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Chump Change Chimps
Thursday January 17, 2002
Forget that Enron crap. It's only the tip of the iceberg. Enron-itis starts with your local dentist. These clowns are all crooks. Chump change chimps. They have have been overcharging and padding services for years. That's how they make money. In the past three years, I've incurred $900 in out-of-pocket expenses for dental care. Now, compare that to the $34 I've paid out for the various tests and doctor's appointments that I've had over the same period of time. Something is really wrong with this picture. I'll venture to guess that "painless dentistry" was derived solely to increase the coffers of these charlatans by decreasing public fear. The real pain comes with the bill.
The whole world has gone money crazy. Money is our god. Greed is our credo. The moneychangers have now proliferated and festered in every segment of society including religion. Terror in these times has nothing to do with planes being crashed into tall buildings. It has more to do with the insatiable greed and money lust that has displaced any sense of human dignity and compassion. Even the formerly sacrosanct family structure has been adulterated by this cesspool of debauchery. Cheap, petty chimps. The temple must be cleansed of the moneychangers and false prophets. Those who speak in deceptive terms will choke on the pretzel of truth. Gasping for air, they will stumble and be "bruised in the head." We must always remember the first prophesy. Woe to thee, Scribes, Pharisees, and dentists!
I've noticed that José has been taking classes at the Asylum again. I've not talked with him much after Malia had made a few allegations about him. I asked him if he had heard from Malia lately. He said that he received e-mail from her a while back. She was already attending the university by then. In the e-mail, Malia had mentioned something about possibly being pregnant. She had apparently met some guy at a wild party. "If that's true, she would have had the kid by now," he told me. Of course, this all starts to make sense. Why else would Malia stop taking classes after only one semester. She has been out of school since May of last year. In the last e-mail (dated October 27th) that I ever received from her, she only said that she had personal business to attend to. She mentioned absolutely nothing about what José had told me. The picture I had found of Malia in the Star-Bulletin was dated March 19th. I suspect that, if José is correct, she could have had a child as early as November. I scoured Millennium ... Journal of Life for more information because most of my interactions with Malia are recorded there. I was already suspicious of her motives then because much of what she told me was contradictory. I knew that Malia wanted to get involved in a relationship, but I had no idea why. The telltale clue was the excerpt from the e-mail of May 14, 2000. Just the day before, we had spent the afternoon at Kahala Beach. We ended up at a more populated end of the beach by early evening. That's all in this chapter of the journal. What I failed to mention before was the stupidity of it all. There was a Monica Lewinsky cigar smoking adventure on Kahala Beach that evening. "Pull down your shorts. I want to suck your [Vienna Sausage]," she said. How quickly I had complied. I was in ecstasy. Then, Malia pulled up her T-shirt. "Do you want to suck on my nipples?" she asked. Instinctively, I ran my hands all over her body as I licked and sucked on her large breasts. Had we still been in the less populated part of the beach, I can almost be certain that da wild thing would have ensued. What would have happened if the ol' lavahead had gotten her pregnant? In looking back, that was part of the plan. I am certain now that Malia is not the person she made herself out to be. I think she was looking for some kind of Knight in Shining Armor to rescue her. I have to wonder about all of the other stuff Malia has told me. Needless to say, I will have a few more questions for José.
I talked with Kevin for about an hour again. I found out a little more about the fiasco concerning his old flame. I also came to find out that his wife is originally from Korea and ended up here by way of Japan. Kevin is happy with his marriage. He and his wife are struggling to make ends meet, even though Kevin's parents are fairly wealthy. They live a simple life. Kevin believes that it would have been difficult to find a suitable mate in a local babe. "They only want instant gratification and are only concerned about themselves. It's always, 'Me, me, me,'" he said. How true. That's exactly why I must remain a monk. "By the way, my wife has a sister who is single," added Kevin. I laughed, but I declined the invitation to be set up.
When I returned home, moms was upset because the refrigerator was leaking water. I pulled the refrigerator away from the wall. Upon observation, I noticed the shutoff valve for the ice maker was the source of the leak. I then shut the water supply off to the fridge. Moms was relieved. I surmise that the ice maker doesn't work because of the faulty valve.
