It seems my memory is becoming more and more spotty. Perhaps it is early signs of Alzheimers, or maybe I have trained my brain to live-in-the-moment so well that the past has become a culling field to make room for new memories to take root. I picture my brain managers firing old brain cells containing all of that knowledge to make room for newer, cheaper brain cells with fresh ideas and potential.
With the loss of so many brain cells through what I assure you is not a proactive holocaust of my brain cells through persistent tidal waves of alcohol meant to drown my self-loathing regardless of collateral damage, I had forgotten that I was bullied by a fellow blogger to join a Christmas-themed blog hop set for Monday. Hosted by Cerdo on the Flipside (Finally! I found a blogger with a more confusing name than mine!) and the beloved Janie Junebug, the Favorite Christmas Memory Blog Hop is causing me great anxiety.
Whenever someone asks me my favorite anything, it is a form of personal mental terrorism to me. I don’t know my favorite current color, movie, band, nipple (that’s a lie, it’s my lower-central nip, the juiciest), or food. So when I’m confronted to recall a specific memory, I’m doomed.
Is my favorite memory seeing my 80 year-old grandfather-in-law pause from washing the dishes, produce a comb from his pocket and slick back his hair? Or is it the time I was so moved by consumerism that when I didn’t receive the toy of my dreams that I retreated to my room and cried while mournfully singing “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” in the dark, clutching my knees to my chest? Probably not that one.
What’s worse is that I forgot that I’ll be traveling on Monday. So I may miss out on the ever-important “hop” part of the blog hop. All of this because I forgot to remember that I forget.
More nefarious than the premeditated disposal of unnecessary memories, it may be that my brain cells responsible for second guessing and regret are bullying the brain cells containing happy memories into committing suicide. Which is why I can’t remember specific memories, then the brain cells that are responsible for remembering that I forget those kind of things commit ritualistic seppuku out of failing their duties. 
If you are fully aware of your favorite Christmas memory and have the time and inclination to participate in a blog hop with some good people, I recommend signing up: My Favorite Christmas Memory Blog Hop (If you’re Jewish or Muslim or Atheist, I think you’re welcome to participate too…but no Wiccans! No, that’s not true…I think it’s not true.)
Strangely Naked 
I’m participating, but it took a couple of sleepless nights thinking about the topic and trying to remember!
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What is this “Christmas” thing you write of?
I thought the liberals in this country had taken care of that whole thing. I’m finally leaving my house today, and I had sure as hell not see any lights, hear any Christmas songs, or catch any references to Christmas.
I am really sort of hoping you with your old-man memory simply forgot that Christmas doesn’t happen anymore.
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Screw actual memories. I think you should just make something up that is so surreal, strange and just plain disturbingly weird that you will never be asked to join a blog hop again. Problem solved!
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I remember this one Christmas when I…uh
I…it was….um
uh
Where are my pants?
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I killed off so many brain cells during college that I’m literally the Alzheimer’s poster child. I don’t remember where I saw my poster but I have an idea there was one, somewhere.
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My Dear Pickleope von Pickleope,
You were not bullied into joining the bloghop. You were invited. Politely.
You don’t have to read the other posts on the day they are published. You can read them later in the week. I invite you to leave a polite comment on every single post, or else.
Thank you for the free advertising, but please inform your readers that “the war on Christmas” exists only in Billy O’Reilly’s fevered imagination. We welcome everyone who wants to participate. If they don’t celebrate Christmas, then they can write about their favorite Boxing Day memory or their favorite Guy Fawkes Day memory or their favorite Bastille Day memory or their favorite I Lost My Virginity memory. The possibilities are as infinite as my love.
I have no idea what my favorite Christmas memory is. I’ll just choose whatever pops into my adorable little head. It won’t bother me at all if your post is pure fiction.
And it’s Cherdo, not Cerdo. Behave yourself on your travels. No mirrors on the toes of your shoes so you can look up the skirts of sexy women such as . . . me.
Thanks for joining us. I look forward to your post, but I always look forward to your posts. I don’t remember why I look forward to them. I killed my brain cells with far more powerful potions than alcohol.
Love,
Janie
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I know it was an optional invite, but that’s not as fun as to give the impression that you strong-armed me.
But seriously, everyone, don’t listen, it is CHRISTMAS ONLY! They said that if I even tried to introduce a menorah they would…hold on, there’s a knock on the door…Oh god, it’s Cerdo/Cherdo! Tell my family I’m lukewarm about them! Aaaahhhh!
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At least you won’t have to keep remembering those co-workers after you’ve retired.
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If I ever had a favorite Christmas growing up it would have to be the time I got a toy that was actually popular that year and not a cheap knockoff of a popular toy/hand-me-downs/last minute “oh crap, we forgot to buy him something!” drugstore toy.
1985 was a good year.
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Do Christians have a third nipple? Jewish boys get theirs cut off, and girls have naming ceremonies for theirs. I’d tell you what mine’s named, but I forgot. I don’t believe in memories…or Wiccanism.
Happy Holidays, Pickleope!
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You favorite memory might not have happened yet. It could be a few days away. Stress less and worry about when you return. If you can’t remember what you did while you were gone – write about that.
“Mt favorite Christmas memory is …. I can’t remember.” See? so easy – a caveman… nevermind.
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The solution is more alcohol. That will help the creative memories flow more freely, and with more embellishment than might otherwise be possible. Plus, more space for your functional brain cells to flourish when the dead ones shrivel up. That’s how it works, right?
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Ah Christmas memories are hard. I have general memories of Christmas excitement as a kid, but nothing super specific. I probably shouldn’t have drank so much as a child. Oh wellsies.
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Given that it is January, I guess I missed this fun.
Oh well, late as usual to the party
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