Motorcycle Adventures

I have now put over 500 miles on my motorcycle in the two months I've had her. And they have certainly been filled with adventure. Take, for example, the two times I ran out of gas on the highway. Just last Friday I was coming home from work when I rolled the throttle to accelerate and the bike wouldn't respond. I figured something was up so I quickly headed to the right and coasted into the shoulder (which was about as wide as the shoulder on a stick figure). From there I had to wave cars around me as I switched the petcock to the reserve tank. I am generally a pretty good planner and on top of things, but it's hard on a motorcycle when there's no fuel gauge. But now I know, I can go exactly 154 miles on one tank of gas.
A second adventure came when I went to get my rear tire fixed. I looked up a place online that appeared to be friendly enough so I booked an appointment. The location was more than sketchy. Tucked away in the back of a strip mall of car repair shops, the space was tiny. I don't think they are used to people waiting for their repairs. When I walked in there was a man at the computer looking at some questionable pictures of the fairer sex, and when he turned around to gruffly ask me what I wanted I could see his shaved head and braided goatee. Just then another man walked in, this one with tats all down hit arms- visible because he wore a wife beater- and a cigarette behind his ear. He pulled up in a Crown Vic and the original man asked him, "Whose grandma did you steal that ^$&#(@ from?" I asked them to look at my rear tire so they went and got the mechanic. He walked in with a mohawk. At this point I wondered to myself if I could run out to Stella and escape with her in time to avoid the gunshots that were sure to ensue. Internally I opted to stay, feeling safe with my mace and my work polo shirt. People with polo shirts don't get beat up, right? The story actually has a nice ending. While waiting for my bike to be fixed I had a pleasant conversation about the best kind of cigarettes to smoke with the tattooed man and the braided goatee man. They fixed my bike in a short amount of time for a very reasonable price and taught me some things about cigs. I would go back again, but I think I'll grow my beard out a little more and get some fake earrings before setting foot in the 'lobby.'
The longer I have my motorcycle the deeper I realize the riding culture runs. Motorcycle riders come in all shapes and sizes and it's only a matter of time before I discover what type of rider I will be.

Google Analytics

Google Analytics is a wonderful thing for statisticians, bloggers, and analyzers- or as I like to refer to them as- blogstatizers (Blog- STAH-tie-zers). I love checking up on the facts of Holla Atchya and seeing where my viewers are from and how they arrived at Holla Atchya. In particular, I am able to see what key words have been Googled that led to my website. The fifth most commonly Googled phrase that terminates at Holla Atchya is- and this is not for children- 'beach volley sex & drugs online.' Would you take a guess what post that brings up? My Duck Beach account! Haha! I cannot confirm that because I have no desire to Google that phrase, but I'm pretty sure that's it. For the record, Mom, there was no sex or drugs at Duck Beach in my house. There was beach volleyball and online activity, though.
My visitors have come from Rancagua, Chile (an average of 0:00 minutes on my blog), Songkhla, Thailand (an average of 0:00 minutes on my blog), and Istanbul, Turkey (an average of 0:00 minutes on my blog). Clearly my fan base is quite large and even more international.
To the credit of Holla Atchya, however, the average visitor hits 2.38 Holla Atchya webpages before moving on. I can't even get a girl to give me a double take, never mind a 2.38 take... Great work Holla Atchya!
Due to it's success, I have launched a Twitter account: @HollaAtchya. Feel free to follow.

Fairfax Collegiate Summer Program

My summer employment has begun- and abruptly ended. It turns out topiary horticulture requires a lot more skill than I had previously thought. I figured using a lawnmower qualified me as moderate-to-experienced in the lawncare field, but No. They were looking for people with a degree in dendrology who had experience working in a barbershop. Fail. So instead I got a job as a teacher at a summer academic program. It's not a summer camp (I am often reminded), and it's definitely not summer school. It's a summer program with all the elements of summer camp and all the academics of a summer school. It's called Fairfax Collegiate Summer Program. I teach the following classes: Intro to Algebra, Math for 5-6 graders, SAT preparation, and Intro to Geometry. So far we've established that I look like James from Big Time Rush on Nickelodeon (Google Image it to give your opinion, if for some reason, you don't watch Nickelodeon like the rest of us) and that I don't know how to divide decimals by hand. Try and try as I might, I can't figure out how these kids are dividing decimals by hand. I have to flit my calculator out to find the answers after yelling 'Look over there! It's Selena Gomez reading Harry Potter with her Polly Pocket!' It's the only way I can sneak in a few hits on my TI-89. I even asked a student, slyly (that's an adjective, not the student's name, Her name was Clyly), to explain how they got their answer (because I had not the foggiest idea). Clyly explained to the whole class how she did her math, and despite every other 11 year old understanding, I was lost. Anyway, besides my new doppelganger status and inability to work with decimals work is going well. We've only had one 911 call in two weeks, and I think my kids learned at least one fact in our two weeks together. Today I started a new session and was not approached by any angry parents so I think I'm going to make it through.