Fruitcake, Big Ass Malls & the Return of Statler & Waldorf

I totally need to carry a dork pad with me to write down the gob smashingly brilliant shit that I think of when I’m doing uninterruptible things like organizing the sizes of my tampons. It has also been brought to my attention that I may be getting “soft” in my posting. Not enough irreverence. To which I say “fuck you”. With love.

Christmas is almost here!

I have come to the conclusion that if I had to choose what kind of gift best describes me, it would be … Fruitcake. That delectable Christmas treat, soaked in Brandy (if you’ve made it correctly). Sickeningly sweet and yet gritty with figs. The yummy marzipan top that I always remove and save for the end. And yet there is always that bit of indescribable fruit that makes you question why you’re eating such a thing when there’s beautifully decorated sugar cookies sitting lonely on a plate. That indescribable fruit is the Statler & Waldorf to my Fruitcake.

I’ve gotten too far ahead of myself. Did I tell you Twitter & I broke up? Yah, as it turns out I just don’t have the time to keep up with the kids out there. It’s a great tool for marketing, if you have the time to invest. Also? At some point when I was setting up the account I must have used my real name. Even though I changed it, when I googled myself, my Twitter account always came up – with a link to my blog. Now you may wonder why that would be an issue. The only friend of Statler & Waldorf’s who is online might decide for shits & giggles to google me. And believe you me – she’d take it right to Statler. Those two are thick as thieves – have been since the 50’s (she’s a Statler clone, you’d have to be to hang in there that long). SO, I had a choice. Remove my blog address from my Twitter account – but then what’s the point of being on Twitter? Or just delete my account? I went with the latter. It just seemed like a good preventative measure.

I suppose there’s another choice. I could stop posting about Statler & Waldorf altogether.

Nah! Here’s why. Like the Fruitcake soaks in Brandy, I have had a 32 year slow marinade of crazy known as Statler & Waldorf. That been said, they are also my parents. So, I do crave seeing them like I crave Fruitcake this time every year. I could go into therapy to deal with them, but in this instance, I say this with full authority – it isn’t me. And if I paid a therapist to help me deal with them he’d end up with a vacation house in Laguna and I’d still be dealing with Statler who was convinced we were naming Jude after Judas Iscariot and was mortified her grandson was being named after the greatest betrayer of all time. Please. If I were to go with an obvious Biblical name, I would go with something really kick ass like Almon Diblathaim (Numbers 33:46-47) – yah I know it’s a place, but it’s an outstanding name. Then there is Waldorf who wondered what the nickname for Jude would be…Ju? Imagine seeing my son running down the street & Waldorf yelling “Ju, Ju, Ju! Come back Ju!”. Did I mention he’s German? With an accent as thick as arriving yesterday? Yah – good times ahead for my son.

The Christmas season begins this weekend for us. With a three-hour trek north to see Statler & Waldorf. Statler got it into her head that we should go to West Edmonton Mall to see Santa. Did I mention that I loathe shopping with people? I like going alone. Alone. Statler informed me today that she’s never been to a Chapter’s before & wondered if they might have some medical books because her doctor gave her a prescription which she can’t find in her medical journal from 1964. Yah, they most likely have something more current.

If you see a couple pushing an infant in a stroller & a 3-year-old high from Santa in tow with a wake of geriatric demands being hollered at them while they try to hang on to an ounce of patience after being dragged to the biggest mall in the world during the Christmas season – say a little prayer. It’s most likely us. You’ll know for sure if our ears are bleeding & our eyes looked permanently glazed over.

And to all a good Brandy infused night.