But there's something deep and dark that haunts my soul about this time of year, hidden behind Santa's red cheeks, and the smarmy conniving smiles of those damn dirty elves.

Nothing to do to cope with the paranoia of the obeese and their midgets creeping into my house to eat my food and leave me clothes I won't wear, but to smoke copious amounts of pot,-- 'just to take the edge off.'

After all, there's no telling when Santa will pop off, and what better time to be ripped straight to the tits than when the fat man is sitting on your chest late at night, while groping your wife and saying lewd things to your daughter. I can almost smell the cheap whiskey and millwaukee's best light on his breath, hear the chatter of the elves like hyenas roving around a kill on the serenghetti.

Not that I have a daughter nor wife, but you know what I'm saying. A man who sits with little boys on his lap, day in , day out? C'mon...There is something that grabs me in a really wrong way about this time of year, but I love it nonetheless. And I smoke pot. Lots of pot, for some reason, during the twelfth month of the year, the time of the winter solstice.

Lemme cover this weekend.

Okay, friday, went out with the guys, and we raged against the dying of the light--with little or no plan in mind.

Just pointless. Booze on top of booze. Pot. Too many ciggarettes. I stayed away from Vicadin, but still ended up doing a line of coke. Bad boy.

I hate being wired.

I've got roomie to the point where he said will at least stop paying for it, which means my exposure will be lessened.

Anyway, we started by going over to John's high-rise. He had a little pre-party sort of thing with a lot of his empolyees and a few others. Roomie saw Kim---who turned out to be smoking hot--and she played on again, off again games with him.

I met Sherredy. Oh. As I walk in the door with my friends,she saw me, and we made eye contact. She got really excited, stood up, then crouched by her girlfriend and whispered excitedly,"Oh. He's so cute!"

I love girls.

She wore these tight black leather pants, and a midrif baring black blouse, had blond hair and blue eyes. Very attractive girl.

She used to work for John. According to John, she's 'friends' with a lot of professional hockey players in town, and also, reportedly, 'loves to suck dick--and that's it. She'll suck your dick and just leave.'

Great.

So I flirted with her for awhile. Tonight's theme--'I am a Sucker for Aggressive Women'. Not that I see anything wrong with aggressive women. I like aggressive women. Besides, I was light years from fooling around with her, anyway. I think.

She wanted us to go clubbing, but I just wasn't into the whole club scene.

So we left and went to the Goose. I ran into Abby. I must have talked to her for a good couple of hours a few weeks ago, before I had that encounter with the girl who grabbed my cock.(11-27, thank god for the internet. I can now put time place and date on my indescretions and near misses).

Hey, I was rolling my face off then...what can I say? I get involved in weirdly deep coversations with stange people I don't know.

Anyway, so Abby is a pretty girl...except for this five inch scar across her forehead right above her eyebrows. You can still see the little dots where the stitches were.

I am not superficial. Not in the least. I am a nice guy. We talked for a while. In the process, she grabbed my cock five times. I counted. Then she gave me some weed. I asked for none of this, but am not complaining.

I'm such a sucker. I don't know. I could have been talking to anyone, continuing the search for true love(Because regardless of the scar, she's not even close. Somewhat creepy personality.), and here I am talking to frankenstein and her magic cock-grabbing show.

Why did I stay when I knew it all wasn't what I wanted? 'Cause I'm a nice guy. If someone wants to talk to me, pretty much, I've got the time to listen. I make time. In the mean time, she gropes me repeatedly. As I said, I like aggressive women, and this screws with my standards.

But no. I'm not a man-whore. I am, however, a failure of the proto-typical male stereo type, and that bothers me a little. I know plenty of guys who would be in my position, fucking whatever, and be happy as clams. Damn my conscience. I strive to be a man, not an animal. But being an animal is so damn FUN. I need to find the Right Girl. Then I can be an animal whenever.

Besides that scar freaked me right out. What can I say?

The guys had left to a bar down the street. It was Don's birthday(he'll be moving in at the end of the month.) and he turned thirty. I am the youngest by about four years of all my friends. I think don was having a little difficulty dealing with it all. He got hit on by this attractive mature woman, and things looked to be going okay, until she said something like,"You're so cute...I have a twenty five year old son." Which would put her at about the late forties...

So I met the guys down the street. Don was talking to an ex-girlfriend from long ago. I think I freak her out in several different ways. Don blows her off, and we go home.

At home, we remember that John said to be back at his high-rise at around two. So we crack some beers, make a call and wait. Get cleaned up, still no John, and now we're wired. Especially Don.

Don is impatient, and starts going off on a tangent about stealing John's sixty inch t.v. It would be disturbing, but I know he's kidding. And I riff off of that, about finding women 'somewhere in the building' and gay dog porn. And then we're off, going over to John's. Except John's not there. No girls. No nothing. Bummer.

So I went home. Moved in saturday with Kris and Woody. Got a copy of my new album, some kind of sampler album with a bunch of different covers frome many different jam sessions. Some of its okay. I like the first album, 'where wuz you at?' better. All originals. Different sound, its a trio...me my brother and the rap stylings of Caz' set to blues riffs and alternative stuff. If anyone wants a copy of either, lemme know.

Had a fire on saturday in my fireplace while I played slide blues guitar on my baby. Didn't even go out. *sigh*

Sunday, went over to Thomas's(again) his wife Dar. Convinced dar that I didn't want to see her, and to leave my stuff on the porch. Thomas had to intevene.

Anyway, I was late in getting over there, and while I was driving, a huge storm dumped six inches of snow in about an hour. Missed my exit on the highway, and had to back track through suburbanite sticks to get there. Ate burger king by accident, for the first time in years.

It was good to see Thomas. He is a life-long friend. He convinced himself he was an alcoholic(with his wife's help), and is now going through this 're-evaluation of his life'. Which is fine. But, man. Have some perspective. It's good to re-evaluate, but somethings don't change. Outside of drinking, things you liked to do before are still sources of happiness.

me:"So what do you do for fun, now, Thom?" (takes a pull off of a glass bowl)

Thomas, quietly:"Nothing."

me:"Nothing?" (takes another pull)

Thomas:"I'm re-evaluating my life, and I'm finding things I liked to do before, I don't anymore. Partly because of the drinking."

me:"C'mon. You didn't like the snow bong? Everyone likes snow bong."

And I left, really, really stoned. December. I like driving in horrible snow with good gangification. Hope Thomas gets some perspective soon. I don't like seeing this lack of confidence from him. I seemed to rattle him, because when you re-evaluate, you do it from certain perspectives, and from cues which make you take a personal inventory. What did he say? Do I like this? Drop the bad habit, figure some stuff out, deal. Its all life.

Sunday Woody was gone. Hopefully he flat out got fucking laid(with a girl), so he can affirm his sexuality, and stop creeping me out. He stood off in the distance, on the edge of my peripheral vision, and stared at me for a while on friday. Then he giggled and walked away. Fuckin' bothered me, on several levels.