Ink Ink, Baby

Well kids, I know it's been a couple of weeks, so hope you all had a nice turkey day with the parental units or whatever form of friends and family you surround yourselves with.

I headed home, as per tradition, to the Mile High Suburbs, where I wandered around Southwest Plaza, made awkward conversation with my dad, ate way too much stuffing, enjoyed a lovely night in downtown Denver and, oh yes, GOT A FREAKIN' TATTOO. Get! Me! Beth is officially a bad-ass. Well, that is if you can call someone with an old-school typewriter tattoo a bad-ass.

I've been thinking seriously about a tattoo for over a year, but the question was always what to get and where to put it. Plus whatever I decided to get would have to pass the "80 year old Beth test" in which I would still find it cool at age 80 and not live with the regret of having Pooh Bear or Morrissey inked permanently on my body which would have been the case had I done this back in my college days without really giving it some real thought and plenty of time.

But the typewriter seemed like something that is just very....me. The pink flowers remind me of my first apartment in Seattle that had a Magnolia tree in the courtyard that bloomed every Spring.

I lurve it. I really do. It was totally worth the wait and the effort and the pain and the money. And now, let's open it up for questions from the audience.