Operation ‘New Me’

7 Oct

Events in my life over the last week have caused me to think about who I am as a person and where the life path I’ve chosen is taking me. I am referring to any action or reaction toward this re-evaluation as “Operation ‘New Lisa’.”

I at first thought this experiment started off in tepid fashion with a slight change of my hair color. I went from this

to this

I couldn’t get a good full-face shot of myself, so this will have to do. It’s a subtle change; it’s now more ginger or cinnamon than the bleached blonde I wanted to get rid of. The waviness will go away, my stylist decided to put in some gel and see exactly how much natural wave I have, which apparently is quite a bit.

Then it occurred to me that this experiment really began on Sept. 27, one week before I turned 35, in St. Petersburg, Fla. I went there to visit my very good friend Marnie, and little did I know that events were taking place back home in Milwaukee, Wis. that, less than one week later, would have an impact on my life.

While in Florida I did something that, surprisingly to me, many of my friends and family were shocked by.

The Catholic schoolgirl got a tattoo.

It’s on my right shoulder blade. A little larger than I had wanted, but any smaller and the artist said the inks would bleed together and it would look I simply was punched in the back.

Apparently the last time I was in St. Pete visiting Marnie, I had been drunk and talked about getting one. Marnie said she asked me the next morning if I wanted to do it and I said No. I don’t remember that, but I mentioned it again this time (I also was, once again, inebriated), but the next morning I still wanted to do it. So she got the name of the tattoo place her boss went to, and off we drove.

Turns out the artist was turning 35 four days after I was, so we bonded over being a couple of indecisive Libras. I was joking with him that there were a couple of people back home that probably wouldn’t have approved of me getting a tattoo (something about tattoos not making women more beautiful), and he said that was all the more reason to get one. šŸ™‚

It didn’t hurt as much as I thought.

It was more like a burning sensation. And just when the pain got to the *really* uncomfortable stage, he would stop and either move onto something else or get more ink (not sure which, my friend took far fewer photos than I would have liked).

Eventually the Celtic knot, which I had chosen from the cover of a book I purchased from a used bookstore in St. Petersburg, began to take shape.

My skin is very sensitive. I'm a petite flower.

My skin is very sensitive. I'm a petite flower.

In retrospect, it’s interesting that I chose *this* particular weekend to do this. There are tons of tattoo parlors in Milwaukee, but any other chosen time would not have coincided with this small life change I have been thrust into.

I, for one, am anxious to see where this little experiment takes me.

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