She hopes it pays, but that's never really been a deal breaker before. Mrs. G. could even one up Amy by simultaneously serving up polish sausage samples and such, maybe without pants. Costco, call her.
Entries in This and That (16)
This post contains one swear word Mrs. G. considers mild, but it's up to you to decide if you want to read more. Free will, baby, free will.
Blah blah blah OFFENSIVE blah blah blah SEX blah blah blah DOWNER blah blah blah NOT KIDDING blah blah blah...
Longtime readers know that Mrs. G. is a slave to the documentary. Last night she curled up on the couch and watched these two, both of which she highly recommends. They are both available on Netflix Instant watch.
This is an interesting doc on the cost of making art and the art of raising children.
There is some "artistic" nudity in this trailer.
Trust Mrs. G. when she tells you that at some point in her life she will live in a communal setting. Unlike many Americans, she is not enamored with privacy to the point of isolation. The road trip only confirmed what she has always known: she's better in the company of all sorts of people, the weirder the better. Let's hope she ends up at the Women's Colony, but if not, she could end up in Virginia making hammocks and tofu.
This doc only confirms her desire even though clowns scare her.
Mrs. G. entered Michaels Craft Store today, bought a tub of Mod Podge (don't ask) and left the store without incident.
For most people, the above sentence describes a typical shopping experience. For Mrs. G, it represents growth, expansion and nothing short of a molecular evolution propelled by felt and puff paint.
She doesn't want to get ahead of herself, because she was the only person in the checkout line, but Mrs. G. can't help but hope this is the beginning of a transformation that could result in herself and thousands of former Michaels dissenters cobbling together a sort of artsy-crafty Galopagos type Island out of foam board, Sculpey and Aleene's Tacky Glue. A specialized, unparalleled island where, over time, scrapbooking skeptics and subpar soap and gel candle makers would diversify and slowly adapt to their island, eventually subsisting on nothing more than dried eucalyptus wreaths and glitter glue.
Anything seemed possible as Mrs. G. left the store not pissed.
For someone who has been blogging for over five years, Mrs. G. is still cagey when it comes to social networking. Oh, she's in deep, but at least four times a week she feels suspicious and leery about all her business (even her humdrum, moth-eaten business) being spread all over creation. One reason she has been disconcertingly honest about many of her mistakes and shortcomings is because she figures she'd rather get them out there before someone else does. Rest assured there are still some less than stellar life experiences for friends to make a monkey of down the road, but Mrs. G. will likely spill the beans first. Even when she tries to keep a secret, to remain dignified, she usually can't hold out for more than three minutes. Just stay quiet and she will blurt out what she didn't want to tell you.
But back to her mistrust of the all knowing, retentive nature of cyberspace. Lately, Mrs. G. has become paranoid that the internet is judging her, maybe even targeting her as a hygienic concern. Everywhere she goes -- Facebook, Amazon, The New York times, Epicurious -- this ad is floating somewhere on the page:
Paranoia is setting in. Today, she took two showers and lathered four times from head to toe with ginger almond soap. Later, when she ordered file folders from Staples online, there it was:
If Mrs. G. up and disappears, you'll know why.
P.S. She smells great, like gin and rose water
Mrs. G. remembers reading a biography on Bill Clinton that described him as a chronic insomniac who did some of his best work in the wee small hours of the night...