It Means Something To me

Not all my tattoos mean something. Sure, in the beginning, I dreamed of having all these meaningful pieces of art on my body. Images with stories behind them. Now, I just want some really badass tattoos. Colourful. Bold. Eye-catching. Beautiful. That's what I am looking for.

Still, it's nice to sneak a bit if meaning into a tattoo. 

For instance, my cabbage. When I first broached the subject to my Sidekick he was a little resistant. He'd never tattooed one before and there weren't a lot of examples out there. In the end, it worked well for the cover-up, turned out beautiful, and makes me smile. Who could ask for anything more? 

But how the hell does it mean something to me? Am I that obsessed with green leafy vegetables? Well, no. Not really. The thing is, it's for my father. Let me explain. My dad has a rose tattooed on his forearm. Over the years, the colour has all but faded, leaving behind black lines and shading. When I was younger than I am now, I used to call it a cabbage. Sure, he probably wasn't all that stoked about me calling it such, but over time, he started referring to it as a cabbage as well. 

So, when I decided to cover up my bunny, I thought to myself ... I need a cabbage. It pays homage to my father and reminds me of those moments. You know the ones. The good times. 

Growing up, I spent a lot of time with my dad. He worked afternoon shifts and I remember waking up when he got home and sitting with him as he ate his supper. We used to watch David Letterman. Then I would toddle back to bed. I used to get up on the weekends and go to garage sales with him. Flea Markets too. He used to always try to get me to haggle for things. I hated doing it. To this day, I refuse to haggle. I spent a lot of time with my dad. Fixing things. Working in the yard. Driving around in his Tercel or Mazda, listening to the Good Morning Vietnam soundtrack and eating licorice allsorts (which I don't think I ever really even liked). One birthday, he took me to Value Village and bought me like twenty different coloured polo-shirts, and I loved it.  

I am my father's daughter. Yeah, my teenage years were harder between us, but I think that's expected, right? I love my dad. He makes me laugh. And sometimes I just wish I knew him better as a person, you know? 

Anyhow, I have a cabbage and I will never forget why it's there. 

 Papa Smurf

Musical Memories

Sometimes a song is played and it takes me to a time and place I haven't thought about in years.

Just one song and ...

... I am eighteen years old again. Living in my first apartment. Crushing on that guy from Save-On-Foods. Working at Canadian Tire. Having my tongue pierced at Next on Granville Street. Writing terrible poetry. Being afraid of ants. Laughing with my sister. Going to the Java Joint. Wearing the smallest jean jacket in the world. Buying animal rights buttons and a chain wallet from The Rock Shop. Getting my first tattoo at Liquid Sliver. And my second. Watching the Black Halos play at The Piccadilly Pub on Pender Street. Being taken to see Wendigo. Feeling lost and unsure, and wondering if that will ever go away. (It doesn't) Always being plugged into my discman. Learning the lyrics to a hundred different songs a week. Falling in love with being independent. Finding out the importance of an apology. Wondering when I'll fall in love with a boy. Buying Converse shoes. Setting my hair on fire in the bathtub. Tripping and falling, but getting back up again, and laughing about it. Buying guitars from Long & McQuade. Hanging out with Bella and Sam. Saving Etnie.

Listening to music I will always remember and making musical memories.



I am grateful for those memories and the music that makes me remember.