I have a Palm Tree Tattooed on My Ass

‘Why?’ tends to be the popular question. Followed quickly by, ‘Were you drunk? and ‘Do you regret it?’ No. Well, I was drunk, but I definitely don’t regret it. It’s awesome. To be perfectly honest, I often forget that it’s there unless someone else points it out to me. You can imagine what kind of circumstance causes reason for such acknowledgment.
The story starts many years ago at the ripe and rather naive age of 16. I was lounging on a futon with my boyfriend at the time. Oh man, was I head over heels for this boy. Tall, athletic, surfer boy sexy. This was back when dating was purely based on passion. Compatibility? Can you use it in a sentence? Never-the-less, I was young and in love without a clue (or care to discover) who I really was. If Michael liked chocolate ice cream, I liked chocolate ice cream. Anything to reinforce the fact that we were soul-mates. Very ‘Runaway Bride-y,’ but I digress. We were lounging about discussing the tattoo one of his guy friends got on his chest. It was a downright heinous outline of the state of Texas with a vine encased skull in the middle. Idiot. Obviously I agreed with Michael that this was a huge mistake and that tattoos were gross and always regrettable (and maybe I really did agree…until I discovered David Beckhem).

We promised each other then and there that if we ever got drunk or stupid enough to get a tattoo, that we would at least get one where no one could see it. Middle of the right butt cheek seemed like the most logical solution. Somehow we had the foresight to also decide that we didn’t want to get something that had some sort of “deep” meaning. Clearly, what seemed super enlightening to us at 16 wouldn’t hold at 35.  We wanted to get something absurd and ridiculous that didn’t have to mean anything special. The poster on the wall to our left was of a Hawaiin sunset. A palm tree. Done. Sealed with one of those dumb ‘kiss your thumb and rub them together’ things. Did I mention how mature we were?
Fast forward three years to spring break freshman year–South Padre Edition. Michael and I have been broken up for about a year, and I was using single girl-ness to the utmost degree with ten of my beautiful Texas friends. The beach was a huge party littered with half-buried kegs and  inebriated crazies. All it took to drink all day for free was a bat of the eyelashes and a flirty, “Oh, I’ve never done a keg stand before.” Such a beautiful disaster. We were lucky to have perfect weather for three whole days (much to my liver’s dismay), so we were super disappointed when it rained on day four. The only reasonable option was to drink heavily in our hotel rooms. It was somewhere after the fourth round of tequila shots that someone decided they really needed their belly button pierced. This sent a quick ripple effect until we were all running through the rain down to the island’s little tattoo and piercing parlor.
Once inside, we were all dead set on getting something. They really shouldn’t allow drunk girls people into these places. I was struggling to figure out what I wanted to do when it hit me. This was the perfect time to get the tattoo. You can imagine the fight my friends put up. “You want to do WHAT?” “No, that’s retarded. You’re just drunk.” “Yeah, you’re definitely going to regret this.” I know who didn’t regret it–the guy who administered the tattoo (he may have been creepy, my memory is hazy).
And that, friends, is how you get a palm tree on your ass during spring break. It has been named ‘Wisdom Tree’ and I don’t regret it for a second.  If nothing else, it’s a great conversation starter.

Candy Dish: Hungry For The Hunger Games
Candy Dish: Hungry For The Hunger Games
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