Kisses

The year was 1982, and Mrs. G. and her mom were sitting in a movie theater watching An Officer and a Gentleman. Mrs. G. was fourteen. She had kissed her arm. She had kissed a mirror. She had kissed a pillow. But she had never kissed a boy. It wasn't only because she was Catholic and purposefully avoiding the blistering fires of hell and the godless slippery slope to prostitution—no, Mrs. G. had other grounds for apprehension.

Rewind to the summer before when Mrs. G. walked next door to visit her classmate and neighbor Sandy and found her in her kitchen stuffing green grapes into her mouth. Sandy would chew four or five times and then cram more grapes into her clearly disturbed face. Mrs. G. asked her what was up and Sandy spit the wad of grapes into her hands and moaned that she had kissed Dennis Crawford. It was disgusting, Sandy gagged, I'm cleaning out my mouth. It was wet and tasted like Bugles.

Say no more. Mrs. G. took Sandy at her word. Hyperbole wasn't Sandy's bag.

Fast forward back to that movie theater where Mrs. G. and her mom sat munching popcorn they had popped at home and smuggled into the theater because, Matthew, Mark, Luke and John, the last time Mrs. G's mom checked, money did not grow on trees.

Fast forward to the scene where Zack Mayo (Richard Gere) and Paula Pokrifki (Debra Winger) experience their one night of passion in that dingy little hotel room and bare their asses souls. As Mrs. G. watched them kiss—no, watched isn't the right word. It sounds dry and passive—rather as Mrs. G. actively researched, investigated, eagle eyed, inspected and scrutinized them kissing, she knew two things for sure: there was an art to kissing and Richard Gere had it.

Mrs. G's upper lip was sweating.

It would be a few more years until Mrs. G. kissed a boy and it would be even longer before she kissed one that had figured out he didn't need to ingest her face the true art and gave Richard Gere a run for his money.

Reader, who gave your favorite onscreen kiss?

Mrs. G. Takes a Holiday

Mrs. G. is about to hit the road to NYC, and she wishes she could take you all with her! Her posting will be sporadic depending on internet availability and Mrs. G's desire to see absolutely everything. This is her family's first big trip ever, so they are prepared to be dazzled. Mrs. G. is profoundly afraid of flying (in fact she probably won't quit trying to figure out how not to get on the plane until she is seated and white knuckling her daughter's hand). She's been working it ten ways to Sunday all week: my head hurts, so I don't think I can go on that plane; the cats will get lonely, so I don't think I can go on that plane; the kitten puzzle is close to being finished, so I don't think I can go on that plane; Michael's is having sale on the Bedazzler, so I don't think I can go on that plane. Reader, please pray that Mrs. G's plane does not crash and burn, leaving her to freeze to death or be slowly gnawed by Great White Sharks. Please. Mrs. G. is genuinely soliciting your prayers and good thoughts. She is far too young to die, and, rationally, she knows that she probably isn't going to die, but, see, this is how her fear works. It keeps circling and circling around her...like a giant squid with mile long tentacles. So, please, just do as Mrs. G. says and pray to whomever you pray to dammit. If you have time, pray again.

Come hell or high water, Mrs. G. will post her ass photos on the sidebar the two Wednesdays she's gone. We made a deal, and she plans to stick with it. She hopes the '08 Ass Project is going well for you too.

As always, reader, thank you for showing up and reading this little blog. Mrs. G. knows that your time is precious and hard to come by, so she thanks you for spending some of it with her. She absolutely knows you have better things do. See you in a few!

Start Spreading the News

In August, Mrs. G. and her family are going on their first big vacation in over ten years. By big Mrs. G. means a vacation not involving their car, costing more than $80 and lasting more than three days. Needless to say, excitement is in the air at Derfwad Manor and Mrs. G's kids have said things like Really, we are leaving Washington? and Yes! For once our family vacation will not involve nature.
 

Ingrates.

Yes, reader, the G. Family is heading to the bright lights and big city of New York. And the first thing Mrs. G. will buy is a t-shirt with this slogan. She has wanted one since she spotted one at the Memphis in May Festival when she was in sixth grade. Yes, she knows she could have bought one of these on eBay for $4.99, but she didn't want to wear one as a poser. She wanted to wear hers only after she had loved NY herself--in the flesh.

