Tuesday, December 20, 2005

Santa Claus and the Wacky Memory Stocking

A myriad of activities and frustrations compose the list of reasons why I haven't blogged in some time.

But that doesn't matter right now.

I was in the horizontally challenged position on my highly used couch on Christmas evening, enjoying the fourteenth straight broadcast of "A Christmas Story" when outside my apartment there arose such a clatter.

Was it my rudely living neighbors flinging fecal matter?

Sorry.

I glanced over at the lock on my front door to see that someone was using strange and bewildering powers to make a surprising entrance.

Yep. It was Santa.

Santa and I have a pleasantly mixed history. When I was young and healthy and full of life he visited every year like clockwork bringing toys and gifts that I can barely remember.

But lately, I've been on the Naughty List.

Vicodin laden afternoons will do that to a guy.

Last year I heard him fly by at breakneck speed and somehow he managed to teach the reindeer how to pinpoint crap right on the roof of my truck.

"Ho, ho, hold you nose," was the refrain that greeted me last year as my noisy neighbors received a free trip to the downtown jail for producing vast quantities of meth.

But that's another blog entry for another holiday.

As my apartment door flung open a less than stellar Santa stumbled into my apartment.

He didn't appear like he does in all those over produced holiday commercials.

This was the New Millennium Santa and he was dropping by to visit moments before returning to the North Pole.

The aroma of cheap liquor and non-filtered cigarettes invaded every crevice of my apartment while my nose hairs slowly retreated into my lungs.

As he took another swig from a rather disturbing goblet, one by one reindeers scampered single file into the bedroom behind the kitchen.

I was full of ham and homemade mashed potatoes and holding about 3.4 kilos of fluid due to a lack of a recent Dialysis treatment, so I didn't put up much of a fight.

"Where are they going?"

"Ho, Ho, hack! Oh man," was all Santa could muster as he wiped the stained cotton at the end of his sleeve along his equally dirtied beard.

"They're using the facilities of this (burp) posh establishment my good (hic), my good (hic), my goodness."

Santa looked off into the distance as he reached down to scratch himself.

"I haven't heard from you in years and suddenly you're my guest. Come on Santa, what's the deal?"

He started to get this freakish look in his eye, like he was going to vomit. You can see the thoughts start to evaporate from his memory as the toilet flushed in my bathroom.

Then I heard the sink water running.

One by one it seems the reindeer were using my toilet, washing their paws and then flossing.

But that wasn't as suprising as what happened next.

"Ho, ho, holy mackeral, what's this in my pants?"

I covered my eyes in horror as Santa rummaged through his pants, his eyes peering toward the ceiling as his tongue stuck out of the side of his mouth.

"Here you go!"

Out of Santa's magically rotting trousers came the oldest, most frayed stocking. It smelled of salami and bad cheese.

"Reach into my Wacky Memory Stocking and pull out a memory. It'll be fun and magical and fun and magical."

"You said that Santa."

"Sorry about that. Santa gets a little loopy when he talks about himself in third person. Ho, ho, horribly unfunny!"

I kept hearing the bathroom sink turn and off and what seemed to be scrubbing.

Apparently the reindeer weren't too fond of my dirty bathroom.

"I'm not reaching in there Santa. And you better go."

His face dropped as sadness overwhelmed him.

"But how will you learn how special your Christmas really was if you don't reach into the Wacky Memory Stocking? Please don't make Santa cry. The last time Santa cried Mrs. Santa had just returned from a weekend in Maui with the Easter Bunny."

"Eww."

"Exactly. So make Santa happy. Reach inside and enjoy the magic."

I was hesitant as I raised my left arm. I'm right handed, but I figured my Dialysis arm wouldn't mind since it's used to intense, unintended trauma.

Instantly, Christmas memories of the past few weeks washed over me...

--- My parents drove 700 miles from La Pine, Oregon to spend Christmas weekend with their first born son.

--- Ted and Gayl visited too and brought gifts of boxers and hot chocolate.

--- The radio station went off the air three different times because it missed me.

--- I still didn't have any naked time.

As I pulled me hand out, it was covered in a reddish goo and smelled of cranberry schnapps.

"Taste it. Santa thinks it tastes like yesterday."

I was about to get up and wash my hands and figure out how to move a 300 lb. man to the wood chipper when one by one, reindeer's entered the living room.

Dasher brought a towel, Dancer with soap,
Prancer with egg nog, Vixen with hope.
Comet was smiling, Cupid taking notes,
Donner nudging Santa, Blitzen with his coat.

And then the most magical thing happened in the history of the Stacy Bachelor Pad.

Santa placed a finger inside of his nose, and up the chimney he rose.

Which would have been great, if I owned a chimney.

Santa started to glow as his finger deepened into this nasal passage and he turned a bright green. All of the reindeer cowered nearby as Santa made his way through my sliding glass window.

"Ho, ho, horrible pain!"

And then they were gone.

And with them, my security deposit.

Happy Birthday Jesus.