Sometimes the best way to allay the OMG-my-wrapping-crisis-has-become-Armageddon on christmas eve is to hop in Kendra's caravan and get a tattoo. This is what we did yesterday, early. Did I mention Kendra carries a cattle prod, can't always parallel park, often interrupts riveting stories, about which she asked, to point out a chicken, and always looks to the ocean for direction when downtown? Despite the early morning murderous fog, caramel brulee lattes boosted my patience and in we went.
Fun squared, or triangled, in some cases. ;):
Kendra's Derby wife, Angie. I was jealous that Kendra got a lefty:
Alas, I got a lefty too :)
Damn, you'll find this scene in virtually all situations nowadays:
Sam and I laughing at the 10.5 years it will take before she is confident enough in the exactitude of her design to put it to skin:
Bye ladies, for now...and I don't care if the position is called 'blocker,' I stand by being a 'basher,' you'll see...