Hah. hahahahahhahahaha. I think I’d rather discusss gay marriage with my grandmother.
I can’t convince my dad that it’s reasonable to expect someone applying to be a VP at a company who also has an MBA to make more than $35,000 a year.
Also, my mother was absolutely scandalized when I gave my doctor a birth plan when I had my firstborn. “But overly! That’s so…so forward! He’s the doctor, not you.” When I explained that I knew that and if something bad happened, I’d defer to him, she didn’t care. The fact that I participated by expressing an opinion in my own medical care was just horrifying. When she found out I’d done it, she told me, “Overly! That’s just not done.”
{bolding added)
I want to add this to the Old People’s Lexicon. God forbid a woman should be assertive and stand up for herself or express a contrary opinion, lest she be considered “forward.” Oh, the horror! :rolleyes:
I knew a young woman whose kidneys died. When she was a kid she spent a lot of time at her grandparents’ house, playing in the yard a lot. A girl that lived next door died of cancer at the age of 18. A further look at that neighborhood revealed that in a group of houses very close to each other, someone in each house had serious health problems. What else did they have in common? They all abutted one particular property. It was later discovered that the owner of that property was getting paid to let some major company dump hazardous waste on said property.
The neighbors were gearing up for a major lawsuit against the guy. But my friend’s grandmother? She didn’t want to upset him.
Calling *all *Chinese cuisine “chop suey.”
Calling me, say, Carla, instead of Clare, because one of her nieces is named Carla.
Helllp, I’ve got too many more.
Har. My mom would call me by the dogs’ names - both of them - before hitting on the right moniker.
Oh, my grandmother used to do that to my dad. “Victor! Chipper!”
It’d be nice if my 71 year old mother called me by my name once in a while, rather than her dog’s name or my nephew’s name.
But every freaking time for the last five years or more…
My 75 year old dad calls me by my brother’s name. But he’s been doing that for 40 years.
I’m 52. My wife and I watch The Soup because 1) It’s hilarious, and 2) We’ll know who the hell Kim Kardashian is when our daughters-in-law talk about her, and we won’t look like the old farts we’re slowly becoming.
I’m up to speed on the latest Microsoft applications and I have an iPod, so I got that going for me, at least.
Damn. I showed up too late to post the same joke. 
Shit. I think I’m homeless according to old-people rules.
Hey, my parents (at Mom’s prodding) were the only ones who didn’t complain when a teacher tried to abuse several of us. Their daughter’s respect for Authority and their position as Secretaries of the PTA were more important than Authority’s respect for their 12yo’s ass.
Spalding Gray’s father would just say all three of his son’s name in close succession just to be sure.
I’m loving this thread and just want to comment…Frankly, back in 1913 there were very few cars on the road, not to mention highways. My dad used to go on road trips and drive distances that would put Bonnie and Clyde to shame, in an old clunker he bought with cash from his after school job bagging groceries.
I remember the smell of mimeographed papers in elementary school!..to this day, I have a soft spot for Birthington’s Washday and wish I had smeary blue portraits of the presidents to color in.
Older people are sure any amount of college education is a guarantee of a high powered job because back in THEIR day, anyone could walk in off the street, fill in an application, and get hired the next week at any number of big corporations. The power company here used to send job applicants out the door with applications to hand out to their friends and relatives! Now they’ve early-retired everyone they possibly can, but a lot of their employees eligible are still hanging in there till they drop in their tracks, I guess.
Had a good one today.
Mr. S is the youngest of seven kids; he’s 53 and his oldest brother is 20 years older.
Second-oldest brother, age 70 or so, calls today to say he and his wife are nearby (they live out of state) and wants to know if we can get together in the next few days. Mr. S tells them to come by tomorrow around lunchtime. Brother’s wife says “We don’t want Scarlett to go to a lot of trouble making lunch.”
No worries there. I’m self-employed and as it happens, I have a big deadline crunch this week. So not only am I not making lunch, I’m going to stay in my office and plug away when they get here while Mr. S gives them the tour of the garden or whatever. I’ll come out and join everyone when we GO to lunch – and disappear back into the office again when we get back. And if we WERE having lunch here, it would damned well be Mr. S making it, because he has these two days off and can do whatever the hell he wants. As it is, I’ll have to help pick up/clean the house, because it’s a bit of a sty.
But then again, Brother’s Wife is the original Suzy Homemaker, so I can see why she’d make that assumption. But geez . . .
Remembered another one: My grandma tells how my grandpa went out and found jobs for his kids. Apparently back then you could just walk into a store and tell ‘em you had a teenager with too much time on his hands and they’d say, “Great! He can start tomorrow!”
That sounds like Grandma too. The time we got a cup of chili loaded with staples at Wendy’s, she wouldn’t allow us to complain.
Another time, I told her one of my cousins was putting his hands on me. Her only concern was that I shouldn’t tell my uncle, because Cousin would be in so much trouble. :rolleyes:
Today’s paper had a preprint in it for one of those tour companies that takes bus tours of fall foliage, trips to Branson, etc. I was looking at it before I threw it away and all the listings say, “Bring lots of film for your camera!” 
Suddenly all I can think of is that old Bill Cosby routine; “For years, I thought my name was ‘Jesus Christ’. And my brother Russell thought his name was ‘Damn It’.”
My grandma refuses to send mail to my work. I’ve explained to her several times that packages and envelopes containing checks or money or anything must be sent to my office if she wants to guarantee I get it. Send postcards and stuff to my apartment but anything else needs to go to work. She is convinced I will get fired for receiving mail at work and sends it to my apartment and then gets sad when it is returned to her. I can only tell her so many times that my postman is a dipshit and not to send important stuff there but she just can’t get it through her head to send things to my office for fear of causing a kerfluffle at my work.
Oh, yeah, and then there’s the “how much tip to leave the waitress” battle. Almost anything over a couple of quarters was too much, according to mom. One had to wait until she had walked away from the table, and then put enough down to bring up the tip to 15%.