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.

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.

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.

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.

The Alphabet

The English alphabet has 26 letters. The Hawaiian alphabet has less than half of that. There are 12 letters in the Hawaiian alphabet: A, E, H, I, K, L, M, N, O, P, U, and W. There are also two symbols used in the language. An `okina (`) marks a brief pause in the word. A kahakõ (the line over a letter, like õ - it’s actually a straight line, not a tilde, but the macrons don’t show up in some browsers) marks a stress. So if you see a kahakõ over a letter, draw out the sound. Rather than saying “oh”, you would say “ohhh”.

More on `okinas. If you have the word “mãlie” (mah-lee-ay, meaning “calm”), you can just cruise through it without stopping. But if the word changes to “mãli`e”, you need to pause in between the “li” and the “e”. So, it would be “mah-lee (pause) ay”. Don’t pause for too long - a half-second should do it. If there is an `okina at the beginning of a word, pause for a little bit before beginning the word.

The consonants in the Hawaiian language all sound like their English counterparts, with the exception of W. The vowels are a different matter.

The “A” in Hawaiian is not pronounced “Aaaay”. It’s pronounced “Aaah“, like the noise you made as a child when the doctor needed to look in your throat. It’s like the “a” in the word “hate”.

The “E” is not “Eeeee”. It’s “Aaaay“, like the English “A”. Like the “e” in the word “hey”.

The “I” is not pronounced like “eye”. It’s like the English “E”. “Eeeee“! Like the “i” in “sierra”.

The “O” is just like the English “O”. “Oh”. Oh well.

The “U” is not pronounced like “you”. It’s “oooh“, like the noise you make when you see something shiny. Like the “u” in “tube”.

And the “W“. It’s not “wuh”. It’s “vuh“. The “W” is like an English “V”. The word “why” wouldn’t be pronounced “y”, it would be “vy”.

So now for some basics. In Hawaiian, no two consonants can be together. This includes `okinas. The word “foods” would never be found in Hawaiian even if all of the letters existed in the language, because you would have a “d” and an “s” right next to each other. Also, a word cannot end in a consonant.

You will never find a kahakõ over a consonant. They’re strictly for vowels, which makes sense. How would you elongate a “k”?

And Now For Some Words

Everybody knows the word “aloha” (ah-low-ha). But did you know that it means several things? It can be used to say love, hello, goodbye, good night, and good morning, among other things. It’s meant to be used informally in most contexts, though.

Need to thank somebody? Say “mahalo” (mah-ha-low). Whoever you’re thanking should respond with “a`ole pilikia” (ah-oh-lay pee-lee-kee-ah) - no problem.

Should you need to go to the restroom, practice this phrase: “Hiki ia`u ke hele i ka lumi ho`opau pilikia ke `olu`olu” (hee-kee yah-ooh kay hay-lay ee kah loo-mee [pause] ho-oh-pa-oo pee-lee-kee-ah kay oh-loo-oh-loo). It’s a mouthful, but say it to people and look at their expressions.

Got a friend? Call them “hoaaloha” (ho-ah-low-hah).

Do not call your teacher “Miss” or “Mister”. Call them “kumu” (koo-moo) instead. If you really want to be specific, call them “kumukula” (koo-moo-koo-la), or schoolteacher. Hint: the “kula” (koo-la) means “school”.

You likely live in a “hale” (ha-lay), or house. When you go to the store, you go to the “haleku`ai” (ha-lay-koo-eye). And if you’re religious, you probably go to church, or “halepule” (ha-lay-poo-lay).

Let’s count to 10. `Ekahi (ay-ka-hee), `Elua (ay-loo-ah), `Ekolu (ay-koh-loo), `Eha (ay-ha), `Elima (ay-lee-ma), `Eono (ay-oh-no), `Ehiku (ay-hee-koo), `Ewalu (ay-vah-loo), `Eiwa (ay-ee-vah), and `Umi (oo-mee).