Friday January 18
I did not include the anecdote of yesterday as means to spice up the journal. I made a confession of personal debauchery, although I can safely say that I felt no catharsis. In fact, I am much more unnerved. There are many people who sense a kind of whininess and hypocrisy present in my ramblings. However, I can assure you that what I write about is my own internal struggle with the external forces of debauchery. I dispatched an e-mail to Malia to see if any of what José had told me was true. I really don't expect her to respond nor do I feel that she owes me an explanation. However, my intuition tells me that it's all true. After all, the source was Malia herself. I am certain of the reason that she would not want to tell me personally. Frankly, I am somewhat disappointed because she may have taken two steps backwards. I am not upset that she may have hooked up with another guy, although I was not able to do da wild thing with her. I'm sure da wild thing would have been pretty wild. What bothers me about all of this is my own personal weaknesses. Many times when we did things together, Malia would tell me how "horny" she was while we were riding in her car. I had to restrain myself because I really wanted to tell her to turn the car around and go back to her place, where we would have ended up in a passionate tryst in her bed. I am essentially too weak to call myself a monk. I can't imagine what would happen if a babe like "Dangerous" Jennifer were to come on to the ol' lavahead. Sheesh!
The e-mail that I sent to Malia could not be delivered. Apparently, her inbox is so full, it has gone beyond the quota. So, Malia was certainly not kidding when she wrote that she seldom is on the Net anymore. I continue to read more from the journal, but I am really confused about all that happened with Malia. That time period was extremely psychotic, what with the likes of Toad, Hog, and Roach. Even now, I cannot make any sense of it. I actually didn't trust Malia at one point in time. I began to disassociate myself from her after Roach decided to make us the subject of his witch hunt and when Malia began to put more pressure on me about a relationship. She was pushing for some kind of commitment. The really funny part about all of this is how all of my troubles began coincidentally after I met Malia. After we went our separate ways, all was quiet like before.
I'm not even sure if mentioned in the journal that I met Malia because she was student in one of my classes. At the time, I required all of my students to keep a class journal. They came to my office hours in the Asylum's library for me to read their journals and verify the assignment. From the very first time that Malia came to see me with her journal, it was obvious that something was up. She had detailed a very erotic dream, as I recall. She explained the situation in a convoluted manner, but she then made it clear that she was very attracted to the ol' lavahead. "I'm a very open and up-front person," she told me.
Once again, I was not excited about leaving the salt mines. This will be a three-day weekend, which means there's a high probability that the Ninja Turds will stop by. I already feel nauseous. Even if some kind of miracle were to happen — say, the moronic file clerk were to apologize — I would still not recant any of my statements. Nor will I be so eager to patch up any differences with the Turds. Why should I?
I ran into Pseudo-professor Jim on my way to the bus stop this afternoon. He said that he would be at Barnes & Noble in Kahala Mall tomorrow morning. I may meet him there. Sometimes it is nice to have an intellectual chat over coffee with someone coherent, as opposed to the benign and banal conversations that I have with most people. Although I am not politically aligned with Pseudo-professor Jim's thinking, I share a similar lifestyle. He is a few years older than I, but I have to wonder how he manages to take his mendicant life in such stride. He is divorced, and is currently renting a room from his sister and her family in Aina Haina. He doesn't have a car, so he takes the bus everywhere. He's obviously not worried about finding a babe. He is able to enjoy life through simple activities, most of the time alone. Hanging out at Barnes & Noble is one such activity. I'd say that Pseudo-professor Jim has discovered the meaning of happiness or, perhaps, self-actualization. I've got to find out how he did it.
Saturday January 19
Moms said that the Ninja Turds could be coming by, so I left for Kahala Mall as soon as possible. Pseudo-professor Jim was already at Barnes & Noble when I arrived a little after eleven o' clock. We sat in the café for several hours. I ordered some coffee and a muffin. We talked for quite a few hours. Most of the discussion was about babes and the married life. The topic came up because I was curious about his opinion. He said that he enjoyed being a loner and doing things by himself. He has no plans to remarry. Our long discussion was interesting because we covered many points that I have debated in the journal. If anything, he served to solidify my position as a monk.
Nonetheless, I was in a bad way because of the situation concerning Malia. I am not talking about missed opportunities. I'm not even sure how to describe the nature of the problem. Let's see. First of all, I am disturbed by the fact that she may have forsaken her education for no valid reason. From what I can tell, she may have only attended the university to please the ol' lavahead and maybe impress him enough to start up a relationship. After that plan failed, she quickly searched for someone else. I think what really bothers me is the subsequent cover-up. Why not just tell me what's going on instead of coming up with a half-baked story? Since it is obvious that there was no fear that I would erupt in a jealous rampage, then there can be only one other reason. Malia has been putting on some kind of façade, much in the same way the handmaiden did. Her real personality suggests a wild and careless side, as evidenced by the e-mail to José and by her actions at Kahala Beach. This has left me in a disillusioned state.
I returned home at 6pm, only to discover that the Turds never came by. After my discussion with Pseudo-professor Jim, I am now even more convinced that the file clerk is concerned only about the disposition of moms' house. That's the nature of babes, just as it is to use their wily ways to ensnare a guy. I have been reading the last two years of the journal. I am noting the accuracy of my observations. I don't particularly care about what others may think of my ramblings because I write this crap mainly for myself. If I continue to review what I've written, I could avoid the pain of repeating history.
