A mixed kind of day
Jan. 31st, 2009 10:43 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
trixtahHaircut, yayaayay. My new hairdresser is such a dude - he put me onto a new musical genre called "Igloo", which I'm having troubles tracking down. He's an old dnb man from way back, so I would assume his recs to at least somewhat intersect with my tastes (although he doesn't like dubstep - too two-steppy for him, but I don't get that sense from it).
Finally decided I wanted to get the interim tattoo I've been planning, on my left forearm. So I go along to Freestyle in the city. They really need to fire the fucktard who is the piercing guy. This is the third time I've been there, after his doing two things with me in the last few months, and does he acknowledge he's ever seen me before? No. Also, I don't know if he was stoned, but he certainly acted it. So I ask to speak to one of the tattoo guys. P(iercing) F(ucktard) says, "What do you want to see them for?" I explain that I'd like to discuss getting a tattoo done. He says, "What do you want done?" I'm not sure why it's his business, unless he's one of the tattooists, but nevermind. I say that I want three narrow bands done around the top of my forearm. "Oh yair," sez he, with a smirk. "Tattooists hate doing those things." I think my face assumed an O RLY? expression at that stage. "And, yair, did you know they're really tricky to do?"
Well, gosh, neither of the two tattooists who have between them drawn 6 perfectly circular lines around various of my limbs had any problem with it, or displayed any particular resentment... but I did want someone who knows what they're doing, because I have seen it done badly. Maybe it was the magical Polynesian blood that made them have an uncanny knack for drawing lines around limbs. There were a couple of twelve-year-olds (approximately) sitting in the shop, and they tittered at this point. I said, politely, "Yes, I do know [whateva you say, dick], so I'd like to discuss it." Mr PF then starts waffling,"Oh, um, they probably won't be able to fit you in for at least a month-and-a-half, probably two months..." so that's when I walked out.
You know, it's absolutely fine if it's not the kind of work the tattooists there would prefer to do. I know one of the guys specialises in Japanese-style work, so he probably doesn't want to waste his energy on drawing lines around limbs. No problem. So fucking say so if their specialities lie elsewhere. My tolerance level for anything, much less smart-arse little dickheads who think they're "edgier" than I am, is at a fairly low ebb right now.
In more productive news, I got four cream coloured and nicely-textured cushions that won't clash with my couches. I also got a cocktail shaker and some Grand Marnier, so it'll be margaritas tomorrow, baybeh. Also, I got the makings for sangria, which I haven't done in ages. There was a NZ syrah (NZ-grown shiraz is often labelled thus, due to the more French style they tend to put out) I spotted at the booze shop called "The Underarm". This made me LOL; it's been a while. ;-) On a more serious note, it sounds like a tasty wine, so I'll get it another time. However, the $10 tempranillo for the sangria was what I was there for. Something cooling for this weather!
I also went to see Milk this evening. It's a good movie, and Sean Penn was great. I'll give it a B+, because the pacing was kind of strange. I'm glad it's getting prominence, because I think it's important for people to know their queer history. Harvey Milk was obviously of his time and place, but he certainly influenced the gay rights movement and its level of political engagement in many countries, including my own.
I had a woman sit next to me in the movie theatre, who I had a brief chat with (she asked if the seat were free and what I was reading), and who looked very stereotypically straight - very slender, trendy clothing, very done hair. However, she was extremely engaged in the movie, to the point of quite earnestly crying in the final scenes. Perhaps she does that with all movies, but it certainly made me wonder what it was about the movie that spoke to her. Hm.
Then sushi at Tasuke and home to melt a bit more.
Finally decided I wanted to get the interim tattoo I've been planning, on my left forearm. So I go along to Freestyle in the city. They really need to fire the fucktard who is the piercing guy. This is the third time I've been there, after his doing two things with me in the last few months, and does he acknowledge he's ever seen me before? No. Also, I don't know if he was stoned, but he certainly acted it. So I ask to speak to one of the tattoo guys. P(iercing) F(ucktard) says, "What do you want to see them for?" I explain that I'd like to discuss getting a tattoo done. He says, "What do you want done?" I'm not sure why it's his business, unless he's one of the tattooists, but nevermind. I say that I want three narrow bands done around the top of my forearm. "Oh yair," sez he, with a smirk. "Tattooists hate doing those things." I think my face assumed an O RLY? expression at that stage. "And, yair, did you know they're really tricky to do?"
Well, gosh, neither of the two tattooists who have between them drawn 6 perfectly circular lines around various of my limbs had any problem with it, or displayed any particular resentment... but I did want someone who knows what they're doing, because I have seen it done badly. Maybe it was the magical Polynesian blood that made them have an uncanny knack for drawing lines around limbs. There were a couple of twelve-year-olds (approximately) sitting in the shop, and they tittered at this point. I said, politely, "Yes, I do know [whateva you say, dick], so I'd like to discuss it." Mr PF then starts waffling,"Oh, um, they probably won't be able to fit you in for at least a month-and-a-half, probably two months..." so that's when I walked out.
You know, it's absolutely fine if it's not the kind of work the tattooists there would prefer to do. I know one of the guys specialises in Japanese-style work, so he probably doesn't want to waste his energy on drawing lines around limbs. No problem. So fucking say so if their specialities lie elsewhere. My tolerance level for anything, much less smart-arse little dickheads who think they're "edgier" than I am, is at a fairly low ebb right now.
In more productive news, I got four cream coloured and nicely-textured cushions that won't clash with my couches. I also got a cocktail shaker and some Grand Marnier, so it'll be margaritas tomorrow, baybeh. Also, I got the makings for sangria, which I haven't done in ages. There was a NZ syrah (NZ-grown shiraz is often labelled thus, due to the more French style they tend to put out) I spotted at the booze shop called "The Underarm". This made me LOL; it's been a while. ;-) On a more serious note, it sounds like a tasty wine, so I'll get it another time. However, the $10 tempranillo for the sangria was what I was there for. Something cooling for this weather!
I also went to see Milk this evening. It's a good movie, and Sean Penn was great. I'll give it a B+, because the pacing was kind of strange. I'm glad it's getting prominence, because I think it's important for people to know their queer history. Harvey Milk was obviously of his time and place, but he certainly influenced the gay rights movement and its level of political engagement in many countries, including my own.
I had a woman sit next to me in the movie theatre, who I had a brief chat with (she asked if the seat were free and what I was reading), and who looked very stereotypically straight - very slender, trendy clothing, very done hair. However, she was extremely engaged in the movie, to the point of quite earnestly crying in the final scenes. Perhaps she does that with all movies, but it certainly made me wonder what it was about the movie that spoke to her. Hm.
Then sushi at Tasuke and home to melt a bit more.