Ah, my grandmother. Sister to my great aunt, healthy at age 78, yet just a bit loopy and obsessive compulsive. Picture if you will a short, slightly wrinkly old lady about 5'3" with thin grey curly hair, and then make her look like my grandmother, and you'd know exactly what she looked like.

Here, for your viewing pleasure, are some wacky antics I've experienced as a result of living with her for over a week. First, my grandfather had this van that he used to take everywhere. He'd live in it (it had a matress), and do stuff with it like co-ordinate groups of ninjas on assassination missions, hold up ice cream trucks, and save cats from burning buildings. Ok, I'm lying. He saved flying squirrels from burning buildings. At any rate, when he finally settled down in North Carolina, it began collecting a large assortment of knick-knacks, tchotchkes, and junk. He eventually cleaned it out before he died, but by that time it was a large, hulking, rusting piece of metal that did nothing but degrade the visual aethestics of the small backyard that my grandmother currently owns. At least, thats what she seemed to think. So, while I was there, she had me take it upon myself to cover the whole side of the van with a large tarp. Why? Because she didn't want people on the road to accidently see it hidden behind the shed and multiple trees for the split second that it would be in their view while they sped by on the highway. The tarp was only temporary, until my uncle got time to drive up from Florida and do something with it. Like scrap it for parts.

So, we go outside, and the first thing I'm told is not to go around to the back side of the van because there is lots of poison ivy back there. She makes an enormous fuss, almost like she's killed someone and buried the body back there, or occasionlly dumps toxic waste in her backyard, and is just trying to cover it up. But then I take a look at the plant, and it's not poison ivy, but a harmless weed. Of course, there were no corpses or waste barrels sticking out of the ground, she's just worked herself up over the weeds. This is nothing new, as my grandmother is quite obsessive compulsive. In fact, if her towels are not set up exactly the right way in the bathroom, she freaks out and must fix them. Out of place or wrinkled, and she'll flip, although not angrily. So, after I explained (with my mother's help) that is wasn't realy poison ivy, we began putting the tarp over it. First, we put heavy rocks on the top after it was draped over the van. However, that didn't hold down the tarp well enough for her, so we got some duct tape out. (If you can't duct it...) And then we taped down every single piece of tarp that wasn't held down. About ten minutes later, we emerged triumphantly, my grandmother's mental disorder placated for the time being. Man triumphs over neurosis!

Of course, it couldn't be held at bay for long. Pretty soon, another speck of dust fell on the rug and she was forced to vacuum it up, and then it was too cold again. But that meant it was about 79 degrees in the house. Oh, have I mentioned that it absolutely must be 80 degrees in order for my grandmother to sleep? And she sleeps in covers. And she's also needed to be on sleeping medication since my grandfather died. She nods off at around 9 PM, but adamantly refuses to go to bed until eleven, which means we were forced to stay up with her, despite the complete lack of anything to do.

And when she came up to our house, it was even worse. She was constantly finding things to clean, especially with a dog that sheds enough to make a fur coat every day, and things to put away, even though she didn't know where they went. We still haven't found a set of salt and pepper shakers she put away about five years ago. You see, she must always be doing something, lest she, in her own words, "goes crazy". I think she may have sat around a little too much at her house... Being quite scatterbrained doesn't help, either. She was constantly accidently nagging (that is, forgetting she'd already asked about the thing), but at least, unlike my aunt, she's aware that she's quite wispy.
posted by Slade at 11:02 PM

So, what's it like living with a 91 year old polish woman who is a bigot, stubborn, hearing impaired, and Polish, you may ask, assuming you were spying on me a month ago. Yeah, you thought I didn't see you in the bushes, but you were wrong. Ha! Anywho, here it goes...

On our way down to NC, we stopped at a hotel. My great aunt was prepared to sleep in the car with the windows down because she thought the room smelled terrible. That "terrible" smell was the clean smell a hotel room has after they, you know, clean it. After three hours of my mom walking around with her, trying to convince her of something other than what she thought (a futile task when my aunt is in the best of moods.), the room finally aired out. my aunt got in, and decided that the bedspread was too awful for her to sleep in. Luckily, this was more easily remedied than the terrible clean smell.

