tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-41051615184581700452011-07-22T02:01:55.887-04:00Afternoons With Grammybecause someone has to spend time with the old woman.Barbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14501132182710265406noreply@blogger.comBlogger1091100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105161518458170045.post-13544757913258640722010-04-16T18:11:00.001-04:002010-04-16T18:19:05.786-04:00ARMAGEDDON GRAMMY:  Oh, Lord.  Don’t tell me.  Jules is back and you’re in one of his plays? ME:  How did you know, Grammy? GRAMMY:  Why else would you be dressed like that?  So what’s the play about?  A day in Hell? ME:  Close, Grammy.  It’s about Armageddon.  Jules thinks it’ll be a hit, what with all this interest in 2012. GRAMMY:  2012? ME:  You know.  When the world’s supposed to end.Barbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14501132182710265406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105161518458170045.post-32372265413658029672010-04-14T13:55:00.001-04:002010-04-14T14:02:50.438-04:00PHILOSOPHY JULIUS:  Like my poster, Grammy? GRAMMY:  A black blur with words too tiny to read?  I’d hang it on my wall. ME:  It’s not a blur, Grammy.  That’s Earth.  And isn’t that a great quote? GRAMMY:  Quote?  It’s a dissertation saying we’re all a bunch of worthless nothings. ME:  Well, it’s true Grammy.  In a way.  The problems of three little people don't amount to a hill of Barbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14501132182710265406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105161518458170045.post-66371463064498039732010-04-13T01:25:00.000-04:002010-04-13T01:25:27.633-04:00MEN WITHOUT SHIRTSME:  Where have you been, Grammy? GRAMMY:  Over at Alfie’s. ME:  Alfie's? GRAMMY:  Hey, just because you’re mad at him doesn’t mean I have to be. ME:  I thought you thought he was weird. GRAMMY:  He is. ME:  So why would you go over to see him? GRAMMY:  I didn’t go over to see him.  I went over to see his friends. ME:  His friends? GRAMMY:  He’s got a dozen half-dressed men over there Barbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14501132182710265406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105161518458170045.post-14394443677393952032010-04-09T17:01:00.000-04:002010-04-09T17:01:24.105-04:00UNEMPLOYMENT ME:  You know, I could get used to being unemployed. GRAMMY:  Could?  Seems you have. ME:  Funny, Grammy.  But it’s really nice not being slave to a job you go to for no other reason than to make money.  This is real freedom, waking up and knowing you  can do whatever you want. GRAMMY:  Yeah, if doing what you want is sitting around the house all day. ME:  I don’t sit around Barbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14501132182710265406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105161518458170045.post-34657991464236689452010-04-07T04:03:00.001-04:002010-04-07T04:07:23.858-04:00MUSIC LESSON ME:  Grammy?  What’s snowflake doing outside? GRAMMY:  Looks to me like she’s sucking up to Alfie’s dog.  You’d think the dumb dog would bite her head off. ME:  How did she get out there? GRAMMY:  I let her out. ME:  Why?  She’s a house cat.  She could get lost.  Or hit by a car.  I’m going out and getting her. GRAMMY:  Sorry.  You can’t. ME:  Why not? GRAMMY:  You might Barbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14501132182710265406noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105161518458170045.post-85227739777654922492010-04-05T15:35:00.000-04:002010-04-05T15:35:17.041-04:00BELLY BUTTONS JULIUS:  Whatcha doing, Grammy? GRAMMY:  Just looking for something. JULIUS:  Looking for what? GRAMMY:  Oh, never mind.  What are you doing? JULIUS:  Looking at my belly button. GRAMMY:  Your belly button? JULIUS:  Uh, huh.  Typhus has an outie.  I have an innie.  What do you have? GRAMMY:  Ha!  I haven’t seen my belly button in years, boy.  I’m afraid to look. JULIUS:  Barbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14501132182710265406noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105161518458170045.post-38072430156039333412010-04-02T16:13:00.000-04:002010-04-02T16:13:55.301-04:00EASTER RAT JULIUS:  Mom!  Grammy!  Look what Typhus gave me. ME:  A rat? TYPHUS:  It’s not just any rat.  It’s the Easter Rat. GRAMMY:  Don’t you mean Easter Bunny? TYPHUS:  No.  The Easter Bunny’s dead.  The rat killed him. GRAMMY:  Oh, Lord. TYPHUS:  It’s true.  My Mom told me.  That’s why I stopped getting Easter baskets when I was six.  The Easter Rat ate the Easter Bunny. GRAMMY:Barbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14501132182710265406noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105161518458170045.post-74792693265894260962010-03-31T01:26:00.000-04:002010-03-31T01:26:03.564-04:00OMG! ME:  Hello, Grammy! (no answer) ME:  Grammy! (no answer) ME:  Grammy?  Oh, my . . .  Julius, quick. Call 911. JULIUS:  Is she dead? ME:  I don’t know.  Call 911. JULIUS:  The phone won’t work.  I think they’re both dead. ME:  Oh, my God.  Grammy?  Grammy? GRAMMY:  Ha!  April Fools! ME:  Grammy! GRAMMY:  Thought I was dead, didn’t you? ME:  Yes!  Why would you do Barbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14501132182710265406noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105161518458170045.post-81997344251657900402010-03-29T14:32:00.002-04:002010-03-31T15:49:17.155-04:00CRAZY BABY BABY:  (runs through apartment)  YAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAY! GRAMMY:  What the hell was that? ME:  The baby from hell. GRAMMY:  Oooh.  Not our usual Barney self today, are we? ME:  Shut up, Grammy.  I’m not in the mood. BABY:  (knocks kitchen chairs down)  WHEEEEE. GRAMMY:  Okay.  Who is she and where did she come from? ME:  It’s my neighbor’s daughter.  Her babysitter Barbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14501132182710265406noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105161518458170045.post-82497172323379244152010-03-26T13:43:00.000-04:002010-03-26T13:43:08.187-04:00BEGGING GRAMMY:  I saw your ex today.  He’s out in front of the supermarket begging. ME:  Begging? GRAMMY:  Yeah.  He was bent over on the ground, cup in front of him, scrounging for money.  Even got the cat and dog in on the act. ME:  Oh, Grammy.  He wasn’t begging.  He trained the cat and dog to do that ages ago.  It’s the art of Street Performance. GRAMMY:  Well, that’s exactly Barbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14501132182710265406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105161518458170045.post-60098870194264426612010-03-24T12:44:00.000-04:002010-03-24T12:44:47.023-04:00ORANGE JULIUS:  Grammy, I need help.  I need to write down ten things that are orange.  Besides an orange. GRAMMY:  And what do you have so far? JULIUS:  A pumpkin. GRAMMY:  That’s it? JULIUS:  Uh, huh. GRAMMY:  Well, sweet potatoes are orange. And life jackets. JULIUS:  Oh, and goldfish.  Remember when we ate one? GRAMMY:  Yeah. It was kind of yummy. Wasn’t it? JULIUS:  Kind ofBarbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14501132182710265406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105161518458170045.post-10415666862049798252010-03-22T11:32:00.002-04:002010-03-22T11:45:37.195-04:00NEW CAR TYPHUS:  Hey, Grammy.  Come look.  I bought myself some wheels. GRAMMY:  Hell, are you even old enough to drive? TYPHUS:  Got my license two weeks ago. GRAMMY:  Well, I’ll have to remember to be more careful when I cross the street now.  Where is it? TYPHUS:  It’s the blue convertible in front of Alfie’s. GRAMMY:  You’re kidding me? TYPHUS:  I got a great deal.  