People meet in different ways, fall in love, get married, and have kids. There is nothing new about it, very traditional. In our case however it is outside the norm. We meet in a chat room. Not just any chat room but here on BTI. How can two people fall in love that have never met? As strange as it sounds it happened. We exchanged phone numbers, and there was A LOT of late night calls. The more we talked the more our love for each other grew. We feel in love with each other’s mind and souls. The choice to fly half way across the country was an easy one. We knew that we were meeting the loves of our lives. We meet face to face on Friday the 13. The luckiest day in our lives. We had talked about getting matching tattoos done, but that was not good enough for us. We decided on getting a heart with a lighting bolt through it. We split the heart down the center of the lighting bolt. For I carry his heart and he carries mine. They are only complete and beat as one when we are together. It is our symbol of the love that we have for each other. It has only been a short time that we have know each other, but we both feel as if we were struck by lighting. The best part of this whole story is on bent knee Shane purposed to Keri so our hearts will always beat as one. Shane and Keri were married this past August in New York.
Who says love has to be traditional!
Shane and Keri
BigBammer and Countess
I have two tattoos that are memorial tattoos. The first one I got on my brothers 10th aniversary of his death back in 2005. The tattoo is on my left wrist and its a claggdah. I have the heart facing towards me to show that my brother has my heart. It also had his birth year 1980 initials TSD and death year 1995. The second one is on my chest its an anatomical heart with wings showing that my brothers heart is free. I lost my brother to a car accident that he, my sister, my mother and I were all involved in. He was ejected from the car and was killed instantly. The cop told my father when he arrived to the scene he didn’t think anyone would be alive after what he saw. Luckily 3 of us did survive, but unfortunatly we lost my brother. He was 14 and the oldest of the children. He was a freshman in high school and a great artist. He would draw flash art all of the time and he constantly told me he was going to be a tattoo artist and a drumer for a famous touring band. My brother would have accomplished these goals if his life wasn’t taken from him. All the tattoos that I will be getting on my body are going to be for him and my family. I hold them all so close to my heart. My family is what keeps me alive.
Many people choose their tattoos from the wall…many have their tattoo drawn for them while waiting in the shop, but I was lucky enough to have mine drawn by my dad. My dad past away last year in July and when my mom found this picture I decided to have it tattooed. I didn’t want any color added to it. I wanted it exactly how it was and the artist did exactly that even down to my dads name as it shows in the drawing. I couldn’t think of any other way to remember my dad since my dad was also tattooed I think he would be happy and like it. I placed it over my right shoulder because my dad had a song for me it’s called “Look over your shoulder you’ll find me”. It’s an old school R&B song there for he will forever be right besides me. I also named my son after my dad (well his middle name anyway) since my son was born a month and a half after my dad past. The words Mi Querida mean my love and my dad loved buying me and my mom roses. So to my dad I love and miss you, may you rest in peace, love your Lil Queen.
All of my tattoos are reminders of a specific event in my life. I love them all equally but if I must choose only one of them, I would pick my chest piece. I got it when I survived my ex. My ex used to be a psychopath, the most violent person I’ve ever known and my first love. He almost killed me at one point so when it was over I decided to get that chest piece. The guns are the more important element. They represent an end. Nobody can do what they want with my body anymore…I take charge. Its a warning. It has a non-violent meaning to me…I just chose to use guns to express this warning. I added roses to it to represent a ever-blooming me kind of way, like I grew and learned through that experience.T he banner has my pinup name on it. I chose my pinup name since its something I’m proud to have achieved since my ex was thinking of me as a fat,ugly person. I proved him wrong and the swallows are beautiful birds that can fly away from any further danger. I love my tattoo and what it represents.
I got my first after my middle name which was after my great-grandmother who was Native American and then the last, for her daughter (my grandmother) when she passed on 3 yrs ago. My grandmother was my rock and the Hummer and Tiger lily are the beggining of a back piece in their honor and in honor of my Native heratige. I am very proud of them and the legacy they left me with my name. I am still designing the back piece and hope to start it later this summer. It will take a lot of chair time and funds to complete though, so may take a while to finish.
