I find it quite interesting that people think that I am lying about things in my blog, namely the drama with one of my teachers.

Give me one reason why I would lie about a teacher harassing me. That’s one of the stupidest things to lie about. I would get an innocent guy in trouble, and I myself would get in trouble. I have numerous blog entries entirely about having a lack of material to write. If I have something to write about, I write about it. I had a horrific tale of a creepy teacher, so I wrote about it. It’s up to you if you believe it or not, but your beliefs do not change the fact that it is true.

You know what else is “unbelievable”? The 9-11 attacks. The fact that billions of galaxies exist in the universe. The fact that the best singers always get voted off American Idol. But all of these things are true.

As for the fact that I dislike Taco Bell food and like stupid movies, that’s so unbelievable to some that it warranted a rude comment. So people like me are the reason you became a bounty hunter? Makes perfect sense. I’m a stupid naive teenager, and I am far worse than mass murderers and serial rapists. People center entire careers around making sure that people like me are captured and sent to jail.

You’re damn right I talk too much. I voice my opinions here around once a week and don’t apologize for doing so. Here’s a wake-up call: If I talk too much, then so does every other person on the internet. So why the sudden hate on me?

Don’t believe me? That’s fine. You can go crawl back into your little hole and enjoy a life of close-mindedness there. Call me when you stop being so quick to judge.

I often get into fights and arguments with people whom I don’t know. But these people are usually around the age of 12 and the arguments are usually about “who is better: Panic At The Disco or Led Zeppelin”.

So you’d think that getting into a huge argument with a 30-something middle school teacher over “who is at fault: me or you, dumbass” would be a nice change of pace.

But it’s not.

It all started a couple of months ago. I was walking along, minding my own business, when suddenly my phone started beeping. I looked at the screen - I had gotten a new email.

The email was from one of my teachers. It was asking me if I wanted to get involved in a project with some middle schoolers for extra credit. The project would be about natural disasters. I was a little “ehhh” about the topic, but the prospect of extra credit was too much. I wrote back “sure” and continued on my way.

For the next few weeks, I heard nothing about the project. The middle school teacher (let’s call him Mr. B) who was in charge of it was supposed to tell me when project meetings were, but I had heard nothing. I just assumed that it was taking a while to get going and forgot about the project altogether.

Then, a few days later, the teacher who recruited me for the project asked me if I had gone to the meeting that had just happened. I thought “say WHAT?” and asked “What meeting?”.

It then hit me: OH MY GOD There have been meetings going on and I knew nothing about them. Why? Because nobody had informed me about them.

I told this to the teacher and he said that he didn’t know either until a few minutes ago. So Mr. B had been keeping us both out of the loop, had he? Very interesting.

I was informed about the next meeting, so I went to it. I had apparently missed 4 weeks’ worth of work and was, to quote Mr. B, “falling behind”. I wanted to kick him, but opted instead to draw something obscene on a piece of paper and tape it to his back.

After that meeting, I was kept in the dark for about 4 weeks. Then I was finally told about a meeting, which I attended. I was told by Mr. B that I had “missed the past 4 meetings” and that I was “falling severely behind”.

I was in a state of disbelief. I was tempted to say something snarky, like “Well, excuse me, Pompous McBastard-Face, but it’s not my fault I’m falling behind. It’s your fault for being too much of a thickhead to tell me when to show up,” but alas I was in no position to do so. So I said “Whatever” and carried on.

When the meeting was over, I went outside and kicked over a trash can.

A week later, I awoke at 10 AM, my usual wake-up time for Fridays. My phone was beeping off the hook. I had missed a phone call. I checked it out - the phone number was unfamiliar to me. But the caller had left me a voicemail, so I listened.

To my absolute horror, it was Mr. B.

“Hello, Katie? This is Mr. B. I was wondering if you were going to actually come to the meeting today. It’s at the middle school, second floor, at 8 AM. If you’re not going to come, call me back. Know that you are falling severely behind and are on track to not earn credit for doing this. If you miss any more meetings then I don’t know what to tell you.”

At this point, I was thinking several things.

1. What the fuck is he doing, calling me that early? A meeting at 8 AM? Message left at 5 AM? I am not going to get that thing in time.

2. How come the one time he remembers to tell me when the meeting is, he does it ON THE DAY OF THE MEETING? I like to be prepared.

3. Even if I wanted to go to the meeting, how does he expect me to get there? He knows my family only has one car - I told him this. Obviously my family needs that car for work on a Friday morning, so… what does he want me to do?

4. I already know that I’m falling behind. It’s the only thing he’s ever said to me, the dipshit.

5. How the fuck did he get my cell phone number?

Just as I finished collecting my thoughts, the phone rang again. I looked at the number. It was him.

