18 October, 2005

Granny Get Your Gun; Boo!; Digging

Granny Get Your Gun
My grandmother is not your typical octogenarian. In fact, if she read that I used that word in the same sentence with her she would kick my ass. And I am pretty sure she could take me.

She has a gentleman friend, Mr. Bob. I mentioned him before. Apparently they are hot and heavy with no need for chemical enhancement. She drives a black convertible. She prefers red but could not find one, so Mr. Bob's son reupholstered the driver's seat in red leather. She works out at the athletic club in her hometown 6 days a week. And here is where the trouble is.

Yesterday during her morning water aerobics class, the instructor was motivating them by yelling, "Come on, kick it up, let's do it, whoooooo" and my grandmother joined in, as did several others. Apparently, the woman next to her did not prefer all that and so she splashed my grandmother. Right in the face.

Well, being a lady, my grandmother, Nana, did nothing and kept working out, but I am sure that she was FUMING inside. So class is over, they go in the locker room and take showers, and Nana takes a little longer than usual. She comes out and who is sitting there but Splashy. "I certainly hope you did not have anything important to do this afternoon, since I ruined your hair," she says, real nasty. And the conversation continued all catty and bitchy and the culmination of months of this bitch taunting my grandmother ended when Nana took her 52 ounce jug of ice water and threw it on said bitch.

Go Granny Go! And I wonder where I get my temper and my flair for the dramatic!

Meghan is going to be a ghostie for Halloween. She LOVES to take her blanket, put it over her head, and run around and laugh. So her costume is settled. Now we are trying to teach her to say Boo!

It's coming out BOW!

Bless her heart!

Bob is digging around the LDS archives, looking up family history. "While you are digging," I said casually the other day, "see what you can find out about getting the records of my dad's adoption." My dad was adopted when he was 2 and we know that his parents were married, but his mother's mother hated the son-in-law so much that she forced them to divorce and give up my dad for adoption. So I have always wondered - maybe because my relationship with his adoptive parents has always been strained at best, maybe because I need to know my roots, maybe because I swear my dad is Arab (he and my brother look faintly terrorist if they don't shave), I just have always felt like I needed to know more.

So Bob found out how to request adoption records in the correct state and I sent the letter. Then I confessed to my brother that I had done it. And begged him not to tell my dad. Dad always said he would look for his birth family after his adoptive parents were dead. They have been gone for 5 years now, but as far as I knew he had never done any looking.

Well, apparently, I don't know everything because my brother tells me "Oh, he already knows."


"He knows who his parents are. They are relatives of so and so and so and so and he knows their names and everything. His sister told him a few years ago."


Well. There you go.



At 12:10 PM, Anonymous Steve said...

Sounds like the kid wants to go as a dog ghost!


At 3:59 PM, Blogger Shannon said...

I still have her dalmation ears and tail from last year - that can definitely be arranged!!


At 5:45 PM, Anonymous Steve said...

BTW might want to check out waiterrant today. (re: fear & loathing)


p.s. I visited a site that did NOT have the word verification, OMG! Is there a new corner in hell for these people or does it come under another category?


Post a Comment

<< Home