Only three-hundred bucks Barbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14501132182710265406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105161518458170045.post-70166364971966717232010-03-19T17:10:00.000-04:002010-03-19T17:10:58.607-04:00FLAMINGOS GRAMMY:  What’s with all the damn flamingos? ME:  What flamingos? GRAMMY:  Alfie’s got over a hundred of them out in his front yard.  Didn’t flamingos go out with the fifties? ME:  Oh, it’s probably some art project he’s working on. GRAMMY:  Well, that doesn’t sound enthusiastic.  Usually, you’re fawning all over everything he does.  What’s the matter, you two love birds haveBarbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14501132182710265406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105161518458170045.post-4937836021989065722010-03-17T11:50:00.001-04:002010-03-17T11:53:08.912-04:00PARADE ME:  Don’t you just love parades?  The balloons and the bands, the popcorn and cotton candy? GRAMMY:  Standing around in the cold, freezing your ass off. ME:  Oh, look!  There’s the high school’s marching band.  Don’t they sound great? GRAMMY:  Yeah, if you like the sound of constipated pigs. ME:  And there’s the mayor.  He’s doing a wonderful job, don’t you think? GRAMMY:  Barbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14501132182710265406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105161518458170045.post-68688299920933209342010-03-15T06:59:00.000-04:002010-03-15T06:59:25.920-04:00GODZILLA ME:  Grammy, look what Julius did in school. GRAMMY:  He wrote a poem about Godzilla?  So? ME:  So look at the sentiment and the emotions involved.  And he’s attributing them to a monster. GRAMMY:  So?  Monsters can’t have feelings? ME:  Grammy!  Godzilla destroyed Tokyo.  He murdered millions.  And Julius is feeling sorry for him! GRAMMY:  Uh, you do know Godzilla is Barbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14501132182710265406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105161518458170045.post-46028953045310165802010-03-12T16:25:00.000-05:002010-03-12T16:25:33.364-05:00BUBBLES GRAMMY:  What are you doing, boy? JULIUS:  Blowing bubbles. GRAMMY:  Really?  Just blowing bubbles? JULIUS:  Uh huh. GRAMMY:  So if I look out that window, I’m not gonna see some damn freaky bubble sculpture? JULIUS: Unh uh. GRAMMY:  And you’re not conducting some God-awful experiment where you trap bugs in bubbles or some other weird stuff? JULIUS:  No. GRAMMY:  So all IBarbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14501132182710265406noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105161518458170045.post-46221705405071680912010-03-10T10:28:00.001-05:002010-03-10T10:42:17.666-05:00CAUSES ME:  I have to go, Grammy.  I have to get to the demonstration. GRAMMY:  You won’t take time to find a job, but you have time for a demonstration? ME:  Yes, Grammy.  It’s important. GRAMMY:  Not as important as eating, obviously. ME:  I have my Unemployment, Grammy.  And somebody has to do something.  The dolphins can’t save themselves. GRAMMY:  And who’s gonna save the Barbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14501132182710265406noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105161518458170045.post-67999664551791132612010-03-08T13:25:00.000-05:002010-03-08T13:25:11.637-05:00OUCH! JULIUS:  Grammy!  Grammy!  Come quick! GRAMMY:  Lord, what’s the matter now? JULIUS:  It’s Typhus.  He’s stuck! GRAMMY:  What do you mean he’s . . . ?  Oh my Lord! TYPHUS:  Get me down.  Please! GRAMMY:  Didn’t I tell you not to be jumping on my bed? TYPHUS:  Yeah.  And I’m sorry.  Now get me down. GRAMMY:  Sorry, boy.  We all have to learn from our mistakes. TYPHUS:  Barbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14501132182710265406noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105161518458170045.post-37642819530226972372010-03-03T17:14:00.000-05:002010-03-03T17:14:56.134-05:00BIRDS AND BOOZE GRAMMY:  Ha!  You didn’t believe me, did you? ME:  Believe what, Grammy? GRAMMY:  That animals are conspiring to do away with us.  Read this. ME:  Mountain climber and photographer plunge to their deaths after being attacked by birds. GRAMMY:  And all they found was the camera with that picture in it.  It’s just like in that Hitchcock movie. Do you think they saw it? ME:  Barbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14501132182710265406noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105161518458170045.post-14946624765135840212010-03-01T01:48:00.000-05:002010-03-01T01:48:42.560-05:00REVENGE GRAMMY:  Whoa!  What the hell happened to you? ME:  Oh, the power went out during the storm and I was wandering around in the dark, trying to find a flashlight or a candle. GRAMMY:  So what did you do?  Trip over a piece of furniture? ME:  No.  I stepped on Snowflake’s tail. GRAMMY:  Ha!  There’s nothing more dangerous than a black cat in the dark.  Did she bite you or claw youBarbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14501132182710265406noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105161518458170045.post-43491000770035643362010-02-26T16:54:00.001-05:002010-02-26T16:57:06.129-05:00NOR'EASTER . GRAMMY:  That was one hell of a storm, yesterday, huh?  You alive over there? ME:  Oh, Grammy!  Everything’s a mess!  There are trees down in the driveway, my basement is flooded, I have no power, and I found my mailbox half-way down the street.  What about you? GRAMMY:  I’m sitting in a nice warm house with lights, and I’m as dry as a bone.  Oh, and the mailman is dropping my mail through Barbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14501132182710265406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105161518458170045.post-38811133237712752412010-02-24T15:58:00.000-05:002010-02-24T15:58:13.410-05:00SPRINGME:  Grammy, you changed your curtains! GRAMMY:  Yep.  Took down the heavy winter drapes and put up the spring curtains. ME:  But it’s February, Grammy.  We won’t see Spring until at least mid-April. GRAMMY:  Yeah?  Tell that to the birds.  The damn things have been waking me up every morning for the past ten days.  Twitter, twittery, tweep.  The damn things never shut up. ME:  And that made Barbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14501132182710265406noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105161518458170045.post-69479634819766561012010-02-22T12:47:00.000-05:002010-02-22T12:47:44.955-05:00OLYMPICSME:  What are you watching, Grammy? GRAMMY:  The Olympics. ME:  I thought you hated sports? GRAMMY:  Yeah, well when have the Olympics ever been about sports? ME:  Uhm, forever? GRAMMY:  Uhm, no.  They’re about entertainment and advertising and political statements and ‘my country is better than yours.’  Right now, the Dutch are winning. ME:  The Dutch? GRAMMY:  Yeah.  We were ahead for a Barbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14501132182710265406noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105161518458170045.post-78357643926245634182010-02-19T16:32:00.001-05:002010-02-19T16:38:16.004-05:00EXTINCTION ME:  Here’s your newspaper Grammy.  Although I don’t see why you can’t get your news on the internet and save a tree or two. GRAMMY:  Ha!  Look who’s talking, Miss Buried-in-Books.  If you want to save a damn tree, get yourself one of those book-reader thingies. ME:  No.  I thought about it, but it would just be too weird not having books in the house.  It’s even kind of scary. Barbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14501132182710265406noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105161518458170045.post-82828704247465562142010-02-17T10:50:00.000-05:002010-02-17T10:50:04.786-05:00NEWS FLASH! GRAMMY:  Hey, Barbara.  