One summer night, many years ago, a trucker mated with the son of a traveling salesman under a full moon in San Francisco, California. The result of this union was an early little girl who grew up with a lopsided smile and a sarcastic disposition. She spent most of her youth donning combat boots, a Catholic school uniform, and a bizarre sense of humor. As a young adult, she moved to Portland, Oregon and spent her first few years there in some sort of quarter-life crisis oblivion none of which is really worth recounting. One day she found herself on the doorstep of a tattoo parlor called Icon, the owner of which ended up hiring her on as his apprentice based solely on the fact that she carried a knife in her boot and pencil through her ear. She didn’t know it then, but it was to be a defining moment in her life. Because of all the professions she had tried on during her not considerably long life, this was the one that was to stick. She slept very little in the following years which will probably result in permanent madness or at least some sort of personality disorder, the doctors are still running tests, but it was all worth it because she became a licensed tattoo artist in 2009. She enjoys Golden Girls and embroidery as much as she does zombie flicks and motorcycles. She listens to Beyonce while she tattoos and Black Sabbath while she bakes cupcakes. She digs Dolly Parton and Danzig, Indigo Girls and Iron Maiden, Marc Cohn and Megadeth (you get the picture), but conducts most of her life while listening to Tom Waits. She specializes in neo-traditional style tattooing and “that’s what she said” jokes.
No hands or necks. Few exceptions.