The Holidays Strike Back: Part IX and X (a.k.a. Dork Squad Rock Part Two, OR This is The End)

Alas, my friends, we have reached the end of this year's rope. Thanks for coming along on our colorful, gut-wrenching journey. It's almost done.

Okay, you might notice that though we're still going to ten here tonight, there will be here a distinct lack of Cherry Pie and Apple Pie. It was starting to get pretty late over at Chez Julie, and Sean was supposed to be heading back to Arizona that night. Realizing this, we had to prioritize. See, last time I went to Target I saw that they had these new CHRISTMAS 2006 packs. Why do you do this to me, Jones Soda?! Why do you make me have to choose, when you know I'll choose to buy more every time? Thankfully for my pocketbook, they were already sold out of Sugarplum by the time I got to them, but unfortunately for my palate they had Eggnog and Candy Cane to spare.




So I had these two leftover sodas from the Holiday Dessert Pack in flavors that couldn't be that bad anyway (I mean come on, I've had cherry soda before), and then I had two four-packs of peculiar Christmas Delicacies. Four of each, and there were four of us. The choice was clear.

STAGE NINE: EGGNOG

Eggnog isn't the sort of thing I drink for the taste. In fact, I'll come right out and say that if it doesn't have a healthy dose of rum in it, I'd be hard pressed to drink eggnog at all. Come Christmas, I'll be the one over here pouring Irish Cream into my hot chocolate and using my eggs for something more worthwhile, like French Toast. Actually, you know what? I know very few people who really enjoy eggnog. Why is it even a tradition?! Seriously, eggnog can go to hell.

I digress.

We each grabbed a bottle from the eggnog carrier case and marvelled at the miasmic yellow color. It actually bore a strong resemblence to the Buttered Dinner Roll soda, which terrified me. It also smelled like being drunk around small sticky children, which (while not entirely unlike Christmas itself) is probably not a particularly good sign...



I love the simultaneous wave of malaise there. It's so right.

The worst thing about real eggnog is the taste after you swallow it. There's always this split second right after I sip a cup of eggnog, where I think to myself, "Hey, maybe today is the day. Maybe this is the year I'll finally graduate from childish hot chocolate and learn to love the nog." Then that weird bite hits, egg and nutmeg and cinnamon not cut by sugar, and it kind of catches in the back of my throat and I think "Goddamnit! This is not the year."



This soda captures that aftertaste perfectly, without any of the fuss of that moment of futile hope. I think that lack of hope lands it squarely in the realm of despair, don't you?

DESPAIR:

One more.

STAGE TEN: CANDY CANE

Unlike eggnog, who doesn't like candy canes? Festive colors, myriad flavors, and you can hook them behind your ear for safe-keeping. Anyone wants to hate on candy canes, you can turn one sideways and drag them off like it was Amateur Hour on Showtime at the Apollo.

The classic taste of candy cane is, of course, peppermint, and the logical train of thought is that peppermint is a hard taste to screw up. Gum companies have been getting the taste down pat for decades, along with ice creams and hard candies and soft candies and tea and toothpaste and mouthwash. Mint is a no-brainer. It seems like we should have had it easy in for the home stretch.



It just doesn't make sense. Couldn't they have asked someone? How hard could it have been to not make a mint that tastes like the gel orthodontists use to make jaw molds? Julie hadn't ever had braces before, so she couldn't quite understand the distinctive horror like Leslie and I did. We know what it's like, and it isn't good. Personally, I like to equate candy canes to fond childhood memories of Christmas mornings and new rollerblades and bikes and whatever. When I say "fond childhood memories," I do NOT mean to refer to long hours in the motorized chair, staring at the ceiling with drool trickling out the corner of my mouth as I tried not to choke on the garishly pink and somewhat-mintiful plastic dental mold setting that was taking stock of the exact position and severity of an overbite so big I could stick my thumb up in the gap between my top and bottom teeth, dooming me to a middle school career full of rubber bands and headgear and embarassing lisps and absolutely no carbonated beverages whatsoever!



But. Um. I digress. Again.

DESPAIR:

So as I said, it was getting late and we had to be leaving. We bid dear Julie adieu, piled back into the car, hung another couple terrifying death-defying u-turns, and made it back to Sean's house alive. Then we hit the freeway east, and freeway south, and freeway south, and freeway south one more time to get back to the San Diego we call our home. (Well, technically. 'Cause Leslie is back in Oregon by now, and I'm more from LA than anything despite the current living situation. You know how it is.)

But before we go, I'll leave you with this. Terrifying chemistry-set-worthy stunts, dangerous double-fisting, and a SHOCKING confession from the illustrious Sean-o-Tronic.



And there you have it. Once again, thank you all for reading! (And an extra-special thanks to any of you who contributed to my ZOMG Help Me Pay For All This Soda Fund!) It all means the world to me.

Happy Trails to you on the Holiday Pack front until next year!

Same time, same station.