Sunday January 20
Today, I felt like fleeing. This was the same kind of nervousness that resulted in my multiple trips to the mainland three years ago. And, I feel the same way that I felt three years ago — as though I'm in a cesspool, going down for the third time. Although I have no real proof, I must conclude that the circumstantial evidence seems to confirm the content of Malia's e-mail to José. That's the Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle as applied to real life. In order to observe the system in question, energy must be introduced to the system. That energy, in and of itself, will change the initial state of the system. There is no such an entity as a "neutral third-party observer." I broke every rule in the book, and I caused the resulting entropy to occur. Maybe not directly, but I did introduce energy into the system.
I was, and have been, extremely weak concerning the matter of babes. I can't kid myself any longer. Mind you, I had more resolve than many of my associates. However, I have also had fewer opportunities for temptation. In the last two years, I have increased my commitment to the monk life-style tenfold. Yet, I've come to understand that standing alone is a battle all by itself. It is very difficult to provide emotional and moral support to oneself in a weakened state. From my days in the counseling program, I learned that people want someone to listen to them, rather than being told how to solve their problems. Hence, in lieu of a listening ear, I have come to rely on the journal.
What is obvious to me is that I have run out of possible solutions. I am only trying to modify the existing set to make them work without a clue about whether the basic core is fundamentally sound. I have all but rejected any external suggestions which conflict with my existing set of solutions, thereby narrowing the scope of possible outcomes. Predictability and reliability were more important criteria than uncertainty and chance. The major postulate of my beliefs is that humans only serve to cause grief to other humans. The only logical step was to minimize my interaction with people. I now only interact with my computer.
I left for the gym after 3pm. I had to leave the house because I was going nuts with all of the nonsense I've been thinking about. I did my usual Sunday workout. Then, I stopped at Foodland to buy a bottle of Vendage Chardonnay (read: off-brand version of the "Hammer"). I walked to Koko Head Park to kill some time, just in case the Ninja Turds had decided to show up. The last time I was in the park was with Malia, if you can believe it. Well, I've decided that I will close the chapter concerning Malia. My intuition tells me that what I've heard is true. I can only wish Malia well and will miss her friendship.
To celebrate the moment, I opened the bottle of Chardonnay. I am sipping the fine vintage and composing the journal as we speak. If I feel ambitious, I may unbox my Bose Acoustic Wave just in time for Hearts of Space. I am "in a funk" (as Steph would say). Perhaps, deep down inside, I really wanted a relationship with Malia. Or, maybe this situation has finally made me realize how irrational my thinking has been all along. There are days that I really feel "self-actualized" like Pseudo-professor Jim, and this is not one of those days. Pseudo-professor Jim has traveled the world. He has had many exciting careers and he has already been married. He's been there and done that. So, he's now ready to relax and enjoy his life with no strings attached. "You're too young to retire," he told me. "You have a lot more that you need to experience first." He's probably right.
In Malia's e-mail of May 14, 2000 that I referred to a few days ago, she had written, "I can only wish that I had a normal happy life with a husband who was good to the kids and me. A simple happy life. That's all. A lifetime partnership, someone to love ... I guess you can tell I'm missing an important piece of my lifetime dream that hasn't come true and by the looks of it will probably never come true." Oddly, before I met the handmaiden in person, she pretty much expressed the same sentiments. I believe that all babes lament about the same thing. The real problem is that babes do not understand what a "simple, happy life" is. As a matter of fact, no one seems to understand the concept. When I became a monk, I realized what a "simple, happy life" was. However, I knew that I would have to remain a monk because there was no babe in the universe who would accept such a life. It goes against all of the materialistic precepts that have been hammered into our heads since infancy. Those assumptions then precluded any other life-style except that of a solitary monk. I became cynical. I also became convinced that I alone knew the truth. With that, I unboxed my Bose Acoustic Wave. Nothing like the psychotic classical pieces on public radio. Music to my ears! The Chardonnay has kicked in, and now I have a sense of inner peace.
Man, am I ever confused. All I know is that I've got to lighten up, otherwise I won't be able to function in society. I've become too intolerant of human frailty and too exacting about the shortcomings of the human condition. An engineering monk. That's what I am. Yet, I have forgotten who I am. Yes, I am a monk for now. But, I am also the Keeper of Lost Lives. I don't have all of the answers, although I have quite a few. More tomorrow. I've got to to peruse the Web with my beloved iBook and enjoy the rest of the "Hammer." Take care, my friends.