The G's plan to see a Broadway show or two...

eat some good food...

and hang out with the locals.

Author Thomas Wolfe wrote, "One belongs to New York instantly, one belongs to it as much in five minutes as in five years."

Can you hear Mrs. G's heart pounding in anticipation?

So, can you Derfs who live in NY or have spent any time in the Big Apple let Mrs. G. know what she and her family absolutely must do while they are there? The stuff that isn't in the tourist books Mrs. G. is reading by the truckload. Thanks in advance.

One of These Things is Not Like the Others

Mrs. G. tends to avoid memes, because she knows once she gets started with them, she will never be able to stop. She's compulsive that way. But she likes this one. Of the following five scenarios, four are true and one is not. See if you can guess which one is false. Mrs. G. will put the names of all the correct guessers in a hat and pull out one name. The lucky winner will receive this cool and funky vintage button bracelet handmade by Mrs. G's good friend,Vallen, of Queenly Things. Paid for with Mrs. G's cash money in an effort to fulfill her 2008 pledge to buy as many handmade goods as possible.

Once in a moment of frenzied cleaning, back in the day when Mrs. G. had the time and energy and inclination to demonstrate enthusiasm about all things housewifery, Mrs. G. grabbed the Comet off the kitchen counter and went to clean the toilet. Halfway through the task, Mrs. G. noted the unmistakable smell of pizza and lasagna.

She was cleaning the toilet with Kraft Parmesan cheese.

Three weeks ago, Mrs. G. slept through the alarm and woke up with barely enough time to get to work. She threw on her clothes and brushed her teeth and hair in under seven minutes. It wasn't until late in the afternoon that she discovered she had put her underwear on the wrong way and that one of the underwear's leg holes was actually serving as the waistband. Two of the advantages of granny panties are their expansive volume and pliant nature.

In 1986, Mrs. G. spent the summer working at the Comedy and Magic Club in Hermosa Beach. One night she met the comedienne who, one year later, would play the zany and doof-ass Uncle Joey on the popular television show Full House. They went on six dates and he never asked Mrs. G. one question about her life other than if she was of age. She was. Barely. After the sixth date, he never called again. He was an ignoramus with lamentable hair. He called her once, a year later, to talk a bit more about himself. The end.

When Mrs. G. was pregnant with Miss G, her favorite television show was Thirty Something. No one except Mr. G. knew she watched it, because she was embarrassed that she liked it so much when it pretty much centered around seven self-absorbed characters. They were all amazingly attractive, had great jobs, lived in Victorian houses with stained glass windows and porch swings but spent the majority of the show whining about their lives while drinking expensive red wine. Mrs. G. was most fond of Gary. She told herself that she was watching the show to mock its shallowness, but the truth was Mrs. G. loved it, and she wishes they would do a reunion show.

Years back, while living in North Carolina, Mrs. G. had a throw down at Michael's Craft Store when the employee working in the frame department waited until Mrs. G. had stood in line for twenty minutes before telling her that she did not ring up non-frame materials-like the nine large bags of multi-colored puff balls Mrs. G. had been holding for twenty minutes. While standing in line. Mrs. G. complained and asked the woman to give her a break. The employee pertly told Mrs. G. to take it up with her manager who was somewhere in the store. Mrs. G. told the employee that she needed to get a dictionary and look up customer service and chunked shoved the nine bags of multi-colored puffballs directly at her. The woman standing in line behind Mrs. G. snapped her fingers in solidarity and whispered right on, right on.

Well, what do you think? Which one is BS?

Coming up:

Thursday: Slow Cook with Mama Om

Friday: Mrs. G. waxes eloquent about another woman's Secret Boyfriends

Saturday: Homeschooling Part Two-tweens and teens

Sunday: Mrs. G's big announcement-which keeps getting smaller but maybe you can help

Mrs. G. will have Vallen send the bracelet directly to you so that you receive it in a timely fashion unlike the poor women still waiting for their books. Mrs. G. has not forgotten and she feels guilty every single day...don't lose hope. She promises they will arrive before Miss G. goes to college.

