ain't been right since...

So I was on the train yesterday, reading the morning newspaper over this man's shoulder (yes, I am that girl, dammit) when I noticed that the first pictures of Rihanna post beatdown had surfaced. In the shots, she's somewhere way warmer than New York wearing this fabulous gold cut out one piece bathing suit but looking hella sad. Once I stopped obsessing over how long I'd have to live off of crackers and soda water to fit into that thing without scaring the kids, I started thinking about the matching tattoos that she and Chris had gotten over the course of their relationship. Weren't there like 2 or 3? Umm-hmmm... So basically, every time she looks in the mirror, she'll think about the dude that whelped up her big ass forehead the night before the Grammys? Lord.

And then, because everything eventually comes back to me, I remembered that poll I posted umpteenth months ago asking how'd you feel if the person you were dating surprised you with a tattoo of your name on their body. Tlaking bout they love you and wanted the world to know...

Perhaps I'm just a little stalker sensitive but I was genuinely surprised at the 17% of you that would find that flattering. Really? Cause they care enough to permanently scar themselves on your behalf? Hmmm... Not that I'm anti-tattoo, it just seems to me that folks normally choose to honor dead people on their bodies. And while it might seem like a stretch, please believe foreshadowing is a bitch (read: it's waaay too much for my scary behind to leave up to chance).

So as I'm sure you can guess, I'm setting up tent with the 82% who would be totally freaked out by some mess like that. And trust, I'm so not trying to talk it out either. I'd just smile in his face when he initially showed it to me and by the end of the next business day, my ass would've done gotten a restraining order, moved to another state, legally changed my name to Coco Esmeralda and started selling vibrators at passion parties. Shoot. Play if you want to... Elsa's kid ain't trying to be a senseless tragedy.

On the bicep today, dead in a ditch tomorrow- you decide.