Cultural Fable

Here is my favorite short story; it's by Brian Andreas -

"Cultural Fable"-
Once upon a time there was a pig who spoke eight languages & did sculpture with pieces of wood & rusted metal he found on his travels. One day he was out in the woods working on a new installation piece & he met a family from a small town in Tennessee. They had been walking for days. The dad saw the pig & said what are you doing, little piggie? They were all quite surprised when the pig said working with counterbalanced forces using found objects. They all stood around & looked at the piece for a long time. No one said anything. Finally, the dad shrugged & turned to the mom & said I don't know much about art but I know what I like & then they killed the pig & ate him.

Personally, I don't really like pork all that much, but I would have eaten this pig anyway.

"Tight with the Holy Spirit"

I am weird and apparently have some hidden religious fanaticism in me. One of my Environmental Law classmates and I were emailing about the upcoming exam, and at the end of his email he wrote something like "Send some prayers my way when the exam comes around." Completely normal. I respond to his email thinking that I am being equally as normal...then a couple days later I am going through my sent mail and I see the email I wrote; it ended with "I'll send some prayers your way... I am tight with the Holy Spirit like you wouldn't believe (Ok, that's a lie, but my Grandma totally is)"

UM, WHAT? I guess I was trying to be funny, but A) that's not really funny at all (and you'd have to know my Grandma, which he does not) and B) THAT IS SO WEIRD... I AM SO WEIRD. And the craziest part is, I thought I was being completely normal when I wrote it. I wish I could say I was drunk or something, but nope, I am a just out there.

Come to think of it, the Holy Spirit is kinda the left out member of the Trinity. You hear people all the time thanking God and Jesus... you never hear an athlete thanking the Holy Spirit. If you're gonna single out members of the Trinity, at least give them equal time. Maybe my subconscious was just giving the Holy Spirit his due. Or more likely, I am just crazy...for which I'd like to thank Jesus.

Cursed

Yes, I do realize that this is the third day in a row I have posted, which officially makes me a huge loser, but this is what staying at my parents' house for a few days does to me. If I am at my computer it looks like I am doing homework and no one bothers me... at least for a few minutes.

Anyway, I think I am cursed when it comes to rooting for sports teams. I know that every Philadelphia sports fan in the world feels the same way, but I am convinced that I have an extra-bad case. Seriously, if you really want a team to win, invite me over and convince me that I should root for the other team. It's a sure-fire recipe for a W. The Eagles should just call it a season and forfeit the rest of the games to avoid having anyone else get hurt. The Sixers were good just long enough to get my hopes up, only to have them disappoint me once again. I know it is early in the season, and while I still think we might make the playoffs, it'd only be to lose in the first round once again... But even with teams that I don't really care that much about, if I root for them they lose. Football and basketball have been on our tv constantly since I got home, and I don't think a single team that I wanted to win actually has - trust me, that's a lot of losses. For example, last weekend I went to watch the Ohio State/Michigan game with a Michigan alum friend of mine. So in support of him, I was cheering for Michigan to defeat THE Ohio State Univeristy (what is the The all about anyway?), which of course meant a win for the Buckeyes. Sorry Dave, but hey at least our speculation over whether or not the OSU student body can actually count to 42 is over...

Maybe my brothers are right - girls shouldn't be watching sports anyway.

Good Luck, Coach

Tomorrow my little brother starts his coaching career at Burlington City High School. If you are from the area, you are probably laughing already - it's not exactly in the best of neighborhoods. I, however, am willing to provide you with a few more reasons to laugh when thinking of my dear, dear brother coaching basketball. Don't get me wrong, he's an awesome athlete and was torn between playing hoops or soccer in college before ultimately choosing soccer. As a certified physical education teacher, according to the books, he is more than qualified for the position. But, to those of us that know him well, this is going to be hysterical. My brother is smart but irresponsible. For example, he is a driver's ed. teacher but doesn't really obey too many traffic laws. This summer he got his ankle replaced with cadavor parts, so couldn't work soccer camps as he planned -- So instead of trying to get a desk job, he convinced my parents to get a plasma tv and digital cable and sat home all day watching movies from one of the thousand movie channels. He spent his entire savings at the bar with his friends, which he hobbled to on his crutches (and after a few drinks would start to play air guitar on them all too often.) Needless to say, this lifestyle didn't bode well for his athletic figure, and as my mom said, "no one is going to hire a fat gym teacher." Just last night, I had to take his whistle away from him at the bar before I left in fear that it would get him kicked out (as it has before) with no one there to drive his ass home.

