Collecting Grannies

During these few days off from teaching preschool, I've been looking at the links other bloggers have posted. I couldn't help but notice that I've added two "grannies" to my own list: Grandmere Mimi and Yellowdog Granny. Can it be a coincidence that I brought home my quarter cup of Granny the Ho when I came back from Texas and now there are two self-declared Grandmas in my links? I think not.

Can it be a coincidence that both these women are in the South? They're even living in that dang vein of insanity that straddles the Texas/Louisiana border and extends at least as far as Dallas.

A long time ago, I read a book by Mary Karr called The Liar's Club (Viking/Penguin 1995). It begins somewhere out around Sabine Pass, Texas which is smack dab in the middle of the vein. I'd dig around in the book to find the exact location, but the first page is about a little girl showing some grown-up her bruises. I assume they were left from a recent beating, but I'm not reading anymore tonight simply to be precise. In these first paragraphs, Mary Karr explains, ". . . here in East Texas parlance the term Nervous applied with equal accuracy to anything from chronic nail-biting to full-blown psychosis" (p. 6). Her mother smelled of Shalimar cologne and Salem cigarettes. So did mine. That's about where the similarities stop, though, since I'm happy to say my mother never hauled the mattresses out in the backyard and set them on fire.

Anyway, I expect I'm feeling the lack of my Granny. On Christmas Night, after the dishes were done, we all played Bingo in honor of Granny the Ho. It was fun, although my mother observed that my brother is not nearly as foul mouthed as when I'm around. I was surprised to hear it since I've never heard him talk any other way - which is exactly the point. She was somewhat offended by my rendition of a song I made up to the tune of The Twelve Days of Christmas wherein on the Fifth Day of Something, that bastard gave to me - Crotch Crabs and Claaaaaap."
My brother then proceeded to call G something and said G as in Gonorrhea which really got Mom going since my 10 year old nephew was at the table playing Bingo. It was a family gathering, after all. Frankly, I thought everyone knew about crotch crabs and clap by the time s/he was ten years old. Perhaps we have a skewed perspective here in New York City because the schools have a good sex education program. My brother and I were chastised.

Granny would have enjoyed the evening. Last year, my sister-in-law got a fancy Bingo set with one of those turning cages filled with wooden balls for calling the numbers. My Brother tackled the job of Caller with energy and enthusiasm. Perhaps he got carried away. I reckon my brother has to remain nameless since everyone's secret identities would be blown upon hearing my brother's name. That he went to court and had it changed to XXXXXXXX is a local legend. Since he has a by-line, people google him occasionally and somehow I have a feeling somebody somewhere would get all pissed off at me if a connection were made at this time between Menopausal Stoners and My Brother.

A few people in my life have reminded me that Buzz Kill's lawyer, for example, could be monitoring my business to see if I'm violating the terms of our divorce by writing under my real name. Somehow I doubt it because that would mean that Buzz Kill had actually paid someone which is not a thing Buzz Kill ever likes to do. Buzz Kill would collect information and hold it against me in an attempt to get out of paying me all that back alimony. He could be doing it right now - but he's still going to have to pay a lawyer.

As a matter of fact, my own divorce attorney still wants money. Arbitration is in my future. I sure wish my Granny the Ho was here to talk to me about her divorces. She had five divorces, so she had plenty to say on that topic.

I just wrote she's got and had to change it to the past tense. That's what happens when somebody dies.

Granny the Ho would have had something to say about The Summer Boyfriend Reality Show if she were here, and I could use some support. The fact is that I just don't like any of the candidates and am going to have to keep fishing. That builder from the north shore of Long Island - the one with the house in Maine - is very nice on the phone, but up to his ass in problems. Grown son with autism lives with him, wife isn't quite and ex yet, his mom died last year and his 89 year old father with Parkinson's lives nearby. Maybe I'll have drinks with him, but he's kind of old.

The doctor yammered about his daughter's applications to ongoing schools for entirely too long. I understand that the kindergarten process is nerve wracking for New York City parents, but I get paid to listen to and respond to that shit. Otherwise he was earnest, intelligent and boring.

It's a good thing I started a little early this year.

Plugs for Friends

On a brighter note, last night my upstairs neighbor and I went to see a delightful play off-off Broadway written by Chris Weikel whom I know from Drunken! Careening! Writers!

Pig Tale by Chris Weikel

It must be exciting to write a play and then see it performed in a theater in New York. The house was sold out which makes it even more exciting. Why We Wax, the little ditty about the hair down there from She Shoots to Conquer was a favorite short over in Amsterdam so now it's playing in other festivals in Europe. It's showing in LA next weekend and in New Jersey near the end of the month. Again, it must be pretty cool to have an idea for a movie then finally see it in film festivals.

I may attend myself in New Jersey since I am in the film discussing feminism, orgasms and Brazilian Bikini waxes. It may be exciting to see yourself in a documentary - even if it is in New Jersey. My friend KW's plays have been produced several times in New York and also in London and Dublin.

Hanging out with such accomplished individuals is inspiring me to get busy on the book again.