When I was a teen, I had all this fierce integrity, you know? I made a decision, formed an opinion or took a stand based solely on my principles. I never wavered. I felt (and voiced) great disdain for those who preferred to sit in the Wishy-Washy section of the arena. I was militant.

One of the things I dug my heels in about was tattooing. The thought of marking your body permanently appalled me. What if it went horribly wrong? What if the guy sneezed as he was injecting you with dye? What if he thought you meant the picture beside the one you really picked and you wind up with a big ol' Foghorn Leghorn on your ass?

So now, as I approach my 35th birthday, I find myself considering risking the wrath of my now teenage nieces. They have become me, whereas I have become someone I never dreamed I would: Ms. Wishy-Washy 2002. A woman who follows fads, a sheep, a bloody lemming.

In true anal fashion, I have been weighing the pros and cons of this for two years. What part of the body, will it interfere with my trying to conceive, who's the best guy within a 200-mile radius, who am I doing this to impress?

The answers are coming to me, and I'm inching closer and closer to a decision. My design was chosen ages ago: a Celtic Knot circle surrounding the symbol for Faith in Chaos. Meaningful to me, which is really the point, right? I'm doing this for me, to celebrate a birthday I've been dreading since my 25th. I want to do something daring. Yes, I realize it's hardly considered risque these days, but it is to me. Again, that's what counts. Me.

I have to learn not to care what my Mother will think of this, or The Boy. My sister and some other friends will see me with new eyes I'm sure.
I'm simply not the type.

Here's hoping 2002 will turn out to be the year I do daring things, 'think outside the box', return to the days when I really liked myself and where I was heading.

Posted at 12:52 p.m.