First of all, let me tell you that had this entry been written 18 hours hours ago, it'd be a different story. My emotions were heated, and now I have had a day to think rationally about this weekend.

I'm still upset. Pissed. Shaking my head at the way I've been treated lately. I'm stressed, lonely and tired of my redundant life. This weekend made me realize that things definitely need to change before tomorrow.

First, the back story. I've been friends with G and B for six years. It's only been in the last three years that our friendship has been shaky at all times, where one comment, intentional or not, will set one of us at another's throat. It was at its lowest my senior year. We went without speaking in the weeks leading up to my birthday.

Of the three of us, I'm the butt of the jokes. Sometimes it's a stupid thing I've done-that they've done a thousand times before-but isn't funny unless I do it. Other times, it's berating me about a girl I've either asked out and have been turned down by, or showed an interest in, only to have them ask out the *same* girl in an act that is likely out of spite for something I've done in the past.

Now, this weekend. They drove the thirty or so miles from Salt Lake up to Ogden to meet me after school to hang out. The day was typical, we went to eat at Wendy's, and saw a table of three girls sitting at a table. One caught my eye right away. She was like the girls I was attracted to in high school. I was facing them, saw them looking over, and watched as the most attractive of the three sat next to B. Though she sounded young and insecure, I enjoyed talking to her, and her company, and she appeared to enjoy ours. Long story short, they did their best to make me look like a jackass in front of her, and it worked. She left without speaking directly to me.

That night, we went egging for the sixth straight weekend, an activity that I found childish at ten, but hey, what can you do in Salt Lake? After nearly getting us arrested by drag racing State Street, and egging the wrong side of town, I was dropped off, and I was able to drift to sleep at 2 a.m.

Last night, was the blow up. The proverbial straw that broke the camel's back. Tonight wasn't egging, it was paintballing. And it wasn't racing down State Street, but arguing, arguing, arguing. I was forced to buy the CO2 canisters for the paintball gun (they're only seventeen), paying 3.49 of my own money when I only had 7.00 until my next check. They reinbursed me two dollars, leaving me out 1.50 when I had no intention of paintballing. Plus, B will keep the remaining canisters for only $1.00.

After persuading them out of shooting cats (those bastards) we drove back from the east side of town to answer a girl who asked B to a dance. Another uniquely Utahish thing is coming up with creative ways to answer or ask a girl to a dance. Usually lt involves leaving something cute on their porch with instructions on how to find out who is asking. Hey, I'm fine with it. If I had to ask in person, I doubt I'd ever go.

B's plan was to toilet paper her tree (do they ever think of anything a fourth grader wouldn't love?) and place a slice of pie on her porch with a note. Our problem was that there were lights on in the house, a barking dog in a gate across from her house, and two black dogs that had wandered the street.

"We'll wait until 1:30. If the lights don't go off by then, we'll leave." B said. Fine by me. It was 1:00 just thirty minutes, and I can sleep. But 1:30 came and passed. It was cold. They insisted they were hot. They both rolled down their windows as well as mine, and I sat there shivering in a t-shirt and shorts. How could they be hot? There was nothing hot about the car!

I was getting irritated. From the cold, the hunger, the fact that I had to wake up in 2 1/2 hours and they knew it. So after a few of G's off hand comments, (including but not limited to the girls I've dated and the music I like) I had had enough, and said "fuck you." "What's your problem?" was their response. It escalated from there. He told me that he should kick me out and make me walk home, as well as telling me I was useless. I sat in the car as they toilet papered, and went right to sleep as they dropped me off at 2 a.m. ready to scream, punch a wall, and get revenge.

The first thing that made me feel better was walking in my room. I looked up at the walls at the yearbook messages my friends had written to me and that I had taped to my wall over the years. "Did you know that I've always looked up to you?" read one. "I hope you don't mind me coming out and saying it, but I love you" read another. I just walked around my room and looked up at the walls. So many people do care for me, and are concerned about me, and keeping me safe, and helping myself to feel good about myself. It's nice to know that even after everything that went on this weekend, I can return home to inspiration and comfort, look around and know that people love me.

Jas

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