Today, a friend of mine had a visitor at school. This visitor previously went to our school and her and I have not gotten a long since about the sixth grade. It wasn't ever an 'I-hate-you' thing, more of a 'who-cares' type of thing.

She visited about three weeks ago, as well. Three weeks ago, I was forced to move out of every seat I had and completely ignored. I had to sit by the boys in math, in the front in government, was left by myself at school over lunch hour, and left completely alone during animations. Today, I thought it could be different. I put forth a little effort to be nice to the girl and what did I get in return? I was forced to move in writing, ignored in English, left alone again over lunch hour, and was forced to move across the room during art.

Yes, I am jealous. I want some attention. I spent the entire day hanging out with myself. During art I had the grace of two of my guy friends, Jake (who I've mentioned before for being an awesome friend) and Alex (a new friend I've made this semester). Another of my guy friends decided he was going to be the world's biggest JERK during art, which is what forced me to move in the first place. He thought he was SO cool being mean to me. The rest of the day he wouldn't even look at me. Every other day we're like best friends, though. Some friend. Some friend they all are. Jake and Alex have got my side, but what about the others that are supposedly my "best friends"? What is that? That is the art of high school, ladies and gentleman. And high school is a cold place for people who don't like to make conversation with themselves.

But, seriously, that is crap that they ALL ignored me. Austin, the jerk in art, then thought it would be funny to call me a bitch and proceed to spit his gum out on my truck. Oho, he is hilarious. And two-faced. And so completely in my bad books right now. He was very rude today. Even moreso than what he usually is.

Anywho, enough of this 'oh-woe-is-me' stuff and onto the good stuff. I got a call from my sister the other day saying that my aunt was going to visit her. She then asked if I would come with, because she'd found a guy to do our tattoos for a cheap price. Lo and behold, this guy is a friend of my mother's and he hasn't seen me in sixteen years. He was quite surprised when Shilo told him that I was all ready eighteen. How time flies. She also told me this guy is one of the best in the city so I shall put my trust in a family friend for the occasion. Anything for my sister.

Except Japanese. She wants "Sister, Friend" written in Japanese. I, however, do not. Larry may be a great guy and a marvelous tattoo artist, but I will not let that man put a Japanese symbol on my body. I couldn't bare going to Japan and a person seeing it and laughing over how it says 'dead cat' instead of 'Sister, Friend'. I want to convince Shilo to instead do a heart with a rose stabbed through it with 'My sister, my friend' written on the face of the heart in ENGLISH. And I think it would be better, since the rose was our mother's favorite flower and the heart would show that we're close family. I'll try to persuade her, because I just don't think doing a Japanese symbol would be intelligent. And, despite them looking cool, I don't think I would like seeing that scrawled on my leg forever.

And I still can't believe I'm getting a tattoo this weekend! It is so cool! I love tattoos and they are one thing I can never get enough of. Piercings can reach a sickening level, but a person's whole body could be tattooed and I would love it.

So, my sister and I have been talking about getting matching tattoos for the LONGEST time. My sister has wanted in Japanese 'my sister, my friend'. I have not. I do not trust Japanese characters and I never had in my head that I would put Japanese writing on my body and SO many people have Japanese characters. And they're wrong.

Well, today my sister took me to a tattoo parlor and we finally got our tattoos. In Japanese. Hers says 'Big Sister' and she put it on her right forearm and mine says 'Little Sister' on my right leg (and they're right. My friend's aunt reads Japanese and gave the ok, haha.). I watched her gets hers and she looked bored. Larry, the artist, may as well have been drawing on her with a marker for all the emotion on my sister's face.

So I slip onto the chair and I'm extremely nervous about it. Two of the other artists came in to have a gander as he was putting the outline on and it made me feel like a baby. When they walked in I was all ready holding my sister's hand and half hyperventilating. I'm really shit for pain. And, at first, it felt like he was carving the skin right off my leg and then it was kind of like angry bees and then it dulled away to a light scratch. When he switched colors, he was drawing on raw skin so it hurt really bad for the first two strokes and then it numbed.

