I called and left a message for my aunt Bunny, whom I haven’t seen since I was a baby.  She’s my dad’s sister. 
     She called me back.  We talked for about ten minutes, and ended with her saying she would call my dad and ask him if he wants to hear from me.  She told me not to get my hopes up, because he’s not a family man (obviously).
     I told my mom what I did.  She started yelling and screaming and cussing at me like I did something horrible.  She kicked things, too.  Then she stomped out of the house, making sure to slam the door behind her, and got into her car.  I called her twenty minutes later, and she was crying her eyes out, saying, “How dare you, Chris!” and other things along those lines.   I feel kind of bad for her now.  Especially because when I called her again, she was pulled over in a parking lot ’cause she got in an accident ’cause she was so upset. 
     But was I really that wrong to try to find a man that caused my mom and I so much pain in our lives?  Is it really that wrong?

    I had a dream last night that I was searching again for my dad.  For those of you who don’t know, which is nearly everybody, the last time I saw him was when I was four or five years old.  So, like I said, in the dream I was searching for him.  I used the 411 method, that is, I called 411 and asked for a Gary Graham in Tallahassee, Florida, and Gainesville, Florida, ’cause Florida is where he used to, and probably still does, live. 
     When I woke up this morning, I was all excited that maybe God had given me a sign.   So the first thing I did this morning, before even getting dressed or anything, is I called 411, asking for Gary Graham in both Tallahassee and Gainesville.
     Nothing.
     Then I did some research on the Internet, the details of which are too complicated to put into words (either that or I’m just lazy), and I found nine Gary Grahams in Florida: Three in Deerfield Beach, one each in Miami and Pompano Beach, two in Sarasota, and then two more in Lighthouse Point.  Well I could only find phone numbers for the two guys at Sarasota. 
     I called one of the numbers and it just kept ringing and ringing.  So I called the second number, got a message machine, called back, and a lady answered.  Here is how it went:
     “Hello?” said the woman.
     “Hi, is there a Gary Graham there?”
     “Yes, may I tell him who’s calling, please?”
     “Well I don’t wanna say ‘Chris,’ ’cause if he’s who I think he is, he might not want to talk to me.  Um, are the last four digits of his social security number 1417?”
     She called to her husband: “Honey, what are the last four digits of your social?”
     A pause, an unbearable pause!
     “No, it’s not him, but you can talk to him if you want.”
     Crushed!
     “Oh, okay, sure, I’ll talk to him.”
     “Hello?”
     “Hi, my name is Chris, I was just looking for my dad, that’s all.  Do you have a middle name?”
     “Yes, Allen.”
     “Oh, okay, ’cause the guy I’m looking for doesn’t have a middle name.”
     We said goodbye and hung up.
     Among the other people I called were my newfound cousin, Kevin Malko, and his mom (my dad’s sister).  I left messages for them, and I also e-mailed Kevin.
     Now I just wait.
     Wish me luck, people.
     Oh, and I just sold my video camera for $1,900.00.  Now I can buy my Nikon D200!

     Why do girls dye their hair blonde?  It’s such a phony thing to do.  I hate phonies probably as much as Holden Caulfield, of The Catcher in the Rye fame, does.  Just get over yourselves, girls.  You’re not more beautiful because you have blonde hair, you’re not any cooler, you’re not any more acceptable….The only differences between before and after is that, before, you were real, and now you’re fake; before, you were different, and now you’re the same  as everybody else.  Another difference is that now I can let spill from my lips blonde jokes about you.  And the thing is, the jokes are probably true.

Letter from a Soldier in Iraq

Hello
media, do you know you indirectly kill American soldiers every day? You
inspire and report the enemy’s objective every day. You are the enemy’s
greatest weapon. The enemy cannot beat us on the battlefield so all he
does is try to wreak enough havoc and have you report it every day.
With you and the enemy using each other, you continually break the will
of the American public and American government.

“We go out daily
and bust and kill the enemy, uncover and destroy huge weapons caches
and continue to establish infrastructure. So daily we put a whoopin on
the enemy, but all the enemy has to do is turn on the TV and get
re-inspired. He gets to see his daily roadside bomb, truck bomb,
suicide bomber or mortar attack. He doesn’t see any accomplishments of
the U.S. military (FOX, you’re not exempt, you suck also).

“Let’s
give you an example. A couple of days ago we conducted an air assault.
We lifted troops into an area for an operation. The operation went well
and our ground troops killed (insurgents) and took several prisoners,
freed a few hostages and uncovered a weapons cache containing munitions
and chemicals that were going to be used in improvised bombs.

“The
next morning I woke up and turned on AFN (Armed Forces Network) and
watched the nightly news (NBC). Nothing, none of that reported. But the
daily car bomb report was reported, and the file footage was not even
from the event. There was a car bomb in the Sadr City area and your
news report showed old car bomb footage from another part of town from
some other time.

“So we really set the enemy back that night but
all the enemy had to do was turn on the news and be reassured that the
enemy’s agenda (objective) was still going to be fed to the American
public.

“We, the soldiers, keep breaking the back of the enemy. You, the media, keep rejuvenating the enemy.