My sea horse tattoo! Well I got this tattoo because a friend and I got the same one. Her’s is different colors and does not have the waves, and hers has VK onthere. My has TQ just under it. We are no longer in contact but I wish we were…I miss her! She was my best friend. Our picture is on my profile. We had fun at our job too! BARTENDERS (Pepper and Johnni)
This tattoo is a memorial tattoo I got for my mother. She passed away on april 14 of this year. On the day of her visitation, I was sitting outside, having a cigarette and listening to johnny cash, without which I don’t think I could have made it through all of that week. I’m by no stretch of the imagination a religious person, but at that moment I asked God for some sort of sign that my Mom was where she needed to be. Then out of nowhere, this cardinal comes swooping up on the porch and landed on a light. It sat there for a moment, looking at me. Then it chirped and flew away. And all I could think to say was thank you. So, that weekend I called Mark of Cain tattoos in Champaign, IL, and set up an appointment for the following Monday and had the cardinal done.
My most significant tattoo is my first, and currently my only. It’s a medium sized blue and green gecko on the inside of my left ankle. I got it because of what it means in my religion. Geckos stand for over coming strife and obstacles. In the past, I was extremely depressed and had a hard time dealing with the world around me. My parents had divorced, my father remarried, my mother went through a mental break down and I ended up raising myself from age eight to age sixteen. I began to be picked on at school and my grades slipped. Family life became hell and I turned inward. When I was nine years old I began to cut myself. My first suicide attempt was at age thirteen, and I was even blamed for other girls in my school cutting themselves, when I didn’t even know who they were. Over the years through hard work, and a lot of love from my friends, I began to climb out of my depressions. I still fight every day to maintain a healthy relationship with those around me and I have to work not to slip back intoold habits. The gecko helps me to realize that no matter what, I can over come the strife in the world with help, and determination.
My nephew, Jake Daeda, was one of those kids that all the other kids wanted to be like. He was smart, fun, handsome, sportsman, witty and just all all around good kid. We had planned to meet at Quaker Steak and Lube on this Saturday afternoon for wings (wings was his favorite meal) so I could finally meet his new Girlfriend, Abbey. Well, the dinner never happened and he went to a party instead. He was running late for curfew and was speeding through Monticello and went off the road. Jake was killed… at the age of 16 I had lost my nephew, my friend, my son… my all. I went into a very quick and very steady downward spiral with drugs and alcohol (a spiral I had been on many times before). I woke up one day and realized that this was not helping the situation, so I went and got his name tattooed on my ribcage (most painful one yet) as a constant reminder that he is in my heart and forever will be. I miss you Jakey, and love you more than words can ever express!
I have acquired, at this point in my life, quite a few tattoos. Actually I currently have ink on something greater than 50% of my lily white hide. I’m a fairly conservative, middle class business owner and most of my clients are stunned when they discover I have a tattoo and they are completely floored when they find out I have more than one. Since most people seem to be hiding some little ratty piece tucked away under a shirt, etc. I have kept it to an elite few in my small town that know the extent of my art and none of THEM even know half of the stories involved in how I got these pieces.
Today I wanted to tell you about the warrior fairy that I wear down my right ribcage and hip and the felon that drew her for me. She’s really pretty cool and doesn’t get enough respect since the mermaid showed up…
The original drawing was done by my first artist and good friend Frank. Frankie had a troubled past and spent some time in jail. By the time I met him he was a two strike felon, slinging ink at the local Hell’s Angel endorsed tattoo parlor, just trying to keep his head above water and stay out of trouble till he got off parole. What can I say? I’m an accepting person and have diverse friends. He’d done my first tattoo, treating a little white girl walking in to a rough place alone, way out of her league and too stupid/stubborn to leave without getting the little flower she’d come for with gentleness and respect. We became friends, I started to introduce him to the wonderful world of computers and we were moving forward from there.
