I don’t remember the exact straw that broke the camel’s back, but somewhere between my first summer in Yosemite and my second month in Jackson, I realized something…
Most people don’t really like Texans. Growing up in Texas, I was like, “Well this rules. I live in the best state!” But then I moved to the mountains and every time I told someone I was from Texas, they either literally or theoretically rolled their eyes. People outside of Texas do not like Texans—who knew! Not only that, so many of my friends and people in my general circle talked so much shit about Texas. So early in my 20s, I decided that when I got married, the guy I married would get Texas tattooed on his ass. And I would get whatever state he was from tattooed on my ass. That way, if he ever wanted to talk down about Texas in front of our friends, I could easily say, “That’s pretty interesting talk for a guy with the state tattooed on his ass.”
I had it all planned. For some reason, the tattoo I would get would always be on my left butt-cheek. I think it’s because my side of the bed has always been the right side of the bed, so I pictured laying in bed with our tattooed butt-cheeks touching. I remember sitting across from this cute guy at work and learning that he was from Alaska and thinking about the shape of Alaska tattooed on my ass. This is where my daydreams went, fairly quickly… to ass-tattoos.
About six years later from making this declaration, I started dating Evan. Evan is from Wyoming… which, admittedly, doesn’t make for a super interesting tattoo…
But I was still into it. For the almost five years we dated, I continually told Evan about my ass-tattoo aspirations and he always nodded along in agreement. “Yep. I’m into it!”
A few days after getting engaged, I reminded Evan about the tattoos.
“Hey! We have to get our ass tattoos!”
And then, without taking a beat, Evan told me, “Absolutely not. I am not getting Texas tattooed on my ass. That was a bait and switch.”
I was shocked. HOW COULD HE.
For years after marriage, I kept trying to convince Evan to get the tattoo. Neither of us had a tattoo, so getting one together felt right. I tried and tried to convince Evan until a few years ago he said, “You know what, Ray? I think you really want to get Texas tattooed on your own ass.”
And I had this light-bulb moment…
I DO wanna get Texas tattooed on my own ass! (same vibes as “I DO wanna go back to Taco Bell”… okay, well, less-drunk than those vibes.)
I knew I wanted this tattoo and I knew I wanted to get it done in Texas. But the hard thing about Texas is that if you visit during the Spring, Summer, or Fall, you’re gonna go swimming. Hell, I swim most Winters I visit! And you’re really not supposed to swim for a good while (two weeks!) after getting a tattoo. But this trip, these past couple weeks, felt like a golden opportunity.
I texted a friend from college who lives in Austin and has a bunch of rad tattoos, asking her where one would go to get their first tattoo. She gave me three options and I went with the first and got in pretty seamlessly. One day I got into the car with my mom and Marcie and said, “I’m getting a tattoo tomorrow.”
My mom tried to play it cool, “Okaaaaaay… What?”
I told her I was going to get a tattoo and I asked if she could watch Marcelline while I went into Austin to get it done. I told her what I wanted and how I’ve wanted it for a long time. Marcie giggled from the backseat.
“Momma! You’re getting a tattoo on your BOOCHIE??!”
I didn’t tell Evan (who was in Texas, but went home a week before us), but during a FaceTime that night, Marcie said, “Momma’s getting a ta–” and I slide-tackled her and tried to muzzle her.
But Evan heard, smiled, and said, “Oh, I know what’s happening.”
Miranda Joon takes reservations at Hello Friend Tattoo. When I pulled up, I had this really strange deja vu. I remembered: oh my god… this place used to be Spider House. Spider House was this coffee shop and bar that I went to a bit in high school, but a LOT through college and into adulthood. It held so many memories of my coming-of-age in Texas. Hello Friend was in a building sort of above the old Spider House (now Tweedy’s).
Miranda was so kind and chill and before I knew it I was pulling down my pants and laying on a table. The tattoo barely hurt. (thanks, extra junk in the trunk!) As soon as I stood up and looked at it, I was in love…
My first tattoo. There’s something about inking your body—putting something on it forever. Admittedly, my relationship with my body hasn’t always been positive. And my confidence in 2024 was very low. I try to be the person who doesn’t care about how she looks or how much I weigh—but I do care. I tell my friends and family they are beautiful. I don’t even notice when they gain or lose 30 pounds! (much to their annoyance, usually.) But to me they are just them—the people I love—and they are so fucking beautiful! But I can’t give myself a break after gaining 12 pounds. I can’t or won’t and I don’t know why and it makes me tear up just thinking about it. I can’t be the oblivious, loving friend to myself. To my own body.
With everyone and their mother on Ozempic, I find myself wishing I could just microdose it. “Gimme some of that Ozempic… just a hit!” I want to be honest here, while also acknowledging that I am not overweight… I am at my heaviest ever and I hate it. I had to buy new pants, because I’ve outgrown a lot of them. There are stretch marks and cellulite all over me and it makes me feel small and worthless… because I grew up in 90s.
