and I’m the last person who would ever get one in real life, so why this was worming its way into my nap time, who knows?
The Drug Dream
Some friends of mine in London were the at the helm of a major, international drug ring. This dream was like an epic movie that took me from the streets of London to the backwoods of Colombia. When I woke up, I felt like I must have been asleep for days. And it was a lil’ too realistic. I kinda felt like I should call my friends and make sure they’re not in the slammer.
The Pregnancy Dream
I was pregnant with my ex boyfriend’s baby, which technically, probably puts this in the ‘worst nightmare’ category. Not surprisingly, he left me. But this was no normal pregnancy dream. My belly was gigantic. I must have been giving birth to some sort of half man, half beast, giant man child. It scared the bejesus out of me. Hopefully, when the fertility gods decide it’s time for me to procreate, they’ll make sure it’s not with a lying, cheating bitch ass egit with no balls – yeah, no bitterness there at all.