Some reasons "Coach" is going to be amusing:

• His white-boy ghetto talk is only going to get worse.
• He is already practicing the head in the hand, head shaking "no" in disappointment thing.
  
• I have no idea how he will ever make a Saturday morning practice - I don't think he has seen a Saturday morning since he was in high school himself.
• His happy-hour routine with the teachers is going to have to take a back seat for a few months... or he'll have to start scheduling post-happy-hour practices
• None of his players are going to find his Caddyshack/Zoolander/Any number of drunk college kid movies sense of humor very funny.
• They also won't find his die-hard-can't-lose-ever-even-if-it-means-giving-up-your-first-born, attitude very funny either.
• The kid loves his whistle waaay too much (power trip, maybe?)
  

Softball

This weekend my law school slow-pitch softball team lost in the championship game. Heartbreaking? Eh, not really. I was much more upset that I had to miss the Sixers game so my team would have enough girls to play. The Sixers beat the Heat (minus Shaq). Kyle Korver (my future husband) scored 22 points off the bench. I play catcher for my softball team. For those of you unfamiliar with slow-pitch softball, this position belongs to the worst person on the team. I caught a few foul balls and got on base once or twice on overthrown balls...a true "contributor" to my team's successes. So I'm no Kyle Korver - OK, not even a Shavlick Randolph, but that's not stopping me from getting a "RU Legal - 2006 Rutgers Law Softball Runners Up" tattoo on my other side of my rib cage with the corresponding scales of justice. (Yes, RU Legal is the very mature name of my softball team).

In completely unrelated news - the girl in front of me at the convenience store just bought rolling papers, three bars of chocolate and condoms... I am not kidding. Seems like she has a much more interesting night planned than my night of Environmental Law reading and T.V.

Happy Halloween

I have already gone out twice for Halloween - once as Cyndi Lauper and once as a speed skater, both were funny, neither were very attractive. I saw a lot of girls dressed as whores for Halloween though. Of course they said they were Victoria's Secret Angels, nurses, police officers, etc... but really they were being strippers. I live in a really gay neighborhood and gay guys LOVE Halloween. All of the costumes so far have been way over the top and most of them extremely inappropriate. I guess straight girls and gay guys have something in common - they like dressing like sluts for Halloween.

Tomorrow is a Holy Day of Obligation - All Saint's Day. I should go to church just for all the sins I have witnessed this past weekend, let alone the ones I committed myself. I probably won't go though... I'm actually hoping that one of my friends "kidnaps me and forces me to drink excessive amount of alcohol" so that at least I'll have an excuse.

By the way, does hell have a VIP section?

Marge Theretard

So my brothers are totally justified in calling me Marge Theretard. Don't get me wrong, I'm actually a pretty intelligent person - I've always done well in school and on standardized tests. Dude, I was even runner-up in my elementary school's geography bee (let's not talk about the fact that I lost to a kid 2 years younger than me, ok?). But I also do really stupid things pretty often. For example just tonight when I was making dinner I got a fork stuck in the garbage disposal and it took me a good 30 or 40 seconds to figure out how to turn it off when I just turned it on and I have used it hundreds of times before. I can talk for hours about Middle Eastern politics, but I confuse Ice Cube and LL Cool J. I knew that Dave Henderson played for the San Francisco Giants for a season, but when playing a sports trivia game with my brothers, I was forced to be steady card reader after not knowing what "south paw" meant. I am the girl who would get a 100% on a Calculus test and then forget the combination to my locker. Most of the time my stupidity is innocent enough. On occassion, however, it rises to the level of being self-destructive... like getting wasted the weekend after getting out of the hosptial or hooking up with a guy with a live-in girlfriend. But in the end, the big things are few and far between and the small ones, well, they are funny and keep me human. So feel free to make fun, being able to take a joke is one of those things you learn when you have 4 brothers.

