Monday, March 28, 2011


When I was 11 people were starting to get their cartilage pierced. Not people my own age, as I was 11, but, it was around. Getting your ear lobes pierced can be done at a hairdresser or anywhere else that wants to train people to. They have a gun, that a pinch later, leaves sparkly studs in your ears. I was a little kid when I went through that myself. Hairdressers and such places that use guns don't do cartilage anymore, because it can shatter or hit a vein. When I was 12, I somehow convinced my parents that they should not only let me get this piercing, and that they should pay for it.

To this day, I still don't know how I managed it. So, my Dad took me to the hairdresser, a woman with no actual training, to shoot holes in my ears. I thought getting both done at once was a good idea. Balance and all that. It wasn't. The initial shot didn't hurt that much, but the second ear was incredibly slanted. I eyed them and asked her to re-do it. At least where I lived, there was not a lot of information about this piercing at the time, but I was told later in life by a professional I was incredibly lucky that the cartilage in my ear didn't shatter, and either brave or stupid for asking for that.

It hurt. And the earrings that were put in were too big studs. They were impossible to sleep in, as they stabbed the side of my head, and the slightest nudge hurt like a Mother. They did eventually heal, though, and I kept them until I was about 15. I took them out one day for what ever reason and just never got around to putting them back in.

When I was a preteen at the cottage, my aunt casually commented that I had a good belly button to get pierced. The idea stuck. When I was 17 I really wanted to, but, you need parents consent. However, I had friends who were older then I was at the time. 19. Old enough to get tattoos and piercings on their own, old enough to actually be known by one of the better piercers in town. My parents should have seen this coming.

My Mother caught me splayed on my back on the couch with a cup of salt water to my stomach (which is how you're supposed to take care of it immediately after, although I found out later, sea salt, not table salt). She just stared at me and said "You better not let that get infected".

My Father, although noticing right away that I was sitting and walking oddly (you stab a hole in your belly button and try not to) didn't notice for about a month. Enough time that I got used to it and got careless. I stretched as I was talking to him, "So I was thinking that Erika Jean Miller WHAT is that in your naval?" Crap.

Somehow, I didn't get in trouble for stabbing holes in myself without my parents consent. They grilled me on it, mind you. Not the how I managed despite being too young, thankfully. Did you research where you got it done ahead of time? How do you take care of it? What are the signs of infection? What do you do if you notice them? To this day I love the fact that these were my parent's concerns.

How about you, my dear readers? Any traumatizing for your parents when you got piercings?

Monday, March 14, 2011

Happy Pi Day!

It is also Albert Einstein's birthday, and my own. I'm pretty sure I'm still drunk from Saturday, so I'll get to the point. Pi day. Perhaps the most delicious and nerdy holiday of the year. Pi is the symbol for the ratio of the circumference of a circle to its diameter. Pi Day is celebrated by math enthusiasts around the world on March 14th. Pi = 3.14... In North America (and I'm sure other parts of the world, but I'm not sure of all of them, so I will use the one I am certain of) Dates are displayed by Month, day, and year. So, the calendar date for Pi would be March 14th.

The proper day to celebrate Pi day is to eat some pie. So go and be delicious my friends.

Wednesday, March 9, 2011

I am a hand turkey

I don't usually just post links for funsies, but, well, I have to. The REAL "new" horoscopes.  It has given me a chance to use the phrase "I am a hand turkey" while being totally sincere. Would anyone be interested in my writing horoscopes for these?

Tuesday, March 8, 2011

I have been a bad little blogger

Dear corner of the internet that I call my own. I am sorry that I have been so neglectful as of late. It isn't right, and I'm sorry. I could make excuses, tell you how busy I've been with work/hookers/blow/liver damage, and I mean, they'd all be true things, but, they're no reason to neglect you like that. Even if I have been tits deep in parties.

And by parties I mean silly misadventures, but nothing beyond fairly the standard "Ok, gonna go hang out with friends now" so, not prime post material. You will now suffer through a post on dinosaurs. No. I'm not joking.

So, I discovered that the museums in town are free Thursday evening. I literally live across the street from one (no, seriously. I look out my balcony and see a freaking castle. It's pretty sweet). One with dinosaurs. It was pretty easy to convince a friend to go with me. They then had to endure me jumping up and down excitedly yelling about dinosaurs. And then the Narwhal. GUYS THERE WAS A NARWHAL!!! Narwhals make me happy just by existing. If they're real, it makes it that much more likely that unicorns are. Narwhal=unicorn of the sea.

My co-workers wife works at the museum, and half jokingly I asked him what the rules on people climbing the dinosaurs are. He told me it was a bad idea. Security was not friendly. "What if I sneak in in the dead of night?"

"Security is still there"

"What about the outside dinosaurs?"

"Oh, those are fine. If you can get on them, you can climb those"

Fun game, say the phrase "Hey, let's go climb the dinosaurs" to a drunk person. Bonus round to see how long you can stall them. They will not relent, because dinosaurs are way too awesome.

For some reason when I am going on about the awesomeness of dinosaurs, The Boy sighs and says "I'm dating an 8 year old" to which I point out that I am currently only six, and he ignores me and continues "I'm dating an 8 year old boy".