Now, all things being equal, and Frankie being about as successful as any other Latino at keeping out of trouble in our little predominantly upper middle class, white county. He managed to get himself picked up on the way home from a party just before Christmas 2005. He was guilty of being Latino, being on parole, being drunk and riding in the same car as a bunch of other drunk folks. Since ‘Is anyone here on Parole?’ is one of the first questions a cop asks when he stops a group of people in a car, and my boy is not dumb enough to say ‘No’ and have them find out otherwise, he automatically got locked up. This was a very bad thing for Frankie. All I knew at the time was that he called to cancel our computer class and all the next day his phone was going straight to voice mail. It wasn’t until the next afternoon that I found out where he was but not what had happened.
I grew up in a predominantly Catholic environment. I went to the all girl’s school, did the volunteer stuff, read my bible. When I found out what happened to my new friend I couldn’t get the verse about visiting the criminal out of my head so I hauled my butt down to the jail. I’d never BEEN to a jail, didn’t know where I was supposed to go or what the rules were but hell… I’d walked into the tattoo parlor so I could sure walk into a jail house! I stripped down to my clothes, a pencil, my car key, my license and a $20 and wandered in to see what was up. It was one of the best things I ever did.
Frankie had no idea who was going to be there when he walked out to the visiting area and when he saw it was me on the other side of the glass the most profound look of relief washed over his face. For my part I was stunned. He was a mess. He’d freaked when they locked him up… A third strike and he’s down for the count. He hadn’t been sleeping or eating for the last 48 hours since he’d been picked up and it showed. As we sat there on the little phones with our hands pressed against the thick glass, trying to reach through it, I felt so bad for him but I wasn’t really sure what I could do except be there, be his friend and keep pushing him to work on the art and stick with all of the things we’d been working on before he got picked up.
I went and visited him in jail every chance I got while we were waiting for the arraignment and got my cell phone set up so he could call me and talk to me when he got the chance. He called a lot. I helped him put his head back in the right place, encouraged him not to give up, reminded him of all the good things he’d been doing and all the positive things he’d gotten involved with. I tracked down his parole officer, got him some art supplies, touched base with his family and let them know what was up. It never even occurred to me t do anything else. Sure, he’d done some dumb things in the past but was trying to get it together and I stood by my friend. My boy was locked down 4 days with no charges. When they arraigned him they dropped all the drug and alcohol stuff they’d been trying to intimidate him with and left resisting arrest because he was stupid enough to start cussing out the cops AFTER they handcuffed him and put him in the car.
Well, my life works in odd ways and one of my clients was by my shop several times that week. He saw me scooting in and out low key during office hours so I could make the visiting hours at the jail, etc. the day I scooted out to the arraignment without barely saying ‘Hello’ to him, which is quite out of character, I found him waiting for me at my office when I got back. He nailed me down and got the whole story. He’d seen Frank’s portfolio at my office a few weeks before when I’d been scanning the art work into the computer so that we could put it up on-line and potentially find some more clients. I explained how I’d been helping Frank learn to use computers so he could expand his opportunities. This guy listened to everything, admitted to having been very impressed by the work he’d seen and told me he was glad that I was being such a good friend. Then he told me that he lived next door to the head of the County Sheriff’s Dept and volunteered to go over and talk to his neighbor about the situation.
Without warning and against all odds Frank walked out of jail on Christmas Eve. While he was in I had encouraged him to keep drawing and not to lose hope. He wanted to thank me by drawing something for me that WAS me. He drew the warrior fairy, all blades and sharp edges and a ton of bad ass. Then, typical to Frankie, he decided that it was too raw and wicked to be sweet little ‘Roja’ and ended up drawing some soft, pretty thing coming up out of a flower. When he got out he gave me the softer one but he mentioned the original and I made him show it to me. As soon as I saw it I told him ‘Fuck that sissy fairy, Frank, I like the tough one!’
I tried to convince him to do the tattoo for me countless times over the next few months but he wouldn’t do it. He felt I was getting too much ink. Eventually he moved shops, which was a good decision for him but put him a long way away, and I ended up paying him for the drawing (he didn’t ask me to, but it is his day job after all and I respect his work) and found another artist to tattoo it. I still like Frank’s original WAY better but the piece I wear is still really special to me. It was the first time anyone ever gave mean image of myself that was something I wanted to be. I’m hoping some day Frank will get a chance to do a little adjusting to her and make her more of what she was meant to be…
