Conversations with Grandma

Well, kids, I was going to blog the Monday/ Tuesday experience at the hospital, but, frankly, when on Oxycontin, your memory retention is fairly nonexistent. I remember, vaguely being there, some shots, a nurse, maybe a doctor, being stranded in the hallway after an X-ray with a belligerent racist woman...you know, typical Monday.

Tuesday was release day, which consisted of me pushing the nurse call button approximately every nano second to see if the release papers had been brought up yet. I am pretty sure there is a dart board with my picture on it somewhere in that hospital.

Now that I am home, I am relaxing, and holy mother of shit, am I sleeping. It is all I want to do. I know that is partially the drugs and partially being home. Whatever it is, I slept 13 hours last night and woke up feeling like I had just fallen asleep.

So, to help out, my 77 year old grandmother is staying with me. First of all, do you know what a complete useless human specimen I feel like when the 77 year old woman can move around better than me? I kind of want to fling myself in traffic. Also, she never stops talking and asking questions. Which is scary for two reasons; first, I may kill her before this ordeal is over. But, secondly, I am a very inquisitive person and just had a 50 years from now flash forward, and frankly, I am going to require that I be shot at 65. I will hire the hitman myself. Nobody should have to deal with me then.

Here is the conversation I have had while I was typing this:

Grandma: Is this Nip/Tuck?

Erratic: No, it is Charmed.

Grandma: Have you ever seen Nip/Tuck?

Erratic: No.

Grandma: Oh, he is a sex addict.

Erratic: Good to know.

Grandma: What does your step mom do when your dad is out of town?

Erratic: I have no idea.

Grandma: Is she good at her job?

Erratic: I have never watched her work.

Grandma: Does she make a whole lot of money?

Erratic: I have never asked.

Grandma: Could you go to the college she teaches at for free?

Erratic: I don't know.

Grandma: Is there anything in your oven?

Erratic: A cast iron grill pan. You can put it on top of the stove.

Grandma: How many baked potatoes will the boy eat?

Erratic: One

Grandma: How do you turn on the oven?

Erratic: Hit bake, use the arrows to adjust the temperature.

Grandma: I hit bake, nothing is happening.

Erratic: It has to preheat.

Grandma: What?

Erratic: It has to preheat

Grandma: Oh. Do you like tomato juice?

I am not even kidding here. It is like a constant flow of her asking questions. Constant. So, I have decided I am going to do a segment (I apparently think I am some sort of TV producer here) called conversations with grandma. Good times will be had by all. Except me. Who may hang myself from the ceiling fan. If my back is strong enough to climb the step stool and kick it out of the way.