Entries in Family (276)


Everything Old Is New Again or The Fizz That Izz


Three weeks ago, on the advice and under the supervision of her well-meaning but narcissistic psycho-pharmacologist, Mrs. G. eliminated an antidepressant from her prescription lineup.

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How Karma Broke Faith With Mrs. G.

good karma

A couple of weeks ago, some punk thugs went up and down Mrs. G's street rifling and stealing items from unlocked cars. Mrs. G's wallet and prescription sunglasses were stolen.

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What Mrs. G. did on her hiatus and she uses that word loosely


What a week for weiners wieners and Mrs. G.

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Good Shit: The Maria Bamford Show

Derf Naomi D. sent this video to Mrs. G. Mrs. G. can only assume Naomi thought she might be able to relate to it. And she can. Mrs. G. has played most of these parts at one time or another.


7 Lies Mrs. G. Is Currently Telling Herself


Lie #1: Mr. and Mrs. G. started the South Beach Diet over three weeks ago and Mrs. G. spends at least an hour a day convincing herself she does not miss sugar, white flour or alcohol. They both have lost weight and feel better, but Mrs. G. still finds herself thinking of Snickers and Chardonnay. The other day she bought a new kind of shampoo simply because it smelled like Fruit Loops.

Lie #2: "You will not fall!" Mrs. G. tells herself before she goes out walk/jogging each day. She has only fallen once (on grass) and that doesn't count, right?

Lie #3: For at least the last four years, Mrs. G's son has expressed a desire to write for television. He spent most of high school taking every opportunity to act, write or do both simultaneously. Thursday, he received an acceptance letter from New York University's Tisch School of Dramatic Writing, his dream school, his dream period. Mr. and Mrs. G. are pretending they can afford it, because denial and loans have fulfilled many a longing. Retirement who? In the meantime, when they are alone, Mr. and Mrs. G. sing songs from Les Misérables to prepare themselves for debtor's prison.

Lie #4: Mrs. G. likes to spend her time figuring out what state doesn't have an E in it on Facebook.

Lie #5: Mrs. G. is willing to read any novel that has a high heel, beach bag or an Amish woman on the cover.

Lie #6: Laura Linney is going to play the role of Mrs. G. in the A&E movie, not Heather Locklear.

Lie #7: This is not a subpar post.


A Mrs. G. Social Inquiry: Let's Take A Moment To Brag About Ourselves or Our Families


Mrs. G's daughter, who is footloose and mouse free, had three job interviews in one week and doesn't even graduate until May.


Mrs. G's son just received his first acceptance letter to college. Four more are due to land in the mailbox any day now.

What's brilliant about you and yours?


The Acknowledgement

Last night Mrs. G's daughter called from Boston and whispered into the phone that a mouse was in her bedroom closet. 

"Why are you whispering?" Mrs. G. asked.

"Because I can hear him crawling around on my shoes. Mom, he's touching my shoes," she said as if this explained anything.

"Ok, tell me what happened," Mrs. G. said, her tried and true method of bringing family and friends off the ledge. Plus, she never gets tired of playing Mom with Wisdom. It's much more satisfying than the oft designated role of Mom Who Doesn't Get Anything.

"Well, he skittered under my bedroom door, there was a clear acknowledgement and then he skittered under my closet door," Miss G. explained.

"What exactly do you mean by an 'acknowledgement?'"

"We had a moment where we looked at each other and both knew we were in a bad scene.

"Here's the good news," said Mrs. G, "this is not a Quentin Tarantino movie. It's just a little mouse and he will probably find a crack in the closet to escape since he is as scared of you as you are of him. The bad news is that you are going to have to open the door and investigate or you will never sleep."

"Do mice lunge?" she asked in all seriousness.

"No, child, mice do not lunge. You're going to have to face your fear. I will not get off this phone until this situation is settled. You have to open the door."

Miss G. agreed and went to get a broom. 

She was gone a long time.

"I'm back," she said. "I went to shove a towel under Kim's (her sleeping roommate) door crack in case the mouse should run in that direction." Mrs. G's daughter is thoughtful and sweet even when she's up shit creek. She always has been.

"Have you got the broom?" Mrs. G. asked.

"I've got the broom."

"Slowly open the door and step back," Mrs. G. advised.

"Do mice travel in packs," Miss G. asked, clearly stalling.


Miss G. inhaled and opened the door and Mrs. G. could hear her beating the holy hell out of everything in her closet.

Several minutes passed, with Mrs. G. screaming, "Do you see it? Do you see it?" only to be met with the sound of a broom thwacking, perhaps, the entire city of Boston.

"He's not in here," she said, breathing heavily. "I've swept out all my shoes, turned over all my boots and jiggled all my clothing. He's not in here."

"I told you, " Mrs. G. said, "he found a crack or a hole and escaped. He's probably got an established route."

"So, you really think he's gone?"

"Yes, I really do." He's gone... gone somewhere else in that apartment, thought Mrs. G, but she kept that to herself. In regard to rodents, the truth is overrated.

"Thanks Mama."

Her shoes safe, her courage restored, Miss G. hung up the phone.

Benson, Stabler and buttered popcorn aside, Mrs. G. savors these calls. A mama needs her girl.


A Message from Miss G., Alternately titled by Mrs. G.: How Talking to Your Family About Your Dreams Can Lead to Mockery and Unjust Dream Disparagement

This is a replay from 2011. Mrs. G. felt the need to post it again, because though in her heart she has always felt like a hairdresser who really needed no formal or informal training, in her head she knows she would have days like this, daughter said. 


While sitting in a doctor’s office earlier in the week, Mrs. G mentioned that she was thinking about going to school to learn to cut hair. Unable to conceal my skepticism, we got into a semi-heated conversation about why this might not be the best idea. I’ve summed up my main points in a list that I like to call,  

Three Reasons Mrs. G Should Not Cut Hair.

1. A hairdresser should be able to cut in a straight line.

While it’s true that in hair school, they impart basic skills, there does need to be a baseline level of talent. I worry that many years of giving her offspring raggedy-ass, janky looking bangs may have instilled some bad habits that might be hard for Mrs. G. to break.

2. As a professional hairdresser, it is considered inappropriate to berate your customers and tell them they are vain and ungrateful if they express dissatisfaction with their haircut.

3. When a haircut takes a turn for the worst and is not turning out as expected, it is not acceptable to simply cut it shorter and shorter until you’re finally forced to resort to a patchy buzz cut. This could result in dissatisfied and even vengeful customers.

While I will support Mrs. G in all her endeavors (including hair-related ones) I feel that these warnings should be considered. Perhaps, instead, Mrs. G should look into a profession that involves chatting with people while they get their hair cut… by a professional.


Miss G. is a senior in grad school and Mrs. G's favorite daughter. She barred her mother from cutting her bangs in fifth grade.