KOT

Oct. 17th, 2012 02:38 pm
parasitegirl: (Default)
How day-glow bright did I look in contrast to the general King Of Tattoo convention goer? General it was black, black, and more black clothing...with colorful skin. I went the other way.

Mikele's photo shows it: Here I am with an Itallian named Kranti.
Cut for shirtlessness...but not mine. )
parasitegirl: (ozmakiss)
I've heard back from my artist again.

I hadn't heard from him since he asked me to dinner and I asked if he was married. But I decided that if he is married that we could establish those boundries, have dinner together and flirt about art and mutual appreciation in our easy English and Japanese, and go to our separate homes after a hug and continue to update each other on tattoo events and dance events.

I mailed him and got this this morning, the parenthesis are mine:

Kathryn,

Thanks for email.
Yes, long time nothing.

I was stay hospital 3weeks from end of year.
Sorry...I didn't send back email.
It was not ..like..i don't want to say nothing.
Please understand.

And I go to Milano begin of Feb.
I came back to Tokyo just few days ago.
I was busy.

I'm fine. No problem now.

I didn't know you send me picture.
(Baxter shot of the tattoo and my face in profile)
It's kirei
(pretty)!
Thanks.

I got 1st price in Milano tattoo convention. Yes!
Milano convention is most biggest and high level convention.

Why bad week?

Yes. I'm married.
It's bad news for you?

But I asked dinner with you.
I did not ask you having sex or something with me.
It's no good? Why?

I just want to enjoy my life.
Man want to having dinner with favorite kirei (pretty) woman.
That's all.

Why you Shinpai
(worry) so much?


Thanks.


So, I've written him back a quick note to say that I shinpai so much because there are men who tell me about wives or girlfriends much later than dinner. But that if he knows it's just dinner with his favorite kirei woman that I'd like to have diner with my favorite cute and talented skin artist and we can both go home feeling warm and fuzzy, cute and kirei.
parasitegirl: (Default)
Update:

After Dean Mommy and I were awoken by the screaming-children-next-door wake-up call neither of us remembers placing, we went to the lobby Starbucks.

James Taylor started playing and my mother and I both knew, we had to leave. In Japan they play nondescript blues and jazz: not James Taylor, not light bluegrass. We drank and walked quickly away, eventually tossing out empties in a trash can on the street.

We walked to a cafe where, in her special mother way...her special "mommy has only had one coffee so far" way..she caught herself pouring milk into her coffee, then mine, then hers, then mine and then "Oh, shit, what am I doing?" "Would you like to cut my french toast for me too, mommy?"

(it should be noted that although I call her Dean Mommy here, in person "mommy" is only used for sarcasm. I call her Ruth in person.)

We caught up on law school gossip, which none of you are privy to.

Our meals involve many stories, we rush to get everything out, we overlap and interupt. We also make fun of eachother.

"People often ask me if I learned crafts, sewing, cooking, and such from my mother...I have to tell them that I learned it on the street."
"Sort of like Jesus.. if the topic came up it was quickly put aside with a few negative words."
"Yeah, some things you just don't talk about with your mom."

We got back to the hotel and I contacted [personal profile] bintblue for hooking up in the haight area for coffee and such.

She's almost a head taller than me. She reminds me of how small and puny I feel when I come home. But, she's good company. I fear I prattled on. I am glad to have met her. I have yet to be disappointed with the lj bd's I have met. She did well, and took me to used clothing stores.

I save my money when I go to Seattle each year. I stock up on Fluevogs and VS bras. In San Fran I can't resist Goodwill, St.Vinnies, or any used/retro clothing store. Both Dean Mommy and I have to admit there are a few goodwills we have to go back to...if I wanted GAP and department stores I would have stayed in Japan.

Bintblue hugged me, pointed me towards Amoeba records, and left. I shopped and waited for Toshi to finish his haircut and pick me up for more chat, drinks, coffee and food...and I bought the loveliest garish pink and yellow chiffon 60's dress for the reason that it makes me look like Mod Diana Price when Wonder Woman comics got revamped to attract hipsters.

I am a sucker....a sucker with a magical dress.

Toshi picked me up and I verbally abused him. If I hadn't he would have come to the hotel and searched for a pod and asked what I'd done with the real Kayt.

