Granny the Ho

Granny the Ho is moving in with my mother on account of she's fixing to die (Granny - not my mother). Granny went into the hospital last week because she couldn't breathe. They found fluid in her lungs which was the result of a little heart attack she'd apparently had a week or two earlier but hadn't noticed. My cousin and fellow menopausal stoner went with Granny to the cardiologist in Carson City yesterday where they were told that Granny would be better off in Houston because the altitude in Tahoe makes breathing more difficult for old people. Never mind the petrochemicals, car, truck and SUV exhaust and swamp gas in Houston.

I can't decide whether Granny or my mother will be more miserable. Not only is Houston ugly as hell, but Mother will also be checking Granny's pulse every time she takes a snooze. She'll be holding a compact mirror under her nose to see if she breathing all the while wishing she'd hurry up and die. Mother's been holding a grudge against Granny ever since she was in the 5th grade when Granny and a Girlfriend went into a bar and left Mom in the backseat of the car babysitting the girlfriend's two kids. Mom was also pretty pissed off at Granny when she got a phone call from her bio-dad in 1966 - over 20 years after Granny told Mom he was dead.

My father, whose actions and words have become more random since he stroked and fell off the ladder two years ago after Hurricane Rita didn't hit Houston, is the wild card here. He may very likely kick Granny down the stairs after six months of this foolishness. He'll sing his favorite Roger Miller song, "You can't roller skate in a buffalo herd, but you can be happy if you put your mind to it," as he puts his foot to Granny's backside. Fortunately, they're all in Texas where you can get away with that shit.

If we're lucky, Granny will pass in much the same way as Mashu did. Granny has circulation troubles in her legs so whenever she has visited Mother in the past, she "runs laps" around the swimming pool in the back yard. Poor old Mashu was taking his morning constitutional out by the pool when he had a heart attack and fell into the jacuzzi. Dad fished Mashu out, and Mom took the dog to the vet for an autopsy to make sure they hadn't let him drown. Here's Mashu in 1986, rest his doggy soul:




Granny the Ho has already made it clear that once she's dead, she wants her ashes scattered over the mountains around Tahoe. The family agrees it is much more practical to cremate her in Houston, then send Granny back to Tahoe in a jar. I was telling my son about these developments, pausing occasionally to sob, when the boy told me that I sounded like a crazy Southern aunt. It then came to me that we're getting set up for another Tennessee Williams play. Thank Heavens this one centers around the substance abusers and sluts instead of the violent drunken pervs on my dad's side of the family - although now that I think about it, my uncle Jenifer's funeral might be entertaining.

NOTE: For those of you not familiar with my Granny the Ho who had five husbands, my scandalous Uncle Jenifer (pictured left) and other sundry Southern Gothic relatives: you're just going to have to wait for my book. There is entirely too much to this story that should not be said on the Internet - not only because my own kid might read this blog, but also because I don't want to be the one spreading the sacred female secrets of Menopausal Stoners to other people's children. It's much more fun to save certain topics for after the kids have gone to bed.