M&M's.....from 1992

Once in a great while, when the universe was being extremely generous to me, the g-units would leave town for the weekend to visit relatives. This was the one time when I could have girls spend the night, and not have to sneak them out at 5 in the morning through the basement door. This was also the time when I could rummage through places that I otherwise could not rummage through without bringing attention to myself. So there I was... rummaging through a cabinet in the kitchen when I found a huge, opened bag of M&M's. I looked at it, and noticed the old M&M's label that you don't see anymore. It was a lower case, block, bold font... Having learned my lesson from previous experiences, I checked the expiration date, seeing that it had a sell-by date of 1992. This was 2003. I looked at the ingredients, mostly chemicals, preservatives, colorings, things that probably don't really go bad, so I tried one. It tasted like any old M&M that wasn't 11 years old, so I started chowing down. I wandered all over the house, munching down these 11 year old M&M's without much thought of anything. As I neared the bottom of the bag, I removed my fist-full of M&M's, and thought I saw something move and disappear into the un-eaten, 11 year old M&M's. I hoped I was seeing things, but just to be sure, I shook the bag, and to my horror, hundreds of maggots squirmed up from the depths of the 11 year old M&M's. I saw them wiggling in and out wondering what apocalyptic force had disturbed their slumber. That was the only time in my life that I came very close to shoving a toothbrush down my throat. That was also the very last time I ate anything in that house that was past, or really, even very close to an expiration date. In case you're wondering, I still love M&M's. But I'm the guy that read Fast Food Nation, and was craving McDonald's afterwards...

Loaded guns... Part I and II

Day 1:

I'm sitting in the glassed-in porch probably wishing for death to come as I listen to Fox News and numbly putz away at a puzzle that has been sitting there, collecting dust, for about 4 months. It's the beginning of fall, and the leaves are starting to turn. Now, for those of you who may not be aware, gardening is my grandmother's life. To be quite honest, she's great at it, and she does have a garden worth bragging about. Things like that also attract animals who wish to eat such gardens. My first year in college, living with the G-units, my grandpa and I put up an 8 foot high, electric fence around the entire property, to keep the deer out. Well, it worked for about 3 days, then he resorted back to shooting them with bird-shot shells. (Tiny tiny little pellets that do little more than sting when an animal is shot with them. They're meant to scare, not injure.) Anyway, my grandpa comes running in with his rifle, (which even as soon as two weeks after moving in, I was used to) bitching about a deer in the yard eating the Hostas. He quickly, and carelessly tries to load the gun, but alas, by the time he does, the deer has moved on, and is no longer a contestant in the Hosta shooting gallery. Grumbling about his missed opportunity because it took him too long to load the gun, he decides to leave it loaded for next time he needs it, therefore saving him time, and not costing him a lesson with a fortunate deer. I somehow knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that having a loaded gun could not end well...

Day 2:

So there I was... the very next day, sitting in my room doing anything other than watching Fox News, when my grandfather calls down, "Zack! Zack! There's a deer in the yard!" (Imagine Walter Matthau yelling that, and that's pretty much my grandpa) Now, I really don't care, and I certainly don't care to see him shoot one with bird-shot shells, but my curiosity got the best of me, and I meandered upstairs just in time to see grandpa fumbling with the rifle. Yeah, the one he loaded yesterday. He's trying to get it to open so he can put a shell in it. As I'm inhaling to say "But dude, you loaded it yesterday," the gun fires into the carpet, and all I hear are dozens of little tiny tiny pellets ricocheting off the walls, the ceiling, pictures, anything. We both look at each other, stunned, although I'm sure my face was more like "really?" My grandma comes storming down the hall, and instantly starts grilling my grandpa for a gun going off in the house. It was one of the few times I've witnessed such an occasion where my grandpa actually deserved it. No one was hurt, the deer got away, the carpet was fine, and Fox News was on...

The Table.

