Pierced! Yay!
◊ Wooha! I did it! I got my tongue pierced yesterday!
I definitely had my "what the FUCK am I DOING?!" moment when the piercer was laying out rows of gleaming stainless-steel equipment in front of me. Though that had nothing on the pure terror of seeing my mom drive the family minivan right past the piercing place just as I was about to cross the street. She didn't see me. Good.
(Just so you know, she's the reason I had to let my tongue heal over the first time I had it pierced five years ago. Hence the total freakout when I spotted her.)
But I'd had a beer when I went out for Indian food right before, so I was plenty of laid back once I realized I was actually doing this instead of talking about it.
Yes, it hurt, but not bad. It was a mild "owwwwwww" pain, as opposed to the "OW!" I experienced during my years of torture by my orthodontist.
Didn't find out until I was already in there that it means no drinking for a week and no smoking for two.
Damn.
Don't ever get your tongue pierced right before a big birthday party where there's lots of excellent beer.
[On a serious note: I went to Pierce Ink to get it done. I recommend the place very, very strongly. It's clean and professional. The people are friendly and walk you through every step and make the whole process much less terrifying than you'd think it would be. Plus the piercer who skewered my tongue digs Rex the Runt. How cool is that?]
God, I love seeing joggers smoke. Sweatpants, running shoes, sports bra — and a lit cig dangling from a curled lip.
Though nobody beats my brother, who during his rebellious years would go Rollerblading with a lit briar pipe between his teeth, just to fuck with people's heads.