Thursday, June 6, 2013 at 9:58AM Mrs. G. 
Of late Mrs. G. has been emotional. She can go from sentimental to temperamental faster than you can inadvertently say just the thing that's going to make her...
Bigger Love, Mental Monday, May 27, 2013 at 12:49PM Mrs. G.
Her: Obama is ruining this country.
Mrs. G: .........................
(For physical and mental conservation, who wants to discuss politics with anyone holding scissors near her exposed, defenseless ears? Not Mrs. G, that's who.)
fifteen minutes later...
Her: My boyfriend had a bad car accident three months ago. He broke nearly every bone in his left leg and spent two days in the hospital. We were really lucky he's still on his parents' insurance plan.
Mrs. G: How old is he?
Her: 24
Mrs. G: You know, Obama was responsible for people your age being able to stay on their parents' insurance policies until they are 26.
Her: Are you sure about that? I've never heard anything about that.
Mrs. G: Yes, I'm sure.
Her: Weird.
Mrs. G: .........................
(For physical and mental conservation, who wants to discuss politics at all?)
Mental, Politics, Pop Culture Monday, May 6, 2013 at 2:09PM Mrs. G. 
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.
Thursday, May 2, 2013 at 11:05PM Mrs. G. 
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.
Monday, April 8, 2013 at 11:17PM Mrs. G. Mental Thursday, April 4, 2013 at 9:39AM Mrs. G. 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.
Family, Mental, Pop Culture Wednesday, March 13, 2013 at 10:30PM Mrs. G. 
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.
"DO YOU REMEMBER STUART LITTLE TRAVELING IN A PACK. MOTORCYCLE RALPH? LAW & ORDER IS ON IN TWENTY MINUTES AND YOUR DAD'S MAKING BUTTERED POPCORN. OPEN THAT DAMNED DOOR."
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.