Fox News was on. My grandpa was sitting on the couch, my grandma in her chair at the puzzle card table with me on the side, and Bill O'Reilly was on the TV. This is just the perfect family time. I truly just cherish these moments, doing a puzzle in silence listening to Bill go sick-house on somebody who disagrees with his words. My heart warms with each vocal outburst from my grandparents about "liberal creeps" or anything that Obama does. Bliss.
But, this is about a table. Yes, you read correctly. A table for dining to be precise. I had just helped my grandpa bring down an old table from the attic to give to my cousin for her new apartment.
Just for the record, I do like this table.
My grandpa was then cleaning it, dusting it, and sanding the rough spots just as Bill's program started.
"Did we have any tables before this one when we lived in Cedar Falls?" my grandpa, foolishly, asked my grandma.
My grandma, bent on bickering, answered, "Yes. We had that one table you used at the blueprint business. It's downstairs."
"What? No, I gave that table to Marsha when she moved." My grandpa was not going down without a fight. But my grandma was quick with a response.
"No, the one you used for the blueprint business! I do flower arranging on it all the time. I know what table it is!"
"The table you use, is part of the ping pong tables. If you put the two together, it is the ping pong table."
Now, I don't know if my grandma is right, but I know that my grandpa is wrong because those ping pong tables are at my parents' house. However, I did look at the table my grandma was talking about, and it's nothing but a glorified card table (GREAT FOR PUZZLES). So, she is probably wrong. But if they both think the other party is wrong, then the night can continue in perfect false-harmony. My grandma finally closed the argument.
"Well, I use that table everyday, I know what it is."
By this time, the dust had settled and Bill O'Reilly was back.
Fox News was on.

Dancing with the Multiracial Stars

Fox News was on, but it was a commercial break... something about investing in gold. I had gone upstairs to make some lunch. As I was assembling my plate of food, my grandma got started about "Dancing With the Stars" and her reactions to it the night before.

"A lot of people say that, Krist-, Brendal-, ...." She stops.

"Bristol?" I piped in.

"BRISTOL, yes, Palin" she continued, "people say she is only on because of Sarah, her mother."

I wasn't quite sure what to expect from this, but I was sure it was going to somehow tie into politics. But she caught me off gaurd...

"I think they're right. Bristol is still on the show, but her dances just aren't as good as everyone else's."

Right as my eyebrows started to rise from these unexpected comments...

"There was this, gosh, I don't know whether she was mexican, or black, but she danced great, and got good scores from the judges, but was voted off!"

My eyebrows fell to optimum levels, I smiled and thought, "Now THAT'S my grandma."

I sat down at the table with my lunch just as the commercials were over.

Fox News was on.

Coons, guns, underwear...

Fox news wasn't on... because it was 1:30 in the morning. Have you ever had an experience where you are woken out of a deep sleep, and you're clinging to the sides of your mattress like you're about to fall over Niagara Falls because something you don't often hear scares the bejesus out of you? Yeah, that was me at 1:30 in the morning due to a gunshot right outside of my window. I slid out of bed and quickly put my red Hugh Hefner robe on. Gun shot! I slammed against a wall, like I was hiding or something...nice. I got to the floor, and crawled to the stairs. As I was slinking up the stairs to look out the front window, I somehow knew this wasn't a dangerous situation. I mean, my grandpa keeps at least one gun within reach of his bed, and the shots were outside, so I wasn't worried about being murdered, but I certainly was nervous. I get to the point on the stairs where I can see out the window, and low and behold, there's my grandpa, in his whitey-tighties, with his rifle. Gun shot! I flinched, mainly because of the sound. Now I wasn't worried at all, I was just pissed. I jump up, storm through the front door, out onto the front walkway, "Grandpa! What the hell are you doing!?" "Trying to shoot the coon!" he calmly replied. I looked up to see a raccoon just sitting on top of the squirrel and raccoon "proof" bird feeder where grandma keeps the expensive bird feed. It was just looking at us, daring us to kill him. "But you've missed three times!" I tried explaining to him...mind you, the bird feeder is about 6 feet away from us, and he missed three times. "I was aiming high. I didn't want to hit the feeder." Grandpa lamely said, like I was stupid for not knowing he was trying to miss the feeder. Meanwhile, the raccoon, tired of waiting to be shot, jumped onto the roof, and into the night. He put the gun down, and I asked him if there was a problem firing missed shots into a neighborhood, but he didn't seem to think so. What do I know? I don't shoot guns...

Maytag Freezers: Freezing Food. Freezing Time.