Me: “What do you want?”
Mr. B.: “Katie?”
Me: “Who else would it be?”
Mr. B.: “This is Mr. B.”
Me: “Does not compute.”
Mr. B.: “Mr. B., from the middle school.”
Me: “Oh. I’d ask what’s up but I don’t care.”
Mr. B.: “Anyway, are you coming to the meeting?”
Me: “Are you insane or just drunk? The meeting’s halfway over already. By the way, thanks for calling me at 5 AM. I’m totally going to be awake at that hour.”
Mr. B.: “So you’re not coming?”
Me: “Not even if you promised me free coffee.”
Mr. B.: “Well, just know that you are missing a lot of work and I’m disappointed in you.”
Me: “Not my problem.”
Mr. B.: “Yes it is, you are neglecting to do your work.”
Me: “No, you’re neglecting to inform me about the work.”
(silence)
Me: “Oh, come on, you set yourself up for that one.”
Mr. B.: “Shape up, young lady.”
Me: “Shape up, old man.”
Mr. B.: “Don’t get snarky with me.”
Me: “Don’t get stupid with me.”
Mr. B.: “Be at the next meeting.”
Me: “Are you going to tell me when it is now, or are you going to wait until 5 minutes before it starts?”
Mr. B.: “Goodbye, Katie.”
Me: “Goodbye, sir. Watch out for the door; if it’s as closed as your mind is, you’ll walk right into it.”

Satisfied with my quick wit and deadpan delivery, I hung up the phone and continued making my cereal.

But my phone rang again a few moments later. I didn’t pick up once I saw who it was (guess who), but I got a voicemail.

“You are out of line and I could get you in trouble this fast, you know that? I’m tired of you being irresponsible and rude.”

I called him back. Before he could even speak, I went off.

“You can get me in trouble? I don’t think so. This conversation is not taking place at school or during school hours. It’s not regulated by the school. So what are you going to do? Sue me for standing up for myself? Take me to court for pointing out your obvious flaws? Try again, buddy. It’s not my fault you’re neglecting to inform me about these things, and it’s therefore not my fault that you’re so upset. I’m placing all the blame on you, where it belongs. Don’t call me anymore unless it’s to say that I’m right, because I don’t want to have to stick my head any more up my ass in order to see your point of view.”

This morning (one day later), he called me again. I didn’t want to talk to him, but I knew that he would just keep calling, so I put on one of my fake accents and tried to confuse him.

Me: “Hello, dis Bob’s House of Chinese Chicken, for all you Chinese fast food needs. How I help?”
Mr. B.: “Hello, is Katie there?”
Me: “Hello? Bob’s House of Chinese Chicken. I can take you order?”
Mr. B.: “What? I’m trying to reach Katie.”
Me: “You want Chicken Char Siu? Chicken Char Siu only $24.99.”
Mr. B.: “No, I need to reach Katie! Do you know her?”
Me: “I know what you want. You want best deal on Chinese chicken in town. You come to right place!”
Mr. B.: “Sir, please put Katie on if she is there.”
Me: “You want make reservation? 24 hour in advance.”
Mr. B.: “IS KATIE THERE?”
Me (choking back laughter): “Today special is Charbroiled Chicken Ass, delicious ass of chicken only $32.89!”
Mr. B.: “SIR!”
Me: (uncontrollable laughter)
Mr. B.: “Fuck you.”

Wow. I know I was being immature, but really now. A middle school teacher swearing at a high school student on a weekend over the phone. Uncalled for.

And so the drama shall undoubtedly continue as the weeks go on. I predict a victory by me. After all, smart always triumphs over stupid.

I haven’t blogged lately because nothing has happened to me. At all. It’s just been school, sleep, school, sleep, school, sleep.

The only real change that’s occurred is that I’ve started biking a lot more. I now bike about 15 miles a week, and I walk about 4 miles a day.

I’ve also pulled out my old guitar to practice for the first time in ages, and I’ve really lost my touch. It’s only been a few months, and I remember all the techniques and stuff, but I can’t actually play anymore. I can barely keep both my hands coordinated. It’s very discouraging.

I’m so bored with everything lately. Hopefully something interesting happens soon.

Aaand on the day I plan to embark on my big 20-mile bike trip, it rains. What luck.

I was really looking forward to this. I had bought a new bike pump, a big complicated bike lock, and a whole bunch of water. I had laced up my shoes, thrown on my hat, and…

It started to rain. Not the little wimpy rain, either. Full-on storm-quality rain.

My head sank into my palm, and I retreated back into my house.

It doesn’t look like it’s going to let up for another few hours. This is very disappointing.

You let me down, weather. You let me down.

I consider myself a feminist. If a woman doesn’t believe in equal rights for males and females, she is stupid. However, when I express my dislike for women in general, I am called “anti-feminism”. I am not anti-feminism. I simply have a dislike for women and the way they are defended so.