Come look at this. ME:  Oh my!  What is it? GRAMMY:  It’s a rarely seen bearsharktopus.  It lurks in the warm water off Puget Sound.  Yesterday, it was photographed after devouring two fishermen and their small fishing boat. ME:  Oh, Grammy.  That’s a fake.  There’s no such thing. GRAMMY:  Oh, yeah?  Tell that to the National Inquisitor.  They’re Barbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14501132182710265406noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105161518458170045.post-35661383782151431872010-02-15T01:39:00.000-05:002010-02-15T01:39:30.654-05:00VALENTINE'S DAY GIFTME:  Grammy, look what Alfie gave me for Valentine’s Day. GRAMMY:  A picture of feet? ME:  They’re not just any feet, Grammy.  They’re Julius’.  And those are my hands.  Alfie Photo-shopped some pictures he took of us, and this is what he came up with.  Isn't it a great gift? GRAMMY:  Oh, Lord.  Someone’s in love. ME:  I’m not in love, Grammy. GRAMMY:  No, but he is. ME:  What makes you Barbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14501132182710265406noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105161518458170045.post-61726736914770158712010-02-12T15:48:00.000-05:002010-02-12T15:48:04.324-05:00FLYING GRAMMY:  What the hell are you two doing in here? JULIUS:  Flying. GRAMMY:  Flying?  That’s my bed you’re destroying. JULIUS:  Sorry, Grammy. GRAMMY:  Sorry?  You’re both sorry.  And you, Typhus, you’re old enough to know better. TYPHUS:  We were just having fun. GRAMMY:  Well, I’m all for having fun.  But don’t have it in my bedroom or on my bed.  Got it? TYPHUS:  Yeah.  Barbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14501132182710265406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105161518458170045.post-72456968178535843842010-02-10T02:26:00.000-05:002010-02-10T02:26:04.271-05:00HOSPITAL VISIT GRAMMY:  This is a hospital?  It looks like something out of an old Vincent Price movie.  And why the hell are all those vultures circling overhead?  How bad are the doctors here, anyway? ME:  The doctors are fine, Grammy.  And those aren’t vultures.  They’re crows. GRAMMY:  Yeah, well if you know anything about birds, you know crows are nothing but smaller, smarter vultures. Barbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14501132182710265406noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105161518458170045.post-24188399278065056502010-02-08T15:05:00.002-05:002010-02-08T15:26:10.421-05:00MULBERRY STREET JULIUS:  What’s that, Grammy? GRAMMY:  A photo of Mulberry Street. JULIUS:  Like in the book? GRAMMY:  Better than the book. JULIUS:  Wow!  Look at all the people. GRAMMY:  Yeah.  People weren’t afraid to go out in those days.  See that guy?  He had a bathtub on his fire escape and made his own wine.  Used to let all us kids stomp the grapes.  Until the cops busted his tub Barbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14501132182710265406noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105161518458170045.post-17204257599653039132010-02-05T14:55:00.000-05:002010-02-05T14:55:03.785-05:00CRUSHED TYPHUS:  Look what I got at Goodwill.  Gotta look sharp if I’m gonna be an entrepreneur. GRAMMY:  A new suit and a big word.  You’re off to a good start.  So what’s your new business? TYPHUS:  Pot. GRAMMY:  Pot? TYPHUS:  Yeah.  I found this book.  Just fell outta the sky, like it was meant for me. GRAMMY:  Oh, Lord. Y ou’re gonna be a dope dealer? TYPHUS:  I’m gonna be a Barbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14501132182710265406noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105161518458170045.post-18521137930336514332010-02-03T03:27:00.002-05:002010-02-03T04:46:09.442-05:00HATS ME:  So, do you like my new hat, Grammy? GRAMMY:  No. ME:  No?  What do you mean, ‘no?’ GRAMMY:  I mean I don’t like your new hat.  What the hell else could I mean? ME:  Well, why don’t you like it?  What’s wrong with it? GRAMMY:  What’s wrong with it?  You look like a little girl in her Sunday bonnet.  All you need now are a pair of patent leather shoes and white gloves.  Grab your Bible Barbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14501132182710265406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105161518458170045.post-23523709422411765152010-02-01T08:55:00.000-05:002010-02-01T08:55:22.275-05:00MARIJUANA ME:  What happened Friday, Grammy?  I knocked, but there was no answer. GRAMMY:  And you didn’t break in?  I’m a hundred years old.  I could have been dead! ME:  Well, if you were, there wouldn’t have been anything I could do. GRAMMY:  So you left me here to rot for the weekend? ME:  I figured you had gone out for a while.  You do have that friend at the old folks’ home.  So Barbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14501132182710265406noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105161518458170045.post-89714773015598027372010-01-27T13:55:00.000-05:002010-01-27T13:55:05.161-05:00BOOKCARVING GRAMMY:  Barbara!  What the hell did your son do? ME:  What is it now, Grammy? GRAMMY:  I don’t know what the hell it is now, but it was my Dickens collection. ME:  He carved a book? GRAMMY:  He carved a whole set of books.  My Dickens collection! ME:  It looks like a bonsai tree. GRAMMY:  Banzei is a yell, not a tree, Barbara.  It’s like Geronimo. ME:  What?  GeronimoBarbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14501132182710265406noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105161518458170045.post-35950142720121963592010-01-25T01:43:00.003-05:002010-01-25T01:47:26.543-05:00EVOLUTION GRAMMY:  Where are you off to? ME:  PTA meeting.  It’s our yearly debate over Darwin.  Evolution or no evolution. GRAMMY:  And let me guess.  You’re on the evolution side? ME:  Of course.  All you have to do is look around you.  It’s pretty obvious. GRAMMY:  And you don’t suppose that’s God twisting and tweaking, making things better? ME:  Grammy, how can you believe that? Barbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14501132182710265406noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105161518458170045.post-81996083392846595802010-01-22T15:27:00.000-05:002010-01-22T15:27:55.433-05:00PERSPECTIVE GRAMMY:  Ah, there’s nothing like New England in the winter.  Isn’t that a beautiful sight?  There’s nothing prettier than new-fallen snow. ME:  What? GRAMMY:  What do you mean ‘what?’  I said there’s nothing like New England in the winter.  You don’t have to be a rocket scientist to understand that. ME:  But you’ve always hated winter.  I remember growing up, all you ever didBarbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14501132182710265406noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105161518458170045.post-32060746664901442822010-01-20T13:50:00.001-05:002010-01-20T13:53:05.585-05:00MERMAIDS GRAMMY:  So, this is your room, huh? JULIUS:  Uh, huh. GRAMMY:  Manly.  I guess you like mermaids. JULIUS:  Uh, huh.  Did you know mermaids can sing underwater? GRAMMY:  Oh, yeah?  What do they sing? JULIUS:  They sing songs for sailors.  But they don’t let the sailors see them. GRAMMY:  And do they sell sea shells by the sea shore? JULIUS:  What? GRAMMY:  Nothing.  Why don’Barbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14501132182710265406noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105161518458170045.post-20794047937362906682010-01-18T06:07:00.001-05:002010-01-18T06:10:08.455-05:00ESTATE PLANNING GRAMMY:  What the hell are they doing out there? ME:  I don’t know.  Alfie said it was something Japanese. GRAMMY:  Lord, I thought the boy would toughen up with Typhus around.  Instead, he’s making Typhus as weird as he is.  