Mental Telepathy

If you know me at all, you know I enjoy a good challenge - I used to be satisfied with a mean game of Trivial Pursuit or The New York Times crossword puzzle, but as a single girl, "challenge" has taken on a whole new meaning. Never backing down from a dare, I have given out my screenname to potential suitors instead of my phone number (and a few not so smooth guys actually IMed me...). I have also played that game in the bar, where a friend picks out a guy and I have to get him to come talk to me without leaving my chair. I have conquered bar flirting - the challenge is gone. (OK, I know that sounds arrogant, but guys are easy. End of story). My roommate and I always talk about mental telepathy as a form of flirting - I call it the double black diamond of flirting, difficult to master and probably not even worth trying. But never backing down from a challenge, I decided to give it a try with a guy I see every day in the law library. I think it was really working, we progressed from no contact whatsoever to a nod in passing in the hallway to a quick smile from across the library. But then the weather got cold, and my mental telepathy experiment traded his cute flip flops in for WHITE SNEAKERS! Have I been sending out bad vibes? (I guess we'll know if he comes in tomorrow with a T.O. jersey and a visor...) So I guess the world will have to wait to see if I can handle the double black diamond because if mental telepathy really does work, this kid thinks I am a huge bitch.

Law School Goggles

My roommate's friend recently accused her of having law school goggles. She could have just as easily been talking to me. Maybe I have "I had a boyfriend for 5 years" goggles too; those in combination with the law school goggles, woah - I am talking the worst kind of tequila/jager/beer goggles ever. Not that all the law dawgs are ugly; there are a handful of good-looking ones. It's more just that most of them are not normal. But then again, since when is being normal all that much fun anyway?

In the last few months, I have met a bunch of law school and non- law school guys, 99.9% of them I immediately discount, and not just based on looks, I swear. For example, a couple of friends introduced me to this one guy - my impression "He's too nice. Poor kid, I'd ruin him". And about another "I have enough personality for three of him." And another "He'd never know what to do with me". Clearly, I am not so normal either.

Some of my friends think there is something wrong with me - that I am way too picky. There is probably some truth to that, in the past year or so I've met a really hot guy, a really smart one, a really rich one, a really funny one, a really athletic one, a really nice one... and so the list goes on, but I haven't met a really great one. A newer friend of mine recently told me that I'd be better off going for what's reasonable but still a good option - he obviously doesn't know me very well. I've had good and I've had reasonable, and I know that's never going to be good enough, not for me. You'll probably see me at the bars this weekend, laughing at some futile attempts to get my number/get me naked, etc... even though I am fairly certain that's not where I am going to find great. But hey, I'm young and with any luck great will find me.

Welcome to Africa

You know that dream where you go to school/work with no clothes on? One of my friends just called to tell me that she keeps having that dream over and over again. I've had it a few times and am convinced it prepared me for the real life equivalent. When I was living in Ghana, my host-father asked if I wanted to go to visit his mother in a remote part of the country with him. Considering the alternative was to hang out with the rest of his non-English speaking family, I obliged. It took us a little over 6 hours to travel the 100 miles to his mother's village. Her home was a traditional compound, an open courtyard between a few mud hut rooms and a primitive kitchen with no running water or electricity.

Within a few minutes of our arrival, I realized we were not just there to visit his mother but rather to attend the funeral of an old friend. I had no choice but to follow along. I was wearing a bright pink polo, a jean skirt, and flip flops which would not be appropriate for a funeral in America, let alone in Ghana where there is a specific traditional cloth for funerals. One of my host father's sisters, without speaking any English, tried to convince me I should borrow one of her dresses. Imagine my pale ass trying on this black and white tribal printed dress (it even came with a head wrap thing, which I refused to even try on). I obviously looked ridiculous, but might have been willing to just bite the bullet and wear the dress had it not been 5 sizes too big for me. This poor woman spent a good half hour trying to pin and tie the dress tighter but to no avail; despite my rather sizeable ass, I am scrawny compared to most Ghanaian women.

So off to the funeral I went in my pink polo and jean skirt. Funerals in Ghana are held outside usually in a blocked off street or courtyard. They are a huge deal - this one had around 200 people present. The extended family of the deceased sits in a large semi circle; upon arrival each group goes and shakes the hands of those sitting - around 50 at this one. After you shake their hands and express your condolences, you sit down, and each of those people gets up and comes to shake your hand, thanking you for coming. So here I am, white as can be in my pink polo, in a sea of dark dark Africans in what look like black and white togas. I can't speak the local language yet have to go shake all these people's hands. What I didn't know before hand was that more than half of the people at the funeral had never even met a white person before, ever. The one word of their language I did know was "Obruni" which means white person (literally it means Sunday - they equate white people with Christianity). People were pretty much shouting it at me - not at all in a mean way, just completely fascinated. The older people at the funeral would shake my hand for minutes laughing and talking to each other about me... no clue what they were saying.

