Grandma Chucky Research Paper

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Grandma Chucky is a bit of a gossip monger, looking for juicy bits of info. I'm sure she feels concern for family, but she's still a gossiper. (I don't say this grudgingly. It's just her way.) When I talk with her on the phone, she gets off after about 2 seconds. It's probably because I'm so terse. I'm not interested in talking about other people either -- especially you're looking for dirt on people whom I actually like. Chicken probably has me pegged as a germaphobic, semi-anorexic, gay man.

The family get together stuff is annoying for me. I shouldn't complain so much, because things could always be worse. When mention how you have emotional problems during this season, I feel for you. You shouldn't force yourself to do anything (I think you're right, but you know this already). And like you said, if the shoe were on the other foot, I don't think many of family members (possibly barring my cousin, Vince VanGhoul) would want come out to your place and watch art films or listen to music.
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I enjoyed the commiseration, too. This time around I should follow your styling que, and wear a black outfit. I didn't tell you about Thanksgiving. The actual dinner wasn't bad, but the ride (especially on the way back) was heinous. The car was filled with boisterous, whining voices, and loud conversations. If I didn't have headphones I wouldn't have went. I ended up listening to a bunch of depressing music: Joy Division (Unknown Pleasures is the only one I'm familiar with); Disintegration by The Cure; a Siouxsie and the Banshees hits compilation; and stuff like that. (I'm not too big on Siouxsie, but I do like some of the singles. Is she a witch, or is it just image?) Then I played dreary, weird '90s trip-hop music, blasting it very loudly through the
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