And why the hell is Alfie out there with them? ME:  They’re creative types, Grammy.  You have to figure things like this will happen when they get together. Barbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14501132182710265406noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105161518458170045.post-39728912897014226582010-01-15T15:08:00.000-05:002010-01-15T15:08:35.438-05:00JOB COUNSELING GRAMMY:  What’s wrong, Typhus?  That medal not shiny enough for you? TYPHUS:  They only gave it to me because you made a fuss. GRAMMY:  Hey, you deserved it.  You saved a hundred year-old woman from drowning in her own apartment. TYPHUS:  You know, Grammy, I been thinkin’. GRAMMY:  About what. TYPHUS:  About me.  How I been wastin’ my life.  I’m tired of bein’ a low-life.  I Barbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14501132182710265406noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105161518458170045.post-71085991027725699802010-01-13T05:24:00.000-05:002010-01-13T05:24:17.081-05:00WATER PROBLEM ME:  Oh my God!  What happened, Grammy? GRAMMY:  That damn idiot upstairs left his water running again.  He leaves it on for the cat whenever he goes away. ME:  Did you call the landlord? GRAMMY:  What the hell for?  He hasn't shown his face around here in fifty-two years. ME:  Well, someone has to get up there and shut the water off before the whole ceiling caves in.  I’ll Barbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14501132182710265406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105161518458170045.post-24905756058819431262010-01-11T00:32:00.002-05:002010-01-11T01:06:15.269-05:00VACATION PHOTOS GRAMMY:  So, you never said how your vacation went.  Did you and art boy have a good time? ME:  We did, Grammy.  We spent some time on the beach. We did some rock climbing.  Alfie was horrible at it, but at least he tried. We also got in some deep sea fishing.  Alfie caught a marlin, and Grammy, you wouldn’t believe the size of that thing. Barbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14501132182710265406noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105161518458170045.post-88976820309162952010-01-08T16:31:00.000-05:002010-01-08T16:31:46.669-05:00OLD WOMAN RANTING ME:  Grammy, why are you sitting here in the dark? GRAMMY:  I’m depressed. ME:  Why?  What happened? GRAMMY:  Oh, it’s this whole damn save the planet thing. ME:  (sigh)  It is kind of depressing, what with all the talk of global warming and carbon dioxide emissions and dirty fossil fuels. GRAMMY:  Oh, shut up.  That’s exactly what I’m talking about.  I’m tired of all the Barbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14501132182710265406noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105161518458170045.post-55553980590972434072010-01-06T01:06:00.000-05:002010-01-06T01:06:25.801-05:00PERSONAL GROWTH ME:  Oh no. GRAMMY:  What? ME:  A deer is eating the nose off Julius’ snowman.  And here he comes, running straight for the door. GRAMMY:  I don’t hear him screaming like he usually does. ME:  Well, Typhus is out there with him.  Poor little thing, he's probably holding it all inside.  But the minute he gets through the door . . . . GRAMMY:  I’ll go get my earplugs. ME:  Barbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14501132182710265406noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105161518458170045.post-6977080554273736702010-01-04T12:27:00.001-05:002010-01-04T12:30:12.247-05:00SURPRISE! GRAMMY:  The ocean in the dead of winter.  Care to tell me why we’re here? ME:  Jules asked me to meet him here. GRAMMY:  Why? ME:  He said he had something important to tell me. GRAMMY:  Here?  Whatever happened to the local coffee shop? ME:  He proposed to me here, Grammy.  While we watched the sunrise. GRAMMY:  Well, I don’t see a car anywhere. ME:  Jules doesn’t have a car.Barbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14501132182710265406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105161518458170045.post-92093173603048914442010-01-01T15:52:00.000-05:002010-01-01T15:52:51.705-05:00FIREWORKS ME:  (waking)  Ooh, Grammy, what am I doing here?  What time is it? GRAMMY:  Three in the afternoon. ME:  Oh, God. GRAMMY:  That’s what happens when you drink all night.  Alfie dropped you off.  Seems you never told him where you actually live. ME:  I ‘m sorry, Grammy. GRAMMY:  Not as sorry as I am.  Julius slept in my bed, you took the couch, I’ve been up all damn night watching Barbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14501132182710265406noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105161518458170045.post-59687262703825007712009-12-30T01:39:00.001-05:002009-12-30T01:52:39.557-05:00FISH STORY GRAMMY:  Is that you, Barbara? ME:  Yes, Grammy.  Where are you? GRAMMY:  In the bathroom.  Call the vet. ME:  The vet?  Did something happen to snowflake? GRAMMY:  The damn fish ate her! ME:  Oh, Grammy.  For a minute I thought you were serious. GRAMMY:  I am serious.  Now call the damn vet!  Or better yet, pull out the ipecac.  We have to make this fish vomit. ME:  (sighBarbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14501132182710265406noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105161518458170045.post-67706508996283399162009-12-28T13:01:00.000-05:002009-12-28T13:01:00.894-05:00COFFEE AND CIGARETTES ME:  Grammy?  (cough, hack)  Grammy, are you all right?  Where are you? GRAMMY:  In the kitchen.  Where else would I be? ME:  What’s going on? (cough, hack)  Where is all this smoke coming from?  I thought there was a fire. GRAMMY:  Right.  Like I’d sit here having coffee if the place was burning down around me.  Lord, Barbara, get a brain. ME:  Then what’s all this (cough, hack) smoke fromBarbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14501132182710265406noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105161518458170045.post-36078512874674767692009-12-26T14:41:00.003-05:002009-12-26T14:58:24.318-05:00CHRISTMAS MIRACLES ME:  Christmas dinner went pretty well, don’t you think, Grammy? GRAMMY:  I’ll say.  I was sure that ex of yours and his friends would screw it up royally.  And who knew what that weirdo Alfie was going to do or say. ME:  And I was certain Typhus and his mother were going to be really vulgar.  It’s amazing how everything went so well.  And did you see how they all got along?  It wasBarbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14501132182710265406noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105161518458170045.post-36186372268851494132009-12-23T23:33:00.001-05:002009-12-23T23:36:52.519-05:00UNINVITED GUESTS GRAMMY:  Jules?  What the hell do you want? JULES:  I’ve come to spend Christmas with my son. GRAMMY:  So you came here?  And brought friends? JULES:  It’s Wednesday.  Isn’t Barbara usually here on Wednesdays? GRAMMY:  It’s almost midnight, dimbulb.  She does go home once in a while.  You know - to eat and sleep. JULES:  Oh. Well . . . . GRAMMY:  Did you bring presents for Barbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14501132182710265406noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105161518458170045.post-50566526126325693562009-12-21T01:05:00.001-05:002009-12-21T01:09:33.033-05:00SEXY SHOES ME:  It feels so good to finally sit down.  My feet are killing me.  I think I walked at least twenty miles today. GRAMMY:  Serves you right.  What kind of idiot goes Christmas shopping in high heels? ME:  Lots of women, Grammy.  Some of us care what we look like when we leave the house. GRAMMY:  Yep.  And some of us are comfortable with who we are.  