Man, have I got a story to share but as my computer is sitting at 6% and I have to let my overheated charger cool down, I will have to relay it later. For now, enjoy pix.
Ok, I'm back. So here's the story: yesterday, one of my best friends calls me right after she got off from work and said, "I'm going to do it. I'm going to pierce my nose. But I have to do it tonight before I change my mind." So I'm like, "Ok. I'll come with you." Stupid. Now, I was going with her for two purposes: 1) to be a supportive friend 2) to talk myself into getting one (I had planned to at some point for this 30-day challenge).
So we chat about it some more and somehow it became definite that I was going to do it and that I was going to do it first. We both knew that I would chicken out if I were to go after her. Night falls and I'm waiting for her call. I get it. She's upset because the people she's with are taking too long to bring her back so that we can leave. She tells me that she changed her find because it will be too late to do it (the shop closed at 10 and it was 8 and we had a looong way to travel, Hialeah). I'm relieved. I got a reprieve from the imagined pain (thanks Google) and I got ready to go out to Blue Martini for another friend's birthday.
Once done with showering and getting prettiful, I glanced at my phone. A message from the bestie, which simply read: "I changed my mind". Darn. The original mission was back on. Ever the supportive friend, I called her to say I was ready to go. No answer. I called again. Voicemail. Relieved once more, I headed to another friend's house to await the appointed to time for meeting up at Blue Martini. I sent a text message to the bestie: hey, pick up. I'm close to your dad's. We could still make it. No sooner had I arrived at my friend's, TQ's, house did my phone ring. It was the bestie. The mission was on once again. My feet now slipped in my shoes from little beads of sweat.
We arrive. The lady running the place speaks the barest broken English. It was Hialeah after all. I spoke my smattering of Castellano Espanol. We had a little understanding. The piercing cost $20, the cleaning salt solution cost $10. Done and done. Off to the back for the slaying, er, stabbing, um, piercing. First up, as agreed, me.
I sat on the chair, heart thumping wildly against the ribs of my chest, my hands now lightly dewed with the same sheen as my feet. My mind cast about futilely searching for anything I could say to get me out of this self-imposed predicament. I Elmer Fudded my Spanish, feebly grasping for reassurance that what I was about to do would not cast me out of the realm of the sane and send me spiraling down the brittle staircase of insanity. She tells me that on a scale of 1-10 the pain is a 2. I am not reassured. She does this for a living.
After 10 minutes of stalling and "Wait, wait, wait"s and getting a bestie pinky swear that Adrienne would not punk out, I allowed her to insert the metal tube into my nostril and to hover the needle right the marked spot. With a deep breath and my eyes screwed shut, I submitted to her. Five seconds, no blood, and a level 4 pain (not a 2) later, I had a nose piercing. And I looked good.
It was the bestie's turn.
Now, I know I have a weak stomach. I know that the sight of a needle causes my legs to jelly. I know I can't stand the smell of blood. And I know that in a traumatic situation I would be no good. But I thought I could handle it. So what followed next is a pure exhibition of my level of stupidity and loyalty to my friends.
I made a series of mistakes. Mistake #1: I stayed in the room. Mistake #2: I held her hand (she made me). Mistake #3: I listened to the screams. Mistake #4: I looked down to see what was wrong. Mistake #5: I didn't leave at the sight of blood covering the lower half of my bestie's face. Mistake #6: I stayed despite my roiling stomach. Mistake #7: I listened to the screams. Mistake #8: I looked down again when the wielder of pain muttered frantically, "Oh my God, oh my God." Mistake #9: I wore tall wedges and didn't strap one down so I couldn't run to the bathroom. But once I made it there, I couldn't hurl so I sat on the toilet seat trying to will my stomach still. Then I returned to the scene of the crime.
Luckily, it was all cleaned up and my friend sported a pretty cute nose piercing. What went wrong with her is that she moved while being punctured and ended up having to be punctured three (3!) times before the piercing could stay. When I heard that, I had to return to the bathroom. Later, the woman brought me an alcohol soaked paper towel to inhale.
So my bestie and I left with mirror-matching piercings; hers is on the right and mine was on the left. I say "was" because, later during the night, when I fell asleep in my car upon returning from Blue Martini (and a horrible meet-up with a now ex-luva), I accidentally swatted my nose. The pain awakened me. I texted the bestie; we had a 15-minute textversation. I thought I just flicked the ring but, when I went into the house to use the bathroom, I saw the piercing dangling from my nose. And it hurt too much (level 2) to push back in and so I took it out. Bye-bye $30 and the proof of my bravery. Thank God I took pictures!
I want my piercing back. I thought it looked very fetch (I am going to make fetch happen). BUT I don't think I can endure the level 4 again. Besides, my stomach can't handle it.
|I'm so nervous!|
|We're going in.|
|I accidentally hit it and this was the result.|
|It really cuters up the face, dontcha think?|
|It is done! Eek!|