But hear me out. Something happened. I got this tattoo on my ass—on my body—and I suddenly my body felt perfect. I don’t know how it happened. I just felt like my body was so worthy of this whimsy and that this whimsy was so happy to be on this content body. It did something to me. In an instant, I felt so confident and so completely okay. I texted so many of my friends with this photo of me with my ass out (after calling Evan and telling him and sending tons of photos) and all of them said, “YOU FINALLY DID IT!” They knew how much I wanted this.
The next day was Diane’s memorial. It was hard. There were SO MANY people there. I was reminded of how once a boss told me, “The only times everyone you love will be in the same room is at your wedding and at your funeral” and I immediately wished I had invited more people to our wedding. A woman pulled me aside and said…
“Are you the woman who wrote that essay about how Diane didn’t shave?”
“Ha… Yeah! Kind of…”
“I don’t shave either. Not my pits, my legs, anything… If men don’t have to, why should we??”
“I know. It’s ridiculous. And somehow, I still do it. I’m embarrassed that I do it! I go to such great lengths to seem like I don’t grow hair on my body!”
“I mean, I can’t believe that women actually get their *whistles* waxed.”
I couldn’t help myself, “I get mine waxed often and it’s more painful than anything. I actually got a tattoo on my ass yesterday and getting a bikini wax is MUCH more painful.”
The woman just looked at me in shock and horror… unable to respond. Fair enough.
There was a short open-mic time to tell stories about Diane. Her brother-in-law stood up and said that he didn’t understand why Diane and Dave moved to Texas at first, but that now… he LOVES TEXANS. He gets it now. He said it over and over, he loves Texans. He ended his speech that way.
And I smiled to myself. I love so many Texans. I was so happy in that moment to have that great state (albeit it’s consistently disappointing politics and hatred for Trans people) tattooed on my ass. It’s where I’m from. It’s who I am. It’s the wildflowers I ran through as a child. It’s the trails I biked on as a kid. It’s the streets I ran around with friends as a pre-teen. It’s the rivers I swam in as a teen. It’s the backcountry roads I drove aimlessly on for miles. It’s the stars I looked to for a lifetime. It’s my family. It’s my best friends. It’s my heart. It’s my roots. It’s my blood. It’s my trashiest parts and my artiest parts and my country parts and my gritty parts and my snobby parts and my beautiful parts. It’s so much of me. And now it’s on my ass. My perfect, perfect ass.
Quick Hits:
Jam of the Week: Deep Sea Diver – Shovel.
(I will never stop loving Deep Sea Diver. I AM SO EXCITED ABOUT THEIR UPCOMING ALBUM. thanks—in huge part—to this new song, I know it’s gonna be ah-mazing.)
This Spectacular Podcast is BACK.
(got to walk around this evening and listen to it and it just made me so happy… not because the content is light or anything, but because this beautiful genius works on it and it’s so wonderful to see friends thri–ving in their work.)Okay, Roll Call: Who’s Watching?
(there was this part of the premiere where a queen went to a RuPaul book tour and had her audition tape on a thumb drive in her purse and it made my heart melt, making me think of when I went to a David Sedaris book tour with the first iteration of my book on a thumb drive in my purse… LIKE DAVID SEDARIS WAS GONNA SAY, “YEAH, I WOULD LOVE TO READ YOUR WHOLE-ASS BOOK IN IT’S FIRST DRAFT, YOU DUMDUM.”)
We Got This Perfect Gift For Christmas.
(you KNOW I love a gift of whimsy/luxury that acknowledges a hobby/love!)What If I Took This Class?
(what if I started doing Tarot readings in Jackson??)Oh, And I’m Teaching This Class.
(let’s write together!)YES for 2025.
(also this. I’m just not ready to recommit to change right now. I’m still working on so much change I committed to about six months ago. but also lolz this.)Bought This Book Sight-Unseen, Because It’s By A Friend-Of-A-Friend And That Support/Energy Is What I’m About These Days.
(I wanna read SO MUCH MORE in 2025.)More Beautiful/Unconventional Tarot Art, Please.
(I will find an occasion to wear it.)This Has Historically Been Me.
(when I was making films, I ALWAYS tried to invite my therapist to my premieres… like, over and over… she always was so kind and was like, “this is so great for you.” years later, I found out that a friend who also saw this therapist had been given HER DIRECT PHONE NUMBER IN CASE SHE EVER NEEDED TO TEXT ANYTHING. okay, I get it, Corey… you don’t like me… I’ll just have to get another therapist to work through this.)
(I spent almost three weeks back home in Texas and honestly, it was so wonderful. there were too many great moments to count, but buying a copy of the New York Times that had my byline in it at my favorite bookshop in the world was… a perfect moment. so special.)
It’s 2025. Whoa. This year. Big goals that I don’t even wanna vocalize yet. I just wanna watch drag and dream-up all the friendship tattoos I wanna get. And in between, write write write. Thank you so much for being here, you beautiful being you.
xxo,
rachel.
YES to the tattoo!!! Last year I went through an impulsive tattoo phase, I think in part trying to reclaim my bodily autonomy after pregnancy/birth/complications. It felt good. One I had wanted for decades (so maybe not that impulsive), one was a total impulse. Love that Texas was your missing (but not missing) piece.