If God had wanted us to have pointyBarbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14501132182710265406noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105161518458170045.post-54469059482934500382009-12-18T00:58:00.000-05:002009-12-18T00:58:54.448-05:00BAD INFLUENCE GRAMMY:  Well, look who’s here.  What happened?  Your new boyfriend busy? ME:  I’m sorry, Grammy.  But I couldn’t tell you the truth with Julius standing right there.  It didn’t have anything to do with Alfie.  It’s that Typhus.  I don’t want Julius hanging around with him.  He’s a bad influence.  And Julius says he’s sixteen.  Why isn’t he hanging around with friends his own age? Barbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14501132182710265406noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105161518458170045.post-13543932920367176542009-12-16T00:45:00.000-05:002009-12-16T00:45:13.339-05:00LONELY GRAMMY:  (on phone)  Barbara, where are you?  You should have been here a half hour ago. ME:  Sorry, Grammy.  I meant to call.  I don’t think I’m going to make it today. GRAMMY:  Why not?  What happened? ME:  Nothing happened.  Alfie stopped by.  He wants to take me and Julius to the junk yard. GRAMMY:  The junkyard? ME:  He’s building something in his garage and I guess he gets Barbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14501132182710265406noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105161518458170045.post-39985287779221913802009-12-14T00:25:00.000-05:002009-12-14T00:25:36.285-05:00PAINTING ME:  Hello!  Grammy?  Julius?  I’m back! JULIUS:  Mom! ME:  How’s my little boy?  Did you miss me?  What did you do while I was gone? JULIUS:  I went to the fruit stand, all by myself.  And Grammy gave me a slingshot and I shot a bird right out of the sky!  And I made a new friend.  His name is Typhus. ME:  Typhus?  Isn’t that a disease? GRAMMY:  Oh, let it go, Barbara.  Kids Barbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14501132182710265406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105161518458170045.post-37482736072823574072009-12-11T00:48:00.001-05:002009-12-11T00:50:57.960-05:00SNOW BUNNIES JULIUS:  Grammy!  Come see what I made! GRAMMY:  Not something made out of toilet paper rolls, I hope? JULIUS:  Uh, uh.  I made it with Typhus. GRAMMY:  Typhus?  What happened to Brian? JULIUS:  Typhus is cool.  Brian is boring. GRAMMY:  Well, that sure as hell backfired. JULIUS:  What? GRAMMY:  Nothing.  Show me what you made. JULIUS:  How do you like it? GRAMMY:  Barbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14501132182710265406noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105161518458170045.post-47152443199655586782009-12-09T12:18:00.000-05:002009-12-09T12:18:39.415-05:00PALS JULIUS:  Grammy!  I’m back. GRAMMY:  Did you get what I wanted? JULIUS:  Uh, huh.  Six apples and six oranges.  And you were right.  Mr. Green tried to give me the smooshed ones. GRAMMY:  You didn’t let him, did you? JULIUS:  Unh, uh.  I told him I was gonna pick my own.  And guess what?  I made a friend.  Brian.  He’s really fun.  Can I go back out and play with him? GRAMMY:  Barbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14501132182710265406noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105161518458170045.post-3934710167885952862009-12-07T00:41:00.000-05:002009-12-07T00:41:26.809-05:00SLINGSHOT JULIUS:  What is it, Grammy? GRAMMY:  It’s a slingshot.  And not some rinky-dink little toy, either.  This is the real deal.  You could bring down a deer with this if you knew what you were doing. JULIUS:  I don’t want to hurt a deer. GRAMMY:  I’m not telling you to.  Take a few empty whisky bottles from my recycle bin.  You can practice shooting at them in the back yard.  And Barbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14501132182710265406noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105161518458170045.post-1822630937205002462009-12-04T09:48:00.000-05:002009-12-04T09:48:18.433-05:00VACATION GRAMMY:  Here, Barbara.  Two tickets to the Bahamas.  You’re going on vacation.  Everything’s paid for.   You leave tomorrow. ME:  What?  I can’t leave tomorrow. GRAMMY:  Why not?  You’re not working.  You have no responsibilities. ME:  I don’t, but Julius . . . . GRAMMY:  Julius isn’t going.  He’ll stay here with me. ME:  But you don’t drive.  He’ll miss school. GRAMMY:  It’Barbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14501132182710265406noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105161518458170045.post-70082118466923507672009-12-02T01:19:00.001-05:002009-12-02T01:22:30.219-05:00PETS ME:  I’ve been thinking about what you said, Grammy.  About Julius needing a friend.  What do you think about buying him a pet? GRAMMY:  Oh, sure.  Everyone should have a pet instead of a friend.  Lord, Barbara. That’s the dumbest idea you ever had.  No, wait.  Having a baby girl just so you can play dress-up with her is the dumbest idea you ever had.  But this idea is prettyBarbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14501132182710265406noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105161518458170045.post-13363046919698263992009-11-30T03:16:00.000-05:002009-11-30T03:16:25.912-05:00PLATITUDES GRAMMY:  You’re early. ME:  They let me go, Grammy.  And not just me.  They closed the entire office. GRAMMY:  Well, that sucks.  What are you gonna do? ME:  I don’t know.  I haven’t had time to think about it. GRAMMY:  Well, I’d find the time, unless you want to end up on the street, or in here with me.  You’re no Kevin Federline with a rich wife you can leech off of. ME:  Barbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14501132182710265406noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105161518458170045.post-26005623484494084972009-11-27T13:08:00.001-05:002009-11-27T13:10:32.111-05:00GREEKS BEARING GIFTS ME:  Grammy, I’d like you to meet Alfie Kristanopolous. GRAMMY:  Lord, will you look at that thing.  It must take you hours to get ready to go out, huh? ALFIE:  Time doesn’t matter where art is concerned. GRAMMY:  You think that’s art? ALFIE:  Everything I do is art.  Would you like to touch it? GRAMMY:  What the hell for? ALFIE:  Oh, come on.  Everyone wants to touch it.  Barbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14501132182710265406noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105161518458170045.post-13793667621802573382009-11-26T00:52:00.002-05:002009-11-27T13:00:58.150-05:00THANKSGIVING GRAMMY:  Well, for a couple of vegetarians, you sure picked that bird to the bone. ME:  I don’t know what it was, Grammy, but I just couldn’t seem to get enough.  I don’t remember ever having turkey that tasted that good. GRAMMY:  It’s the whiskey.  I injected the turkey with some Jack Daniels.  A squirt here, a squirt there, a cup mixed in with the juices for basting.  Yep.Barbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14501132182710265406noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105161518458170045.post-86112450075925487792009-11-23T04:13:00.000-05:002009-11-23T04:13:56.050-05:00FRIENDS GRAMMY:  Barbara, you’ve gotta find that boy a friend. ME:  Julius has friends. GRAMMY:  The kind he can hang out with, or just kids he knows from school? ME:  Well, they’re from school, but he’s had play dates with several of them. GRAMMY:  Play dates? ME:  I arrange it with the other Moms, or they arrange it with me. GRAMMY:  Lord, you don’t even let him pick his own friends? Barbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14501132182710265406noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105161518458170045.post-34701673576851931742009-11-20T12:12:00.001-05:002009-11-20T12:13:23.165-05:00PANCAKES AND TURKEY ME:  What are you doing, Grammy? GRAMMY:  What does it look like I’m doing? I’m picking up a turkey. ME:  But you know we don’t eat meat, Grammy. GRAMMY:  Who cares what you eat.  