June's Monthly Mail letter
DEAAAAAAAAR DIARY,
**Oh, I mean…HI FRIENDS! My most *favorite* lovely mail club party people!
How in the world is it already June?! AND how the hell is it month six of running this mail club?!!!! That is mind blowing to me honestly. This not so little club has become such a huge part of my life, somehow overshadowing even tattooing, which I didn’t think was possible. I am so grateful for every single one of you. Whether it’s your first or last month, whether you’re new here or you’ve been here since the very start- None of this would be possible without you. So, thank you for supporting this dream! I’m writing this before the close of the mail club cycle but I am sure we will hit 800 (AHHHHHHHHHHH) members by the time this makes it to you. I N S A N I T Y. If we make it to 1K next month, maybe I’ll streak through my small town post office or something… then probably get arrested and be hand writing July’s letter from a jail cell.
Anywho, Last month’s letter got a smidge sentimental and I promised that this month we would be back to business. And by business, I mean a most chaotic, unhinged tale from my own personal book of debauchery.
But first- this months mail club theme is “made of memories & tiny crushed stars”. It’s got space buns, all the shiny things, portals, a moon & sun secret love affair (DUH), shooting tiny crushed stars, and a new rendering of the lady head+fern that was my tattoo logo for almost a decade! A little homage to my roots, cute! ◡̈ Hope you like everything, blah blah blah- grab your coffee, grab your tea, pinkies up, IT’S STORY TIME!!!!!!
I mean, since were on the topic of tattooing, let’s take a wee little trip back to my oh SO humble beginnings. And boy oh boy, were they ever humble. In Oregon you are required to go to tattoo school instead of getting an apprenticeship like every other state in the US. How do I describe tattoo school… it’s a shit show. The blind leading the blind. I would describe like beauty school but much, much worse (hi, beauty school drop out here!). You see, you usually have one licensed tattooer for 10-15 students. And, no reputable tattooer is going to teach at a tattoo school because they are busy actually tattooing. I knew that going into this and chose the cheapest school I could find. My intention was to get in and out as soon as possible and find an apprenticeship after. This all lead me directly to good ol’ Captain Jacks! Run by a creepy, large, balding, old school P.O.S. tattooer, who *ofcourse* was in some kind of biker gang. Could you get any more stereotypical?! I’m also convinced that he couldn’t even remember how to tattoo at that point. It was an actual nightmare! I told you, humble beginnings.
To make matters worse, Captain Jack’s was also suffering from a mysterious plumbing problem that was seemingly unsolvable. How tragic! Friends, this is the tale of how your’s truly became the Poop Bandit of good ol’ C.J.’s tattoo school…
The BANKSY of dookie, if you’ll allow it: Anonymous, politically motivated (lol, kidding), and virtually untraceable. Let’s. Get. Into. It. ◡̈
I had a lot riding on taking the plunge into the world of tattooing- I quit my corporate, steady job in order to pursue it. But more than that, it was a dream of mine since the first time I saw Miami Ink when I was 13. I saw Kat Von D and instantly fell ink love with how sure of herself she was and loved that she was dominating in an industry that was very male centered. I was sold. So, when you have something that you’ve been dreaming about for a decade finally within reach it can get really scary. What if after all this time and build up, it turns out you actually suck? What if you can’t do it? What then?! But like my husband told me back then, What if you’re amazing at it and it all works out? Truly, I wouldn’t be where I am at in my career without him and his constant, unwavering support. I digress- but also, I would put money on the fact that he is probably tearing up proof reading this…
*I mean honestly, Matt, PULL IT TOGETHER!
Anywayyyyyys, back to the great doo-doo debacle of 2015! To say that I was scared of tattooing would be the understatement of the century. I was terrified. Terrified beyond reasonable doubt, to the point of having to go the nervous bathroom every single morning prior to starting school. With that in mind I would strategically arrive at least 10 minutes before everyone else so I could sneakily use the one and only bathroom that the school had and no one would be the wiser. Now why wouldn’t I do this at home you may ask? Well, I lived 30-40 minutes away and without fail the nerves never hit me until I was 5 minutes away from that awful establishment.
All was well and my sneaky bathroom plan was working out just fine for one maybe two months. Until one day, I walked in and overheard a conversation that the main “instructor” and the owner were having in regards to the bathroom. Something to the tune of they thought something was seriously wrong with the plumbing because EVERY morning, like clockwork, the bathroom would smell like “something died in there”... I mean rude, but okay.
WELL SHIT, what was I supposed to do now?! There was no way that I could proceed with my morning plan at that moment, so I booked to the nearby Mcdonalds, did what I needed to do instead. As I ate my delicious sausage mcmuffin & hashbrown, I knew I had to figure out a new plan or me and my stinky nervous ways were going to be found out soon enough. The trail was hot and leading directly to me!
*SIDE NOTE* Let’s take a brief moment to chat about some of the characters that would come through that tattoo school as walk in customers…
SE 182nd is a wild place full of a lot wild ass people. Lots of drugs, sex workers, and just general chaos. My favorite was this lady that came in and requested “DADDY” in bold *very large* block letters on her lower back, aka a big ass tramp stamp. What an icon. I fortunately never had to do a walk-in there because I had an art following and was able to book my own clients (and half of those appointments were my husband being a good sport and letting me tattoo whatever I wanted).
In the following weeks I had honestly gone back to business as usual, the plumbing chatter seemed to have gone away so I resorted back to my old devious ways. Then one morning I came in to the school to a plumber working away in that bathroom, tearing it apart. They couldn’t figure out what was wrong with the pipes, that dude was in there for days and I am sure it cost them so much money.
...Whoops, but also what do you want from me? I’m literally just a girl!
Alas, I graduated shortly after that & NEVER came clean because I’ll take that shit *har har* to my grave (and all of you better too). I am also pleased to report that Captain Jack’s went bankrupt shortly after that from all of the plumbing bills. KIDDING, can you imagine?
Legend has it the great poop bandit of Captain Jacks hasn’t struck since but they all tremble in
fear at the thought of tragedy striking that lone fugly ass bathroom again.
The end. That’s all. Have a great month!
XOXO, Jes
p.s. If only poo pourri was a thing back then! Bless whoever invented that little life saving spray.
p.s.s. If something scares you, do it anyways! Be brave (but also map out the nearest toilet just in case)
p.s.s.s. Although tattooing is no longer scary, it will always remain one of the most terrifying things I’ve ever set out to do. I am proud of how far I’ve come in my career and am not afraid to say that. As women, we should be loud about the things we are proud of. TAKE UP SPACE. Poop in that dumb bald biker dudes bathroom. Make him call a plumber. Make him take out a loan to pay said plumber! THE WORLD IS YOUR OYSTER ◡̈ GOD SPEED!