Monday, August 31, 2009


ME: What is going on out there, Grammy? I had to park three blocks away, and even the sidewalks are packed.

GRAMMY: Damn college kids are back. Won’t have a moment’s peace now.

ME: I didn’t know there was a college nearby.

GRAMMY: Yeah, well, there doesn’t seem to be a heck of a lot you do know. They built it a few years back. Some kind of liberal arts school. Like we don’t have enough damned liberals as it is.

ME: That’s not what it means, Grammy. And there’s nothing wrong with liberals. I’m a liberal. Jules is a liberal.

GRAMMY: Well, there you go. I rest my case.

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Friday, August 28, 2009


GRAMMY: What the hell did you bring me out here for?

ME: You have to get out of that apartment every once in while, Grammy. Just come and dip your toes in the water. Get your feet wet.

GRAMMY: Oh, sure. Get me to the edge of this thing and then push me in.

ME: No one’s going to push you in, Grammy.

GRAMMY: (looking at Julius) I’ll bet you’d like to push me in. Wouldn’t you, boy?

(Julius nods)

GRAMMY: Well I be . . . . I think the boy’s finally coming out of his shell, Barbara. There may be hope for him yet.

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Wednesday, August 26, 2009


GRAMMY: What am I supposed to do with these damn things?

ME: Nothing, Grammy. You just look at them. Aren’t they beautiful?

GRAMMY: You want me to sit around all day and stare at a couple of fish who can’t do more than swim in circles inside a stupid bowl that’s gonna fill up with fish shit that I’m gonna have to clean?

ME: I thought they might brighten this place up a bit, Grammy. And I thought you might like to have some company when I’m not here.

GRAMMY: So you brought me fish? For company? Lord, I can just imagine the conversations we’re gonna have. Too bad I don’t have one of those internet thingies so I can tell all the world about them. (sigh) Oh, well. At least you didn’t bring me a mime.

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Monday, August 24, 2009


ME: Who’s that, Grammy?

GRAMMY: That’s your grandfather.

ME: No it’s not.

GRAMMY: Okay. It’s not. Because you know who I slept with better than I do. Geez, Barbara, take a look at your father. Take a look at yourself. Where do you think those cheekbones came from? And those eyes?

ME: But then - who was Grampa Joe?

GRAMMY: The man I married. Who else? Your father needed a father and Grampa Joe fit the bill. He was a good man, your Grampa Joe. You should see about getting a man like him for Julius.

ME: I’m not going to marry someone just to give Julius a father. Besides, he already has one.

GRAMMY: A shame, isn’t it. Well, I suppose we could always hire a hit man.

Photo - Library of congress

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Friday, August 21, 2009


GRAMMY: Your ex stopped by today.

ME: Jules?

GRAMMY: Of course Jules. Do you have another ex? He brought me a hat. A great big ugly thing with ostrich plumes. Said it was from a show he’d been in. He thought I’d like it.

ME: Really? Where is it? Let me see.

GRAMMY: Too late. I tossed it out the window. The artist fella next door scooped it up like it was gold.

ME: Grammy, you shouldn’t throw away people’s gifts to you.

GRAMMY: Tell that to your ex. He threw away my grand-daughter and my great grandson, mamby-pamby as he is.

ME: Oh, Grammy, I knew you loved us.

GRAMMY: Yeah, well, I’d love you a lot more if you stayed home once in a while.

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Wednesday, August 19, 2009


GRAMMY: (reading to Julius) Lady bug, lady bug, fly away home. Your house is on fire and your children are burnt.

JULIUS: Aaaaaaah!

ME: Julius?

GRAMMY: Oh, let him go, Barbara. If you coddle that boy any more, he’ll be afraid of his own shadow.

ME: You just don’t understand him, Grammy.

GRAMMY: What’s to understand? His father hurt you, and now you’re gonna make damned sure nobody hurts him. Let him get hurt. It’ll make him stronger.

ME: That might be how things were in your day, Grammy, but it’s not how we do things today.

GRAMMY: That’s for sure. Thank God I’ll be dead before his generation takes over.

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Monday, August 17, 2009


ME: Grammy? Grammy, wake up.

GRAMMY: Huh? What?

ME: You nodded off for a minute, Grammy.

GRAMMY: And you just had to wake me up, didn’t you? Couldn’t let an old woman grab a little ass . . . nap . . . in the middle of the afternoon. I’m a hundred years old, Barbara. You could cut me a little slack!

ME: Sorry, Grammy. I thought you enjoyed my company.

GRAMMY: I do. But that dream was a hell of a lot better than looking at you. I haven’t seen that much skin since Sodom and Gomorrah.