It’s my house and I like turkey so I’m buying turkey.  What’s wrong with you anyway?  It’s Thanksgiving.  Who doesn’t eat turkey on Thanksgiving? ME:  Vegetarians, that’s who. GRAMMY:  Well, it’Barbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14501132182710265406noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105161518458170045.post-90965911179940399992009-11-18T04:07:00.001-05:002009-11-23T06:11:24.464-05:00METEOR SHOWER GRAMMY:  There goes another one. ME:  I think that makes seventeen.   Too bad Julius fell asleep. GRAMMY:  Well, he got to see some of them.  How’d you know there were going to be meteor showers tonight, anyway? ME:  Alfie told me. GRAMMY:  Figures. ME:  Why does it ‘figure?’ GRAMMY:  Just seems a fella like him would know about stuff like this.  Look.  There goes another one. Barbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14501132182710265406noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105161518458170045.post-63988616530446879892009-11-16T02:34:00.001-05:002009-11-16T03:00:57.789-05:00AFTER THE LOVIN' ME:  I should get going.  It’s been three days.  Grammy probably thinks I’m dead. ALFIE:  Oh, I’m sure that’s not true. ME:  You don’t know Grammy.  She doesn’t believe I can do anything on my own, and she didn’t think I should go out with you in the first place.  And then there’s the fact that I’ve never stayed out all night in my life, let alone three days.  By now, she’s Barbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14501132182710265406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105161518458170045.post-86475169631395408842009-11-13T11:28:00.003-05:002009-11-23T06:08:11.396-05:00DATING GRAMMY:  What are you all dressed up for? ME:  I have a date. GRAMMY:  Oh, Lord.  Does that mean Jules is back in town. ME:  No, Grammy.  It’s not with Jules. GRAMMY:  You mean you’re actually going out with a real man?  A strange man? ME:  Well, he’s not really a stranger.  It’s that artist fellow next door.  His name is Alfie. GRAMMY:  Oh, he’s strange all right.  Ask him Barbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14501132182710265406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105161518458170045.post-84528187934924307952009-11-11T01:30:00.002-05:002009-11-11T01:45:37.484-05:00WAR JULIUS:  All these are dead people? GRAMMY:  Yep JULIUS:  How did they die? GRAMMY:  War. JULIUS:  What’s a war? GRAMMY:  A stupid game governments play for money and profit. JULIUS:  Huh? ME:  Grammy, he’s six years old. GRAMMY:  So what am I supposed to do?  Lie to the boy?  Okay.  Start humming. ME:  What? GRAMMY:  Pick a song.  Any song.  Battle Hymn of the Republic,  Barbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14501132182710265406noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105161518458170045.post-30060693901633184892009-11-09T02:35:00.000-05:002009-11-09T02:35:17.379-05:00MEDICAL ADVICE ME:  Grammy, don’t you think you’ve put enough salt on those French fries? GRAMMY:  Gee, Barbara, I don’t know.  I’m such an idiot, I can’t tell.  (sprinkles more salt) ME:  I’m only mentioning it because it’s bad for you. GRAMMY:  You’re only mentioning it because you’re not happy unless you’re sticking your nose in someone else’s business. ME:  That’s not true, Grammy.  Too muchBarbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14501132182710265406noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105161518458170045.post-91010470732940105332009-11-06T02:07:00.000-05:002009-11-06T02:07:49.275-05:00POKER ME:  What are you doing, Grammy? GRAMMY:  Playing poker.  This internet thingy is better than Vegas.  You wouldn’t believe the morons on the other end of this thing.  I wiped out a dentist who didn’t know three of a kind beat two pairs.  And I don’t think any of them ever heard of bluffing. ME:  You know, Grammy, you can do more on the internet than play poker. GRAMMY:  That’s Barbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14501132182710265406noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105161518458170045.post-47751249569960132782009-11-04T01:54:00.000-05:002009-11-04T01:54:41.708-05:00TOO MUCH ARTJULIUS:  Where are we going, Grammy? GRAMMY:   Next door.  We’re gonna go see that artist fella.  If you’re destined to become a damned artist, you need to be around other artists.  But don’t tell your mother. JULIUS:  How come? GRAMMY:  Because she thinks everyone’s a weirdo.  She’ll turn a little visit into a big production.  She’ll want to do background checks and hire detectives and who Barbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14501132182710265406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105161518458170045.post-66483801041492725842009-11-02T01:48:00.001-05:002009-11-02T01:51:38.165-05:00ART ME:  Grammy.  Come see what Julius made. GRAMMY:  Lord.  I can just imagine. ME:  Look Grammy.  This one is me.  The other is you. GRAMMY:  Ha!  It does look like you.  Same crooked nose.  Same pouty lips. ME:  And look. He even got in your scar.  You know, the one you got when you stowed away on Admiral Byrd's airplane. GRAMMY:  I didn’t stow away.  He took me along, then gotBarbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14501132182710265406noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105161518458170045.post-74515375130692273932009-10-30T00:41:00.004-04:002009-10-30T00:50:24.236-04:00TRICK OR TREAT NEIGHBOR: And what are you supposed to be, little boy? You don’t look like you’re dressed up at all. GRAMMY: He’s the son of an atheist liberal. NEIGHBOR: Oh, sorry. Here you go. JULIUS: Thank you, ME: What did he get, Grammy? GRAMMY: A bite-sized Hershey’s bar. ME: And what’s the address. GRAMMY: 27 Candykiller lane. ME: Grammy, this isn’t funny. GRAMMY: No. It’s not.Barbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14501132182710265406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105161518458170045.post-53913429914213503712009-10-28T02:17:00.004-04:002009-10-28T02:23:09.014-04:00GOD JULIUS: Who’s that, Grammy? GRAMMY: God. JULIUS: Who’s God? GRAMMY: Who’s God? Barbara, what the hell are you teaching this boy? He just asked who God was. ME: God is make-believe, Julius. Like the Tooth Fairy and Santa. GRAMMY: What? Julius, go in the kitchen and play with your toilet paper. JULIUS: Okay, Grammy. ME: Sorry, Grammy. I thought we’d have that conversation Barbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14501132182710265406noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105161518458170045.post-28071222589555380962009-10-26T00:17:00.001-04:002009-10-26T00:19:32.075-04:00AFTERNOON DRIVE ME: Isn’t this a beautiful day for a drive, Grammy? GRAMMY: Oh, yeah. Main streets and back roads of beautiful Cow Hampshire. Hit another frost heave and my teeth are gonna fall out. And just because you bought a brand new convertible doesn’t mean we have to ride with the top down. It’s friggin' October, you know. ME: I just want to be sure everything works. GRAMMY: Show off is Barbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14501132182710265406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105161518458170045.post-5639299314733067182009-10-23T00:09:00.003-04:002009-10-23T00:15:54.714-04:00COMPUTER ME: Grammy? What happened to all your furniture?GRAMMY: I paid some kids on the corner to move it all into the cellar. I bought me one of those internet thingies.ME: Okay. But why would you move all your furniture?GRAMMY: It’s gotta fit somewhere, doesn’t it?ME: