Welcome to the Weekly Guest Blogger series.

Kelly Stone GambleTonight’s guest blogger is Kelly Stone Gamble. For more about Kelly, click on her photo to visit her website.

You know that one toy that every kid just has to have? The one that the sadistic toymakers only produce in limited supply? Yes, that one. Of course, it’s different every year, and when my kids were little, I was just like the rest of the monsters, I mean, mothers, out trying to score that one thing, that one toy that would make them dance around the tree and scream “Thank you, Santa Claus!” Right. The only fat man involved was the one I kidney punched because he tried to grab my Cabbage Patch doll.

It was the year of the Mighty Morphin Power Rangers, and the only thing my sons wanted was a red power ranger action figure. Of course, every child between the ages of four and fifty wanted the same thing and I had exhausted the search in my small town and surrounding areas. Two weeks before Christmas, and I tried to explain to them that I couldn’t find it. I might as well have been talking Furbish. They knew that what Mom couldn’t find, Santa would take care of. Damn the fat man.

FAO Schwarz at ChristmasI had one more shot. My aunt and I had planned to meet in Manhattan for a weekend of shows and Christmas fun. Of all the toy stores in the world, surely, FAO Schwartz would have the prize, right? Well, kind of. Amidst a mob of mothers I listened while the store manager explained:

“Our last shipment of power ranger figures will arrive in the morning at 5am.” Then he added. “By truck. In the alley.”

I wasn’t opposed to grappling in a dark, New York City alley at 5am for a power ranger, and I was pretty sure I could hold my own. But these other miscreants, I mean, mothers, were pretty excited about it, and that scared me. I shrugged, and thought, oh well, in the spirit of Christmas, I’ll round up some brass knuckles and a cat o nines and take my chances. What the hell.

I got there at 4 a.m., thinking I would be ahead of the crowd. The others were obviously more experienced at alley jacking trucks, and there were easily two hundred women already there. Yes, two hundred Zhu Zhu warriors, ready to crack you over the head with an Easy Bake Oven, if necessary.

Seeing that my Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle moves were not intimidating anyone, I knew my chance of actually getting through these angry birds was pretty slim. They would be arm-loading, and if I got to the truck at all, the only thing that would be left would be, heaven forbid, a blue ranger. And from the looks of the crowd, I’d probably have to take a knife just to get that.

Red Power RangerI was ready to accept defeat. I wavered between telling the boys that Santa is a jerk or to just blame their father. I started walking away, glancing back to the alley and trying to avoid the Christmas cheer that the twinkling lights and expensive decorations were there to encourage. Then I stopped and looked more closely at the decorations that were strung through the streets. “Well, Tickle Me, Elmo,” I said. I turned around and walked one block, turned and walked one more. Then I waited.

At 4:45, an unmarked 28 foot box truck crept down the street. At 4:46, I walked in front of it and forced it to stop.

“Lady, are you crazy!” Probably not certifiable, but that wasn’t the point.

“You hit me!” I yelled as I limped toward him and climbed on the step side.

“You are crazy. Lady, you need to get off my truck.”

I nodded. “Sure thing. I’ll just call your dispatcher and say you hit me and kept on going. Or, I could call him and tell him how professionally you handled Christmas Hell in that alley ahead. Either one will go in your file, right?”

“How do you know what alley I’m going to?”

I shrugged. “I work for a truck line. Last week one of our drivers took out Santa and all eight reindeer that were hanging too low across the street. Look around, this is the only route there is to that alley, and you have a 5 a.m. appointment.”

He laughed. “I guess you want me to open up my truck and get you one of those damn dolls. That ain’t gonna happen.”

He knew he was packing the goods. But I was smarter than the average beanie baby. “No! Of course not. I’m going to ask you to give me one of the ones you’ve got in the cab of this truck. Twenty bucks for a $7 toy, and a glowing compliment from one of the mothers at FAO Schwartz. Whatdya say?”

He thought for a moment. “What makes you think I have some in the cab?”

I gave him my best smirk and rolled my eyes. I do love truck drivers.

He thought for a moment and then sighed. “You got forty bucks?”

“Forty bucks! Highway robbery!” I said as dug in my pocket and grabbed two twenties. Then I realized, it actually was highway robbery and I was a maskless Zorro. “It has to be red,” I said as he leaned over and reached behind the passenger seat. I heard him mumble, “Well, hell, like I don’t know that.”

He handed me two boxes. I shook my head. “No, I only need one. “

Kelly Saves Christmas“One’s red and the other is green. They just came out with the green ones. You’ll be walkin’ in front of trucks for that one next week. I’m trying to save us both the headache.”