Oprah hasn't called yet...Day Two

Many of you had other potential funding ideas for the lushly luscious Spa Extravaganza. Some of them are listed on the sidebar poll. Cast your vote and, please, have a nice day.

Oh, You High, High Maintenance Women

Well, 314 of the future Women's Colony  Derfwads -ages 24 to 73-showed up at the polls and exercised their democratic right to vote.

37 of our fine women wanted to go camping in a central location. This was certainly the most practical, inexpensive and easiest to coordinate, but nooooooooooo. Some of our fellow colonists are afraid of, um, bugs. They don't like to sleep on the ground because (wah wah) it hurts their backs. These woman in the above photo (stolen off a national park's site) look so happy that Mrs. G. thinks they started hitting the bottle early. Don't they all look like they just came from the salon.?

Only 40 of us wanted to go to a Dude Ranch. Seriously, dude? Only 40. Dude!

A mere 19 of us were interested in hiking the grand canyon followed by a yoga chaser.

81 of us were interested in taking some risks and strapping ourselves in to go white water rafting. Who knew you needed a helmet? Doesn't that mess up your hair? Is it mandatory?

But the fancy spa was the hands down winner. 152 of us, 58% of us want to do a little of this.

And a little of that. Who's going to volunteer to tell that man in the back that he is not part of the Women's Colony. Men are allowed to visit on Thursdays and Sundays only. I'll think I'll have Mary Ann of Very Mary to clue him in since she just clued her blog readers in that she went off last week and married the ex-husband she has been shacking up with for some time and made an honest 2nd 1st husband of him. Congratulations Mary...now go politely tell this guy on the bike to shove off.

And clearly many of us want some of this followed by massages, manicures, pedicures, facials, Pilate's, chilled white wine and a chocolate fountain.

Newsflash, sisters, these fancy spas are pricey. Many of them are well over $400 a day, so Mrs. G. started brainstorming some grassroots fundraising ideas in order to make this dream come true for each and every one of us. She did a little fancy homeschooling math and came up with this possible list of fundraising ideas.

1) everyone needs to have at least 14 bake sales

2) everyone needs to sell her nicest clothing on Ebay

3) everyone needs to have at least two garage sales.

4) everyone needs to sell one car

5) everyone needs to put up those large donation jars by the cash registers in groceries store labeled The Derfwad Project.

6)everyone needs to turn 4-6 tricks.

And, then, we just might make it, Ladies. Mrs. G. knows this is a lot to sacrifice for only one outing, so she began thinking of some other funding strategies and sources.

Like Oprah. Who insists that we live our Best Life each and every day. Are any of you on a friendly basis with Oprah? Mrs. G. thought it was doubtful, so she wrote Oprah a letter on all our behalves:

So Mrs. G. guesses we just sit around and wait to hear back from Oprah. Or maybe Gail will call.

In the meantime, Mrs. G, occasionally a realist, will start thinking about Plan B.

Mrs. G. thinks the Plan B fancy spa day might involve fresh mint mojitos...

Some Pond's facial mask...

And her living room. Her son can fetch drinks and peel grapes. Mrs. G's couch is not really on her porch (this photo was taken outside a coffee shop.) Her couch is in the house though the G's do embrace their inner hillbilly. Are you there, Oprah? It's me, Mrs. G. Let's give it a month, ladies. Otherwise, grab your robe and your sleeping bag and come on over for an evening of beauty chez Derfwad. Mrs. G. will make the popcorn and bust out her lavender scrubbing salts. But Oprah is totally gonna call. Just watch.

For the Love of Sap and Sob

Mama Bird asks: Do you like sappy sob fest movies and books and if so could you present your faves & tell us about the appeal of said fare?
 
