I’ve never been a punk. Just punky.
Loved wearing weird socks, still do. Loved finding funky shoes, still do. Loved dying my hair, still do. But that was about as far as my punk streak went.
It kind of stopped at hair color, a love that has been passed down to my youngest, who regularly asks for different looks — alternating burgundy and a vibrant purple and dreaming of her next look which may or may not involve a very rich red. She’s the boss.
But I’ve always loved Jem. The rock star, the one with The Holograms as her band. She has pink hair — with volume (obviously) — and star-shaped earrings and rockin’ leggings. Since I can’t be a cartoon, I could channel one, I suppose.
The energy. And mix it with the hippie that lives within me. A rockin’ hippie is a thing. And if it wasn’t before Saturday, it is now. And those types couldn’t care less about age.
Because this hippie got a nose piercing.
It would hurt. A little. That’s what I heard. It would make my eyes water. It might feel like popping a pimple. Or plucking a nose hair — which, luckily, is a foreign sensation for me.
But everyone’s had that nose pimple. Everyone. So I had a feeling what I’d feel as she sent that needle through my nose — took it out — and replaced it with a cute little gem. See what I did? A gem.
My eye watered. Eye, singular, because it was the eye on the same side of my nose. Isn’t that weird? Biology. Or anatomy. Whichever one.
The lady who did the piercing walked me through everything that would happen, like the nicest person ever, and got my heart pounding louder and harder by telling me to speak up if I feel faint. Maybe I looked faint? I was sweaty, for sure. But not yet faint.
And then she covered my nose in a swab drowned in alcohol. Even if you’re feeling great, that tips your stomach. And it made me feel like how a boxer feels, for a second, in between rounds. Except the punch was still coming.
I took a deep breath and she went for it. And it was over in a couple seconds. I didn’t move and I didn’t faint but I did bleed a little. Or a lot, I don’t really know, because it’s hard to see your own nose (even one as big as mine) with someone’s hand tending to it.
And, like, 15 minutes after I got there, I walked out of the tattoo and piercing joint with new jewelry — right in the spot I’d been dreaming of for a while — inspired to act because of my birthday and after hearing how Leo DiCaprio decided to do Titanic (it involved him doing donuts in a sports car and declaring “Fuck it!” after he threw the car in park).
So now the hippie is a little more rocky. Or always has been, but had the courage to wear it a little more.