In Hawaiian, the days of the week begin with Monday rather than Sunday. To say the days of the week, just take the numbers one through six (`Ekahi, `Elua, `Ekolu, `Eha, `Elima, `Eono), remove the “‘E” from the front of them, and replace it with a “Po’a” (Po-ah). You get this:

Monday: Po`akahi (po-ah-ka-hee)
Tuesday: Po`alua (po-ah-loo-ah)
Wednesday: Po`akolu (po-ah-ko-loo)
Thursday: Po`aha (po-ah-ha)
Friday: Po`alima (po-ah-lee-ma)
Saturday: Po`aono (po-ah-oh-no)
Sunday: Lãpule (la-poo-lay)

Sunday is Lãpule because it is the day of worship. Remember the word for church - halepule? “Pule” means “pray”, and “Lã” means “day”. So, “Lãpule” - “day of worship”.

Hopefully you learned something interesting from this post. Let me know if you enjoyed it - I might do another.

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 laughed at many of the articles, not because they were funny, but because they were completely and utterly ridiculous. Here are some of the more memorable pieces of crap.

What His Clothes Say About Him!

Ooh, if he wears white sneakers, he must not be brave enough to express himself. NOT! It just shows that he likes the color white, maybe? Or perhaps it shows that he doesn’t care for giant rainbow striped ones. Maybe he just wanted simple shoes. His shoes don’t say jack about his personality beyond maybe what his favorite color is.

These kinds of “decoding guys” articles are pointless. No guy (and hopefully no girl, either) tries on a shirt and thinks, “Ooh, I’m going to buy this because it will show that I am very talkative” unless the shirt actually says “I am very talkative”.

Most Embarrassing Moments!

“OH MY GOD One day I wore this hot skirt that was like 4 inches long to school and I tripped and the hot football guy I liked could see my embarrassing underwear!!”

That’s not interesting, and neither are the 20 other similar ones displayed alongside it. Everybody has embarrassing moments that they want to forget, so why are they being published in a magazine for the world to see?

Your Monthly Horoscopes!

Now, is it just me, or is it a little weird that I seem to get a wonderful new boyfriend in July, get the attention of a cute guy in August, get a new “everlasting love” in September, and then in October rebound from my last horrible relationship with a “hot new hookup”? The stars in the sky don’t change positions every year, but that’s exactly what my future seems to be doing. Consistency please, almighty astrologists!

How To Flirt!

Smile, but not too big. Look up at him, but don’t look away until he does. Joke with him, but don’t make too much fun of him.

NO, DUH! All of the stuff in these sorts of articles is common sense. You don’t give the guy a death stare, and you don’t smile like Krusty the Klown. If somebody can’t figure these things out on their own, maybe they shouldn’t be trying to pick up guys.

So basically what I’m saying is these teeny magazines are full of junk. Even I, a member of their target audience, can see this.

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?

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.

It wasn’t the good kind of interesting, either. The good kind of interesting t-shirt would be a quirky homemade Star Wars one, or a quirky homemade political one. No, this t-shirt was the bad kind of interesting - the “what-on-earth-were-they-thinking” kind.

The t-shirt would’ve looked innocent to somebody with minimal computer experience. It read, “I wish I could CTRL+ALT+DELETE you”. I reckon it garnered a few laughs from the girl’s giggly middle school friends, but it made me wonder if the makers of the shirt understood what CTRL+ALT+DELETE meant.

See, CTRL+ALT+DELETE does not equal DELETE. CTRL+ALT+DELETE equals “Open Windows Task Manager”. So, do “I wish I could CTRL+ALT+DELETE you”? No. I doubt that would do much. I’d just be able to see all of your processes (none of which I want to see) and be able to shut them down if they are not responding. I could see who you are networking with (phone call from boyfriend? Mother? Pimp? I’ll know). I could see your CPU usage (it’s probably pretty low). I could see your memory specs, but what’s the point if I already know that you’re running very low on RAM?

Point is, if you’re going to wear techy t-shirts, you should know what they mean. This girl obviously does not know much about computers, save for “you can go to Myspace on them”.