Honestly, it was good to see him, and eat, and talk, and look at pictures from the days when my hair was short and my look was more butch than it is now...and remember.

And now I am here typing the night before my shoot, unable to sleep early because jet-lag and my body has to fully process alcohol before I can fall asleep.

And, in response to me asking if I can put flyers for the Afet show in his trendy and lovely tattoo shop my dearest tattoo artist has gotten back to me:

Hi Kathryn,

ひさしぶり。
Thank you for email.
Of course I remenber you. I still loving you.

Put flyers at my shop.
Please send me if you still want to do it.
You so beautiful!!! WOW!

But I can't go to there.
I will go to Milan for tattoo convention...sorry.
Please check it.

http://www.milanotattooconvention.it/

 
Now I making new website by myself.
I want to put your picture on my page.
Can I?

Thanks.

I replied promisng to find some of the pro shots with the tattoo showing if he promised to credit the photographer.

Kathryn,

No problem.

When can I go to dinner with you?

thanks.

k-



My tattoo artist has lousy timing. After coming to my last year art show and tipping me 10,000 yen he didn't come to shows when the relationship with Puppy was foundering, wasn't around when lj readers were cheering him on and wanting to know more, didn't come to a show when I was 100% single so I could ask "Hey, babe, you married or what?" Some artists are just drama-hunters without realizing it, we can smell our own...which is why I suspect that he's married.
parasitegirl: (momotaro)
When Warning was here I remember telling him about some of the websites of tattoo artists that I didn't think would be me friendly, including one that looked like it was run  for Yaks.

This is it. Remember, Yakuza dress like your crazy aunt and uncle, not like stylish creatures.

http://horishin2131.hp.infoseek.co.jp/index01.htm

ETA; I think that what little traffic my post caused may have crippled the pages.

Tattoo day

Aug. 7th, 2006 11:24 am
parasitegirl: (neck)
Tattoo day:
 
I know I really should post a picture, but I hate seeing pictures of tattoos before they are healed. It turned out well, a little less orange than I had wanted but it covers the original tattoo (and what you can see of the original looks simply like flickering shadows in the poppy).
 
 
When I showed up at the quaint, sunny location outside of Shibuya at 1pm Saturday, I was miles and worlds away from the dodgy Harley joint outside of Milwaukee where I was first tattooed. I still cannot understand why I chose that place (instead of Steve’s Tattoo in Madison) where I was the youngest and least bearded person in the room. I was also alone for my first tattoo, the two friends who had promised to come had forgotten. This time I was also alone, but alone in Japan at age 31 isn’t the same as being alone in a Harley joint at 18. Outside of Shibuya I climbed the stairs and sat down in the bright waiting room. The younger artists brought me chilled tea to sip as I waited and complimented me on my monster bag. Everything was bright, wooden, and open. Worlds away.
I keep talking, slow morning at work )
First a shout-out to Kohki, my artist. One of the things that I realized I immediately liked about the owner/head artist is that I can’t actually see his tattoos when he’s all dressed. Unlike some of the other staff he doesn’t have a big fucking spider on his neck, or psychedelic skulls with shrooms on his legs. I like this restraint in an artist, this knowledge that the outside world (like parent-teacher conferences) might be more complicated if he has creatures crawling from his sleeves and drug symbols on his body. I feel like an artist who hasn’t made his body a clutter of images in every possible way will have the same respect for my body. And he’s cute.
 
I’d had two 3-4 hour meetings with Kohki before my tattoo day, and had actually berated him for NOT charging for this design time. An artist’s time should be worth something. We’d also talked about my life, his child, my dance (which he wants an invite to see, and he’ll get one) and I’d shown him some of my artwork. He’d been surprised at my poppy sketches so I showed him my work and explained “Yeah, I can draw, I just have a block about my tattoo. I picked you because I think you do good work, which is why I have waited almost half a year…You do good work. I want you, not some hack.”…yeah it was not unlike many ranking games, but it built respect instead of denigrating either player.
 
I have to admit a certain smitten quality on both of our parts, but I’d prefer a smitten impressed artist putting needles in my skin than a disinterested one. And the mutual quality of smitten kept either one of us from simply being “creepy”. It only showed in tiny moments and the odd flirting tones of our emails. The first time I was there I remember a moment, when we were sketching away on print-outs of my tattoo and back, and he stopped, drew his fingers along the curve of my photographed neck, and simply said, “ This curve…” and paused.
 
