-I woke up with a thick head, a dry mouth, and a body ache that only a good hangover can provide.  I’d hate to think of the state I’d be in had I not had the foresight to take aspirin before I went to bed last night.  Then the assault of guilty memories of the ceaseless cocktails, the bars, and the late-night drunken pizza. Why???  Oh yeah, and I drunkenly blogged too.  I cringe at the fragmented and blurred memory of it.  I made an attempt to run up the stairs, which was more like a cautious limp, to see if Santa put the thing (or person in this case) I asked him for under my tree.  I crest the peak of the stairs and see my  nearly-naked, Charlie Brown-esque tree, still standing there alone and sad; no Erin, just two dead leaves a lump of coal.  I wasn’t so naughty this year, was I?   I did some work that I’m proud of.  I made some significant life changes.  I bought and am building my my own nest.  I had some profound life revelations about what and who I want.  I thus far fruitlessly made several impassioned pitches to a girl whom I still love.  I renewed old friendships.  I spent quality time with my mother and other family members.  I’ve been charitable and kind to lesser fortunate.  Perhaps I’m just biased, but I think I should have made the “nice” list and Santa should have brought me the only thing I asked him for.   What a dick!  I ask him for one fucking thing, one thing, and he ignores me.  What a thoughtless and mean old fucker!  I hope your sled got side-swiped by a drunk driver.  I hope your reindeer got the shits and assaulted you with flying poop shrapnel.  I hope Mrs. Claus is getting the high hard one from Mr. Frosty while you’re out all night. Then again, maybe he just didn’t have my new address.  Damn the US Postal Service!  Change of address form my ass!!!  Love you Santa, but next year if what I want isn’t under my tree, you and me are gonna have words.  XO