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Friday, August 14, 2009


ME: Grammy, where’s Snowflake?

GRAMMY: Oh, that damned cat of yours went for a nap in the washing machine. Nearly drowned the stupid thing. She’s hanging up on the clothes rack to dry out.

ME: Hanging?

GRAMMY: Yes, Barbara. I slipped a little mini noose around its fool neck and lynched the dumb thing.

ME: Grammy!

GRAMMY: Oh, calm down. I didn’t really do it. Good God, girl, sometimes I wonder if you have any brains at all. I couldn’t tie a noose if I wanted to with this damned arthritis. (sigh) Oh well, at least I can still hold a cigarette.

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Wednesday, August 12, 2009


GRAMMY: So how’d it go? You gonna live long enough to inherit the little I have left?

ME: It was just a regular check-up, Grammy, and everything looks fine. I just wish I didn’t have to go through those internal exams, though. They’re so invasive.

GRAMMY: Invasive? You don’t know what invasive is. My God, the things they used on us. By the time we got around to giving birth, our netherworld had been stretched like a used balloon. We could have given birth to a whale without any problem at all.

ME: Uhm, Grammy. I think that’s a bit too much information.

GRAMMY: Nonsense. Whoever heard of too much information? Isn’t that what that internet thingy of yours is all about? I’ve been thinking of getting me one of them, those internet thingies.

ME: You mean a computer, Grammy.

GRAMMY: No. I mean an internet. Geez Louise, girl. This is the 21st century. Try to catch up with the lingo.

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Monday, August 10, 2009


ME: Julius, I’m back!

GRAMMY: Good thing, too. I’ve been trying to get him out from under that bed for two hours.

ME: Under the bed? What’s he doing under the bed?

GRAMMY: Damned if I know. We were watching the TV and all of a sudden, he runs off screaming. I thought maybe he’d stuck his finger in the electric socket or something.

ME: Grammy, you didn’t let him watch something inappropriate did you? You know how sensitive he is.

GRAMMY: Good God, Barbara, I’m old, not an idiot. I can wait for him to leave before I put on the porn.

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Friday, August 7, 2009


ME: What’s the matter, Grammy?

GRAMMY: (looking out window) The damn neighborhood, that’s what’s the matter. It’s been going to pot ever since that artist fella moved in. You could go blind looking at that damned house. And what the hell kind of bird is that anyway?

ME: I like it. It’s artistic and colorful.

GRAMMY: Yeah. Exactly like that ex-husband of yours. And we all know how that turned out.

ME: Grammy!

GRAMMY: Oh, don’t get your undies all tied up in a knot. I’m not blaming you. How were you supposed to know he was gay? That girlie walk of his certainly didn’t give it away.

ME: Jules isn’t gay, Grammy.

GRAMMY: Okay, then. He’s an idiot. Feel better?

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Wednesday, August 5, 2009


GRAMMY: You’re late

ME: Sorry, Grammy. I took Julius to the zoo and there was a terrible accident.

GRAMMY: What happened? Did mamby-pamby boy fall down and scrape a knee?

ME: No, Grammy. A man fell into the alligator pit. The alligator took off his arm. Bit it right off! Julius saw the whole thing and now I’m afraid he’ll be emotionally scarred. He’s a total mess right now.

GRAMMY: He’s a mess? What about the idiot who fell in? Now there’s a mess. I’ll bet it was his wife who pushed him.

ME: Really, Grammy. Why would she push him?

GRAMMY: Because the only men who go to the zoo in the middle of the afternoon are either pervs or slackers. She probably found out what he was really doing with his time - or not doing - and got pissed off. A little bump or nudge and - oopsy.

ME: She didn’t push him, Grammy. The woman was hysterical.

GRAMMY: Of course she was. The damned alligator only got his arm!

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Monday, August 3, 2009


ME: Hi, Grammy! Are you here?

GRAMMY: Am I here? Of course I’m here. Where do you think I’d be? Out with my twenty year-old boy toy in a red hot sports car, suckin’ up the night life? Geez, Barbara, I’m a hundred years old. Where the hell’s your brain?

ME: Sorry, Grammy. I just came over to help you celebrate your birthday. I brought cake.

GRAMMY: Cake? Yeah, I’ll gum that sucka to death. Why didn’t you bring me any smokes? I’m on my last pack. And a fifth of Jack Daniels might have been nice to help with the friggin arthritis.

ME: Sorry, Grammy. I thought you’d like cake.

GRAMMY: I used to like cake. Beefcake. Haven’t had any of that in a while. (sigh) Oh, well. Light her up, Barb. I’m out of matches.

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