Monday January 21
Another unnerving day for the ol' lavahead. I am not exactly looking forward to my return to the salt mines tomorrow. Classes at the Diploma Mill (formerly the "university") will be commencing. I was a little groggy this morning, obviously due to the "Hammer." I felt as though I was wasting the day, so I took another walk in the park. I wanted to take a look at the former Job Corps site, but I stepped on a paintball on the way. Green paint squirted all over my new Payless shoes and my new socks. I was ready to engage in homicide. I immediately returned home to clean off my shoes.
Later, I went to the gym, even though I didn't feel like it. I was tempted to buy another bottle of Vendage Chardonnay at Foodland but thought better of the idea. The walk home was relaxing. After I took a shower, I warmed up my beloved six-four and took a cruise. I dropped off the recyclables. Then, I drove out to Sandy beach via Kalama Valley. The waves were really breaking high today. I surmise that the waves have been that way for over a week since the weather hasn't been too good lately. There were quite a few people at the beach even though the sun was already setting. What a life! Perhaps I should become a beach bum as well. As a wage slave, I could only become a weekend beach bum. This really is the essence of the Hawai'ian life-style. Why I do not take advantage of it, I do not know.
The Ninja Turds did not stop by at all, although who really cares? It's plain to see that we're back to the way things were before pops passed on. Some morons never really get a clue. Why waste valuable journal space on trailer park trash? Caroll sent me an e-mail. She is repeating history again. New place to live. New job. New phone number. I don't know how she can continue in that fashion. I would have been a basket case by now. She wants me to visit her sometime. I'm afraid that I won't be going anywhere for at least two more years. I was happy to hear from Caroll. She's one of my few remaining friends.
I am somewhat perturbed by the fact that my life is in a state of disarray, given the fact that there are so few components. My family is a lost cause. The Ninja Turds are a write-off. It's so stupid because, aside from moms, those losers are all I had. Pathetic. With a family like this, who needs enemies? Wage slavery is the other component of my life. That's an on-going story. It is also a necessary evil. I have nothing else. Essentially, I have no friends and I certainly don't have a babe. I have lost most of my friends because I failed to keep in touch. I am not exactly worthy of friendship because I have nothing to offer. I have erected a completely stoic wall, and no one can get in. No one wants in. I bring nothing to the table in friendship. My intolerance of human frailty really shows. That's another reason why I will never have to worry about the babe situation. My behavior clearly shows that I am incapable of feeling or expressing love of any kind. I am more like a social warlord.
Let me elaborate, if you will. I believe that I have become extremely bitter. Mind you, I am being perfectly honest here. I am finally getting around to using the journal for its intended purpose — introspection. Looking inward requires honesty, plain and simple. Yes, I have become extremely bitter. I have not noticed this before because I was too oblivious and I was also placing the blame elsewhere. My family, my former situation with the handmaiden, my life as a wage slave — all of these aspects have made me bitter. I'm not even sure why I am bitter, except that I feel victimized. By whom? The sinister kahuna, if you can believe it. I suppose that it didn't matter that other people also suffer the same fate. I was convinced that I alone was the only real victim. However, if you've read the journal, you were privy to some of the finer moments of oppression, stupidity, and mayhem. The real answer to my problem is that I am dealing with some very stupid people. This month has been another turning point, that's for sure. Last night, after the "Hammer" had kicked in, I realized that I was on the verge of insanity yet again. This will always happen as long as I continue to function in society. I have tried to combat the situation by becoming intolerant, almost to the point of being adversarial. Nothing changed, therefore I became embittered by my lot in life.
I enjoy my life as a monk, at least for now. However, I have to be honest. There are days that I wish I wasn't a monk. In talking with Kevin and in reading the excerpt from Malia's email (see yesterday), I came to realize that I have had a similar dream. Often, I still have the dream that I will have my own happy little family. It's a tough life, being a monk and all. When everything goes haywire, there is no one to provide moral support. Nothing can change until I can reach a point of self-actualization like Pseudo-professor Jim. I will never attain happiness by being bitter. I have nothing to be bitter about because I forced myself into the various internal "contracts" that I made. These are choices that I freely made. Unfortunately, I've never learned the meaning of the word "compromise." Nor do I seem to understand moderation. I move from one extreme to the other in bipolar fashion. One year, I'm a materialistic fool. The next, I am an ascetic. One year, I have a babe and I'm doin' da wild thing left and right. The next, I'm a monk and a virgin. It certainly is comical in an odd way.
