The Ludicrous Nature of the Elderly

Hey there, dear readers. It's your regular ole fountain of mothafuckin' wisdom, Shaggsie Maggsie. Today I will tackle the issue of grandparents and why they are both frustrating and hilarious.

My lone surviving grandparent, "Grandma Ruth," is an ideal example. She is a ginger, and that's all you need to know. Missy is 88 and she is still dying her hair red. And it works well as an indicator for strangers of her complete and utter madness.

Yeah, that's her. Such a ginge.

Gramma was born in 1854, and has been dubbed a "firecracker" ever since. Maybe not 1854, but you get the idea; it was a time when racism was a given and running water a faraway dream. Gramma loves talking about the past, particularly her past; because the lady had a kickin' body and hair the color of an Irish setter. That's what she tells me, I have never seen such a beast so I don't know what the fuck she's talking about.

Okay, I looked it up. And yes, that is a stunning shade of red, WHATEVER.

According to all of Gram's stories, anyone who looked upon her shining tresses immediately became smitten with her and carried all of her books to class for ten years uphill or something. She was voted "Best gams" of all her stupid friends and the President personally thanked her for single-handedly winning the war by charming the nation's foes BLAH BLAH BLAH. Anytime I bitch about my miserable experience in high school, me being a normal-ass person, this gives her cue to launch into a story about how she was the most popular yet not mean girl who was one of the guys, one of the girls, a friend to the awkward, a voice box for human rights, and picked first for kickball every time. Obviously, I have become jaded from way too many heroic Gramma stories. This is not to say that she didn't have a truly interesting, novel-worthy life. Lady climbed the ladder in the Fisher-Price sales department during a time when women were shat on even more frequently than nowadays, jettisoned forward by pure charisma and snark. I should probably be working on that novel about her life rather than complaining about her. But if you met her,  you would understand.

She made me take this picture of her pointing at some boats. Oh, old people.

So to get a good vision of my Gramma, imagine an unfairly charming, good-hearted person who requires a diet of constant praise and attention, and who is also plagued with anxiety about the well-being of everyone she has ever met. Another important fact is that this person is a lifelong "New Yorker," meaning she has an endless arsenal of witty jabs and an abiding hatred for anything that does not fit within her snobby bourgeois standards. I got her to eat In-N-Out once, the deliciousness of which she could not deny. The experience was tainted by her question to me on whether or not the establishment we dined in was exclusively populated by illegal aliens. My reply: a prolonged groan of despair.

A question we've all asked ourselves, let's be honest.

My Gramma and I have an unusual relationship. We have long spirited talks about mental illness, abortion rights, and a whole manner of intense and pressing topics. We also get in a lot of silly arguments due to her curmudgeon factor and my lingering teenage stubbornness, and then my dad tells us to shut up and forlornly downs his scotch. She leaves me hour long voice mails detailing her day, which usually consist of causing dramz on the small New Jersey island tourist community which she unofficially governs, and reading Sue Grafton mystery novels. One Thanksgiving she drunkenly said "fuck you" to me after I called her out on one of her hyperbolic tales of heroism, which I constantly use against her as evidence that she is mean and crass. I am also very crass, but not mean. That makes all the difference, assholes!

Key to my father's survival in a house full of crazed females.

Yeah, Gramma is a firecracker, aka rude as fuck and missing her mental filter. True story, during dinner with my sister's first serious boyfriend, my Gramma drunkenly informed said boyfriend that his head was so large he must have split open his mother's vagina during his birth. Oh, she is brimming with such eloquent gems. She makes constant cracks about people's weight, which is humiliating and ironic since she is most likely technically obese. She has accepted my longtime boyfriend because of his humorous tendencies, but she is unable to put a lid on the weight jokes, to my obvious dismay.

As cruel as her tongue may be, Gramma is also a great cultural resource for nostalgic assclowns like myself. We had an amazing time this summer bonding over our love of old-timey music and Dana Andrews. She introduced me to the greats of her era, such as Ruth Etting, Sophie Tucker, and Fanny Brice. True though, that she only informed me of the honkies. I had to find Bessie Smith by my damn self. But those artists are all really amazing, and Gramma definitely got some cool points from her hipster douchebag granddaughter. These points were immediately detracted when she read a facebook conversation over my shoulder about my longtime companion "mary jane" and began grilling me quite unlawfully. Or unfairly. Whatever, Gramma be quiet!

Fanny Brice, WHAT A CUTIE. 

So what I'm getting at here is that Gramma is deeply flawed but at the same time kind of a baller. She insists on staying current with movies and culture, and her opinions on these things are always unpredictable and hilarious. She has proclaimed her sexual attraction to Scarlett Johansson as well as her intellectual attraction to Jon Stewart, is a tride and true supporter of gay rights, and is at the least, not nearly as racist as half of my relatives or her entire island community. She is crazy loyal and jumps at any chance to praise me or anyone else in the immediate family, or defend us against perceived enemies. Also she has an insane amount of energy for someone so crazy old. And whenever she showers me with ridiculous praise, I just tell her, "Well, I got it from you, ya crazy betch!" Only maybe not that last part.

Our shared crush, the handsome and brooding Dana Andrews. 

So yeah, old people are funny, but mostly offensive. Proceed with caution if one approaches you with a query about technology. I have given my Gramma diagrams, flashcards, and a whole manner of devices to try to teach her to use facebook properly, and she never remembers. Which is only for the better, because her lone facebook status was "All soooooooooooo trivial!" This was in response to her friends' boring updates about eating salad or whatever. In response to that I will type out one of her heinously lengthy voice mails and send it to her. I'm sure there is something about eating a salad in there.