Santa's Little Helper

Yo ho freakin’ ho!

Yes, folks, this “blawg” message comes to you from me, the Rubinman, Santa Claus, standing in for Amber because – guess what? Yeah, she’s freakin ILL. AGAIN. She totally got the cold, like really bad, on Christmas morning, and actually, yoos should probably all be grateful she did, because if she was here right now she’d just be all, “oooh, mememe, monkies, the cold, me, monkies, cry me a freakin’ river, ME, the end.”

And obviously, yoos would all be like, “Who gives a crap about you, Ginger? Tell us about the Rubinman, that handsome and yet really terrifying young WOLF yoos live with?”

Well Ithe Rubinman is doin good.  It’s like, when Amber and Terry went to that “Tenerife” place, I went to live with my Norma and John, and not a moment too soon, because at least they know how to feed a wolf properly, you know what I’m sayin’? Since They came back, Amber and Terry have been callin me “Fatboy” and they just better watch their backs, because I got a bum-bitin’ here with both their names on it. I mean, the Rubinman has got one. Not me, because I am Santa Claus. Ho ho ho.

Yeah, so, for Christmas I brung Amber and Terry quite a lot of stuff. I, like, brung them a lot of clothes, and I also brung them “money”, and I brung Amber one of them “S.A.D. lights” so she can shine it in her face and, like, pretend she’s in the sun and stuff? So, it’s like, you never know, next year she might even write a “blawg” post or two that ISN’T all, “oooh, the cold, ooh don’t like it, gimme sunshine, gimme monkies, woe!” Yeah, right.

Also, They ate, like A LOT of food for that “Christmas”. A LOT of food. And They didn’t even give the Rubinman any of it. It’s like, yoos should totally send him food, ya know? They had a good time, even although Amber totally whined about how it was, like, the third time she’d been ill this month, and stuff.  What a clown she is, seriously.

Thank Dog that handsome wolf was there to keep her in line is all I can say.

Hope yoos all had a good “Christmas” too,

love

Rubin Santa Claus

Stud

Remember how last week I started doing The Friday Five again and I was all, “I am going to do this every Friday now for the rest of my life, only maybe not”?

You all thought I forgot yesterday, didn’t you?

Well I did not! No, I did not forget The Friday Five, but it seems The Friday Five forgot me, because the website I get the questions from  didn’t get updated at all yesterday. And hasn’t been updated today either, at the time of writing. So, what basically seems to have happened is that I started doing The Friday Five, and The Friday Five stopped. Maybe forever. So, in other words, I broke The Friday Five. GOD.

Instead, here is a Random Act of Stupidity that took place in the early hours of Friday morning, so is still somewhat “Friday” themed…

So, because I am lazy, I have either ordered all my Christmas gifts from the internet, or I have delegated Terry to buy them.  Trust me, I totally suck at buying gifts, it’s for the best.  On Thursday afternoon, then, one of these packages was delivered, and I opened it, checked the gift inside… then, for reasons that aren’t particularly clear even to me, I placed it back inside the packaging and put the packaging on my desk.

Then, a few hours later, I picked it up, carried it downstairs, and placed it in the recycling bin outside.

The recycling bin that Terry later wheeled down to the bottom of the driveway, for collection in the early hours of Friday morning.

D’OH!

For some reason, though, luck was on my side that night. This was unusual in itself, because luck is hardly EVER on my side, but suddenly, as I lay drifting off to sleep at about 1am, the image of that parcel came floating into my head. I saw it sitting on my desk. I saw myself walking downstairs with it. I saw, as if from a great distance, my hand reaching out and throwing it in the recycling.  And then, with a small shriek, I sat bolt upright and shouted, “OMG! I HAVE THROWN THE PARCEL IN THE BIN!”

Then I lept from the bed and rushed to the window, where I peered down at the dark street outside. Sure enough, there, at the bottom of the driveway, stood the bin, waiting to be collected. I actually have no idea why I went to the window and looked at it, to be honest. I mean, did I think I’d be able to hear the feeble cries of the package as it threw itself helplessly against the sides of the bin, shouting, “let me oooouuuttttt!”? Because I couldn’t.

Anyway, because Terry is a chivalrous gentleman, he volunteered to go to the rescue of the package, so I jumped back into bed and lay there, as snug as a bug in a rug, listening to the sounds of him going outside and rummaging through the rubbish at 1am on a freezing November night, his dressing gown whipping friskily around him as he did so.

He did manage to find it, though. And that’s how it came to pass that one of my friends/family (because it could be either! Hell, it could be yoooouuuu!) will receive a gift that has spent a few hours of its life inside my recycling bin this Christmas.* It’s the thought that counts, no?

* I feel I have to point out that the gift itself was well-wrapped at the time, so it did not suffer for its time inside the bin. And it’s all paper in there anyway. No gifts were injured in the making of this entry, I promise!

Not to sound like one of those freaky, super-organised people who buy all their Christmas gifts in the January sales, but we have bought all of our Christmas gifts – and by “we” I obviously mean “Terry has done it”. I did offer a few suggestions, but given that I give the worst gifts in the world, ever, I decided it was ultimately better to let him take care of it. Also: I’m lazy. Oh, and busy. Very, very busy. Yes.

Anyway, this is such a huge weight off my shoulders, not least because I’ll now have a good answer to give those people who spend the three months leading up to Christmas saying, “So! Have you bought all your Christmas presents yet? Are you all ready?” every single time you see them. To those people:

YES! WE HAVE BOUGHT ALL OF OUR GIFTS. WE ARE “READY!” Now shut up.

