just a laundry list to get the creative juices flowing

Trust Mrs. G. when she tells you she has continually sat down at this computer over the week and tried to generate something entertaining, suffering for her art, twirling her hair with one hand and swigging a Diet Dr. Pepper with the other. She shall suffer no more, Reader, because it occurred to her she could just tell you what she's been up to, with the faith that more interesting content will follow.

1) Mrs. G. has been running around her town looking for interesting women to photograph and talk to for her new pet project "Dames of the Pacific Northwest."  She has finally reached a point where she doesn't mouth breathe and sweat when she approaches a total stranger to ask personal questions. She loves connecting with fellow women and sees this delightfully rewarding project as one more opportunity to challenge her self-assigned mediocrity. It's exciting to be excited.


2) Mrs. G. has been obsessed with the new HBO show "True Detective." She has watched each episode twice attempting to tease out symbolism, innuendo and, of course, the identity of the Yellow King. She's not going to bore you with her carefully crafted manifesto but she's pretty sure she has the whole damn thing figured out. She'll wait until the conclusion to gloat because that's the good and right thing to do.


3) These bastards have been invading Mrs. G's dreams.



4) Mrs. G's "friend" Aaryn sent her this shirt in the mail. This offering follows on the heels of her I-Put-Your-Cat-Christmas-Card-In-The-Toilet Clash of 2013. Mrs. G. was simultaneously flattered and floored when she opened the package. Mrs. G. tried the shirt on and her shelf-like bosom only made the cat's eyes even more aberrant and narcotizing. Mr. G. was so alarmed and apprehensive about the cat's soul-sucking soulful glare and hallucinatory vibe, he made Mrs. G. put the shirt in the car before they went to sleep for the night.

Mrs. G. plans to wear it with a denim skirt to her next job interview and talk about her love of Sudoku puzzles along with her other job skills, like homeschooling, cutting her own hair and rug hooking.


Mrs. G. was so touched by Aaryn't thoughtfulness she has been doing some browsing of her own.


And then Mrs. G. discovered Aaryn's gift is a man's shirt that can go with Mrs. G's man shoes. Just when you didn't think it could get any worse, Mrs. G's mother. Thanksgiving, here we come.


5) Mrs. G. has been knee deep in the roller coaster ride that is Five Days at Memorial: Life and Death in a Storm-Ravaged Hospital. If you haven't joined the Derf Book Club, it's not too late. You can find the books and info here.


6) Mrs. G. got her first pair of bifocals last week. Hey, they aren't so bad.


What's up on your spot of the planet?



Full Confessional Friday! 2/21/2014

Be it Venial or Mortal (there's no escaping Original), we've all got secrets -- light, dark, funny, sad -- worth bringing to light. The act of confession can be liberating, mollifying and entertaining. Contrition? Repentance? A shot of Tequila? That's your call, sister.  




Wednesday 5...No Reason, No Motive. Just Curious.

1) What is one movie that made you laugh until you cried?

2) Would you rather be in big trouble with your partner, boss or mother?

3) If you're in denial about one thing, what is it?

4) Ernie or Bert?

5) What smell reminds you of childhood?



Mrs. G. is experiencing a small technical difficulty -- writer's block. It will pass. On a scale of 1 to 10, it feels like a 3, so she'll see you as soon a inspiration hits, probably a couple of days. Back in two shakes.




Full Confessional Friday! 2/14/2014

Be it Venial or Mortal (there's no escaping Original), we've all got secrets -- light, dark, funny, sad -- worth bringing to light. The act of confession can be liberating, mollifying and entertaining. Contrition? Repentance? A shot of Tequila? That's your call, sister.  


A Mrs. G. Social Inquiry...Let's Discuss

Photo by Star Foreman


Hi, Heather,
I found this article today, and thought it would be an interesting topic of conversation at the Manor:
Full disclosure, the woman is a colleague of mine, I've known her for a couple of years in that capacity. I did not know anything about her personal life.  She's a wonderful colleague, and I think she and her husband are brave to "out" themselves like this. I'm also proud that our common employer is supportive.
Plus, I think that their relationship as depicted in the article, is really sweet!
I think the Derf community could have a very rich and interesting discussion about this.
Mrs. G. is not allowed to reprint the article here, so you really do have to go and read it. She's been thinking about how she would deal with this for the last hour and she's curious what all of you have to say. She knows this group can be honest without insulting. Let's talk!




Wednesday 5...No Reason, No Motive. Just Curious

1) Chinese or Mexican food?