But it was cool and I'm really happy with the end product, even though I didn't want the Japanese to begin with. Larry's a cool guy. He was a friend of my sister's from back in the day so he entertained me with some stories about my mom. She taught him well, apparently. My mom shot her ex-husband in the back of the head, because he abused her and she told Larry, "I shot the motherfucker in the head and I sure as hell didn't kill him, but I fucking wish I had." It taught Larry a lot about marriage. And he still isn't married, but he's got three kids and is committed to their mother. He also was ranting about my brother, who is the biggest idiot in the world. I haven't even talked to him in years and years. Larry said that Ty went behind his back to another tattoo artist to get something done and it made him really angry and the fact that Ty won't take care of his kids and cares more about drugs than them really makes Larry angry.

We were there for about two hours just talking to him and getting the work done. My nephew got his lip pierced, too, which was cool for me to watch. He looked a little bored with that. He bled a lot more than what I did, though. I just had a little dot, but his was bleeding pretty good. He wants more stuff done now, which I don't blame him for. I want my eyebrow double pierced now and got the urge right after I got my snakebites.

Right now I'm facing my bookshelf. Last summer I cleaned it out and threw out all of the books I was never going to read (this included the ENTIRE Babysitter's Club). As I look at it now, I see multiple notebooks from as far back as the first grade and at least 50 magazines dating back to about five years ago.

If you look around our house you will see PILES of books that no one will read again (my dad only will ever read a book once), movies that haven't been touched in over ten years, and papers no one can figure out why we have them. My dad actually brought me a newspaper article dated from 1989 that had no apparent use. Why did he keep it? Because he never felt the need to throw it away.

It's said that baby boomers feel the need collect things or keep things no longer needed, because that was instilled in them from childhood. My dad had a meager childhood and had the basics. I'm not entirely sure if other boomers are like this, but my dad definitely likes to keep things that have no meaning. We have a clown lamp on top of a shelf full of meaningless things that we have never used. None of us even like clowns. Why did he buy it? It was there. Although I am now contemplating the usage of that lamp in a children's room further down the road. If my sister has another child I may pawn it off on her, but her boys would probably break it, the little rough housers that they are.

It's also said that people who experience traumatic events will collect things to help remind them of that particular time period. At age 14, I was taken from my family and put through a series of foster homes. I suffered from severe depression and suicidal tendencies, which I kept to myself and to this day the majority of my family (including my dad and brother) know nothing about this. But at this same age I started keeping magazines, letters, cards, notebooks, loose sheets of paper, bits and pieces of cloth, labels, empty containers, and binders because I couldn't bear to part with them. Every time I put a magazine on my shelf to be with the rest of them I just tell myself I may some day need them. There may be a hairstyle or an article I want to look at for future reference. Do I ever look at them? No. Do I ever go through the notebooks from freshman year? No. Do I ever read the letters or look at the cards? Of course not! But right now I have every shelf and drawer in my room filled with the things that have absolutely no meaning to me. It's ridiculous.

But as I look at them and think about throwing them out, I get a tug in the back of my mind. What if I throw them away and then I do need them? What if I really want to look at that article? What if I really will fit in those jeans I had when I was 14 (and we all know this isn't happening)? What if I decide to wear the ponytail I got from my mom's stuff? What if I want to look back at the pictures I acquired when I was fourteen?

But I won't. And I know I won't. I will never need them or use them again. Ever. I'm just collecting and hoarding and cramping space I could be using for the collection of Harry Potter and Twilight books I seem to keep getting. I'll need room for the notebooks I'm using at this moment. And, currently, my Bible has no home. It just sits on top of a thing of notebooks. I don't like this. I don't like my mess. I hate having my CDs by my bed so I trip over them every morning. I hate looking at the stacks of magazines and the journal I had when I was eight. Who cares who sucked when I was eight years old? Who cares which boy was soooo hot? Nobody. I sure don't care that Jeff Miiller and I played tag at recess together. Not important. And neither is the fact that Simple Plan signed a plate backstage at a concert for Tiger Beat. While I love Simple Plan and the countless posters I have of them are my dedication to that, I can't keep the magazines just because the band happens to be in them.

The first step to getting over anything is to admit there is a problem and I admit there's a problem. I have too many useless things. Too many letters, empty lipstick and chapstick tubes, earrings, broken necklaces, and too many old notebooks and magazines. And I have to throw them away. It's going to be hard, but... I'm going to do this.