Yes. I suppose. But it would have fit nicely of the desk you had in front of the windows.GRAMMY: Are you kidding meBarbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14501132182710265406noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105161518458170045.post-55954432080147993432009-10-21T00:33:00.006-04:002009-10-21T09:41:45.235-04:00SWIM LESSONSGRAMMY: I’m going to the restroom.ME: But you’ll miss Julius’ dive.GRAMMY: He’s been standing there for twenty minutes, Barbara. He’ll be there when I get back.ME: He’s scared, Grammy. It’s his first dive.GRAMMY: He’s scared because you filled his head with drowning stories. He needs encouragement, not doom and gloom.ME: I encourage Julius all the time.GRAMMY: Yeah, to be the world’s biggest wussBarbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14501132182710265406noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105161518458170045.post-21551770227464045662009-10-19T11:33:00.008-04:002009-10-19T11:49:20.532-04:00LEAVESGRAMMY: There you go. Now have some fun.JULIUS: (stares)GRAMMY: They’re leaves, boy. You jump in them. You roll around. You have fun.JULIUS: But they’ll get messy, Grammy.GRAMMY: That’s the point, boy.JULIUS: (stares)GRAMMY: Oh, Lord. Look. Give them a fluff.JULIUS: But Mommy said . . . .GRAMMY: Grab a handful. Throw them in the air.JULIUS: But Mommy said . . . .GRAMMY: Oh, dammit, boy! I don’t Barbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14501132182710265406noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105161518458170045.post-49781045233934719562009-10-16T00:06:00.004-04:002009-10-16T00:43:35.964-04:00FLYSWATTERME: What are you doing, Grammy?GRAMMY: What does it look like I’m doing? I’m trying to kill that damned fly. It’s been buzzing around here all day. ME: Well, get off the table and wait until it lands. If you fall off, you’ll kill yourself.GRAMMY: Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? I die, you inherit everything, and give it to that low-life ex of yours as a bribe to take you back.ME: Barbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14501132182710265406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105161518458170045.post-24743758100785026552009-10-14T00:22:00.005-04:002009-10-14T00:54:07.518-04:00MANHOLEME: Grammy? What were the police doing here?GRAMMY: Oh, it’s that damned artist fella next door. Come here. See that guy in the manhole. It’s not a guy. It’s not even a manhole. It’s a statue.ME: You didn’t call the police about that, did you?GRAMMY: Damn right I did! I thought it was real. I thought it was some pervert trying to look up women’s skirts. But no. It’s that idiot next door trying toBarbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14501132182710265406noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105161518458170045.post-8312710028830428382009-10-12T00:05:00.006-04:002009-10-12T00:24:01.231-04:00POPSICLESGRAMMY: Where the hell are all my damned popsicles? I just bought a twenty-four pack and they’re all gone.JULIUS: Sorry, Grammy. I took them.GRAMMY: You ate twenty-four popsicles in three hours?JULIUS: I didn’t eat them, Grammy.GRAMMY: You just said you did. You just said . . . . No. You said you took them. Your mother probably doesn’t even let you eat popsicles, I’ll bet. So what the hell did Barbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14501132182710265406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105161518458170045.post-52538630911114556292009-10-09T02:33:00.004-04:002009-10-09T02:44:41.298-04:00PRINCESS ME: How would you like to have a great-granddaughter, Grammy?GRAMMY: Will she be more of a man than my great-grandson?ME: Grammy!GRAMMY: Hey, I’m just asking. Now why are you asking? Don’t tell me that ex of yours got you pregnant again?ME: No, Grammy. I was thinking about artificial insemination. You know, with a sperm donor. From a sperm bank.GRAMMY: Sorry, Barbara. I Barbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14501132182710265406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105161518458170045.post-59051720493370059732009-10-07T02:13:00.005-04:002009-10-07T02:34:15.653-04:00YOUNG LOVEME: Did I tell you, Grammy? Julius has a girlfriend.GRAMMY: A girlfriend? He’s six years old.ME: Well, it’s not as though they’re dating, Grammy. It’s just one of those puppy love things.GRAMMY: So who is she? Some six year old girl as mamby pamby as him? Lord, I can see it now. Mamby pamby’s in love, having mamby pamby children. Gives me the creeps.ME: No, Grammy. Remember the duck that got Barbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14501132182710265406noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105161518458170045.post-80075446590715566272009-10-05T01:02:00.006-04:002009-10-05T01:28:22.902-04:00QUEEN FOR A DAYME: Where were you, Grammy? I’ve been worried sick.GRAMMY: I went to see a friend at the home.ME: The home?GRAMMY: Yeah. You know. That place you occasionally suggest I might like.ME: That’s not true, Grammy. I’d never put you in a home.GRAMMY: Damn right. You’d never see a penny of my money if you did.ME: So, how is your friend?GRAMMY: Nuttier than peanut brittle. Thinks she’s the Queen of Barbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14501132182710265406noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105161518458170045.post-86109642144349319212009-10-02T01:24:00.004-04:002009-10-02T01:34:51.043-04:00GRASSGRAMMY: Well, this is a crappy place to have a picnic. Why can’t we sit over there under the tree?ME: Because you can’t sit on the grass over there. There’s a sign.GRAMMY: Oooh. There’s a sign. I don’t see any damn grass police. And even if there where, what are they gonna do? Tazer an old lady?ME: Sorry, Grammy. I’m not breaking the law?GRAMMY: The law? It’s grass, Barbara. What the hell’s gonnaBarbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14501132182710265406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105161518458170045.post-91457736391236552782009-09-30T02:25:00.009-04:002009-09-30T02:56:36.632-04:00DEAD DUCKGRAMMY: Well, that was a fiasco, wasn’t it?ME: What kind of children’s play was that? I saw Peter and the Wolf. The duck didn’t die.GRAMMY: Damned idiot used the Russian version. At least Disney gave the boy a gun.ME: There’s another version? Where the duck does die?GRAMMY: No, he doesn’t die. The damn thing gets swallowed up whole and lives unhappily ever after in the belly of the wolf.ME: Well,Barbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14501132182710265406noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105161518458170045.post-48890848920739259162009-09-28T00:49:00.003-04:002009-09-28T01:09:38.124-04:00HOOKERGRAMMY: What’s with the get up? You look like a two dollar hooker on a Saturday night. Gonna hang out on the corner with the rest of the girls?ME: No, Grammy. Jules got me a part in a play he’s producing. It’s just a small part. I don’t say anything. I just stand there and smoke a cigarette.GRAMMY: Ha! That’ll be the day. Here. Take a drag. You’re gonna need the practice.ME: I don’t need the Barbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14501132182710265406noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105161518458170045.post-30933870896152633042009-09-24T23:59:00.003-04:002009-09-25T14:39:16.290-04:00LUNCHME: Grammy? What happened to the fish I bought you? There were four, now there’s only one.GRAMMY: That damned cat of yours decided to have one for lunch.ME: Oh, no!GRAMMY: Oh, yeah. Then Julius decided to give it a try. Swallowed his down quicker than the cat.ME: He . . . he ate it?GRAMMY: Well, what else would he do with it? The kid