Christmas With A Crank

I've been so exhausted. I thought it was allergies but now I'm convinced someone from the McDonald's drive-thu replaced my blood with ketchup. I have four alert hours each day and then I want to curl up in the sink and sleep.

If only someone would do the dishes. And by someone I mean not me.

So on Christmas Day I was supposed to pick up Izzy's famous homemade Christmas dinner in Santa Monica and then drive it over to my sister's, about 5 minutes away.

I got in my car and realized I needed gas. Fuck.

I said Fuck on Christmas Day. You know, like I do every day. I drove to the gas station 2 blocks from my house and ran into my friend Kenny and his dog Sandy Blue. Kenny's the guy who told me he remembered me when I had a flat stomach.

Boy, you really can't unhear that.

He cleaned my windshield as I propped myself up against the gas pump and prayed for an oxygen IV. Then a drunk approached.

"Been drinking a little, Pat?" I asked.
"How did you know my name?"
"It's written on the cooler holding your beer."

Then a guy with an 110 pound RottyPit came by. His name was Claus. His dog's name was Snoop because Claus used to work for Snoop Dogg. Claus said he was a celebrity broker. I'd never heard of a celebrity broker so I asked him what that meant.
"Just Google 'Claus Britney Spears' and you can read all about it."

I drove 2 blocks before I thought, why go to Santa Monica? The party is RIGHT HERE in the Hollywood Hills with Pat the Drunk, Kenny the Sax Player, Claus the Celebrity Broker and Suzy the Sink Sleeper.

When I got to Lindy's I Googled Claus:

Feb 7 2008 3:14 PM EST
Britney Spears' Friend Denies Requesting Money For Rolling Stone Interview

'They contacted me with the offer,' Danish businessman Claus xxxxxxx insists...

Claus was a friend of Britney's. He allegedly requested 2 million for an interview with her. Rolling Stone denied offering it.

I COULD TOTALLY DO HIS JOB because apparently it does not require leaving the house.

Sidebar: How funny do those dogs look?

After dinner my sister and I watched screeners of It's Complicated and Up in the Air, both very average movies so I'm not sure what the hype is all about. We then watched 10 minutes each of Creation, Star Trek, and Coraline. Boring, Who Cares, and Who Cares, Jr.

By the end of the evening Lindy was explaining to me what a vaginaplasty was. So all in all? A typical Christmas.

End of chat.

How You Can Tell Who Hates You At Christmas

This is a picture of one of my ex-friends. It's from 1991 and was taken with a Polaroid camera and no I don't think it's snowing just on her sweater.

That year I had visited her while she was making gingerbread houses. They were beautiful and complicated and I admired her craftsmanship and skill. She too was a comic and made these every year, passed them out to producers, agents and bookers. At the time I was handing out - what do you call it - oh yeah, nothing. I don't think those houses ever helped her because she wasn't that funny and didn't work very much. Know your audience, people.

There was one that sat apart from the others. She called it her practice house. It looked good to me but she said it had lots of mistakes on it. Upon closer inspection I saw all the 'mistakes' and it was definitely the slum lord property of her Candyland.

What did she do with the practice house?

I have one of those memories that although not eidetic, is just as useful. I remember others' throwaway lines and have surprised many by remembering them from when I was fifteen. Although at the time I said I was nine because I was already in show business and lying about my age.

She said she saved the practice house for someone she didn't like that much.

I think we all know where this is going.

That's right, she showed up at my house with a big smile on her face.

End of chat.

Some Things Need No Explanation. This Is Not One Of Those Things.

From the 101 Restaurant down the street. Their parking lot sidewalk was the one I tripped over.
I posted this deer picture last Xmas. It's from the front window of the 101 restaurant. This is what these people do instead of PAVING THEIR SIDEWALKS. I'm posting it again because I get very religious around the holidays and need to see as many blue balls as possible.
End of chat.

The Death Of Santa Claus

It was Christmas Eve and I got up when I heard noises downstairs in the living room. I don’t recall how old I was; I may have been in my thirties for all I remember.

I only have a good memory for ex-boyfriends and the things they do that are just so patently wrong. Seriously, a mesh shirt? Is that a cry for help or something?

I was finally going to see Santa Claus. I tiptoed to the top of the landing. My little, or gigantic, thirty year-old, heart was pounding in my ears. Wouldn’t every one of my miserable friends be jealous when I told them this story? I peeked down the stairs and saw my parents putting gifts under the tree and eating Santa’s cookies. I wanted to scream We have other food in the fridge you big stupid heads because it hadn’t hit me; even with the seemingly incontrovertible evidence, Santa wouldn’t be coming. Not tonight. Not ever.