2) What is the name of the favorite street you have ever lived on?

3) What is one thing other drivers do that drive you nuts.

4) What is one good thing that has happened to you today?

5) Favorite soap to use in the shower/bath?


Wedding Eve

The week before their wedding, Mr. G. asked Mrs. G. if she would like to have a pasta feed/party the night before their wedding. Mrs. G. said, "No I definitely wouldn't," but she hadn't come to grips with the notion that when Mr. G. asked her opinion on something, it was often for rhetorical purposes only. So within four days, he had invited at least 40 people to come over to celebrate their impending nuptials, for which they had to awake and prepare for at 6:30 the next morning.

rhe·tor·i·cal  adjective \ri-ˈtȯr-i-kəl, -ˈtär-\

: of, relating to, or concerned with the art of speaking or writing formally and effectively especially as a way to persuade or influence people

of a question : asked in order to make a statement rather than to get an answer

Mrs. G. is not fond of large, loud parties and she was particularly nervous to meet so many of Mr. G's friends she had never met before, particularly a group of his college friends who had flown in from different states. She was anxious about being so much younger (with the exception of John Lennon, she hated the Beatles -- get over it, world), so much less educated and so much less able to hold her liquor. 

So she started drinking two hours before everyone started showing up. By the time people started arriving in droves (Droves!), Mrs. G. was so buzzed, she greeted everyone with great enthusiasm. She didn't even care that her father-in-law, stone sober, once again introduced her to several people as "Hester" or that a button had popped off her expensive blouse and she was occasionally exposing her boobs to the guests. Hey what's a few breasts among friends when you've had half-a-bottle of Pinot.

After the family and old people had visited, eaten and exited, the party really started. The corks popped and the wine started flowing. If Mrs. G. remembers correctly, she had abandoned her plastic cup and was just carrying a bottle around. There was dancing and snogging and smoke billowing up from the basement. It was the holy party trinity. 

Unless you were getting married in less than twelve hours.

The party was still in full tilt when Mrs. G. knew she had to go to bed. She literally crawled up the stairs and had to lie on the floor and rest for a bit when she got to the top. She vaguely remembers three people walking over her to get to the bathroom.

When she finally crawled commando style into the bedroom, she shut the door so she could curl up on the bed and fall asleep. Before she could get on the bed, she started hurling on the (Rental!) carpet and she couldn't stop. She was choking and was sure she was going to pull a Jim or Janice minus the talent and Rock & Roll stardom. She imagined people at her funeral saying, "She was a great grocery price checker. What a, um, waste."

Mrs. G. didn't want to die so she start screaming bloody murder in between throwing up. The music and noise of the party was so loud no one could hear her. So, she called her friend Karen and told her to call back to the house and to tell Nick the wedding might be off, because she was dying upstairs. The phone rang and rang and rang, so Mrs. G. picked it up. No one was answering the phone downstairs, so Karen tried to talk Mrs. G. down. Very few people can talk Mrs. G. down in a crisis situation so she started screaming, "I'M DYING UP HERE YOU MOTHERFUCKERS! I'M DYING UP HERE YOU MOTHERFUCKERS!" and banging her shoes on the bedroom floor in hopes that someone would hear her. "Calm down," Karen pleaded. "I'll call the house again and if nobody answers, I'm on my way over. Stay on your side so you don't choke on your vomit." Mrs. G. was six steps ahead of her. She was on all fours so she wouldn't choke on her vomit.

The phone rang again and whoever answered it brought Nick to the phone. "Where are you," he asked, three sheets to the wind himself. "I'M UPSTAIRS THROWING UP AND MAYBE DYING." "Upstairs in our house?" he clarified. "YES, YOU BASTARD, UPSTAIRS IN OUR HOUSE...DYING!" "I'm on my way!" he said.

Twenty minutes later, he busted in to the bedroom to find Mrs. G. had stopped vomiting and was now scrubbing the carpet so they could get their cleaning deposit back.

"Are you OK, babe?"

"Well I am alive if that's what you mean."

Mrs. G. forgave him as they were to be wed in less than nine hours and there was no getting any of the deposits back. The wedding cake already had their names on it.

He tucked her in and went back down to the party. Oh how he would suffer in the morning. Oh how everyone would suffer in the morning.

When the alarm went off, he asked if he could sleep another hour. "I hope that wasn't a rhetorical question," said Mrs. G. "Because we are hauling our asses out of this bed and getting hitched."

And they did.

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