is a bag of bones. He must be starving on that diet of tofu andBarbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14501132182710265406noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105161518458170045.post-76042753960576060002009-09-23T09:47:00.009-04:002009-09-23T10:19:49.563-04:00GUNSME: Guess what, Grammy? Julius is now a member of the Little Folks Drama Club. He’s going to be acting, just like his father.GRAMMY: Now there’s something to look forward to. I hope he’s better at it than his father, otherwise you’re going to have two men to support.ME: I don’t support, Jules, Grammy.GRAMMY: No. You just give him your hard-earned cash while he loafs. Too bad we don’t live in a Barbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14501132182710265406noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105161518458170045.post-69700987625806595752009-09-21T12:05:00.007-04:002009-09-21T13:01:12.564-04:00KINDLIFRESSERME: Grammy, have you been telling stories to Julius again?GRAMMY: I tell him stories all the time. What’s the problem now?ME: His teacher sent home a note. He’s scaring all the other kids. He’s telling them he has an invisible friend called Kindlifresser who kidnaps and eats little children.GRAMMY: And the problem?ME: Why would you tell him a story like that?GRAMMY: Because you named the kid Barbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14501132182710265406noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105161518458170045.post-71363290025675712522009-09-18T10:20:00.007-04:002009-09-18T10:37:57.212-04:00DANCINGME: Grammy, are you dancing?GRAMMY: What if I am?ME: Sorry, Grammy. It’s just . . . .GRAMMY: It’s just old people aren’t supposed to dance. Isn’t it. We’re supposed to shrivel up and die.ME: No, Grammy. That’s not what I meant at all. I just didn’t know you liked to dance.GRAMMY: Well, I do. Or I used to. I dreamed of being a ballerina once upon a time.ME: Really, Grammy? What happened?GRAMMY: Barbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14501132182710265406noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105161518458170045.post-3466729230606008232009-09-16T00:51:00.002-04:002009-09-16T00:55:51.685-04:00HIDE AND SEEK ME: Grammy, have you seen Julius? I can’t find him.GRAMMY: I sent him outside to play.ME: By himself?GRAMMY: No. With the neighborhood kids.ME: Oh my God! What were you thinking, Grammy? Anything could happen to him out there.GRAMMY: Yeah. He could make a friend. Grow up a bit. Where are you going?ME: To look for him. Where else?GRAMMY: Lord, if anyone in this world Barbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14501132182710265406noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105161518458170045.post-3536057062664260932009-09-14T09:31:00.007-04:002009-09-14T10:16:24.002-04:00TOPIARYGRAMMY: Oh, geez, he’s at it again.ME: Who, Grammy? At what?GRAMMY: That artist fella next door. Thinks he’s a regular Edward Scissorhands.ME: Maybe you should try your hand at some art, Grammy. I could get you one of those bonsai trees. You know, like in the Karate Kid.GRAMMY: Yeah. And after I mangle it to death with these arthritic hands, I can use them to choke the breath out of you. You knowBarbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14501132182710265406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105161518458170045.post-59493624545696024552009-09-11T09:39:00.004-04:002009-09-11T23:43:50.424-04:00BUS STOPME: You look awful happy today, Grammy. What’s up?GRAMMY: Did you see the paper this morning? Looks like they finally did something about those noisy brats on the corner bus stop. You can bet your ass there won’t be any more trouble with that guy around.ME: Grammy, that’s not here. That’s in Iraq.GRAMMY: Iraq? Where that Obama guy is?ME: No, Grammy. It’s Osama. And he’s in Afghanistan.GRAMMY: YouBarbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14501132182710265406noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105161518458170045.post-59733675727610764722009-09-09T09:23:00.002-04:002009-09-09T09:29:55.897-04:00SCHOOL DAYS GRAMMY: So how was the boy’s first day of school?ME: Not good. He fell in a puddle getting off the school bus and got soaked. I had to bring him dry clothes. Why did it have to rain?GRAMMY: Oh, Karma, maybe? ME: Oh, Grammy. You’re not still mad about that, are you? We’ve been over it and over it and . . .GRAMMY: Calm down, Barbara. I was just kidding.ME: Oh. Sorry,Barbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14501132182710265406noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105161518458170045.post-59119070636701997572009-09-07T00:29:00.004-04:002009-09-07T01:06:24.865-04:00REMINISCINGME: Well, Grammy, this is it. Then end of another summer. Where does all the time go?GRAMMY: Oh, I’d say it gets eaten up by walks in the park. Being left in the rain.ME: I said I was sorry, Grammy. And I did come back for you.GRAMMY: Seven minutes and twenty-eight seconds, Barbara. You left a hundred year old woman standing in the pouring rain for seven minutes and twenty-eight seconds.ME: I wasBarbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14501132182710265406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105161518458170045.post-22396776605511706502009-09-04T00:05:00.003-04:002009-09-04T00:12:17.697-04:00RAINME: Doesn’t this rain feel nice, Grammy? It’s been such a long, hot summer.GRAMMY: Nice, schmice. If you don’t get me out of this soon, I’ll melt away like the wicked witch of the west.ME: The car’s just down the street, Grammy. We’re almost there.GRAMMY: I shoulda stayed home. What the hell do I need a walk in the park for? I’m not a dog. I know how to use a toilet.ME: Really, Grammy.Barbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14501132182710265406noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105161518458170045.post-41100592212056084772009-09-02T00:26:00.010-04:002009-09-05T00:11:07.292-04:00SHRINKWRAPGRAMMY: What’s wrong with Julius? He seems more depressed that normal.ME: He’s nervous about school. Next Wednesday will be his first day of first grade. His psychiatrist said . . . .GRAMMY: His psychiatrist? You take a six year old boy to a psychiatrist?ME: It’s just to talk, Grammy, and sort things out. Divorce can be very traumatic for a child.GRAMMY: How traumatic can it be, Barbara? You got Barbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14501132182710265406noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105161518458170045.post-7348251983639968422009-08-31T08:36:00.003-04:002009-08-31T08:45:09.077-04:00POLITICSME: 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 Barbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14501132182710265406noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105161518458170045.post-81369641111588460072009-08-28T00:10:00.004-04:002009-08-28T00:17:13.988-04:00LAKESIDEGRAMMY: 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: Barbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14501132182710265406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105161518458170045.post-3681721923973662502009-08-26T00:03:00.001-04:002009-08-26T00:09:07.049-04:00A PRESENT 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, Barbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14501132182710265406noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4105161518458170045.post-31657612463711800352009-08-24T08:19:00.004-04:002009-08-24T08:42:12.914-04:00WHO'S YOUR DADDYME: 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 Barbarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14501132182710265406noreply@blogger.com0