Hedda Dishes :: A visit from Jesus (not the one she met on Craig’s List)
Hello gentle Americans. I almost lost my breath at my holiday show, "Lettuce Rejoice" (at the Metropolitan Room), this Christmas Eve.
After I was done talking about the story of Chanukah, I nervously watched my vodka shake in my martini glass as the room began to rattle. Audience members dropped to the floor and hid under their tables, as one person screamed out, "Earthquake!" My dress was too tight for me to drop along with them, so I braced myself against the piano as the room began to fill with this white, glittery smoke that smelled like frankincense, lavender and a camel’s ass. When the smoke had cleared, standing before me, was Jesus himself. Well, he was not standing before me; he was standing upon the piano. I know, you’re rightfully asking yourself, "How can a grown man stand on a piano?"
Let me respond by saying this: Jesus was much shorter than I had expected. Perhaps drag queens have grown over the millenniums, but standing at only 2 inches high, he looked me straight into my breasts and said, "I have come here tonight to wish you and all your fans a Merry Christmas, and to remind you about the true meaning of Christmas -The birth of me, your Savior."
I was stunned. Never in my lifetime did I think I would see Jesus (unless I was on some hallucinogens) right before my very eyes. With excitement brimming in my voice I said the silliest thing, "Who would of thought you would be so small. You look much taller in your pictures." Then again, what does one say when Jesus is standing right before them? Nice tunic?
"I know, I paint a lot bigger than I am. But let me remind you Hedda, that Christmas is not about a fat man named Santa, but about me. Keep Christ in Christmas, Hedda." A tinge of jealousy rested in his voice when he said Santa’s name.
"I hear what you are saying Jesus, but you sound a little bitter. Santa is as much a part of Christmas as you are."
The audience slowly rose from under their tables, and incredulously looked at this little Jesus on the piano. Once they settled in, they began to shout out questions, making his visitation more like a press junket.
"Jesus, is this the second coming?" A fat man, with a shiny blouse, squealed from the back of the room.
"No, this is just a visit, not a coming. So please don’t tweet that this is a coming."
"Jesus, what is God like?" A fashionable woman of about 50 inquired.
"He is a bit friendlier now that he has cut back on his drinking."
"God drinks?" She shockingly answered back.
"Yes," Jesus curtly responded. "After all this creation stuff he needs to wind down with a glass of wine. Let me get back to the real reason of my visit, Christ on Christmas."
Ignoring his wishes, a young woman with a curly mop of hair and a clef lip blurted out,
"Who is going to be the next president?"
"Hold on everyone, I am not hear to talk about God’s drinking or the next president, I am here to talk about how Santa stole this holiday and to remind you that my birth is the true meaning of Christmas. Get it, Christ-plus-mas is Christmas. It is not Santa-mas."
More people began to raise their hands with questions, at which point I thought it was a good time to step in and intervene.
"Now Jesus, can’t we come to a truce and say that it is about both of you and Santa."
"What!" Jesus screamed at the top of his little lungs as the sound of thunder roared in the sky. "Santa is not even a real person."
"Well, for all we know, you are not real either," said a Jewish lady in the front row. How did I know she was Jewish? She had nose job, permed hair and was wearing a raccoon fur coat.
"I am standing here, right before you, and you dare to question my existence! If Santa was real, don’t you think he would show himself as well?"
"Umm, no Jesus." A pissy young queer, dripping in H&M said, as he rolled his eyes. "Duh, he is busy working on presents."
"For God sakes! Have you read the Bible, people? Does Santa have a Bible?!? All he has is a list of who is naughty and who’s nice!" Jesus began to tremble with anger, and if he were a taller man he would have lifted my Martini glass and thrown it across the room. I knew it was time to end this before things got ugly and Jesus sent locusts a buzzing. Locusts lodged in a wig ain’t cute people.
"Calm down Jesus. Ok, Christmas is about you. We get it. I am so glad you stopped by, but I have a show to finish."
A Prada bag for Mary
Jesus lowered his head and quietly said, "Yes, you are right. I am so sorry to have interrupted your show. I was just trying to get my point across. Besides, I was just having a bad day. My mother has been nagging me for weeks for a Prada handbag for Christmas. I told her it was a bit ostentatious, and that something from Coach would be more appropriate for the mother of Jesus."
"I understand. We’ve all been nagged by our mothers, haven’t we?" I gestured with my martini to the audience, giving them permission to lift their glasses in agreement. "Let’s have a toast to Jesus. To Jesus! Happy birthday."
Pressing our glasses to our lips, we all took a swig of our libations and immediately spit out the contents. Jesus had turned our cocktails into a sour tasting wine. The bitch.
"Sorry guys. It is just happens automatically when I am in a room."
"No problem Jesus." I curtly responded as I mopped up the liquid from my dress with a cocktail napkin. "Luckily my dress is wash and wear. I have one request before you leave, can we have a picture together?" How many times do you have Jesus pay a visit to your holiday show? I had to document this momentous occasion.
Excitement filled his eyes as he burst out with a gleeful, "YES!" I guess not may people are asking for Jesus’ photo this time of year?
I gently grabbed Jesus and placed him on my left breast, and we both smiled as the camera flashed. The audience cheered as Jesus took a bow and in a puff of smoke disappeared.
"Now wasn’t that amazing! Let’s raise our glass, once again, to Jesus!" Before pressing the glass to my lip, I double-checked the liquid inside; Jesus had changed it back to its original contents-a dirty martini.
Did Jesus’ plea, that we remember him during Christmas really settle in? Not at all. When I think of Christmas I don’t think of Jesus, Santa or any other holiday character. I think of receiving, shopping, chestnuts roasting on an open fire, white trash and pepper spray.