Bad to the Bone

I think it all started when I saw Kristy McNichol in the movie "Little Darlings." She was so daring, so bad, and I wanted to be just like her. Plus I think she got to make out with Matt Dillon, too. She got to be sassy AND kiss a boy who was on all the posters from Tiger Beat, are you kidding me? What a life.
In my head, I think I always envisioned myself as much more of a bad ass than I really had the desire to be. I really like the idea of wanting to come across as don't-mess-with-me, but I don't necessarily want to BE a bad ass. In all honesty, I think I just really liked the fashion possibilities.
In junior high I fell head over heels for Billy Idol. That blond spiky hair, those eyes, that lip sneer... it made my heart skip a beat. My friend Beth and I dressed up in outfits that we thought were very bad, very cool, very Billy Idol-like. I giggle now when I look at my parachute pants and (as my friend Mandy calls it) my "Flock of Seagulls" hair.

Remember when Madonna first came out and wore those lacy white dresses with the blazon Boy Toy buckle? I ran right out to Rag Stock and bought up over a hundred dollars worth of Madonna-like clothing and fabric accessories. I must have forgotten that I didn't really know how to sew. On to the next phase!
I've tried it all. A faux hawk, purple streaks, black hair, red hair, bleach blond hair (thank you Lady Clairol Maxi Blond), spikes, you name it - I tried it. That's the beauty of hair experimentation...it always grows back.
But I knew that to truly be a rebel, a legitimate bad ass, I needed to take it to the next level. I needed to get tattoos and piercings. Both really hurt. And I try to avoid physical discomfort as much as humanly possible. Back in the day, my mom and aunt Betty were nurses at the clinic in town and were able to bring home ear piercing guns (why were nurses doing ear piercings at the doctor's office?? "Here's your tetanus shot, and let's get your ears pierced too while we're at it."). My cousin Jena and I both have distinct memories of our mothers chasing us with those damn ear piercing guns to finish the job. We each had one ear done and then a reckoning of "Screw that. You're not doing that to the other ear."
That was the only thing I ever wanted pierced. Fast forward a few decades later when I was working at State Farm. My manager called me into his office and asked if I'd be interested in transferring to their corporate offices in Illinois. "Here's the deal," he told me. "I need a strong female manager and I think you'd be a great fit. The problem is, living there is like living in a fishbowl. So you couldn't really like go out and get your nose pierced or anything crazy like that."
Now, most of my close friends know that one of my number one pet peeves is being told what and what not to do. It's like it brings out the inner 3 year old in me, every single time. So when that manager told me that, what do you think I did? Yep, decided to run out and get my nose pierced.
I chose a local tattoo/piercing shop in town. For moral support I brought along Jena. She was a public health nurse after all and would be able to keep me calm during a possibly painful procedure. Or so I thought.
Once we got there I found out that apparently I have exceptionally thick cartilage in my nose so a simple piercing device wasn't going to work. Instead, they brought out some medieval looking corkscrew thing that they were going to twist into the side of my nose. I told myself I could handle it. I've given birth, for crying out loud. It's no big deal.
Jena must have thought differently. After only one or two clockwise twists into my schnoz, I heard a noise and realized Jena had fainted and slumped to the floor. Everyone stopped what they were doing and rushed over to make sure she was okay. Everyone except for me. I still had a corkscrew sticking out of my nose. Apparently she can't handle being a bad ass either.
Not too long after college I convinced myself to get a tattoo. I had heard they hurt, but a lot of people said they weren't bad at all. That you can actually get addicted to them. Yeah, to those of you who say they don't hurt I have one thing to say to you:
Liar, Liar, pants on fire.
The only way I can describe it is like a knife... that's on fire... digging into your skin. Over and over again. I've been told that it hurt so much because I had it done on the inside of my ankle, and it's because there's so little fat there to cushion the pain. Whatever... I could have one on my hips where there is PLENTY of cushion and I would still feel that pain and wish for instant death. No thanks.
One of my girlfriends just got a tattoo on the inside of her arm while she was at Country Fest.
"Really?" I asked her. "Did you do anything else crazy, like get your labia pierced while you were?"
"No," she laughed. "Not that."
"That's good," I told her. "Because that could be awkward when you show people. Like, you'd be at the grocery store and see someone and say, 'Hey, wanna see my piercing? Here, hold my celery...'".
Now I will admit that there is a piercing that I think is super cute. I think they call it the Monroe piercing, to resemble Marilyn Monroe's beauty mark. A few of my friends have had it done and it's adorable on them. My concern is that the immediate soreness afterwards might pose a risk in my enjoyment of food. And we can't have that!
So as much as I admire the naughty Little Darlings out there, and as much as I secretly long to pierce my eyebrow and get another tattoo, I'm going to have to settle for less.
Like jeans with bling, and rhinestones on my pedicures. Maybe some fake bullet holes on my car.
Bad ass indeed.