I used to have it and I still kinda want one. It was petite and sexy and tough. It hurt me, but I dug it...
In high school I pierced my labret. AND I'D DO IT AGAIN!!!
It was sophomore year maybe, so around 1996, and as per usual during the light hours of Saturday, hanging out with my friends. Doing girly things like re-applying makeup and trying on different thrift store clothes. Talking about which musician currently rotating on Alternative Nation we wish we could date. I may have mentioned to the girls I wanted a piercing or I just started poking at my lips, but this chick said "Let's pierce it - I can do it! I did my brothers' friends' girlfriend and it looked awesome," or some such. Up until that day, only 4 holes had been placed upon my body - 2 in each ear. But it was something I really wanted so I half-enthusiastically agreed. Plus, many of my friends had piercings even though we were no where close to 18. Although, this one tattoo shop in Lancaster didn't care how old you were, they kept the shop nasty dirty. At least I had the sense to keep it in-house and minimize the risk of infection... geez that sounds so naive now but I fucking believed it then. My main concern was how to hide the piercing from my parents, for at least a couple months, because by then it would be healed and they too could see the beauty. geez again...
Sitting on the floor, covered in clothes, make-up, magazines, tobacco leavings, etc. I prepared for the pain by feeling the thickness of my lip, in order to size up how quickly we could do it. I squeezed and contemplated while staring blankly at artwork we had drawn to help us fry*. My girlfriends gave a pep talk of how cool I was. That was sweet. So how did we perform such a delicate act? Apparently all you need is ice and a safety pin. And honestly, I think the ice cube was just something we saw on TV. oy vey, gives me the chills just thinking about it. We found a nice one just lying on the floor and prepped it by burning the ends with a lighter. Let's get.this.party.started.
Very scientifically, we figured where the middle of my lip was. And by scientific, I mean we eyeballed it. She numbed me using the melting ice, firmly grabbed the pin and gave it a go. I was surprised it broke through the skin quite easily. But I did flinch, so we stopped. Hmm - now I had a safety pin stuck halfway in my lip, which neither felt or looked great. I mustered up the courage and told her to finish the job. zoinks! It was finally free - I was pierced! I felt so connected to my generation, like I could do anything - go anywhere - be part of the scene!! I was ready to hitch a ride up to Seattle until I realized, I didn't have a flat-end piercing stud. Crap.
In all our, ehem, meticulous planning, I didn't realize you needed a special type of jewelry to keep yourself clean and safe. So the only thing we could do was stick a thin, regular cheapy cheap earring into the new throughway and hope it didn't scuff my gums too bad. In the moments following, it was the first time I felt the weighted reality of 'not having money.' I needed something I couldn't ask my parents for, yet had no source of income and no credit cards. I didn't know what to do...
I guess I hung out till Sunday, called my mom and begged her to let me spend the night at my girlfriends' house. I told her we had some major test on Monday and must devote our attention but honestly, I needed more time to figure out my debacle. My high school didn't care about the piercing - not sure what they'd say now - but I suffered all day with that darn pokey thing and still had no clue how to make this last. At 2:20pm I headed to where my mom always parked, kept my head down low, and opened to door to disaster.
She immediately saw it (I didn't know my lower lip had been red all day) and started panicking about what i'd done to my body. Note - why do parents always say that? On one hand I get the parental rationale of going to the worst outcome. "You're setting yourself up for regret," or "You've just squashed any chance of landing that high-paid executive job." Pfft - these are old-school thoughts. They said it to me then and when I got my tattoos. Just like business is changing and all types of people work high-profile jobs, I kept telling them it doesn't change who I am as a person.
After a few hours debate between the drive home and in house, I conceded to remove the piercing. I really didn't care my parents were frustrated, but what sealed it was no matter how what idea I came up with, the jewelry I needed wasn't in my future. And the metal stick poking into my gums was really messing with me so out it came. They didn't speak to me for a few days, which in hindsight was a shorter time than when I got my tattoos - that was a whole week of silence!!
There was never an infection and everything healed quickly. The only physical evidence I still have, albeit fading, is a little blue dot. I don't know why it was blue, but I'm sure it had something to do with the CHEAPY METAL and lighter fluid. My body has migrated it slightly to the right. That or we really did miss the mark... who knows. I still check it out sometimes and reflect upon the whole story just outlaid before you.
What I miss most is what it represented. I made a decision that had consequences, but I had done something just for me. A first attempt to solidify my teenage self in the 90s. I didn't realize it then but I never spent anytime understanding who I was. I was this surface humanoid going through the motions of breathing and laughing and learning, but my guts were blank. This has been something I still struggle with today, just not as often. Thank you little blue dot.
* frying is what you do on Acid. I felt it important to include, not to brag, but because much of my 90s (and probably the same to many other wonderful people) revolved around messy bedrooms and this very unique state. It was my youth and my 90s and it's important.
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