Fox News was on, but my grandma wanted to take a break from it (weird, I know) and use my help to defrost the downstairs freezer. Both of my grandparents take pride in having owned this freezer for the past 40 years or so. This thing is a beast, but over time ice will build up on the inside walls and my grandma has to clean out all this ice. I am helping her do this.

To get this ice melted we have to take out all of the food inside and put pans of hot water on the shelves. The system works flawlessly, I must say. Grandma win. But you probably already know that this story is not about the freezer but what I found IN the freezer.

I think that many grandparents do this same thing. They'll buy groceries in bulk, freeze what they don't want to eat right away... and forget that it exists the next day.

As I'm pulling things out, I'm noticing that there is a lot of frozen meat. Naturally I'm checking the date on every single one of them. Nothing terrible so far. There must have been a good sale on steak in 2007... abundance. When I am nearing the bottom shelf my grandma tells me she usually doesn't do that shelf because she is always so worn out by the time she gets through the top three shelves. After she said this, I knew there was going to be some good stuff down here.

At first glance, it's not bad, just some frozen vegetables with the previous Hy-Vee label. After that first layer, though, I noticed that the ice had started forming AROUND the bags of food.

After chipping away at the ice, I'm pulling more and more food out. Stuck in the back corner, frozen to the shelf, is a cut of beef. I grab it, pull, and some of the paper wrapping tears off to stay on the shelf. As I turn to put it in the basket with the rest of the frozen food I notice that the Hy-Vee logo on the wrapping is definitely not the current one.

This next part played out like a movie. Of course, this bitch is freezer burned and I am brushing off ice revealing text. I slide my thumb over the top part of the label to reveal:

FREEZE OR SELL BY DECEMBER 23, 1992.

This beef is almost 20 years old! My youngest sister has been alive two months longer than it has been frozen. We could also say that since it has been frozen in the freezer this long, the actual beef is older than 20 years.

I keep my composure, place it in the basket, and clear out the ice.

I don't know what's worse though... the fact that it has been in there for that long, or the fact that I put it BACK in the freezer and didn't say anything to my grandma. I had the advantage though and was able to bury it down deep in the bowels of the freezer. I don't think we'll be seeing it anytime soon, at least not for another 20 years.

My grandma was very pleased with my defrosting work and was surprised that it didn't take longer. Happy that the freezer was defrosted, she went back upstairs... after all, Fox News was on.

Don't go, I have something important to say?

Fox News was on, which is exactly why I was leaving the house. As a courtesy, I tell them when I'm leaving the house so they can lock up or avoid shouting down the stairs to ask me something. After telling them about my departure, I turn and make my way towards the front door. Walking through the dining room, through the kitchen, turning right and I'm down the couple steps to the front door--

"Say, Drew?" I hear my grandma call fairly loudly because I am fairly far away. I turn around, up the couple steps, through the kitchen, through the dining room, into their sitting space.

"Yeah?" I can see that my grandma doesn't have anything prepared to say now, she is looking at me poised to say something, but there is nothing coming out. To make her think that less time has passed during this pause in conversation, I make less movement and pretty much just freeze. I am a statue with this look of question on my face, just waiting for her to continue. During my time as a human statue, I'm able to sum up what had happened in this whole situation.

My grandma secretly wanted me to sit and watch TV with them, but since I clearly was not going to, she tried to keep me there in conversation. So, as I was leaving, she called for me in a state of panic. Now all she had to do was find a good conversation starter to keep me there longer...and she finally came up with one.

"You know, you can have ice cream anytime you want, it's up here in the freezer!"

Confused, I begin to smirk, but answered none-the-less.

I slowly replied with "okay" through a chortle that I couldn't hold back. But her plan was working! She continued.

"Just help yourself to it. We help ourselves to it all the time."

Still taken back by this random information, I begin to back away slowly.

The only reply that I could think of was "okay" but only through light laughter. I couldn't help it.

Finally, I made my way to the front door again and my grandparents got back to their television program, because Fox News was on.

Grandpa, here is Batman's cell number...

Fox News was on, which was the reason I was reluctant to go upstairs. I felt like I hadn't had a good story in a while and that had me torn on whether to just stay downstairs and avoid contact, or go up and be social for a bit before dinner. I decided to go up and do some puzzle and listen for any possible stories for you all.

