My third attempt at waking up yesterday worked – leaving me finally functional around 3pm. Once I got through what seems to be my new ritual of sitting down, putting in Diana Krall’s version of “I’m dreaming of a White Christmas” and balling my eyes out… I was fine.

There.. All of the uck, the awkward, the sadness, the anger that Christmas brings out in me anymore… released… and all in under four minutes. I don’t know why people fling themselves from bridges during Christmas… All you need is a little solitude and a bitter sweet song…. I could save hundreds with this knowledge.

Got out and picked up a few gifts and met my assigned chaperone, Steve Brawley, for happy hour. Of course, this is like asking Colonel Sanders to chickensit…. BooBooBrawley is a party machine. Nonetheless I kept it to light-beer.

After cavorting about and seeing some folks I haven’t seen in damn near a year – I asked booboo if he wanted to be my White Castle enabler.

Just like the Krall track… White Castle also seems to be a ritual…. Normally verbotten – but there’s nobody around to nauseate with the absolute disgusting things that come out of my body after I eat them. The cats did shoot me disappointed, judgmental looks this morning though.

In a mere 24 hours, I’ve completely trashed the house…. I’ve turned into a “binge white-castle snarfing, compulsive web camming, chain-smoking, fuck it I’m not taking a shower and stay in my jammys, scuzzy bachelor.”

Fortunately I don’t blog so the guys will never know… or see any particularly cheezeball schmoopy self-portraits carefully crafted to make them smile and remind them I fucking miss them so much.

piss… getting chokey again.. where’s the Krall disc.