I go through the whole line and finally get to sit down. Then I notice my following. No joke about 25 kids were surrounding me, following me everywhere I went. Some were running off shouting "obruni! obruni!" to get their friends to come out and see the white girl. As I sat there, some kids would sneak up and touch my skin or my hair - to see if it felt different, to check if I was real, who knows really. Most of them just stared at me watching my every move, in a way a marine biologist would analyze the behavior of a new species of sea turtle or something. Every once in a while a grown up would come shoo the kids away, but they would just come back within minutes in a larger quantities. After what felt like eternity but was likely only an hour or so, we finally got up to leave. The kids followed me to the car - touching me the whole way. As we drove off they were literally chasing after us- shouting "obruni!"; my host father who hadn’t said a word to me all day just laughed and said "Welcome to Africa.”

Deal Breakers

I generally refuse to hook up with guys who have:
1. white sneakers
2. tribal arm band tattoos
3. nipple/tongue piercings
4. jerseys
5. dyed hair
6. waxed eyebrows
7. cigarettes
8. jewelry (other than a watch)
9. trashy accents
10. GIRLFRIENDS

Camden

My dad and I recently got into an argument about why I moved to Philly when I could have lived at the Victor, the old RCA building turned apartments right in Camden and only a few blocks from campus. In all fairness to the city for which the county I was born and raised in was named (and I am in the good company of the founder of Campbell's Soup and famous poet Walt Whitman), Camden wasn’t always such a shithole. Once upon a time, there were working class people who lived and worked there. Most of the blue collar jobs have since left for greener pastures, including RCA . So someone had a brilliant idea to turn the old factory into luxury lofts, after all they are right on the waterfront with a gorgeous view of the Philadelphia skyline. I think they got so caught up in the whole idea, they forgot one thing- we’re talking about Camden here. Luxury and Camden do not belong in the same sentence, ever. The plan was to sell them as condos at premium rates; an idea which inevitably failed, and now they rent the lofts to anyone dumb enough to pay $900+ a month to live in Camden, law students included (umm, no offense?). Well most of these kids are from out of state, so they probably didn’t really know any better (although I can think of one person who grew up only 8 miles or so from this oasis on the Delaware and certainly should have known better). The city is the most dangerous in America and according to Maxim magazine likely the grim reaper's favorite vacation spot. So Dad, the real question is what were you smoking when you thought this was a good idea? Hopefully something better than the shit they sell in Camden.

Bloody Mess

Nothing ever just goes smoothly for me, ever. I have been interviewing a few times a week for jobs for next summer (yes, it is absurd that we have to interview almost a year in advance). Friday I had an interview with a good firm in the area; definitely one of my top choices. I went out Thursday night (surprise, surprise) and must have cut my toe on something. So on the walk to the train and then to my interview my foot was killing me. I get to the waiting room, take off my shoe, and there is blood everywhere. Of course I have stockings on, actually bled right through them... and then proceeded to get blood all over my hands and on the top of my foot. Luckily, my interview was in the afternoon and they were running a little behind. I had just enough time to run to the bathroom and try and scrub the blood off of my stockings and my hands. Thank god they were running behind - what a great impression I would have made with blood all over my hands. The interview ended up going well despite my throbbing foot. One thing I learned from this experience - a lot of my problems have thier root at bars... almost all actually.

Cabbies

This afternoon I was late for a meeting at work, so I took a cab instead of the subway. My cab driver was much more animated than the typical Philly cabbie. After exchanging the typical formalities, he asked if I'd rather go to 36th and Market in Brooklyn rather than Philadelphia promising me he'd make it a fun trip. I assured him that University City was my preferred destination. He then said, "you seem like a very nice and educated young lady, so I'd like your advice", then asked, "how do you know when a marriage is over?" Desperately trying to hold back laughter, I explained how I am not even close to the right person to talk to about that, being 23 and not married. He said, "well you've never had a long-term relationship?" I, not really wanting to talk about any ex-boyfriends with a random stranger, tried to politely get out of the conversation by explaining that I am young and inexperienced, which only prompted a lecture about the dangers of marriage, especially one which produces children, the importance of good communication with loved ones, etc. When I finally got out of the cab, I gave the guy $10 and shouted "Good luck with your divorce!"

