AnonymousCoworker

Everybody knows I’m all into zombie movies, and zombie literature, and zombie mythology and crap like that.

But only because it’s all fake. Right? RIGHT? Please say it’s fake… this real stuff is creeping me out.

(Thanks (I think) Freedom Girl)

My grandmother is one of the funniest people I know. She’s always quick with a one-liner, and she uses some of the strangest slang I’ve ever heard. Sometimes I think it’s just the equivalent of a phrase that we use now, other times I think she’s just making crap up.

Unfortunately, she says all this stuff so fast that it’s nearly impossible to remember any of it, much less write it down fast enough to blog about later. You just have to live in the moment of her light-hearted tirades.

My brother and I (along with his mail-order bride, and my triflin’ ho of a fiance) went to take my grandmother out to lunch yesterday. When we told her that was our intention, her eyes lit up, and she looked like a spry 83 year old (she’ll be 87 on Thursday). She’s still gots lots of life in her, so it made me a little a nervous when we were walking her down the hallway in her apartment building to the elevators, when it looked as if she was stumbling and about to fall.

I quickly stepped forward to catch her, but she slammed her should into a door that was partially ajar. I thought for sure that she would crash into the ground once the door gave, but instead she quickly set her foot inside the threshold of the apartment and called out, “Hey Millie!”

“Yeah, Gen?” came the call from the apartment. Millie emerged, hands covered in suds from washing the dishes and met the five of us at the door.

“Look, my beautiful, darling grandchildren came to take me out to lunch! Ain’t’ that a trip?”

“Well that’s wonderful! Where are you going?”

“I don’t know, but they’re paying!”

They then exchanged information about whose children we were, and then tried to explain our marital situations. I was engaged to this one, and the other one was engaged to the last one. There’s a third one that was married to a pregnant one, and every permutation thereof until Millie finally got it straight (or pretended to).

It was at that moment, when my Grandmother was done showing off, that she cut Millie off mid-sentence and said, “See ya later, Mill,” and stumbled out of the doorway as quickly as she stumbled in.

-Two quick stories that I just remembered. When we were little, and we’d visit my grandmother, she’d always have the Lawrence Welk show on. Never was there a show more whitewashed, whitebread, and devoid of anything even remotely impolite.

We hated it. It was boring. Horribly, horribly boring.

So now, whenever I come over she always says, “Oh you just missed it, I had your favorite show on.”

Oh well, maybe that’s just funny to me.

Second story- My grandmother loves David Letterman. She thinks he’s great. His guests and musical guests, however, she has different tastes for. “Oh David Letterman. Oh he’s funny, I like him. But sometimes he has these crazy people on there all done up to look like weirdos. I don’t look at that garbage. And I always wait for the music to come on, but it’s always crap. Just a bunch of weirdos makin’ a racket.”

Maybe that’s just funny to me too.