Here’s an example. If the title of this post were to be “Men Need To Be Quiet”, I would have a bunch of women commenting on it saying, “You go girl! Men are assholes!”. But with the title remaining as it is, I will likely get both women and men telling me that I am a pathetic excuse for a female.

Guess what? I can want equal rights for women while still having a dislike for women in general. Many (most, even) women are superficial, whiny, and overemotional. And don’t you go whining to me about me enforcing such a stereotype, because every female possesses stereotypical female qualities, whether it be an obsession with appearance or an inability to keep quiet. Same with men. How’s that for feminism? Men and women are equal in that every member of either sex possesses some stereotypical qualities.

I would rather spend time with a man than a woman. More often than not, a female will be unable to shut her trap and will be far too emotional. A man will often be rude, but I’d rather put up with fart jokes than whining about breakups and wardrobe malfunctions.

Even I have stereotypical female qualities. I am long-winded, I dwell too much on emotional haps, and I talk more often than I should. I’m not above all other women, but I try not to be intolerant of others’ opinions regarding gender.

So women, before you go bashing me for putting down the female gender, think about this. Women say things like “Men are the scum of the earth” all the time, and it’s fine. But if a male says “Women are the scum of the earth”, he’s in trouble. Women, why the sexism? All you feminists out there, if you’re pushing for equal rights for men and women, you can’t freak out about men voicing their opinions about women when you say the exact same things about them. That’s what equality is about.

Women are not above men. Nor are men above women. That’s what feminism is about. Should I dislike other women, I should not be put down for it. I’m not saying “Women are stupid, evil beings who should have no rights”. I’m saying “Women often have qualities I don’t like, and that’s why I don’t like hanging out with them”. It’s not anti-feminism or even anti-women. It’s personal preference.

I’m a person with a weird sense of humor. I enjoy dry wit and making mockeries of things.

So, of course, when it came time at school to elect the “Most Likely To Succeed”, I was ready to be funny. I think that “Most Likely To Succeed” things are stupid, because most of the time the winner winds up living in a trailer park, taking care of 13 kids and smoking 7 packs a day.

The day of the results, I was ready to play my pranks. Mr. or Ms. Successful would receive a handshake and many compliments from me, along with a request for an autograph. I would bow to them. I would treat them like royalty, and then rub it in their face 20 years from now at the high school reunion.

The plan was ready. But when the winners were announced, there was just one little problem.

I had been voted “Most Likely To Succeed”.

When my name was called, I sat for a few seconds, thinking. I couldn’t just let this go by without a laugh. Unacceptable!

My mind was working fast. I had to do something funny, but yet I was… happy at winning. Not just happy - elated. Thrilled. Liberated.

I had to be funny, though. So I decided to go out of character. Normally I’m pretty calm and serious. So I jumped to my feet and leaped into the air, throwing my fists into the air. I was yelling and cheering. This went on for about half a minute before I sat down to survey the damage.

I had caused the entire school - teachers and all - to burst into laughter. A couple of people asked me if I was aiming to win the coveted title of “Class Clown” as well.

So I was able to be funny after all. Shame my old plan didn’t work, though. I suppose I’ll save it for next year.

QUESTION OF THE WEEK: Have you ever been voted “Most Successful”, “Class Clown”, or the like? Were you expecting it or not?

My injured foot from last time would’ve been better by now, had it not been for one thing.

That thing is a 20-mile bike ride.

Now, you’re probably wondering why I would go on such a bike ride if my foot were hurt. I probably wouldn’t have, but I had no choice. I had gotten kicked out of the house and had nowhere to go. So I got on my bike and rode as fast as I could away from the house.

Mind you, the bike had a flat back tire and it’s far too small for me anyway. These factors made the bike ride even more difficult.

It was about 4:30 in the afternoon. I had nowhere to go, so as I was riding away I came up with a plan. As soon as it gets dark, find a building or something to sleep under. Stay out no later than 6:30 (my night vision is non-existent). With that in mind, I rode.

After about 5 miles, I stopped the bike. I was in unbelievable pain. My foot was killing me and the bike was so hard to push, even with the gears on the smallest setting. But I decided to keep going. I was an angry little girl, and I wanted to get as far away as I could from those who had made me angry.

By the time it was 6:30, I was 20 miles away. I had reached a small town, and I stopped to buy some Gatorade. I tried to call various people at a pay phone, but nobody would answer. I was all by myself. I sat down by the store and drank my Gatorade.

It was very dark now. But I then realized that sleeping under a building wasn’t an option. I had gotten robbed a few weeks back, and if I were to just lie down under a building I would likely lose everything I had.

I had no choice. I got back on the bike and rode home. It was 8:30 by the time I got back, and I was in total agony, but my family seemed to have forgotten ever kicking me out.

I could barely walk the next day, but I had had quite the adventure.

