Tattoos and Shit

I show my left wrist a lot in my wine shots. You might be wondering what the faint something or another on it is. When I was 18 I got my first tattoo, “YHWH” (a.k.a. Yahweh) cause I was Christian for a hot minute. I am actually Jewish and this four letter sequence is basically banned so when I decided that Jesus was not my savior, I was kind of fucked. People would see it and automatically think I was Christian and ask what church I went to or what my testimony was (ummmm.) So a few years ago, I decided to get it removed. Welp, 13 laser tattoo removal sessions later it’s still kind of there. I don’t really care. I haven't been smited yet and my rabbi doesn’t seem to care, so I’m cool.

A few days ago, I actually got a tattoo that I thought about for longer than 10 minutes. It’s my brother’s name in Hebrew. He passed away four and a half years ago and I wanted to give him some sort of tribute. It turns out that the last letter is kind of wrong, but I don’t really care. It’s almost funny, like he was playing a joke on me. I dig it. In my rabbi’s words, “consult your rabbi before not after.” Ah well. I’m super happy with it and thankful that my friend, Ellen, was able to do it. We went to college together and she knew me when I lost Ben. It was special. So that's the story about my wrists.

Advice for all of the children reading my wine blog: wait until you're 25. Let your prefrontal cortext develop before you do something permanent. Even then, who knows what you will think at 35. So I guess just do what you want.