And when I removed my shirt for the work to begin it happened again. He stared at my back and verbally marveled at how white and unblemished my skin really is. Yup. I am that white. I’m an amazing canvas. He fixed up the covered pillows so that I could rest face-down as best I could, and gently arranged me for my tattoo. He told me to rest as he prepared.
 
“I’m ok, don’t worry.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
 
And, he hadn’t, but I’d caught him looking at me, more than once, with the same expression I’ve seen on boyfriends who pause before heading out to work as I am still in bed. Quizzical, satisfied, slightly protective, slightly marveled. Before, and on breaks, there was that look.
 
And then he brought the pain.
 
I’d remembered the pain as being not unlike a prolonged mishap with an exact-o blade. A crisp, exact pain with a certain pattern. Nothing to scream about. I didn’t know then that cover-up work is far more painful than the first time around, but I quickly realized that certain areas contained the pain I knew, and certain areas contained a deep mind-blowing buzzing of excruciation.
 
The sent of incense was gone . The odd, loud, new-age music designed to sooth me…gone. Pain was there, as was the buzzing. My mind and body tried to cope. Yoga breathing? Nice try. GONE! I found myself trying to will my consciousness into other parts of my body, trying to isolate muscle contractions like a good bellydancer in areas away from the gun.
 
My brain went something like this:
I’m breathing in and breathing PAIN! no out, no out, you can do it, OUT. And I’m not in my back I’m in my TooooooooEESSSSSS GODAMNED. I’m in my left arm, I wiggle my fingers and Fuuuuuuuuckkk…glutes. Left glute, right glute and DAMN I would crawl inside my ass if only for protection. Okay, visualize underwater. I’m underwater. SwiiimmmiBBBBZZZZZZZZZZZZ, why the FUCK don’t I recall this pain? Did I block it? How could I have mentally endured this in a nasty Harley dive? That’s a pretty pathetic memory and it is not helping. I’ve read at least one “sexy getting it on” tattoo scene as imagined by a Bust contributor, what kind of crack were they smoking? Concentrate on the music. Flowers. Flowers blooming out of my mouth, my fingers BLOODY FLOWERS ON MY BACK YOU CRAZY GODAMNED BITCH. And Fuck YOU talking clock that tells me another 15 minutes has passed! Go to the toes, to the fingers, to the outposts. Abandon the torso!!
 
And, with breaks of sterilizing wipes: latex fingers gently cleaning the blood that dripped into the curve of my spine and down my right arm; and two longer breaks… this went on for about 2 hours.
 
Eventually I pulled myself up, and pulled the pillow covers away from my sweaty torso and face. I knew I looked pale and bedraggled. I got up to look at my back, and liked what I saw, but mostly I was just happy that the buzzrocket of pain was silent. I sat, dripping with sweat, in my long black skirt and black bra, flowers blooming from my hair bun, utterly wilted.
 
 
Kohki was proud of himself, and tired. The line work had been easy to get lost in, and the original tattoo had put up a fight. He was exhausted from concentration but very proud of what he saw. I know that look of surprise when you’ve accomplished.
 
We talked about the pain. It was then that I was told that some of that must have really hurt. Why, yes, it did! Wilted, I was, as young Hase came in to admire and then to carefully bandage me up. Wilted, I pulled my bra strap up over my bandage and asked Kohki to help button up my shirt in the back. I promised to rest. No yoga, no dance, no drinking. I promised to send him an invite when I danced next. He handed me the detailed aftercare sheet (in Japanese, they told me that they keep meaning to translate it) and we settled up.
 
I didn’t rest as much as I should have. Puppy and I went to see The Black Pearl, but I did take it easy.
 
On Sunday, in a fit of kindness, I translated the whole aftercare sheet and sent it to Kohki because they really do need to have an English copy (the website is in English and thus they get a few customers who speak no Japanese) and received back this message:
 
WOOOWWWOOOWOWOWOWOWOOOWOW!!!!!!!!!!!

THANK YOU SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO MUCH!!!!!!

THANK YOU. THANK YOU.THANK YOU.

本当に助かります。
すごくすごく、とってもありがとう。
 
And now I heal. I remember this phase. I feel like I have a huge thin scab, and, indeed, I pretty much do.

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