Just as much as people have upset me, I'm probably equally upsetting to some. I know I should be more open to new friendships and new relationships in general, but as much as I hate sounding cliche, it's really hard to open up when you've had enough with your family. I've definitely written about this before, and the fact that I'm sitting here about to repeat myself says a lot on its own. Since I'm studying for a Biology exam, I might as well: If we're programmed to receive genetic information from both our parents, then we're also programmed to lay our deepest faith in them. And beyond my parents, I dutifully trusted everyone else I considered family too. But when trust doesn't quite work in the way you expect, you don't really have a choice but to, at the very least, attempt to move on, do you?

But you see, move on where? Friendships? Romantic relationships? Well, what if I want to fuck them all, because deep inside I know better than any shrink out there that for me, trust is going to be extremely difficult for years to come. The slightest hint of betrayal and dishonesty sets me off, and I get angry without even understanding why I am. I try to be as rational as possible and do the most logical thing someone in my position should do -- seek relationships that can restore some hope, but I feel like I'm just bashed every time I try. As a result, I brush off questionable gestures that guys make, I mostly don't bother with girls, and friendships are a true rarity that I'm not sure if I'll ever really have. I mean, really have. (I'm about to apply to a women's college, so either I'm going to hit the jackpot or I'm really fucked.) I know I'm isolating myself in the process, but what am I supposed to say? I already feel like I'm walking on thin ice, so if it ever breaks again, then who's to say whether I'll be able to get a hold of myself? I'll spin out of control, and who knows where that'll take me (I say this in a bad way)? Everywhere I turn, someone's talking about friendship this, friendship that, play Halo 3 with your closest buds, but I'm just trolling along not believing what I hear.

Some people become mighty strong after they've been lashed to near death, and some people become the most fragile things, like that fucking rose from Beauty and the Beast. I desperately wished that I belonged to the former, but time has told otherwise.

And it really isn't my intention to make my entries sound so effing depressing.

So today, I had some friction with my "previous" tattoo moron (I don't dare call him an artist). I dropped by for a visit because I wasn't satisfied with the retouch, and he went on this rant about how I don't really understand that perfection can't be achieved, when I don't recall at all using or even mentioning the term "perfection." It really sucks to talk to people who are like brick walls, so I just walked out of there and will not be going back. This is exactly why I wanted to go to a reputable place for a tattoo, just in case shit like this might transpire, and shit did in fact happen. Lesson learned, and I'll never forget it.

Honestly, I think he misunderstood. When he came in to meet me, he had this freakish grin on his face like, "Girl, I knew you'd come back to flirt with me." Then when I started to seriously explain why I wasn't very pleased, his smile quickly evaporated. What did he think I was there to do? Seduce him because I'm desperate to bone a complete moron who's close to his forties? I'm just coming back from reading a featured weblog about nice guys, so today's just full of contrasts.

But I don't blame him altogether. Something about me apparently screams, "I like you, baby," because I've misled a number of guys in the past. These dicks (pun intended) would approach with cheeky lines and accuse me of crushing on them. I think this is part of the reason why I'm generally more attracted to girls; I'm really burned by genuine assholes (oxymoron?). Nice guys don't exist around me, and if they ever did, they were up and gone without a bare trace.

So I could go back to that forsaken tattoo shop and have a perverted moron tell me what to think over a fucking tattoo, or I could pay way more money and go to a place that's willing to respect the soul and life behind my tattoo. I regret letting go of my initial conviction. I paid my price for doing that, and now it's time to fix the madness on my arm. Honestly, my tattoo isn't as horrendous as what it may sound like. I guess to some degree I am asking for perfection, but here's the deal: If I'm not perfect as a human being, then I need something that'll at least remind me, that perfection is a worthy goal.