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The 12 XXX Days of Christmas…January 2013

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The following was read onstage at "You're Being Ridiculous" at Mary's Attic in Chicago on January 19th & 26th, 2013.  The theme was holidays.

The 12 XXX Days of Christmas

by Kelly Duff

On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me... a porn star in a pear tree.

That’s right...I said porn star.

I met my husband Ryan sixteen years ago, when he was working behind the counter at a video store.  My coworker, Gwen and I were on a break from work one day.  I had no idea there was a video store in our building, so she gave me the tour.  She turns to me and says “You should go see the section of new movies.  They’re right upstairs.”  A large spiral staircase extended up the middle of the small store.  As I ascended the stairs and looked below, there was Gwen, smiling and waving.  And Ryan, standing at the check out counter watching me ascend the stairs, his mouth hanging open.

I understood his expression when I reached the landing of the second floor...I was in the porn section.  With two other men.  My friend was a bitch.  

Ryan saw me heading up to the porn section and thought...that’s the girl for me!

On the second day of Christmas my true love gave to me... an episode of HBO’s Real Sex.

My dad used to have an evil Westie.  You know the dog from the Caesar Dog Food commercial?  “Stormy” was mean as the devil.  When anyone would come over, we’d  have to lock her in the kitchen because she’d try to bite them.  One Thanksgiving I was making dinner at my dad’s house.  Stormy was locked up as usual, bouncing at the gate, barking and lunging at Ryan every time he’d approach the kitchen.  That year Ryan decided he’d had enough.  He opened the gate and walked into the kitchen.  And as I had my hand on the phone ready to dial 911, the strangest thing happened.  Stormy backed off, cowered even.  Ryan stood his ground and we were able to enjoy dinner without worrying that Ryan was going to be attacked.

I reflected on all the years of everyone living in fear of Stormy as I cut slices of apple pie that night.  I carried the plates back into the family room to find Ryan and my dad watching an episode of HBO’s Real Sex.  Because that’s an appropriate show to watch on Thanksgiving.  And thus the tradition of holiday porn began.

On the third day of Christmas my true love gave to me...Bondage Night at the Dome Room.

Man, I thought I was so cool back then saying I was going to Bondage Night at the Dome Room.  Bondage Night was always on a Sunday, always around a holiday.  Nothing says happy Easter like young clubby kids dressed up in leather, pleather, and vinyl, accessorized with whips, chains, and cattle prods.  The music was cool, the drinks expensive, and getting up early the next day...challenging because we both had day jobs.  

Now that I’m over 40, I think man, commitment like that was definitely a young person’s game.  I mean, I don’t even like to wear pants that are too tight, and these kids were wearing corsets.

On the fourth day of Christmas my true love gave to me...a nude painting in the bedroom.

Early on in our relationship, I was invited over to Ryan’s house.  On his bedroom wall was a spectacular painting of a naked woman, draped seductively over a chair, the sunlight coming in thru the window behind her, and a come hither expression on her face.  And in the bottom corner of the painting, Ryan’s signature and the date of when he finished the painting, just one week before we started dating.  Ryan nods and says “That’s Vicky.”  Now, I knew he was an artist, but all I could think of was this Vicky person and the fact that he had painted her.  I mean, where did he paint her?  In his house?  In her house?  

Not wanting to be the insecure female, I played it cool, and Vicky was never mentioned again.  Until...years later.  Ryan was cleaning out some boxes, and he says “Hey look, it’s Vicky!”  Ugh, this Vicky person, I thought.  I mean, the painting taunted me for the longest time, and he never mentioned her so I figured it was just a one time thing.  

Then he handed me a magazine and said “See, this is the picture of Vicky I painted.”  Vicky was a Penthouse model.  He reproduced a photograph.  Out of a magazine.  Vicky now hangs in our master bedroom.  Because the bitch ain’t really real.

On the fifth day of Christmas my true love gave to me...2 Girls, 1 Cup. 

It’s my sister’s birthday.  We’re going out, but first Ryan feels the need to show everyone, including my dad, the video “2 Girls, 1 Cup”.  The video that’s just all sorts of wrong but became popular due to the viral reaction videos of people watching it.  Just the other day, the topic of “2 Girls, 1 Cup” came up in conversation at Ryan’s office.  He was “forced to show” it to someone who had shockingly never heard of it, and in the first fifteen seconds the guy punched Ryan in the shoulder and left the room.  

