“I’ve got to make a ditto of these Social Security forms.”
My dad still uses words like “photostat” and “charge plate.”
And we still “dial” the phone.
Nava, my phone conversations to Grandma are more like that hilarious bit in Roseanne when Jackie tries to call her aged aunt and tell her that Dad has died. You just give up.
Hello, Auntie Barbara?
It’s Jackie… Jack-key!
Yes. I’m fine…
Fine!..
I’m fine!..
I got some bad news…
Dad isn’t with us anymore.
I said Dad has passed away…
He’s passed away!..
Dad is gone…
Dad’s dead!..
He’s dead!..
No…
DEAD!..
DEAD! DEAD!..
No, he’s fine, he sends his love.
Some of the “old people” comments here really just translate to parents being parents. My mom, at 70, is still as dynamic and sharp as she’s ever been. I can’t wait to see what she’s like at 120. Probably running marathons.
But maybe 25 years ago, I was visiting and mentioned that I like caffeine-free non-diet Coke. Every year since, I’ve told her that I really don’t like it all that much. And yet every year, in anticipation of my arrival, she gets two cases of the stuff.
Thank you.
Two Christmases ago, it was agreed upon us that we were going to have one big old-fashioned gift exchange, and names were going to be drawn upon us, and we would be assigned people to buy gifts for at the Hallowed Hootenany.
My husband was informed that “he” had drawn his cousin’s stepdaughter, whom he had met once, and who lived five states away. She had just graduated from high school and we knew little about her. We inquired about her hobbies and interests and learned that she “liked fashion.”
We decided to opt for safety and bought her a nice silver bracelet. She did not attend the Christmas party, leaving us to mail the gift. She did not send a thank-you card.
My mother-in-law told my husband that, now that they had “made the connection,” it would be so nice if they established a real relationship and started calling each other regularly! And keeping up by e-mailing, because the girl’s father wasn’t “in the picture” and she didn’t have a father figure and my husband could fill that void! (His cousin, the girl’s stepfather, apparently slipped her mind.) The propriety of a married man making such advances on a girl less than half his age didn’t seem to worry her either.
“Dad, your cousin sent me this bracelet and now he’s calling me all the time! EWWWWWW!”
salinqmind, I understand.
Can we pass a law restricting the rights of old people to own computers?
I do support for a certain fruit-based computer company and I’m really tired of college kids telling their clueless and addle-minded grandparents to buy our computers because they’re “easier”.
Some of them are great. But some of them couldn’t find a button on the screen if it controlled their meds and are more than happy to argue at length about how it isn’t there, right in front of their face.
Well, I tried to tell one of those new-fangled jokes you young people are so fond of these days, but it caught on fire! I must have pushed a wrong button. So that taught me to just stick with the old tried and true. And get off my damn lawn, anyway. (Another oldie but goodie.)
Whats the penalty for bigamy?
Two mother in laws.
We had mimeographs and our drawings were blueprints.
My grandma is pretty sharp and with it, especially seeing as she’s 88. She drives me nuts sometimes, of course, but when she wants to she can be pretty cool.
Last year (keep in mind, this is my 33rd birthday) she apologized like crazy for not sending me a check because money’s really tight and stuff like that. I’ve been telling her for several years she doesn’t need to send me a check but she’s always insisted. I don’t think I’ve ever gotten older than 12 in her mind. Not being a kid, I don’t feel the need for a birthday check from Grandma, you know? The money is nice, sure, but it’s not necessary.
The other thing, and it’s little, petty and irritates the snot out of me, is that when she sends me cards and stuff she addresses them to “Miss whiterabbit.” Technically, I suppose this is correct, since I’m not married. But it makes me feel like an eight-year-old. It’s so petty I’ve never brought it up with her, but really, Grandma, why? Couldn’t you just leave the “Miss” off? It wouldn’t offend me. Honest. “Ms” would be way too formal, and “Miss” is juvenile. Just write my name.
Though now I wonder if I were married if she’d address mail to me as “Mrs. Husband’s Name” because then there would be trouble. Nobody will ever call me that and get away with it. Ever.
But she’s got a computer and does email and buys stuff online and somebody set her up on Myspace or Facebook or something, though I haven’t seen it since for some reason I refuse to use those sorts of sites. Perhaps I have a premature “stubborn old lady” streak?
My grandma says, “Well, I shouldn’t have gotten a license at all, but I’d brought my girlfriend Grace with me and she was just flirting with the examiner!” This is of little comfort to my daughter, who has taken the driving test several times and hasn’t passed it yet.
My grandma also latched on to one of my high school boyfriends, who had the same last name as her. Although we had only just moved to town, she was sure that if we only went back far enough, we could find out how they were related.
Oh, yeah, Grandma does that too. She once corrected me fairly sternly because I addressed a Christmas card, when my grandfather was alive, to “Jean and Joe Lastname” instead of, say, “Mr. and Mrs. Joe Lastname”. And everything I get is “Miss Zsofia Lastname”. It does make me feel like a little girl.
I had a feeling I wasn’t the only one. I’m not going to bring it up because at this point it would be hopeless.
I’m sure if I get to be that age I will annoy the snot out of somebody decades younger by doing something I’ve done all my life as well.
Back when I was in third through seventh grade, my family and I lived in Singapore. One of my great aunts couldn’t get a grasp on Asian geography, and was confident that we were, in fact, living in China. When we saw her in the summer (we came back to the States every summer) she would ask us how it was in China. When (then First Lady) Hillary Clinton visited China, she called us up, and asked if we saw her (“no, she was a little to the north of us”). We gave up on trying to correct her, as she was in her 80’s and always had cookies for my brother and I.
And now I have no more living grandparents, great aunts, or great uncles. I think. My dad’s side of the family is complicated.
I once dated someone like that. Her driving instructor’s instructions were basically “Drive me around so I can flirt with guys.” No actual learning took place. The last guy she flirted with was the driving examiner. “If you pass this woman, I’ll give you a blow job.”
I was afraid of getting into a bloody crash every time I got into that woman’s car. It was truly frightening.
That was truly one of the funniest scenes ever and I still love catching that show in repeats.
My grandmother, godloveher, would always send me a five dollar bill for my birthday.
In typical grandma style, she would then put about 3 pounds of scotch tape on, over and around the envelope to make sure that $5 didn’t fall out. She might as well have put a sticker on the envelope, “CASH MONEY ENCLOSED!”.
Perhaps she’s just being nice. Perhaps she means, “You have a bachelor’s degree, get off your butt and try actully looking for a job”
When I still lived at home in southern California, I commuted from Alhambra eight miles to downtown Los Angeles, where I paid to park in the underground garage of the skyscraper where I worked. This threw my mom into a tizzy; for one thing, paid parking was luxurious and unnecessary. For another, being in an underground garage was dangerous. Why didn’t I take the bus instead, which was safer and cheaper?
She was remembering how, when she lived in Minneapolis in 1940, public transportation was safe and fun. I’m sure she took some nifty old trolley car to her civil service job, and it was useless to tell her that times had changed. I tried over and over to tell her that the bus that I would have had to take was full of homeless, gang members, and crazy street people, and that it dropped me off almost in skid row in downtown L.A. But no, she was sure that my building’s parking garage was the lair of the Hillside Strangler (remember him?).
I wish there had been safe and clean public transportation back then (1985). L.A. was not Minneapolis of 1940, though.
Anyone have the fun of trying to tell older relatives that the “rent shouldn’t be more than 1/4 of your take-home salary” rule has been extinct for years?
No, a bit more bitchy and clueless. Something like “You must not actually be trying since you haven’t found a job yet.”