Sure enough, before I even sit down at the puzzle table my grandpa talks to me from his chair in front of the TV.

"You going to attend my history class with me?" Completely confused, I look up at him as I'm sitting down and realize that he is talking about the Glenn Beck show. My grandpa watches this everyday and tapes it downstairs simultaneously(All on VHS tapes mind you. Somewhere there is a mountain of VHS tapes labeled "Glenn Beck Saving America")

"This show is the most important show on television, Drew. George Soros has ruined economies around the world and now he is going to ruin America. And Glenn Beck is going to expose him tonight...and tomorrow night. This George Soros is just despicable, he wants to ruin this country."

First of all, I wish I could've seen my face during this rant. I'm pretty sure my mouth was half open and my eyes were shifting around the room.

Second, this whole description reminds me of something from a comic book movie. My grandpa is rambling and all I can think about is this dark George Soros figure whose single goal is to ruin nation's economies all around the world. He is about eight feet tall and wears a baller suit with a Zorro mask. Also, he has a cat and hates Inspector Gadget.

Third, why hasn't Batman done anything about this yet?

The show proceeds and it sounds frighteningly close to the election episode from Clone High. All the while, I'm trying to put together this nature puzzle that angers me every time I look at it and try NOT to laugh at this show(I find Glenn Beck pretty funny just with the way he presents himself and that he gets worked up just as much as my grandpa does about everything).

But this story isn't over yet. As I really start to heat up with the puzzle pieces, I am distracted by my grandpa answering to Glenn Beck's concept questions. He even starts finishing Glenn's questions during the dramatic pauses. And here I have to sit straight-faced. Actually, I'm pretty sure the corners of my mouth were quivering because I wanted to laugh. Hard.

After about 15 minutes of this, I couldn't take it anymore. I had to leave the room because Fox News was on.

Grandma, what's this for?

World War Three

Fox News Was On. However I was completely oblivious of this fact because I was showering in the upstairs bathroom. I enjoyed this privilege whenever I came over from Germany & visited my "American grandparents". Later on in life while inhabiting their basement I would dream about the upstairs bathroom as I named the silverfish I shared the basement bathroom with...

After finishing my shower I proceeded crossing the hallway wrapped in my towel & sporting a turban, when out of nowhere my grandpa crashed into me carrying a huge rifle which he was in the process of loading. It was only obvious to me that WWIII had ensued without my knowledge.

I froze in horror & watched my grandpa "run" (it's more of a forward falling motion of the upper body & his feet simply following as a result of gravity) towards the front door.

20 seconds later I was torn out of my frozen state of shock by multiple shots being fired.

As I ran towards the front door, what I figured to now be a crime scene I wondered why the hell somebody decided to invade America exactly when I was visiting the county. Just my luck to be raped & killed by some angry Canadians on my American vacation!!

Upon reaching the front door & thus the front porch I saw that WWIII had indeed not chosen it's battleground in my grandparents' front yard. Instead my grandfather had unleashed all hell on a chipmunk that was stealing from my grandmothers' precious birdfeeders and had blasted it to mere smithereens.

He then casually trotted past me back into the house to finish his interrupted breakfast where as always Fox News Was On.

Where are the Bears?

Fox News was NOT on. It might be because today is Sunday, but not for a "God's Day" or "shomer Shabbos" kinda thing. I think it's mainly because there is a lot of football on Sundays. This is actually a great time for me because I get to spend time with my grandparents and the most angry outbursts I hear are either about an outrageous football play or a tricky puzzle piece (puzzle remarks are frequent).

Although, today my grandma was sour that the Chicago Bears game was not on TV. I figured that the game was just on a channel that she didn't know they had, since the only channels that really exist are Fox News, NBC, and the Food Network. After looking online, I noticed that it said the game was being covered by FOX.

"Grandma, it says that the Bears are playing on Fox...have we checked that station?"

"Well shucks, I thought I did, I wasn't sure that they would have the game on..." she answered as she grabbed the remote.

Something doesn't sound quite right about that statement...why wouldn't FOX Sports have the game on? I watched in slow-motion as she pushed the keypad buttons "2" and then "3". Sure enough, there was no Bears game on...only Shepard Smith talking about a terror alert.