I walked back through the streets of Manhattan with more attitude than Holiday Barbie. I stood across the street from Hell Alley and watched as the biting, fighting, screaming and general chaos began. I couldn’t resist yelling “Merry Christmas, losers!” as I turned to leave. I smiled as I patted my coat, now bulging with two boxes—-a red ranger AND a green ranger. I had scored. And I’d be damned if Santa was going to get the credit for it.

Help me in giving a great big thank you to Kelly Stone Gamble for sharing her hilarious Christmas experience! All she needs is a cape! Be sure to visit Kelly’s blog for her stories from the Hoover Dam.

Until the next time…I’ll be decking the halls for tomorrow night’s 12 blogs of Christmas!

Welcome to the Weekly Guest Blogger series.

Kelly Stone GambleTonight’s guest blogger is Kelly Stone Gamble. For more about Kelly, click on her photo to visit her website.

I’ve always been open to new experiences and the stranger the better. I’ve swam with sharks. I’ve been slammed in a mosh pit. I’ve performed in a pickle costume. It’s fun to say, “oh, yeah, I’ve done that,” and I say that a lot. But I’ve yet to be asked if I ever mud wrestled, so I’ll just answer that for you right now. Oh, yeah, I’ve done that, too.

Twenty years ago, I worked as a Nurse in Tulsa, Oklahoma. My good friend, Sue (name changed to protect the innocent) was a Physical Therapist. That was her day job. On the weekends, she mud wrestled at a local bar dressed as a medieval princess. One night, her designated opponent had called in sick, and she asked if I would step in.

Female mud wrestling was not new to me. In my early twenties, one of my roommates mud wrestled for extra money. Twice a week, she would put on her French maid costume and prance around a mud filled ring, then strip down to a skimpy bikini and roll around with another girl to the delight of a bar full of men. A bar full of men with a lot of money, I might add, as she would bring home more in her two hours than I brought home all week.

I had my reservations. It wasn’t the rolling around in the mud, or the googling eyes of horny men that bothered me. It was the bikini. Although I was in one of my ‘thin’ stages at the time, I had never worn a two piece bathing suit. Call me a prude. But after being told I would be paid one hundred dollars for a five minute bout and a promise that I could wear a low cut, side out onsie, I said sure, why not? Always willing to help out a friend.

I met most of the other wrestlers in the dressing room, very normal young ladies, most with respectable day jobs. They went over the rules with me, keep it safe, no ripping off bathing suits (it was a high class bar) and make it a show. It was all very…nun-like, and I use that particular word for a reason. Yes, after putting on the costume I was to wear for the evening, I would soon be making my mud wrestling debut as Sister Sludge, the One Fun Nun.

The plan was to wrestle for five minutes, then to let Sue pin me for the win. She would then move on to the next round and my work would be done. But as the crowd cheered, my competitive nature kicked in and I got serious. “What are you doing?” she whispered to me as we rolled in the muck. “You don’t want to win.” Oh, yes I did. I slammed her a little too hard and crawled on top. Nuns rule.

After taking my celebratory hosing down, I went back to the ring, ready to take on the cute little daycare worker I’d met backstage. But it wasn’t her that showed up. It was the Cave Woman. And not sweet little Ayla from Clan of the Cave Bear. It was Andre the Giant in drag.

I turned to Sue who was standing in my corner. “What the hell? She wasn’t in the dressing room!”

“No,” Sue replied. “She has her own dressing room.”

I reminded myself that this was a show and there were rules. Confidently, I turned back toward my opponent, just in time to be hit in the face with a mud ball the size of a small dog. “Start prayin’, Sister,” she snarled. And, that I did.

The Neanderthal picked me up and twirled me above her head like a baton, then threw me to the ground and stomped me with her size 13’s. I rolled to the side of the ring as she grunted through bared teeth, and lumbered toward me with her arms raised high, exposing underarm hair that would shame a Sasquatch. I was trembling, I feared for my life, and raised my hands to cover my face. And that’s when I noticed.

I had broken a nail.

This bitch was going down.

I remembered my Dad always said that everyone has a weakness. I went first for the testicles. The Wookie was not pleased. She picked me up and wrapped me in a bear hug. I had no choice but to hug back. Then I remembered another bit of fatherly advice: Cheaters sometimes win. I quickly untied her bikini top and held on to the strings. She slung me to the other side of the ring, but this time I was the one that came up laughing.

That match was quickly called, and I was forever banned from the mud wrestling ring for ‘breaking the nudity rule’. Whatever. I had two hundred bucks in my pocket and an undefeated record.

Groovy.

Until the next time…I’ll be searching for our next guest blogger!