Not that my 9 year old nephew has ever seen the real video, but there’s nothing like the commercial for Two Broke Girls coming on TV and the 9 year old shouting out: “Ha, ha, 2 girls 1 cup”.

On the sixth day of Christmas my true love gave to me...porn links on dad’s computer.

Typical call with my dad, “Could you send your hubby over, my computer isn’t working.”  That’s code for Daddy needs some porn.  Well, at least he knows Ryan is the right man for the job.

On the seventh day of Christmas my true love gave to me...the guy with the pickle jar in his butt.

One holiday my husband presented the video of a man stuffing a pickle jar up his ass.  This guy meticulously set up a camera so all you can see are feet, ankles, legs, butt, pickle jar.  It’s when the jar breaks inside this poor perverted soul that I hear my dad say “what the...”.  Kind of gives new meaning to the German tradition of finding the Christmas pickle!

On the eighth day of Christmas my true love gave to me...Elmhurst is porn search capital.

On June 3, 2010, the Huffington Post printed the following about where we live:  Elmhurst, Illinois is a small suburban town west of Chicago. According to a report by Top Ten Reviews, it's also the internet porn-seeking capital of the United States.  For each of the three search terms "porn," "xxx" and "sex," Elmhurst led the nation in searches. My husband’s response to this report was “You’re welcome, Elmhurst.”  

Incidentally, the hub for Comcast/Xfinity and DSL/cable internet switching facilities are housed in our tree-lined town.  Pretty sure it’s not the activity that comes out of our house.  But you never know.

On the ninth day of Christmas my true love gave to me...Florida’s crappy strip joints.

In 2010, my whole family along with my best bud Brian went to Florida for a week’s vacation.  The first day we’re there, we drive up and down the main road getting the lay of the land.  “Hey look!  A strip joint!”  Needless to say after dinner that night, my dad and nephew safely tucked into bed and under the supervision of my brother-in-law, a torrential downpour notwithstanding, my hubby, friend, sister and I piled into the rental car and headed to that very strip club.  

Now I’m sorry, but strip clubs to me are the most boring form of entertainment there is.  It’s not that I’m a prude (obviously, I did marry the king of porn), but I’m a huge fan of two things.  Music.  And dancing.  Neither of which are ever very good at a strip club.  I mean, I expect Flashdance, Moulin Rouge...Xanadu for eff’s sake!  

On the tenth day of Christmas my true love gave to me...the Duff’s meet Ron Jeremy.

One year we had free passes to the Love Show at the Stevenson Convention Center in Rosemont.  These days the promoters don’t even bother to beat around the, um, proverbial bush, and it’s called Exxxotica (with three X’s).  We’re at the Love Show, and we see a sign “Meet Ron Jeremy, today at 2pm”.  You would have thought we were about to meet the President.  

Ryan and I both had pictures taken with him.  Ron signed an autograph “Hey Ryan, keep it up” and in my picture with him I have a classic look on my face that says “oh god, please don’t touch me”.  But I will say this about the man affectionately known as the Hedgehog, he is so nice.  

On the eleventh day of Christmas my true love gave to me...VHS tapes of porn.

When we moved from Lincoln Square to Elmhurst in 2006, we packed up our house in boxes, neatly labeling them:  Kitchen...Guest Room...Master Bath...Porn.  Just this last fall, we were going through old electronics to bring to the Elmhurst Electronic Drop-off Day.  Old monitors, computers that were way past their prime, and we looked at the boxes, still sealed, still labeled “Porn” and thought does this constitute as material we can “drop off”?  Probably not.

Like old yearbooks, a wedding dress, and other memorabilia one would have a tough time parting with, we still have those boxes of VHS tapes, hoping to some day find them a deserving home.

On the twelfth day of Christmas my true love gave to me...my god people, haven’t you heard enough about porn?  

Okay, so next time you’re celebrating and there’s that awkward pause at the dinner table when Grandpa Joe starts snoring in the turkey, and Aunt Judy starts asking you when you’re gonna settle down and find a nice girl or a guy, spice up the dinner table a little bit!  Ask if anyone’s seen the man and the pickle jar, then text me, I’ll send you the link.

Kelly DuffComment