I think that life would be a little easier on me if I chill. I've got to drop the bitterness. I've got to be more forgiving. I have to be more "human" instead of being a Data-like android. That also means that I will have to leave the monastery behind. I can no longer be a monk. A devout monk is not a part of society. In fact, a monk is ideally isolated from society, even from the other monks. A monk's life is one of penitence. Solitary confinement. Meditation. Prayer. Hard labor. It's a life of punishment in the hope of being forgiven for past sins. A monk can never be bitter because there is no secular human to cause him grief. In the strictest definition, a monk could never return to society. My monastic vows can never be realized unless I exit society. Until I can actually do that willfully, I cannot blame humanity for my problems. I can only blame myself. More thoughts later.
Tuesday January 22
So, here we are, back at square zero. I am getting tired of returning to the same spot. Thus, I am not much more different than Caroll. The problem is easy to see. I am trying to be a monk while I still have one foot in the secular world. What I need to do is clean off my desk with the back of my arm just like Yaphet Kotto (as G) did in Homicide. Of course, he cleaned off his desk after he was rejected by a babe. Isn't that how it always works? What else would make a guy mad enough to clean off his entire desk with the back of his arm? I don't have a real desk to clean off, so I am speaking symbolically. The desk isn't cleaned off if there's a lamp and an ashtray still there. That's the problem. Babes are the lamp and material possessions are the ashtray. The lamp and the ashtray go hand-in-hand. You can't have one without the other. The desk isn't cleared off until the lamp and the ashtray are swept onto the floor with the rest of the junk.
My day at the Asylum was uneventful. So was my first day back at the Diploma Mill. "There must be more to life," I keep saying to myself. Every minute is precious, yet I am wasting it all away. The same questions keep popping up. What is my purpose for being? What is the meaning of life? Pseudo-professor Jim has nothing remaining from his previous life, and he is completely self-actualized in terms of Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs. He is at peace with himself. He travels alone, and he always carries his written journal with him. Yet, I don't surmise that he's lamenting about babes in his journal. In fact, Pseudo-professor Jim is the most self-actualized person that I know of. How did he do it? Like myself, he has no close friends. He has disavowed babes entirely, citing the pathetic divorce rate as one good reason to do so. I don't believe that he's kidding. That alone has probably played a major role in his achievement of self-actualization.
With that in mind, I came to the quick realization that I have all but disavowed babes. Yep, babes continue to be an issue for me, even though I claim to be a monk. I am speaking out of both sides of my mouth just like any other hypocrite. Either I am going to be a devout monk, or I'm not. Either I'm going to clean off my desk, or I'm not. There is no gray area when it comes to these matters. The babe issue keeps coming back because I am weak. I am easy prey to biology. In reality, I am not seeking a babe. I am seeking dependence. When will I ever learn? I keep looking back, not realizing that I'll turn into a pillar of salt. What is the draw? I think Kevin hit the nail on the head when he mentioned instant gratification. Doin' da wild thing is physically pleasurable and numbing. It's also addicting. Yet, as Pseudo-professor Jim pointed out, there are many married people who haven't done da wild thing in years. Sometimes I still think that I have a fear of being alone. Pseudo-professor Jim is alone and he is happy as a clam. Therefore, the only logical conclusion is that he has found the meaning of life. He has discovered some kind of spirituality, although I am certain that it's not religious in nature. That should be my own quest.
Wednesday January 23
My curiosity was getting the best of me. It dawned upon me that Judy, another Asylum faculty, knew Malia, Hog, and José very well because she taught the legal office classes. Judy has not been in contact with Malia, but she has heard from another student who had seen Malia at the District Courthouse. Malia was clearly pregnant. Judy approximated the time to be around May of last year. "She's probably had the baby by now?" I asked. "Oh yeah," Judy replied. She had also heard rumors that Malia was either going to be married or was already married. Judy and I talked for quite a while. She revealed a lot about Malia's past. I verified most of what I was told. She even mentioned the falling out between Malia and Hog. So, Malia had been honest for the most part. The gray area was during the time period (circa October 2000) when Malia was clearly trying to get me to commit to some kind of relationship with her. That was the source of a lot of problems, which eventually forced my hand to disassociate from her. Judy's description of Malia's alleged current boyfriend (or husband) was "a guy who works for Hawai'ian Electric or Hawai'ian Tel." From what Malia had told me, that particular guy was a former boyfriend. I found that out when Malia explained the rage behind the snide statement she made on June 8, 2000 in this chapter. Cheryl and Hog had made a comment to her that I seemed to be interested in Michelle, one of my teaching assistants at the time. Later, I came to discover that Malia knew Michelle from before because both their boyfriends worked for Hawai'ian Electric. Malia claimed that Michelle was responsible for breaking up her relationship. "He really loved me," she told me. Then, how could Michelle cause the breakup? Judy had seen Malia at the Asylum's graduation in January last year with some guy, and she assumed he was the same guy. Apparently, after I dissed Malia, she wasted no time to find someone else.