Last Saturday I went for my daily bike ride. Every day I ride a half a mile on my bicycle. Normally it doesn’t tire me too much, but on Saturday I started later than usual, so I was thrown off. Quite literally thrown off.

I had pulled over onto some gravel to let a car pass by, and when I tried to shift gears, the wheels got stuck in the gravel. I was thrown off my bike, and the bike fell over onto my legs. I sat there on the gravel for a few seconds before collapsing.

When I regained consciousness, I tried to stand up. But I couldn’t. My left foot and ankle couldn’t move. I could barely feel them, but what I could feel was nothing less than agony. I started to panic. My ankle couldn’t be broken. No. That couldn’t happen.

I sat there for a few more minutes, looking at my foot. The outer side of it had swollen to the size of a tennis ball, and the entire thing was blue. I couldn’t move my toes, and I was half a mile from home with no phone and barely any money. In short, I was screwed.

I couldn’t stand and I couldn’t call anybody to have them pick me up. After an hour or so, a car stopped and the driver offered me a ride. I took it, not caring about the “don’t trust strangers” rule. When I arrived back home, I crawled up the stairs and through the front door.

My parents just looked at me. I knew that I wasn’t going to get any cooperation out of them, so I was on my own. I tried to stand. I found that I could hop, but I couldn’t put any pressure on my left foot. I hopped to the bathroom to get an ice pack and a stretchy wrap, and then went to bed.

I stayed in bed for the rest of the weekend. By Tuesday I could walk somewhat, so I went to school with one tennis shoe-d foot and one stretchy-wrapped foot.

Now it is Thursday. I’ve been made fun of numerous times, and I still don’t know exactly what is wrong with my foot. It sucks.

Also, my hostess Renee got a new domain, so I’m there now. See? Hopefully everybody can find me again. I’m not sure how to go about telling everybody.

The other day I went for a walk through the town. I was sitting on a rock by the beach when a man came up to me and asked for the time.

He was in his forties and probably hadn’t shaved for a couple of weeks. He had a bike and a week-old newspaper. I gave him the time - 12:31 - and he sat down next to me.

Now, I don’t like strangers. I’m not good at sustaining conversation with those I don’t know. But this guy just wouldn’t stop talking, so I didn’t have to do much.

The man talked about how he had switched to Islam a few years ago and how he had been learning Arabic ever since. He then spent 20 minutes talking about some revelations he’d supposedly had. He said that his revelations inspired him to create a new religion.

He then brought up a supposedly common word from Islam: Alms. He asked me if I knew what it meant. I said “money”. He started talking about the phrase “alms for the poor” and how monks would walk around saying it a long time ago.

He asked the time again. I said it was 1, and it was. He said that he had to go, and then brought up “alms for the poor” again. It then hit me: This guy was just looking for cash. I said that I didn’t have any money (I did, but it was my emergency cash). He looked down and said that something was falling out of my pocket. I looked - it was my wallet. It definitely wasn’t that dislodged a few minutes prior. Had this guy robbed me?

He took off after I had taken my wallet out of my pocket. I looked, and I had five dollars less than what I thought I had. This guy had spent a half an hour talking to me just so that he could swipe a few dollars off me.

I had a few more hours to burn, so I continued my walk, albeit much more cautiously. I had just been robbed, and I wasn’t about to let anything else happen to me.

I guess the lesson I learned is this: Keep your wallet on you, but don’t let any part of it show, or else somebody might rob you. I’ve lived in a small town all my life, and so I hadn’t experienced something like that. I was just some naive country girl without a clue as to the lengths people go to for some change.

So last week I took a day trip to Honolulu. It took getting on the return flight and looking out the window at the shrinking city to make me remember how much I loved traveling and seeing the world.

When I returned, I went to sleep. But the day after that, I began thinking of places I wanted to see.

The list went from New York to Hungary, from Toronto to Milan, from Melbourne to Moscow, and most places in between. It was a very large list. So I began thinking of places I would be able to see in the near future.

The list was very short. Honolulu. Kona. North Carolina. Washington, DC. My chances of visiting those last two are based on luck - I would go there for school functions and I would have to apply. If I were to scrounge for money (or get a job - ha), I could go back to Honolulu for a day and see what I could. And I could catch the bus to Kona any old weekend, but there’s not too much over there.

It sucks, wanting to see the world but not being able to. I can’t move away until I’m 18 - not even for college. I can’t get a job at my age, so I can’t afford to travel very far. I can apply for school trips, but those are for school, so I wouldn’t really be able to see much of wherever I would go.

So for now I’m stuck in this tiny little town, out in the boonies with naught but a bike with a flat tire. You haven’t felt stuck until you’ve been me.

QUESTION OF THE WEEK: If you could go anywhere in the universe, where would you want to go? Sure, you could confine yourself to Earth, but you could also go to the moon, to Mars, or to Uranus. No limitations.