I actually have a pretty ridiculous history with cab drivers. In Baltimore, I had a cab driver smoke a bowl while driving my friends and I back from the bars and another go the wrong way down an exit ramp from the highway laughing hysterically at the horror we were experiencing in the back seat. In Africa, I had to take a cab to work everyday; all of the cab drivers in the city knew me by name (not really so strange considering I was the only white person in the city) and would fight over who got to drive me to work. Everyday whomever was driving me would propose to me explaining how badly they wanted a white wife. I usually tried to think of a witty response to the constant marriage proposals; usually I said something along the lines of, well you're the 100th person to ask, and I don't think I am going to go through that many husbands. But a few times when I wasn't in such a good mood, I said, "Oh really, you want a white wife? Me too. Too bad that's not legal here." Worked like a charm, so there are probably some crazy rumors among the Ashanti cabbies about this lesbian white girl, but hey, you gotta do what you gotta do, right?

Freckles

I am not the biggest fan of my freckles, but I guess it comes with the whole Irish thing. I think I am going tell my kids that freckles are marks that you get every time you disappoint Jesus. It'd be a good way to keep them from doing bad things, right? How crazy would that be if it really were true? I'd have waaay more freckles than I do. Just this past weekend alone, I'm sure I'd have gotten a couple dozen. I made fun of retards, disobeyed my parents, drank too much, and that is just barely scratching the surface of my indiscretions. I did have time between parties to run errands with my sister-in-law though; we made it to through an afternoon of shopping without her buying any pet accessories or kitchen gadgets, her two favorites. Seriously, Southern girls are another species... get married young, suddenly start acting like you are 20 years older than you really are, then have babies. Not to say that I am any better; the whole drink often, only have superficial relationships, act completely irresponsible most of the time thing could get old for some people - I am just not one of them.

Exes and Miss America

Today was quite possibly one of the weirdest days ever. My day started by me getting grilled in my land use class. It sucked, but fortunately I had done all of the reading. Then I get an email from my mom about a woman who sits behind her and my dad every Sunday in church. Yesterday they were talking to her about me and how I am in law school etc. She is a partner at a pretty big firm in the area, and tells my parents to have me get in touch with her about a summer job. My mom sends me the contact info, and I actually have an interview with the firm this Friday. I go to send her an email and figure it would be a good idea to tell her the name of the person interviewing me, so I sign into my law school account, and lo and behold, this woman is actually the one interviewing me. Good luck for me? Too good to be true...

Later in the day, I went to my mom's office to pick some stuff up and quickly see a doctor about my tonsils, where it was decided that they are indeed infected again and I have to start taking medicine once again. At least I'll be getting them out eventually; these ones are seriously defective... did the good luck really wear off so fast? On my way out of the hospital, I am chatting it up with this middle-aged woman who loves me and works at the front desk, and who walks up but Miss America. I swear. She even let the receptionist try her crown on and I took a picture of the two of them. She was nice and pretty, but skinny as hell. I wanted to buy her a Big Mac - there's even a McDonald's right in the hospital. (What cheers sick kids up better than a Happy Meal anyway?...well other than a visit from Miss America).

So after my little Miss America run-in, I get a phone call from my ex-boyfriend. For those of you who don't know about this comical situation, the last time we spoke was months ago, and it was anything but amicable. He called me a bitch who dressed like a snob; I laughed at his insecure new girlfriend (dubbed Fatty McSweatpants, and yes I know that is mean), told him dumping him was the best decision I ever made, and to have a nice life. Obviously, I was shocked to see he was calling. For some reason, I got this bad feeling like something was really wrong and actually answered the call. He said "Hi Meg, I know we haven't talked in a while, but I was just wondering if I could have my water filter back". We used to hike together often, and I do still have his water filter along with some other hiking equipment which he did not ask for back. I answered him mostly with one word responses, telling him I don't live at home but I could get it to him eventually and then hung up. I can't believe he called me to ask for a $50 water filter back. Quite possibly the most pathetic excuse to talk to someone ever, unless you value clean water above your dignity. If he was hoping for a real conversation, he was looking in the wrong place - snobby bitches don't do ex-boyfriends. The good ole you-have-my-water-filter trick? He honestly thought I would fall for that? What's next? The Trojan horse? I bet Miss America would fall for it though; too bad she's way too pretty for Mr. Water Filter