The next day, we stopped at a rest area in Virginia. It was made to look like a living room, complete with arm chair, TV, fire place, receptionist desk, travel brochure stand, and sofa. She decided that the sofa must be at least 100 years old, because they don't make them like that anymore. My best estimate puts the age at at most 15 years if it's really old. It looked very new though.

One day, we were eating breakfast. My great aunt was eating cereal, and, having recently broken her wrist while walking her stupid dog down a crooked street in the dark, was wearing a cast. My grandmother, sister to my aunt, asked how her arm was doing, because it usually gave her trouble. She replied, "Crunchy." She then proceeded to look out the window and exclaim "What are those? Mailboxes?" and chuckle in the way she always does; "Huh huh huh!" Her gaze returned inward, and she asked "What's that?" while pointing to a toaster oven. My grandmother replied "A toaster oven." My aunt, her hearing failing, said "What?" to which "It's a toaster oven." was the reply. "I know what it is." My aunt told my grandmother. Ok, I'm going to go into diologue mode for the rest of this. That was a horrible pagagraph.

That's just a taste. A sample of the hilarity and ultimately insanity that insues. I'm just rambling now because I have no segue into the next paragraph.

At any rate, our plan was to go down to North Carolina, hang out with my grandmother for a few days, then take everybody to the beach. We couldn't leave my aunt home, since the last time we did, she broke her wrist and we had to leave early. That, sadly, meant three hours in the car with her. And she talks constantly. Non stop. The only time she stops talking is when she falls asleep and then she snores loud enough to wake the dead. Half the time, her conversation is just bitching about some relative who she's decided she doesn't like. Which doesn't take much. One time, one of them came over to see if she was ok, and my aunt promptly hated her because she wouldn't do housework for her. The other half of the conversation involves her pointing out every object she sees along the road or reading every sign.

So, in between reading and listening to my CD player, I overheard this bit of conversation from my aunt:

"That bitch ruined his life and now she want's his inheiritance? Oh look at that cemetary. There are flowers on every grave. I've never seen that before. This looks like a nice country road. What the hell is that, hay? [A hay truck had just pulled in front of us. - Slade] Oi yoi yoi!... Boy, this is a nice country road. Oh look at that. A yard sale. Look at all the pretty dresses, my God! Is that a used car lot? [It was a golf course. - Slade] Huh? 5$ for cabbage? Well, when people want something, they want it. People in Poland eat tomatoes and ribs, but no steak. One time, my I bought my cousin a steak and you know what she did? She boiled it. Turned in into a stew. Because that's all they eat over there. Stew. Everything's in a stew. I said 'What the hell are you doing? You don't use steak in a stew!' Oh look, we're almost in the woods now, huh? Huh huh huh! What's that? Another road? Boy, that sofa must have been 100 years old. Did you see it?"

Ok, I will remind you that there are no pauses in there, except the ..., which is about two seconds. She just kept on talking, non stop. One thing right after the other.

When we got to the beach, and situated in our hotel, we went to a beautiful little restaurant which I forget the name of. I had an excelent dinner of chicken in a butter and garlic sauce. My sister had calimari (I don't know what it is about squid tenticles. Maybe she's venting repressed fantasies. Eww! I can't believe I just wrote that. Oh well. Too late now.), and my great aunt had frog legs. She immediately decided that they were good, but entirely too bony. Now, what else are frogs legs supposed to be? They've always looked pretty scrawny to me, and that's when they are still attached to the rest of the amphibian.

So, on the way home, we were reminded about sixty times that a.) she couldn't sleep in that hotel room because it smelled terrible, and b.) those frog legs were just too bony.

There you have it, my insane great aunt. I am not exagerating or adding anything in here. This is all actual transcripts. I wish I were making it up, so I didn't have to fight insanity for 12 hours in a car next to her. Sorry this ending sucks. I'm tired and haven't written anything in a month. G'night, people.
posted by Slade at 11:19 PM

Hey again, I'm really going to try to update tomorrow. I haven't in a month, so it will be hard, but I'll do it for you three people who still infrequently check my site.
posted by Slade at 12:57 AM