Tuesday, May 8, 2007
I visited my Grandma.
Hello! I would ask how you're feeling, but I know you're feeling confused, so let's not waste each other's time. Last week I wrote about staying over at my Grandma's house, and everybody flipped out! I got a couple comments about it, and all my friends—even the gay ones—were curious as to how I could have a grandma. Well, first of all, everybody has a grandma, so why should I be any different? I'm not mad at you or anything, but it really hurts my feelings when people treat me like I'm one of the X-Men or something. Actually, that's not true. I would be psyched if people treated me like Wolverine and I had those blades that popped out of my knuckles. Scha-SCHWING!
Anyway, let's clear up all this confusion: I only have one Grandma left, and that's Grammy Christ. She's my dad's mom, and those two don't get along very well. She lives in assisted housing just outside of town, and since dad never comes by to visit her (or me, for that matter), I pop in now and then. Usually… I regret it. She's kind of a nag, and a real square when it comes to those of us in the "now" generation. Plus she can't hear and has shingles. And she's a racist.
For example, I was forced to stay over at her place the other night because she was afraid there was a black person in her closet. So I said, "Umm… Grammy, that's racist." And she said, "I'm not scared because he's black, I'm scared because he's going to kill me."
But even after I offered proof positive that there weren't any black people in her closet, she made me stay the night anyway. For dinner we had chipped beef on toast (which was from one of those frozen Boil 'n' Bags), even though I offered to go to Arbys. (Yes, I'm still mad at Quiznos.) Then she forced us to watch syndicated repeats of Everybody Loves Raymond, which is annoying, because I DON'T LOVE RAYMOND AT ALL. In fact, I think it's kind of ostentatious to name your show Everybody Loves Raymond when there's at least one person (me) who thinks he's kind of dumb. (No offense, maybe he's nice.)
Then when Grammy's not slipping into a nap, she's nagging me about my hair, my love life, and my taste in music. (Sometimes just to annoy her, I'll say, "I like Jay-Z, Grammy… the BLACK Jay-Z!") On the other hand, I know she just wants someone to talk to (especially 'cause dad can be such a jerk sometimes), so I always make sure we look through the old photo albums together, which always makes her happy. And even though she calls me by my brother's name half the time, she can still remember the name and birthdate of every person in our family! And she always gets happy/sad talking about grandpa, who I never met, but she was really in love with.
Maybe I'll get a girlfriend soon, and we'll get married, and have kids, so they can visit me when I move into assisted living. That would be nice.
Does everybody automatically get racist on their 83rd birthday?