“How
hard would it be to contact the PAO (public affairs officer) of the 1st
CAV, 36th CAB, 25th ID or the Marines and ask what did you guys
accomplish today – good and bad? How about some insurgent blooper
videos? Now that would be something to show on the evening news.

“Media,
we know you hate the George Bush administration, but report both sides,
not just your one-sided agenda. You have got to realize how you are
continually motivating every extremist, jihadist and terrorist to
continue their resolve to kill American soldiers.”

Amazing.  There is another side to what the biased media tells you.  Imagine that.  If
you see this post, do this American hero a favor by posting his message
somewhere else. I want to spread this letter as far as it can go.

     “Who is this party girl?”
     Thus spake the ad at the top of the computer screen.  It showed a picture that was obviously Lyndsey (spelling on that?) Lohan.  And I have to ask: Why do I care who this “party girl” is?  She’s a bloody party girl, which automatically means she can’t be friends with me!  Not that Lyndsey (again, can I get the spelling on that?) Lohan would be my friend were she not a “party girl.”  Freakin’ coke head.
     Man, these pretzel nibblers are good!  Go out and get some, folks.  They’re called Snyder’s of Hanover Lightly Seasoned Honey Mustard & Onion Nibblers: Flavored Sourdough Pretzels.  Golly, they’re good!  I’ve nearly devoured an entire bag today.  Sort of makes my Dance Dance Revolution workouts null, though .

[Note: I got this idea from someone else's Xanga.  They got the idea from Ernest Hemingway]

Add your own to these in comments!

1) House for sale; haunted, in fact.
2) She hit me, I killed her.
3) My dog ran into the street.
4) I farted up a stormy night.
5) She went for a walk last night.
6) He never saw his father again.
7) He loved her; she left him.
8) Many have died because of money.
9) But it was a complete accident!

     Hoo-boy!  I’m a sweaty hog.  I just got done playing Dance Dance Revolution.  I think I must’ve burned at least 500 calories while doing it, too!  I don’t know–there’s a calorie counter in the game, but I didn’t use it because I’m a doofus.  Sounds like lyrics to a song: “I didn’t uuuuse iiiittt, ’cause, baby, I’m a dooooofuussss….”
     Actually, I lied in that last paragraph.  I’m not a sweaty hog…anymore.  Nay, for this little piggy took a show-show (shower), and it was a cold show-show, and it was deee-licious! 
     So here’s how I got the game, ’cause I know all of you are just dying to know:
     I asked my friend J.J. if he would buy it for me, and then if I could pay him back the sixty dollars. 
     “No way!” said he.  But then he started to think about it, and finally he told me I would have to pay him $15.00 in interest. 
     “No way!” said I.  But then I started to think about it–thought about how I really needed to get rid of my gut, as small as it is–and I agreed to it.
     Then, today, as we were on our way to Best Buy, he said, “Okay, here’s the agreement: I buy you your game, and I also buy a movie for myself, which you [Chris] have to pay for.
     No way! thought I.  But then I started to think about it, and I decided it was worth it, ’cause that’s a fun game, man!  Have you ever played it?  It’s like…the Lord of the Level World (that is, the game world…’cause games have levels…except this one).
     Anyway, so now I owe him $60.00, plus the price of his movie, which was $15.00.  So that totals $75.00.  Man, I’m a loser.  And guess what movie he buys–The Princess Bride!  Can you believe that?  Here we are, two guys in the checkout line at Best Buy, one holding a girly movie, the other holding a girly game….They prob’ly thought we were a couple, haha!
     Then there’s this girl (no, not my girlfriend…I already have one of those–my Miranda).  I’m not gonna say her name…just that we met here on Xanga.  She’s anorexic and an atheist.  I’m trying to help her in both areas, ’cause, as always happens with me and strangers, I feel like we were meant to cross paths.  And I hope that doesn’t creep her out if she reads this.  Not that anybody but Julie reads these anyway, and I thank you very much for that, Julie.  Anyway, that girl is on the verge being disgustingly skinny.  I’m thinking about how I should go about this.  I’m thinkin’…I’m thinkin’….
     And now I shall depart.  Think it’s time to go read, what do you say?    
     

I’m no good at writing poems.  I’ve got nothing to say.  I mean, who am I to put a voice to my thoughts, my opinions?  I’m awful at poetry.  I can’t describe a flower in bloom or an act of love or anything beautiful like that.  I can, however, tell you the look on a child’s face being beaten.  It’s sadness, is what it is.  Terror.  Pain.  But not hate.  A child’s countenance never has hate scrawled upon it.

[To be cont'd]

     Man, Dance Dance Revolution is such an awesome game, I’m telling you what!
     9:32 p.m.: I’m eating Cheerios.
     No one wants to bring up what needs to be said.
     So I’ll say it.

     I just finished watching Open Water with my  mom.  Boy, what a depressing movie.  Anybody out there seen it?  If not, be forewarned–spoilers ahead!

     They both end up dying!  The husband first (I assume he bleeds to death in the ocean), and the wife commits suicide shortly after that by drowning herself! 
     Man, how horrible to have your spouse die, and then be so distraught about it that you kill yourself. 
     I guess we know they won’t be seeing each other in the afterlife, huh?  ‘Cause, you know…suicides presumably  and unfortunately go to Hell.
     Goodnight.