It’s also a relief because it means that during the month of December, we won’t have to leave the house now AT ALL, ever. Well, not to go shopping, anyway. This is a huge relief, because while I love Christmas day itself, I often feel like the month that precedes it is some special form of torture devised just to torment me, what with the huge crowds of people all convinced that if they don’t rush out and buy every last loaf of bread that the supermarket has on its shelves, then they will surely starve to death during the ONE DAY that the supermarkets are closed, and the cheesy Christmas songs playing on a loop, and the fact that you have to somehow squeeze a month’s worth of work into the week before the holiday and all the rest of it. Bah, humbug.

This year it seems to be worse than ever, with people already starting to tell stories about how they went to the shops and had to spend three hours circling the car park before they could find a space. I shudder to think what it’ll be like in December – you know, the month that Christmas actually takes place in?

Anyway. This year we are organised to the max. Now we can totally forget all about it until December 24th.

Well, I’m pleased to announce that the Christmas shopping is complete. Is not wrapped, obviously, and is not NICE, but is at least complete, which is, I think, probably the best that we can hope for here. I’ve somehow managed to make a particularly bad job of Christmas this year, and have once again bought a selection of gifts that no one will want*. I mean, it’s probably not going to be quite as bad as that one time when my dad bought my mum a kitchen-roll holder** for her birthday, but, y’know, almost.

So, this morning Terry and I hit the shops, and I walked around in a panic, pulling things randomly off shelves and then paying for them. Oh well, I’m sure Terry’s brother will love the pale pink negligee. Maybe he could use it to clean his motorbike or something? And it’s the thought that counts, no? NO?

Other Bah-Humbugy things you don’t need to know about me but I am going to tell you anyway:

1. I never send Christmas cards
I used to send them when I was at school, and when I worked in an office, but now? Not so much. Why? Dunno, really. I think I just don’t see the point. Or no, actually, scratch that, I thought of a better one: it’s because I am very busy and important and I totally don’t have time to sit and write my name on dozens of bits of cards, just so that people can go, “Oh, that’s nice,” and throw it in the bin in a week’s time. Also: I am lazy. If any of the neighbours send us a card I will normally scrawl our names on one too, and sneak it through their door under cover of darkness, but that’s mainly so they don’t knock down my fence no more. So, sorry, people I don’t send Christmas cards to! It doesn’t mean I don’t love you! Please don’t hate me.

2. We don’t own a Christmas tree
Nope, no tree here, move along please. DON’T TELL TERRY’S MUM WE DON’T HAVE ONE or she will buy us one. Why don’t we have a tree? Er, because we have no where to put one? And because if we put one up we’d have to also take it back down, and we’re too lazy for that? Ooh, no, I know! It’s because we don’t normally spend Christmas at home. Have I redeemed myself yet? Even a little bit?

3. I still haven’t bought gift tags for our presents
Number of years I have been forgetting to buy gift tags: 3
Things I have been using instead: coloured paper, cut up Christmas cards. (See, we do buy Christmas cards, we just don’t use them. Other than as gift tags.)

4. I used to make excuses to get out of the office Christmas party***
Actually, I’ll go one better: I used to LEAVE THE COUNTRY at the time of the office Christmas party. The Canary Islands are really nice at that time of year, you know.

So, yes, awful, isn’t it? In my defence, I’m actually really looking forward to the holidays. LOVE Christmas. HATE the rest of December. Stupid month. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I have about fifty gifts to wrap…

* Except Rubin, obviously. We managed to find a rather camp looking dog bed which he will LOVE, I know it.
** It was a pretty fancy-pants kitchen roll holder, though. Really, I don’t know what all the fuss was about?
*** Except the ones the call centre I worked weekends in held. Those were the BOMB. In fact, if it wasn’t for a certain office Christmas party, Terry and I might not be together now!

Well, folks, it’s less than a month until Christmas – let the fun begin! (And by “Let the fun begin” I mean, “Let Terry and I begin hemorrhaging money as we frantically try and stockpile random pieces o’crap gifts for our nearest and dearest whilst still having enough money to be able to live, and ohmygod it’s Christmas! We will have to actually LEAVE THE HOUSE and go to parties, and WHAT WILL I WEAR? I have nothing to wear. Nothing. SEND CLOTHES. Also: ponies)

Anyway, as it’s almost Christmas and we’re now poorer than the poorest of church mice, it stands to reason that my car will choose this time of year to break down randomly, so that’s what happened today. I’d popped down to Asda to start buying those Christmas gifts, and yes, OK, to see if they had that dress in yet that was in Heat magazine two weeks ago, but which has never actually appeared in Asda ever, and actually? I don’t think that dress even exists. I think they just made it up to taunt me. Damn you, George at Asda, DAMN YOU TO HELL.

But I digress. It was as I was leaving the car park that the car decided to splutter and die. “Splutter!” said the car. “Die!” I managed to get it started again, but then spent the rest of the drive home squealing like a crazy person every time I had to slow down, in case it would die again and refuse to start. I have no idea what’s wrong with it, but I’ll bet it’s expensive, whatever it is. For the moment I’m going to go with my “the car was cold. And tired!” theory. Don’t tell me different, because I don’t want to know.

Needless to say, this has not got December off to a very good start, and God, December hasn’t even started yet.  Don’t get me wrong, I love Christmas day itself – I just hate the month that precedes it, with it’s frantic consumerism and wardrobe dilemmas. Bah, humbug…

What I should do about this state of affairs: Start writing novel. Become rich and famous. Get car fixed. Buy pony.

What I am actually going to do about this state of affairs: Go to bed. Sleep.

What I will do tomorrow: Get up early. Take Rubin for healthy, bracing walk in the early morning air. Feel virtuous. Complete days’ work by lumchtime. Write novel. For real.