I called Malia and left her a message. She had returned the call before I arrived at home. I tried to call back, but the answering machine was off-line. She has yet to mention anything about her new relationship or the baby. This cover-up is what really bothers me. That's the way people act when they are cheating on their mates. I am not involved with Malia, so why do we have to go through this charade? It seems to be the nature of babes to be deceptive. I hope that there's a happy ending to this story. In other words, I hope that Malia is going to get married to a nice guy and he will support his family. Yet, I have to wonder why she still has her apartment, and why she turns off the answering machine. Deceptive behavior. Did something go wrong? Does she feel that the ol' lavahead will come to the rescue? Is she shielding my identity from a jealous maniac? I am a friend, but not a complete fool. The last time that I actually saw Malia was on March 1st. I believe that she was already pregnant then because I now recall that she looked different. She had gained considerable weight. I did not hear from her again until I received e-mail in August and also in September. Not a word about anything. Why all the secrecy? And, why exactly am I piecing all of this together now? I'm not even sure. All I know is that I was a pawn in a game of debauchery and deception from the beginning. At the time I was sharing my grief concerning the handmaiden in a humorous way with my classes. Little did I know that I was advertising my vulnerability.
This whole sordid story is, of course, the kind of crap that Pseudo-professor Jim was alluding to when he explained why he's never marrying again. Real peace of mind comes from long-term happiness. Doin' da wild thing is just instant gratification. As a monk, I must make another confession that I crave da wild thing because I was once addicted to it. Oh, the horror! Doin' da wild thing cannot bring peace of mind. It's a short-term solution which is interspersed with periods of extreme grief due to the wily ways of the babes. A man must know his limitations. I know mine, but I often ignore them. I believe that the answer has been given to me through Pseudo-professor Jim. It's the answer that I've been praying for, but it's obviously not the one I wanted to hear. Until I can accept the answer, I will always be just out of the reach of self-actualization.
Thursday January 24
I haven't slept well for days because of the burning question of my own complicity in this whole sordid mess. I have also been unable to even nap while riding the bus. I ran into Judy again. I thanked her for talking with me yesterday, and we ended up talking a little more about the situation concerning Malia. I mentioned the photo in the Star-Bulletin to Judy. She wanted to see it, so I printed a copy. Judy recognized the young girl. "That's her boyfriend's daughter ... the Hawai'ian Tel guy," she said. Judy asked if I was able to talk with Malia. I said that I left a message and that she had returned my call but, no, I hadn't spoken to her personally. I also had José print out the e-mail mentioned in the January 17th entry. It seems that José had recollected the events out of order. I did notice that Malia had become close friends with José because they were discussing things that I had never discussed with Malia. I was only afraid that José was privy to my involvement with Malia. He denied any knowledge.
The e-mail dated August 21, 2000 included the following excerpt about the "wild party":
I went out Friday night and was so f--ked up. We went to C'est Moniques (not sure if the spelling is right) but my friends "Kapena" played, I danced a hula for them and sang a song with them too. It was a blast. I actually went by myself and then about 5 other friends including 2 guys showed up. We ended up going to club Yunikos on ward ave. after that then went to this guy Vince's house for a little while, came to my house to pick up some Heineken and a bottle of Rum (which no one ended up drinking) then took a long cruise to Waimanalo and hung out there at the beach for the rest of the night until 7:00am. We went skinny dipping and had sex on the beach! It was wild ... I really mean WILD ...
In checking the chronology of the journal, I began to piece together more of the events. On June 1st, Roach made threats to take action if I didn't terminate my relationship with Malia. I distanced myself from Malia from that point. However, we got together a few times. On July 3rd, I had lunch with Malia. In the journal entry, I made reference to how Anonder's journal had helped me in isolating the aggravating aspects of conversing with babes. Although, I distinctly recall that most of our conversations at the time were about Malia's allegations that I was avoiding her. She became upset when I mentioned the mandate from Roach. She then began telling me frequently, "I'm going to have to get over you. And, I will." I don't think that I heard from Malia for the rest of the Summer. That's when the incident detailed above happened. Then, Malia and I saw each other on September 11th. The same conversations kept cropping up, until the situation was mummified in late October.
The one e-mail to José in which Malia claimed to be pregnant actually stated that she wasn't pregnant yet. José had told me that Malia confided that she really wanted another child. From what I can tell, Malia either got back together with her old boyfriend (the Hawai'ian Electric guy, and not the father of her first three kids) or had still been together with him while using the ol' lavahead as a possible escape route. Nonetheless, I am complicit in this matter. I am not responsible for Malia's actions, although it clear that I had more than a minor role in this debacle. I am certain that Judy knows my involvement as well because Hog would have eagerly spilled the beans.