Irresponsible Is So Hot Right Now

Yesterday my roommate, some friends and I decided happy hour would be a good way to celebrate finishing the first two days of the school year and the fact that the morning after pill is now available over the counter (joking). Usually whenever drinking commences at 5, I'm in for a sloppy night. However, other than being unduly rude to one of my friends, from what I remember I was relatively under control - key phrase "from what I remember". I wake up to my roommate handing me her cell phone at 7am with my mom on the other end of it. Apparently I left my cell phone and my roommate left her wallet in the back of the cab. The cab driver was being nice in trying to find the owner and called "home" in my cell phone, waking my parents up in the middle of the night. The cab driver proceeded to tell my mom that we were really drunk. So my mom starts the day thinking her daughter is a lush, then goes to work where she finds out that I missed a meeting earlier in the week with HR for my part time job there and I overdrew from my bank account and am in need of cash immediately... clearly I am extremely responsible as well as a model daughter. The cabbie eventually drove to our building and dropped our stuff off leaving me with the parting words, "You are a beautiful girl. You shouldn't drink so much. You did not look nearly as beautiful last night." Good to know I am not such an attractive drunk - certainly one reason to take it easy on the booze. Tomorrow my mom is taking me to buy a new suit and some things I still need for my apartment (which she has to pay for because I have no money), so I am prepared to be lectured about balancing check books and the dangers of binge drinking allllll day. Sweet.

China

I’m talking about the plates, not the place. I hate it. (I have not yet been to the place, but I am thinking I wouldn't like it very much either). Seriously if I am ever First Lady I am going to pick Fiestaware as my “china” for the White House. What is the point of eating off of such expensive plates? My mom uses them maybe twice a year, Thanksgiving and Christmas, and the rest of the time a few of them are on display in the china closet and the rest are stacked away in these expensive little containers designed specifically for people like my mom who never use their damn china. When, well I guess I should say if, I get married, someone please slap me if I start talking about this china mumbo-jumbo. Just give me the $175 a place setting; I can borrow my mom’s china if the Queen ever comes to visit, otherwise the 50 cent Ikea shit’ll do just fine for me.

Things I Learned on Vacation:

1. South Jersey has a whole lot more white trash in the summertime.
2. I hate camoflauge/pink/any-color-other-than-Phillies'-colors Phillies hats
3. Sometimes you gotta just smile and take it - like when my sister-in-law bought my dog and hers best friend charms for their collars. (I've been getting good at this one since the bridesmaid's dresses)
4. I am perversely obsessed with watching those evangelists on TV - it's like a trainwreck. And honestly, how fascinating that with one touch someone can be cured of cancer of the breasts, lungs, and spine...
5. I am better at drawing with my eyes closed than with them open. (learned via a mean game of Cranium)
6. Certain medicines make you more sensitive to the sun, like say the one I am taking. I feel like everyone else in the world already knew this one...
7. Ocean kayaking is a lot harder than it looks, and I have the bruises to prove it.
8. I really should stop hooking up with Dave's friends.
9. When gambling, quit while you're ahead.. or at least stop drinking.
10. I despise squirrels. Despise.

Tattoo Taboo

Most of you probably know that I have a tattoo on my ribcage. My parents, however, are not privy to this information. In fact, you all would have gotten the chance to experience an Irish wake if my parents knew about my tattoo. So here's the dilemma, tomorrow I am going down the shore with my family for the week and only own two-piece bathing suits. I have been pretty sick of recent, and haven't had much time to shop. This afternoon I remembered the seriousness of the situation, and just went out bathing suit shopping. Well, for future reference, NEVER wait until mid-August to go bathing suit shopping. The choices blow, especially when you are already as limited as I am (i.e. must cover my ribcage and still not look like a grandma bathing suit). I joked that I was going to buy a one-piece with the U shaped back and a skirt, but have decided that 23 is about 20 years too soon for such a fashion statement. I did end up buying a bathing suit, it is a two-piece, with the top a little longer than a normal one, it covers the tattoo by mere millimeters, and it is hideous. Seriously, it is the ugliest bathing suit I have ever bought, but my options were severely restricted, and I am leaving tomorrow! So if I do see any of you down the shore, please try and refrain from making fun of my ugly ass bathing suit. Hopefully, I'll have time to get another one when I am down there, and hopefully my parents won't be wondering why I suddenly got so modest in my choice of swimwear...