The Textbook: Kind eyes, a precise five-centimeter half-ro extended off her shriveled skull, godlike pie-making skills, and a card-carrying Wheel Watchers member, the Textbook is the grandma we've all heard of yet never actually encountered. I'll admit, some grandmas come close, but they usually have a catch, like a gambling addiction or a club foot. Still, take what you can get, as any grandmother with a proclivity for baking who isn't girdle-deep in tears for her deceased husband is something to be cherished.
The No-Vacancy: Keep a "Caution: wet floor" sign around this grandma, because she drools more than Sarah Palin during an episode of Rocky and Bullwinkle. If a No-Vacancy can walk, which they usually can't, it's only to the nearest window to talk to clouds. A No-Vacancy is completely checked out, will mutter in a way that makes Dikembe Mutombo seem articulate, and has all the composure of Michael Jackson in a moon bounce. If your grandma is a No-Vacancy, it's alright to be disappointed. Just remember: she never counts what's in her purse.
Primeval Barbie: Usually found thumbing through sports bras in Macy's, the Primeval Barbie is the grandma who clings to youth like a dingleberry that just won't come loose. Primeval Barbie has her cosmetic surgeon on speed dial, and thinks of herself as an intergenerational liaison, an idea that is flagrantly malformed and senseless. If you can't poop without supplements, you shouldn't be allowed to have a normal conversation with your granddaughter. End of discussion.
The Sweeter Eater: This is the fat grandma. The grandma that can't talk without gravy leaking from the sides of her mouth. The grandma so deep in the feeding trough, she can't pick a fart from an exploding ventricle. This grandma is nothing short of a dimple-knuckled mountain of calories, and yet, she is the friendliest grandma you know. Nothing warms your heart like her breathy, gristle-speckled voice, usually coated in a rich southern drawl. She's always happy to cook for you, and her recipes are typically a hundred notches from healthy, like deep-fried tenderloin, carbonated milk, or Caesar salad with flattened haggis instead of romaine leaves. As lovable as this grandma is, it is only a matter of time before her trachea collapses under the weight of her chins, leaving her family with the perplexing question of where to find a big enough coffin. Rest in peace, Sweeter Eater.
Holiday Grandma: Here's the back story: Your dad got caught selling crack back in high school, and ever since he's had a strained relationship with his parents, who just happen to be LOADED. They're big players in the pesticide industry. Anyway, even though they aren't really on talking terms with your parents, they still make an effort to be loving grandparents. I mean, it's not your fault your dad's a lowlife. So the Holiday Grandma buys your love three or four times a year. Birthday and Christmas for sure, sometimes Easter, sometimes Valentines day, and every once and a while she'll send you a guilty twenty if she has a flashback of hitting your dad.
The Red Hat: Have you heard of this Red Hat Society? If you haven't, you might have seen them in Applebees. They're a senile sorority that operates under the idea that post-menopausal misery should be shared, and that no matter how much of a withered wasteland you've become, a bright red hat and a feather boa will always grab more attention than St. Bernard-like jowls. It's a huge trend in elderly emancipation where hundreds of thousands of grandmas are deciding to spend their final years pissing off waiters with their inordinate requests for more pickled and malted menu options. If your grandma is a Red Hat, you may want to subtly urge her back to the couch, where she can get back to the typical geriatric dreams of Jack Lemmon and Alec Guinness riding Hoveround's in the buff.
The "I'm Not Dead Yet": This trend in grandma-ism really took flight with the invention of caller ID. Ignoring grandmothers has become somewhat of a sport amongst those who are tired of tending to petty requests from their increasingly incapacitated grandparents. An "I'm Not Dead Yet" is likely to call near a dozen times a day, usually to ask for some sort of assistance, but often just to ramble on the non-happenings of their day: "Lucas? It's me, Dolores. The neighbor boys are out in the yard and I think they're lookin' to take apples from my tree. Also, I spilled coffee on the linoleum, but mopped it up. So that's my day. If you get this, if you could just-" BORING! Come on, at least lie and say you broke your hip. If you want the attention of your grandchildren, you must offer them something they can't get from the internet or guys with trench-coats in dark alleys, like meat loaf or inheritance. Until then, they'll just keep pretending you're dead.