I decided to make a call to Malia this afternoon, carefully waiting until after my last class to do so. I merely wanted to leave a message. I had rehearsed what I was going to say. In effect, I was simply going to congratulate Malia and wish her well. However, she answered the phone. I was taken by surprise, so I had to ad lib my canned presentation. Logistically speaking, this was a bad move. We didn't talk long because Malia was becoming upset. Apparently, the marriage didn't happen. She has already had the baby. I still wished her well, and assured her that I was still her friend. When I asked her why she never told me any of this, she said, "I knew you were very busy, so I didn't bother you with that." That is, of course, a lame answer. Why did she tell me about the fact that she finally gained custody of her son? Or, why did she bring up in detail the hearings with the Department of Education concerning her son? She also mentioned that she became pregnant by accident. I don't believe that either. I then asked, "What if that had happened to us if things had progressed the way they were going?" I could hear that she was becoming distraught, so I dropped the subject. I can only surmise that I uncovered the real plan. In a way, Toad thwarted this situation. By going psycho, Toad then brought my friendship with Malia to the attention of Roach. The subsequent witch hunt prevented anything foolish from ever occurring.
I believe that I know enough to actually close this chapter now. There are still unanswered questions, but I probably know the answers. I may never hear from Malia again. I will understand. And, if I do, I won't rehash this business. I have already identified my complicity. Nothing will change that. Perhaps I should have made some kind of commitment to Malia back then, at least to be her boyfriend. That would have kept her from going back to the cesspool. If I had gotten her pregnant, I would have done the right thing because that is my responsibility as a guy. Perhaps that alone would have given meaning to my life.
Friday January 25
After the awkward conversation with Malia yesterday, I happened to run into Pseudo-professor John in the Diploma Mill's faculty computer center. I asked about whether he had made a decision to seek a bride from out of the country. He is almost certain that he must follow through with the plan. He is tired of the single life, but he can't fathom the idea of hooking up with a local babe. Many of his married friends are on the verge of divorce, he told me. "I don't want to end up like them."
I was in a daze again today. Phillip, the self-appointed technology curriculum coordinator at the Asylum, is still on vacation somewhere in Asia. Everyone knows that he's actually on a sex vacation, possibly in Thailand. This is how Phillip copes with the single life, if you can believe it. On my way to the Diploma Mill, I ran into Paul, one of my former students. He told me that his ex-babe Sabrina is in one of my classes.
"What did you call your ex ... Evil ...?" he asked, referring to the handmaiden.
"Evil One," I replied.
"Yeah, yeah." He laughed. "That's what she is. The Evil One," he added, referring to Sabrina. "She called me up last night to see if we could get back together. Today, I see her hanging all over some basketball player."
You probably know what I should have told him — welcome to the life of a chimp. Sheesh! I also forgot to mention that I was talking with Vanessa yesterday. "Did you or do you still have a thing for Ryan?" I asked. She said that, if anything, it was merely "a schoolgirl crush." I asked her if she felt better now. She laughed.
After my classes, I was surprised to run into Pseudo-professor Ralph at the faculty computer room. The big talk now is about some drop-dead gorgeous pseudo-professor named Amber. Professor Brian had filled me in about her just before my classes. She has a law degree and was a practicing attorney until she decided to give it up. Professor Brian suspects that she must have a stud, although he found it odd that she never brought up a boyfriend or a husband during a conversation with her. "I usually can make a woman bring up her boyfriend or husband in less than fifteen minutes," he told me. That's true. Babes always bring up their BoyToys. Pseudo-professor John also stopped by. He was killing time before heading to the Windward campus for his evening class. "I'm glad that I have this evening class. Otherwise I'd be home on a Friday night with nothing to do," he said. Boy, do I know that well. Heck, I would have nothing to do if I didn't have the journal.
During my break between my two classes, I walked across the hall to Pseudo-professor Gordo's class. Somehow we got into a discussion about a rumor concerning a faculty member who got a student pregnant. He mentioned to me that, when he was hired, his Dean had specifically told him that he could date students if he wanted to, but he wouldn't have a job. That actually brings me around to the crux of the situation — my own fall from grace. Sometime today, I realized that I had seriously violated standard campus policy and also ignored my buddy Bud's warning. This is why I have been "in a funk" (as Steph would say). It's guilt over my stupidity and foolishness. In Bud's case, he had entered into an illicit relationship with a former student, who was the same age as his own daughter. The affair took a toll on Bud. Alcohol was always on his breath. His family nearly fell apart. "Stay away from the babes," he kept telling me. "They are all dangerous." Remember when Roach confronted me about my alleged relationship with Malia? I denied that anything was going on. "You can do what you want, but it will come back to you," he rebutted. I was defiant as I had convinced myself that Malia and I were spending time as friends. Yet, inside I knew that I was on a collision course with an ill-fated destiny. There is no question that the activities we engaged in from the beginning could clearly be construed as "dating." I let it happen. I became involved with a student. Yes, it has all come back to me as Roach had predicted. My job is not what's in jeopardy. My sanity is what I'm worried about.