Mrs. G. is sitting in her living room working on this post while her husband and son are watching Law & Order studying the criminal justice system. She interrupted them to ask if they think she is a cheerful person. They both genuinely agreed that she is. And Mrs. G. thinks that most people who know her would describe her as good-natured and positive and a veritable glass-half-full kind of woman. But, Mama Bird, Mrs. G. adores sap and sob when it comes to her books and movies. Given the choice to read a chirpy book about well adjusted people and pleasant things or a heart-rending magnum opus where everyone writhes, suffers, endures and dies. Mrs. G. will sidle up to woe and hardship every single time, and she really can't tell you why. Yes, she enjoys a good marshmallow filled chick flick here and there, but Mrs. G. would rather curl up on her bed and munch popcorn and gnaw frozen snicker bars while long lost lovers perish or small town good people are unknowingly dying slow, painful deaths due to a contaminated water supply or impending meteor smack down. In other words, when it comes to entertainment, Mrs. G. is never happier than when she is sad.

Here are the books and movies that have brought her the greatest tragic joy:

At the age of 22, Eggers, the author of this nonfiction tearjerker, became both an orphan and a "single mother" when his parents died within five months of one another of unrelated cancers. After his siblings scatter to go to college and make money, Dave is appointed unofficial guardian of his 8-year-old brother, Christopher. The two live together in semi-squalor, decaying food and sports equipment scattered about, while Eggers worries obsessively about child-welfare authorities, molesting babysitters, and his own health. His child-rearing strategy swings between making his brother's upbringing manically fun and performing bizarre developmental experiments on him. (Case in point: his idea of suitable bedtime reading is John Hersey's Hiroshima* Mrs. G. spent the entire book fretting for Dave and his little brother. She was so moved by Egger's willingness to mother his little brother in what was supposed to be his free and easy days of youth that she sent him a Happy Mother's Day card for five years in a row.

Mrs. G. read this huge book in two days. Miss G. read it in three. It was one of those books that united mother and daughter in their shock at it's staggering ending as well as their mutual appreciation of Lionel Shriver's stunning writing. When it was Mrs. G's month to host her book club, she chose this book and was giddy to talk about it with her friends. In what turned out to be a book club first, all thirteen women unanimously despised it. One woman said she had to put it in a drawer so she didn't even have to look at it. Everyone else agreed that life was too short to read such depressing, Mrs. G. believes the word was, crap. She was lucky they didn't mutiny and kick her misery loving ass out of the club.

Oh, Inman, how could you? Ada waited so long.

Perhaps Mrs. G's favorite young adult book of all time. Mrs. G's librarian friend told her this book was high on the list of books most frequently stolen by patrons. It begs to be stolen. The author has a sordid history, but it doesn't take away from this exquisite story of a young Cherokee boy living with his grandparents in the Tennessee mountains.

All Mrs. G. can say about this book is that:

a former colonel in the Iranian military under the Shah + a self-destructive alcoholic fighting over the same house = Tragedy. Mrs. G. didn't like the movie.

An unlikely love story about a lonely spinster librarian and a younger man, forced into loneliness because of his monstrous size...bring tissues.

In these amazing essays, Thomas reflects on how her marriage had to be reinvented after the night her husband, Richard, took their dog, Harry, out for a walk, and Harry came home alone.

This is a strange, haunting movie about a young woman who believes she is responsible for her husband's paralysis. Mrs. G. loves Emily Watson and this movie, though she has only watched it once, broke her heart. Broke it into pieces.

Want to get your jollies watching a middle aged woman wreak havoc on her philandering husband who just takes off one day and never comes back, leaving her with three young daughters to raise and one hot neighbor to abuse? This movie is for you. When she needs to act sophisticated and uppity, Mrs. G. actually pretends to be Joan Allen. It helps.

The deep love between the parents in this movie is so heart-felt and romantic that Mrs. G. still hasn't quit thinking of its quiet power. We should all be so loved.

Blast from the past. Mrs. G. was too young to realize the mother's character was unfairly demonized because she needed a break to get her head together. Mrs. G. just loved that a dad was acting like a mom. Mrs. G's dad took off when she was little, so she's a little overly invested in the good father films. But that's another story. Also, Mr. G. looks a little like Dustin Hoffman and a little like Al Pacino-she likes that short, Italian/Jewish type.

This is an overlooked beautiful story of a bohemian/artistic/homeschooling family that rolls its own way. Mrs. G. cried a lot, which, of course, made her happy.