Fox News was on.

Biscuits

Fox News was on. I could tell because I could hear it from the basement through the floor. After getting the call that dinner was on, I acknowledged that I heard...and then proceeded to wait six minutes. If I don't wait six minutes and go right upstairs, I always assemble my plate of food first and end up sitting at the table waiting for my grandparents to heat up their water, make their salads, yada yada yada - whatever, I'M HUNGRY NOW. Back to the story...

...six minutes later.

I climb the stairs and walk into the kitchen. First thing I see on the counter are these gorgeous looking, fluffy, yellow-golden biscuits. As I take a step forward to grab one for my plate, my grandma shouts from the dining room.

"Those are grandpa's biscuits!"

My grandpa has a nasty gluten allergy. So my grandma sometimes bakes gluten-free things to make my grandpa feel more included at dinner time (even though everyone is included when the TV is on).

"Ours are over on the stove!" she continued.

As I turned, I thought to myself, "WOW THOSE ARE SOME TASTY LOOKING GLUTEN FREE BISCUITS! I CAN'T WAIT TO SEE WHAT MY NORMAL BISCUITS LOOK LIKE."

Upon discovering my designated biscuits, my heart sank. These biscuits were tiny, lumpy, and grey. They looked like little piles of dough. It was quite the illusion though, because as sure as I was that they hadn't been baked yet, they had been baked after all. It was the first time I had seen my grandma make a gluten-free food that looked better than her original recipe.

While eating my biscuit, I could only watch my grandpa eat his gluten-free biscuits, wondering what it was like. So fluffy...so golden...I was so envious, for my biscuits were everything his biscuits were not. Grandpa win.

And as always, my thoughts wandered away and back to the TV, because Fox News was on.

Strawberries...the Sparkling Variety

Fox News was on. It was the evening after mid-term elections. The meal was a very strange assortment of foods…dinner isn’t usually this random. Soggy sweet potato fries, peas, and gravy covered meatballs sat on my plate. The plate I had chosen was of average size, but there was still a lot of dead space around the food. Each miniature pile of food had its own corner of the plate. As with most meals, it didn’t taste horrible. I can however count on it not keeping me full until 8pm. I digress; the real gem of this story is another argument over nothing. The dessert we had was a crumbly biscuit with strawberries spooned on top with a milky crème poured over the whole thing. This has a name, but it’s not important. The important name is that of the strawberries.

“These are called sparkling strawberries, they’re very good,” my grandma said as she pointed out the dessert items. Meanwhile, I’m thinking to myself that these strawberries look suspiciously close to frozen strawberries, which is exactly what they were. But with a word like “sparkling” in front of the item name, they must be the best. I assembled my dessert and ate it. It was tasty and very cold. It was cold simply because some of the strawberries weren’t thawed all the way through yet. Not surprised. My grandpa was not so reserved as I was.

“These strawberries don’t taste very good.” He said this after I watched him drink the strawberry juice water out of the serving bowl with a spoon.

My grandma counteracted him with a “well they’re sparkling strawberries from Hy-Vee.”

Now, back in my head, I’m trying to picture my grandma standing in the frozen food isle fondling each bag of “sparkling strawberries” in an effort to pick out the best one.

After taking another bite of this dessert, my grandpa responds with “I’m just saying they’re not as good as fresh strawberries.”

“Well what do you expect for this time of year?” said my grandma. Silence followed this critical debate over the strawberries. My ears then rediscovered the TV, because Fox News was on.

11/2/10

Fox News was on, but this was a bigger night than usual…this was mid-term election night. My grandparents were going to stay up later this night than they ever have (except for other election nights, of course). For me though, it was Tuesday night, which meant it was red headpin night at the bowling alley. I was more anxious tonight though for bowling just because I could hear my grandparents grumbling and cheering for certain candidates. Sure, this is normal, but my grandparents would cheer for some distant state republican candidate winning. This, to me, is dumb. My grandparents clearly do not know anything about this person, other than they are a republican, and yet they are cheering him on simply because he isn’t a democrat. Because, according to my grandpa, all democrats are “dirty liberal liars.” This phrase is often said while chewing food at the dinner table and watching TV, because Fox News was on.