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no room for hipsters

the occupation of Ashley and Levon

Last night was the opening of the Dogwood Arts Print Contest which I mentioned Ashley was in.  Our plans were to stay there all night while she wore a nametag and spoke to people about her work.  I would stand near the food table or make embarassing faces at all the other pieces.  From time to time I was going to look at one her pieces as if for the first time and mumble something to myself that implied greatness, meant to be heard by the person standing next to me. 

At 7:00 she said we had to go, she had a surprise for my birthday.  I didn’t think the night was supposed to be about me and was flattered at her attention.  The whole time I thought we were going to some other gallery that had an exhibit about New York or something.  No, she pulls us into a tattoo parlor and says I have to get my nose pierced.  “You’re kidding.”  “Nope.  Happy Birthday.”  “Thanks.”

I have said from time to time that a nose ring would be cool.  What I meant was that if I weren’t soon to be 27 and past my rebellious years, or if I didn’t go to an office everyday, or my parents didn’t threaten to kick me out of the house in high school when I came home with my ears pierced…..”  And on and on and on like people do when they’re making excuses in the lobby of a tattoo parlor.  I said I would think about it and maybe I’d get a tattoo instead.  Something I could hide, you know? 

She said I was being more than a chicken.  I was still caught up in what everybody thinks and that I needed to do this for myself.  I was working on my tattoo ideas in my head and wondering if trying to get that done on the spot would show her that I don’t care.  I have to speak at things and sit on important committees for things during my last month at work.  What would they think?  So I guess I do care.  I realized I was stuck.  I called my mother-in-law and told her that her daughter had me stuck and that if she would kick me a little further I would probably do it.  She kicked me, and thirty minutes later we were back at the art gallery with my face still throbbing. 

I’ve got to go in to work at the university on monday and let them think as they will, I guess.  I already quit, right?  On another note, a deep part of me was afraid I would balk under pressure and take a lame bank job in New York when times got tough.  If I don’t sell the Datsun we have the funds for about one month to land something.  If I sell it we have two.  When I’m laying in bed on Saturday mornings trying to sleep in a little bit further, details like this creep into my head and worry me.  Then I thought my nose itched and sent a shiver down my spine when I scratched it.  At least I can be secure that my financial sector days are over.




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