Mrs. G. can't watch this fifteen years later and not get a lump in her throat the size of a large sponge. A classic sobfest film. If not the classic. If Miss G. ever has to go into the hospital, Mrs. G. will finally be able to scream obscenities until they take care of her the way they should. Miss G. will never suffer without hospital heads rolling.

Mrs. G. drank an entire box of white wine to get through this tearjerker. What mother hasn't masochistically played this one out in her head? Who gets to go with mommy to Walgreens? Is it Cindy or Will. OK, Cindy. But wait...I can't possibly pick only one...

 

 

 

 

Now it's time for the rest of you to come clean. What are your favorite sob fest books and movies? Help Mrs. G. stockpile for the happy days of summer.

Habits and Peeves

Mary Ann of A Very Mary Design asked Mrs. G. to reveal the biggest skeleton in her closet. The following is information that has been disclosed to no one on God's green earth, and Mrs. G. is acutely aware that she will be the subject of major mocking this evening at her own dinner table. When Mrs. G. was growing up in the seventies, she was consumed by a Saturday morning show called Land of the Lost. It was a children's show about a family-of-three marooned on an alien planet teeming with dinosaurs (one of whom was a pet brontosaurus named Dopey) and monkey-like cavemen called Pakuni. The family befriends a chimpanzee-like Pakuni boy named Cha-Ka, and Mrs. G. loved him. Not in a Secret Boyfriend kind of way but in a platonic interspecies kind of way. Yes, Mrs. G. loved Cha-Ka, so in her spare time, when she wasn't pretending to be the almighty Isis, Mrs. G. spent her free time developing an official Pakuni language so that she and Cha-Ka could communicate. So they could talk to one another. And how they talked to one another involved Mrs. G. standing in front of the bathroom mirror and speaking fluent Pakuni to herself Cha-Ka. Mrs. G. would appreciate it if we (and by we she means you) never spoke of this again. Mary Ann also asked Mrs. G. for a list of her bad habits. So Mrs. G. asked her family to give her some suggestions. For the most part, they were happy to oblige.

*Mrs. G's daughter brought up Mrs. G's inability to hold it together in an emergency. Miss G. went so far as to suggest that if Mrs. G. ever ended up on a lifeboat, she would be the first one hurled overboard to silence the crazy that can often compromise survival.

*Miss G. also mentioned Mrs. G's delusion belief that she doesn't need any training or a professional license to cut other people's hair. *Miss G, who clearly had the most extensive list, also questioned Mrs. G's ambiguous morality in continuing to buy these chips at the grocery store despite her heartfelt but ultimately meaningless covenant to stop bringing them into the house. For real. Never again.

*Mrs. G's son pointed out Mrs. G's continual failure to successfully complete the transaction of receiving a secret. He says when he or his sister whisper something into her ear, Mrs. G. always loudly asks WHAT? or WHAT DID YOU SAY? Thus destroying the secrecy of said secret.

*Mr. G. refused to articulate even one of Mrs. G's bad habits. He said he believed it to be a trick question and that, frankly, the whole subject was making him nervous and to please quit looking at him.

Sweet Angie of KEEP BELIEVING asked about Mrs. G's pet peeves. Well, Angie, they are...

~Spandex biking pants worn by anyone who is not on a bike actively biking.

~How all the female district attorneys look exactly alike on the eight versions of Law & Order. There's the blonde haired one, the blonder haired one and the blondest haired one. They're interchangeable.

~The insurmountable difficulty of opening a new CD. First the cellephane and then the freakishly uncompromising NASA designed shiny adhesive sticker.

~People who use the word retarded as a synonym for stupid or moronic. Read Attila the Mom's excellent post on why it is offensive and insensitive and unkind.

~The complete and total apathy of every employee who has worked at every Michael's Craft Store Mrs. G. has ever entered.

~People who proudly declare that they have never watched Oprah. Mrs. G. doesn't believe them. And she suspects these same people don't read People magazine while not watching Oprah.

Please feel free, reader, to share your bad habits and pet peeves. If you dare.