And it seems like this project is just one more to elongate my procrastination when it comes to my writing. I am amazing when it comes to procrastinating. I should be a crowned champion. But, then, where would I put my crown?

Jealousy.

Silly teenage drivel. I've been jealous before. Of friends, family members, boys, whatever. It wasn't like this, though. It's over a boy, which is just so silly of me, but I can't help it. I've never been jealous like this.

Freshman year, age 15, was the first time I was in love. The guy was great. Funny, attractive, very smart, he liked to talk about books and drawings and tattoos and music. He was one of the sweetest and nicest people I've met to this day and I still break out in giggles and smiles when I think about him or when I see him. Him being a genuinely great guy has never gone away from my thought process, because he's still my friend. At the time I was falling for him he had a girlfriend. Sure, I was jealous, but I tried to be friends with his girlfriend. I talked to her and went out of my way to be kind. There were times, of course, when being a teenager wholly took over and I made some situations worse than they should have been. I think back on that now and I cringe. No wonder she rejected my advances at being friends. But I wasn't even jealous of her as much as I am of this new girl with this new boy.

I've been friends with Austin since I was six years old. Almost 13 years. In eighth grade we got pretty close after a disasterous situation with my family life. He was one of the only people to treat me like I didn't have a disease and he was there for me. I left that year and came back sophomore year and was welcomed with open arms by him and a few of the other guys. I'm just now getting into good graces with the girls (this is two years after I've returned to my hometown). He even told me that I was one of his best friends and that he cared about me a lot. The next day he followed this up by pushing me into a wall. I love boys and their insecurities. I've been pushed into so many lockers, walls, and people that I've lost count. In almost 13 years, I have never liked him as anything other than a friend. He's always been just there. Someone to fall back on and complain to when people were being stupid.

Last year on the night of prom, we were walking in the hall together and he was teasing me about something or other. We were laughing and having a good time, he even pushed me into a wall. It was just like any other time and any other day. Except as soon as he pushed me when we walked back into the gym, something changed. It was small, but it felt huge. I was laughing after I regained my footing and looked over at him. He was more than just Austin at that moment.

I've liked him for an entire year. I haven't had any problems with the feelings. I keep them to myself. There's no need to air them when I'm moving to Oregon this fall. It would only complicate things. But in January it came out that this girl who used to go to school with us still has feelings for him. This girl is beyond gorgeous and she's thin and she's funny and confident and could care less what people think. I didn't do anything at first. I even encouraged him to talk to her. Then a friend of this girl's asked him to prom for her. I was bitter, to say the least, especially since he was asked to prom by this girl on the same day I was going to ask him to prom. Talk about bad timing.

Then the girl came back for a visit. Suddenly, I didn't exist. Austin looked right through me for the whole day. Even in art, where he sit next to each other, I wasn't there. I wasn't his friend. There were no laughs or jokes or smiles. There was no playful teasing like usual. I was stonewalled. So I left to go sit by Alex on the opposite side of the room. Alex and I were shortly joined by Jake, who I have rattled on about before, because he's just the bestest friend ever.

Austin and I didn't talk for a week after this. I didn't think it had bothered him (actually didn't even think he'd noticed), but on the day we started to talk again I asked him for gum.

Austin: Do you have conversation?
Me: If you have gum.
Austin: *takes gum out* You have to talk to me, then.

Well, last night was prom. I went with some random kid I'd never met. I didn't even see him after grand march. Austin went with this other girl. She was by him the whole night. And he kept as far away from me as humanly possible. If he could have danced on the other side of town he probably would have, but the gym is only so big. I went to sit beside him and his date at the end of the dance and as soon as I sat down and said hello to the girl, he grabbed her hand and left. I stared at the wall for the next ten minutes, absolutely seething. I was joined by my friends Tyler and Jake and their girlfriends. I was the only solo person there. I'd never felt more alone. I continued to stare at the wall until the song ended and the DJ said it was time to go.

High school, right? Only 46 more days to go and then I don't have to worry about being invisible to him as long as she's around. It won't ever matter again. But that's 46 days I have to finally grow a backbone and tell him that he's got to quit treating me like something he can toss away when she's around. I'm supposed to be his friend. I don't like this whole 'being ignored' thing. Especially by a friend. If we're friends, we're friends ALL the time, not just when certain people aren't around. That's so uncool.