The next morning I didn’t say anything because my sister was two years younger and if I had confronted my parents in front of her they would have punished me. I had already been penalized for some of my other ItWasJustAJoke infractions:

-I threatened to stab her with a kitchen knife if she didn’t stop snoring. (they made me cut meat with a fork for a month)
-I forced her to help me slide raw eggs under our refrigerator to drive my parents crazy with the stench. (she eventually ratted me out)
-We’d go to malls and I’d tell her to get on the Up escalator with me and then I’d run back down while she burst into tears and had to go up alone. (and yet she kept getting on escalators with me)
-I’d wait until she was coming upstairs to our bedrooms and then jump out and scream at her. (come on, that shit never gets old)

I find it ironic that when we’re young we’re lied to with the approbation of the entire world about Santa, the Tooth Fairy, the Easter Bunny and why Mom and Dad don’t sleep in the same room. And then told never to lie to our parents. Are you kidding me? This is WHY I lied to my parents. I was paying them back.

The North American Aerospace Defense Command, NORAD, an organization made up of the United States and Canada, tracks Santa Claus every year. I can understand why Canada is tracking Santa Claus; they have plenty of free time on their hands. But the United States? People are gunning for us all the time. Shouldn’t we be tracking where Kim Jong Il drops off his plutonium? Or in which cave Osama Bin Laden is reading back issues of How To Kill Americans Digest?

It’s all over the news, this Santa tracking. How many 7 year olds are watching the evening news? Hello, is this thing on?

This was the quote of the week from NORAD “In the end, I hope that the Canadians and Americans are assured that NORAD is prepared to respond to threats as they present themselves and more importantly, to deflect and deter those attacks before they occur.”

Seriously, if they’re tracking Santa Claus, I’m not all that assured that they’re prepared to deflect and deter attacks from giant killer tomatoes, much less suicide bombers.

Recently, a teacher in the UK and a priest in California told children there was no Santa Claus. The teacher was fired and the priest had to issue a formal apology. Yet kids are encouraged to tell teachers who brought the semi-automatic weapon to school and Catholics are urged to go to confession three seconds after they’ve screwed up.

Let’s review:
- Kids tell teacher the truth + teacher tells kids the truth = Fired.
- Kids confess truth to priest + priest confesses truth to kids = Formal Apology.

I don’t have children of my own but I’ve dated four men who did. If any of the kids had asked me if the above fabled entities existed I would have lied and said yes. Once again, I’m part of the problem.

End of chat.

Reposted from December 2006

The Death Of Santa Claus

It was Christmas Eve and I got up when I heard noises downstairs in the living room. I don’t recall how old I was; I may have been in my thirties for all I remember.

Sidebar: I only have a good memory for ex-boyfriends and the things they do that are just so patently wrong. Seriously, a mesh shirt? Is that a cry for help or something?

I was finally going to see Santa Claus. I tiptoed to the top of the landing. My little, or gigantic, thirty year-old, heart was pounding in my ears. Wouldn’t every one of my miserable friends be jealous when I told them this story? I peeked down the stairs and saw my parents putting gifts under the tree and eating Santa’s cookies. I wanted to scream We have other food in the fridge you big stupid heads because it hadn’t hit me; even with the seemingly incontrovertible evidence, Santa wouldn’t be coming. Not tonight. Not ever.

The next morning I didn’t say anything because my sister was two years younger and if I had confronted my parents in front of her they would have punished me. I had already been penalized for some of my other ItWasJustAJoke infractions:
-I threatened to stab her with a kitchen knife if she didn’t stop snoring. (they made me cut meat with a fork for a month)
-I forced her to help me slide raw eggs under our refrigerator to drive my parents crazy with the stench. (she eventually ratted me out)
-We’d go to malls and I’d tell her to get on the Up escalator with me and then I’d run back down while she burst into tears and had to go up alone. (and yet she kept getting on escalators with me)
-I’d wait until she was coming upstairs to our bedrooms and then jump out and scream at her. (come on, that shit never gets old)

I find it ironic that when we’re young we’re lied to with the approbation of the entire world about Santa, the Tooth Fairy, the Easter Bunny and why Mom and Dad don’t sleep in the same room. And then told never to lie to our parents. Are you shitting me? This is WHY I lied to my parents. I was paying them back.

The North American Aerospace Defense Command, NORAD, an organization made up of the United States and Canada, tracks Santa Claus every year. I can understand why Canada is tracking Santa Claus; they have plenty of free time on their hands. But the United States? People are gunning for us all the time. Shouldn’t we be tracking where Kim Jong Il drops off his plutonium? Or in which cave Osama Bin Laden is reading back issues of How To Kill Americans Digest? It’s all over the news, this Santa tracking. How many 7 year olds are watching the evening news? Hello, is this thing on?

This was the quote of the week from NORAD “In the end, I hope that the Canadians and Americans are assured that NORAD is prepared to respond to threats as they present themselves and more importantly, to deflect and deter those attacks before they occur.” Seriously, if they’re tracking Santa Claus, I’m not all that assured that they’re prepared to deflect and deter attacks from giant killer tomatoes, much less suicide bombers.

Recently, a teacher in the UK and a priest in California told children there was no Santa Claus. The teacher was fired and the priest had to issue a formal apology. Yet kids are encouraged to tell teachers who brought the semi-automatic weapon to school and Catholics are urged to go to confession three seconds after they’ve screwed up.

I don’t have children of my own but I’ve dated four men who did. If any of the kids had asked me if the above fabled entities existed I would have lied and said yes. Once again, I’m part of the problem.

End of chat.