I hear heartbreaking "baby factory" stories like Malia's situation every day. They all get to me. However, my complicity in Malia's story has made me wonder whether I'm fit to be a pseudo-professor. I have been pondering my resignation. Seems a bit drastic, eh? Take a look at the events as I have analyzed them. It's plain to see that I have altered the course of history. If I had chosen to keep my distance from Malia from the beginning, then I would only have cause for sympathy at the outcome. Yet, I am overcome by grief, remorse, and guilt. I am solely responsible for Malia's matriculation into the Diploma Mill. After I had dissed her, Malia wrote in e-mail, "If I had known that I'd never see you, then I would have never gone to [the university]." I also cannot help but believe that, when I mummified our friendship, I had set in motion the chain of events that has yet to be fully disclosed to me. I believe that I truly hurt her, even though I never meant to be cruel.
I've discarded a few of my hurdy-gurdy DVDs. I'm not sure why. The journal is a portal to my soul. In the past nine days, it has become the focal point of my life. At times, I've wanted to discard the journal. That would have been a mistake. It is only through the journal that I understand my own life, my decisions, and the events that follow. The journal is my friend, oftentimes my only friend. I can vividly remember my life as chronicled in the journal as opposed to the vagueness of the years prior. I think that part of self-actualization is the ability to remember one's own history. I revel in it because that is where I came from, this is where I am and what I am to be.
Saturday January 26
I suppose that all of what I've been discussing is moot. I really don't expect to hear from Malia again, given the nefarious way that I exposed the cover-up. In fact, it was I who initiated contact with her after pops had passed on. I now realize that Malia didn't tell me anything because I was already a non-entity to her. I believe that Malia had gotten rid of anything reminiscent of the ol' lavahead. That's probably why she did not return my calls until after I left a second message with a phone number. She also said that she tried to call me at the faculty computer center but the Diploma Mill's switchboard would not release the number. That's not true because the switchboard would have connected her directly. Malia also has a Caller ID box that displays the caller's phone number. Unfortunately, I was fooled into believing that any contact by the ol' lavahead would be welcomed, as she had written in her very last e-mail, "I miss you a lot and I think about you often." This was merely gratuitous sentiment included as filler. Overall, I reacted to a situation which no longer had anything to do with me. I assume that Malia has more important matters to worry about, like finding a way to make that guy change his mind and marry her.
I'm not sure why, but I decided to chart the days that Malia and I had spent time alone where something funny (i.e., da wild thing) could have happened. There were no other events in between that afforded the same level of privacy.
||March 8, 2000
Movie/Late Dinner/Sandy Beach
|Movie at Malia's
|Work on Computer at Malia's
Beach at Kawela Bay
Malia had mentioned to me about being "horny" during the ride in her car on both June 1st and 2nd, and she attributed that feeling to the time of the month which I assume was closest to ovulation. Guys know so little about these things, so I checked the Net and discovered that the standard menstrual cycle is about 28 days. Ovulation occurs about halfway. Pregnancy can occur plus and minus three days from ovulation, giving about a six-day leeway. I recognize a pattern, but Malia's menstrual cycle would have to be shorter than average. Is that possible?
I may be grasping at straws, but I am almost certain that Malia was trying hard to get pregnant by the ol' lavahead. Strange, considering the comment that she made (see February 1, 2000 entry): "Watch, before the term is over, someone will end up pregnant and will have to quit school." I am absolutely certain about the final two events listed, in that Malia wanted us to do da wild thing. And, I am very certain that she preferred that we do da wild thing on the beach as evidenced by the events in the table.
I have already identified the source of my own conflict, namely my complicity in the whole sordid affair. What happened after my bit part has nothing to do with me, so there is no need to pursue the information. I have to live with the consequences of my actions, which really is trivial in comparison to producing an illegitimate child. My sins, in this case, are forgivable. If it were not for Toad's strange psychotic episode, I could very well have been a father by now. If my friendship with Malia had gone on unnoticed, I know that I would have succumbed to temptation. Was it Divine intervention? I don't know. What I do know is that I've made it through another precarious situation unscathed. And, for that, I'm thankful.
To be continued ... Go to M.03
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