1. Get the needle jones as Bu & I are wandering the aisles of Big Box Store doing ye olde Christmas spend orgy.
2. Convince the Bu that opening a thing in a package is WAY less fun than getting repeatedly stuck by buzzing needles.
3. Declare: This shall be a text tattoo about typography lust as well as the awesome literary quote I decide to use. Get shot down from the doors of perception, blah blah because The Doors cliche-ified Blake. Wrinkly my nose at the long, patriarchal passage from Steppenwolf.
4. Remember the great and lovely nursery rhyme I found in a Kingsolver book while pregnant, that inspired me to plop a Y into Shane's name so that Molly's middle name means beautiful in Yiddish. Have w00t moment.
6. Reality check from Lexie, who shrugs and suggests that unless I have a rabbi to impress I am a go for Yiddish song tattoo. She promises that many contemporary Jews actually have tattoos themselves. I feel like a dork because here in the low-rent WASPy hills, I have exactly one Jewish friend and he is adorably old school. He's also adorably adorable, but the crush boat sailed many years ago. Now he owns a convenience store/art gallery. Could you DIE?
So, the state of the ink right now is pondering whether I can orchestrate a bit of a hook up with regards to pricing a tattoo, and thinking of fonts to play with. And the Ganesha is still wobbling around its little metaphor placenta in my head awaiting the time of its birth. So.