Holey Nostrils, Batman!

Did I mention that I got my nose pierced, like, three weeks ago?

Well, I did. I’ve been wanting to since forever, and recently realized that my dad a) probably won’t care that much and b) probably won’t NOTICE and c) can’t ground me for it. So I decided to bite the bullet and just go for it.

(I didn’t actually bite any bullets. Because… who does that? Instead I called my friend Shilo and asked her to come with me.)

I should say here that I am not afraid of needles. Not even a little. Also, that I have multiple tattoos. Needles – and pain – are not big issues in my world.

Having said that: I WAS TERRIFIED.

I have no idea why.

I should also say that the big, burly guy at the House Of Tattoos and Piercing was super nice, and also very amused by my very obvious levels of fear and anxiety. Shilo, by the way, radiates calm and zen. I think he was kind of sad that he wasn’t piercing HER nose when he kept saying: “You WANT to do this, right? So what’s the big deal?”

Dude. The big deal is that you just put pliers IN MY NOSE.

For the record, getting my nose pierced wasn’t terribly painful. It was just weird. And trust me, my nose has been through some trauma, including the time my sister accidentally stuck a meat fork in my nose. (At least, she maintains it was an accident and since she definitely could have maimed me for life if she’d done it on purpose, I believe her.) Having someone hold onto your nostril with a pair of pliers? Weird. Having them stick a big needle through your nose and then let it hang out there for a few minutes? Totes weird.

(Shilo: Want me to take your picture so you can post it on Facebook and be like “I am SO BADASS”?

Me, studiously not looking at myself in the mirror: Um, that’s okay, thanks.)

Anyway. Big Dude took the needle out and put a hoop in, and then closed the hoop and then I paid him and then we were done. No big deal.

Except, of course, for the fact that I could not stop playing with the hoop.

It drove me CRAZY.

I was supposed to leave it in for five weeks, but at the end of week two, I began thinking about how much I wanted to take it out. The thought process sounded something like this:

DEAR LORD IN HEAVEN I HAVE GOT TO GET RID OF THIS HOOP AAAAGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.

So, yeah.

The problem, of course, was this: I didn’t know HOW to take the hoop out. It didn’t have a visible closure, didn’t appear to unscrew, and none of my efforts made any difference to the fact that there was a hoop in my nose. This, of course, meant I had to do what any self-respecting individual living in a technological age does when confronted with a problem: I googled it.

Google revealed some kind of horrifying facts to me.

Namely, that the hoop would have to be opened with pliers.

Once again, my nose and pliers would have to be in close proximity.

I got the pliers. I went and stood in front of the mirror. I considered. As I did so, I clearly heard my dad’s voice in my head. It said:

“If you’re old enough to have Big Dude put a needle through your nose, you’re old enough to use the pliers to take the hoop out.”

I gingerly inserted the closed end of the pliers through the hoop and opened them up verrrrry slowly, wincing the whole time with the realization that, even though needles don’t freak me out, apparently tools do.

I opened up the hoop. Mission accomplished. One open hoop.

Of course, now I would have to take it out of my nose.

I had not previously considered this.

Once upon a time, I had surgery and was required to have an IV. This, it turned out, was no big. However, when the IV was REMOVED, I nearly passed out. Watching it go in was cake. Watching the needle come out nearly made me hurl. It was … wrong. Creepy and wrong. But a nurse did it.

Taking the hoop out of my nose was kind of the same thing, only without the help of a nurse. I had to sit down for a minute. Why? I don’t know. It was just … icky. Icky in a way that I can’t describe and am trying hard not to think about even as I type. It was just plain wrong.

As I sat on the toilet with my head between my knees, trying not to pass out, I heard my dad’s voice again. Only this time all he said was: REALLY?

I stood up.

I looked at the hole in my nose. It wasn’t so bad. It was just a little hole. Nothing to freak out about. Certainly not worth all of this drama.

I popped in a stud. It nestled there, perfect. Happy. Just what I’d been aiming for when I started this business in the first place.

And thankfully, there will be no pliers needed in its removal.