it ain't easy being saucytart

Santa Baby, Don't Bring No Lump of Coal

Thank God in less than 40 minutes it will be officially December and Saucytart can haul out all her cheesy Christmas CDs, download some more classic gems like The Andy Williams Christmas Album, and drag out her cheap-ass, fake white Christmas tree.

The anticipation has her all lit up like a 100-bulb strand of Christmas lights.  The last time she was this excited, Saucytart nearly short-circuited.  Let's just say that little situation put her squarely on the Naughty List.

And will someone please tell her where she can get one of those primary color wheels to throw a little festive light action on said same fake tree?

Bring it on, Santa Baby!  Bring it on!

Green-eyed Monster

Saucytart woke up this morning with the sour taste of bitterness in her mouth.  She thinks she's afflicted by the appearance of success rather than the actuality of it.  More pertinently, she is angry that she's been discarded as no longer useful. 

She isn't sure what it is that has made her feel this way.  Perhaps it was rubbing elbows on Thanksgiving Day with an acquaintance who used to work for Saucytart and now runs her own market, but acts like she invented the idea. She mentioned how labor intensive it was to Saucytart, conveniently forgetting that Saucytart did tradeshows and markets long before the acquaintance ever made her first skirt.

The acquaintance also seems to have forgotten where she got the idea for her label's name -- from Saucytart  who got the idea from her French tutor.

How short and sweet is the memory.

"It's viable,"  the acquaintance said rather evasively when asked how the market was doing.  Did she think Saucytart would ask for the money for the more than $600 worth of goods she took when Saucytart's boutique was shuttered in 2005? She wrote that off after getting $50 over six months toward the $200 she'd asked for. 

Saucytart noticed a similar guilty evasiveness when she commented politely on the beautiful Princess cake from Ladybird Bakery that the acquaintance brought for the holiday dinner.  Yet her acquaintance felt it was necessary to mention it was on sale.  Why?  Maybe her acquaintance was remembering the time Saucytart got her son a Brooklyn Blackout cake at a wholesale rate because said acquaintance was broke. 

Looking back over the years, she thinks said same acquaintance has always felt creatively superior to Saucytart: see I made a dress out of lint from the dryer!

There's no doubt that her acquaintance is very talented, but the thing that irks Saucytart is the superior air. It probably wouldn't irk her quite so badly if Saucytart hadn't provided this woman with a job and a space to cultivate her design interests (on the job...), but now all that seems to be a vague memory.

As soon as Saucytart had nothing more to give -- no discounts, no mannequins, no fabric, no job, etc.  -- the acquaintance suddenly lost touch.  The last straw for Saucytart was when the acquaintance asked if she would babysit her child-- if you and Snudge don't have anything to do, the implication being we bumpkins couldn't possibly -- on the weekend so she could work the market. 

Sorry, Saucytart will have a playdate, but she's not a nanny.

Yes, there is a bitter taste in her mouth. Saucytart needs to go brush her teeth.

We Gather Together

When Saucytart woke up on Thanksgiving Day, she was grateful -- grateful that she had Putnam Growth and Income mutual funds left to sell because she has yet to be discovered, she's overdrawn at HSBC, and the rent is due next week.

She was also grateful that she was going to get to enjoy the hospitality of longtime wonderful friends (and not have to wash dishes or baste a bird).  Her contribution to the day: fresh banana layer cake.

Saucytart has many things for which she can count her blessings, too numerous to enumerate here.  She has a deep and abiding faith in the abundance of the universe.  She is certain that the message in her fortune cookie is accurate: You will live a long, happy and prosperous life.

She is less certain of her gut instincts, the clutch in the pit of her stomach that keeps insisting that she not settle for an average, passionless life, just to have a safety net.  She wonders if she is being fair to her loyal Snudge by chasing her dreams instead of chasing the Benjamins.

For now, Saucytart says grace for all the good in her life and leaves the rest to be sorted out in the wash.

Saucytart apologizes for her absence.  She has had a migraine, followed by no hot water for a week.  So, not only does her head hurt, but her butt is dusty too. 

Yes, these are trifling excuses, but sometimes the inner writer needs to take a teensy break -- that and the fact she's been churning out schlock articles like a drunk slams back shooters.

On the upside, recent studies have shown that big-hipped women are smarter than their scrawnier, lesser counterparts. 

Thank you, Jesus.

She knew there was a rhyme to the reason behind her overflowing bounty.  If that's not a reason to give thanks, Saucytart doesn't know what is.

 

you've been hit by the kissing bandit!

She's Sad. She's Mad. She's Saucytart.

Saucytart has to lay off the Halloween candy.  Either that or she needs a good dose of ultraviolet light. Perhaps she is afflicted with Seasonal Affective Disorder. She is way bitchy, which here reads explosively emotional. 

The planets must not be aligning properly because Saucytart is not her usual bubbly self.  She is by turns -- lethargic, pissed off, mopey, more pissed off, demanding, tearful, everything but bubbly.

Last night she tried her hand at autmomatic writing.  Saucytart had read that one can receive intuitive messages this way.  She knows a few of you, perhaps many of you, are shaking your heads, and whispering: Hocus pocus.  But Saucytart believes in angels and spirit guides.  She got a mixed bad of strange results. One thing that was vividly clear: a description of her late friend, MPJ, and these words: Do not be sad. All is well. She shouldn't have to tell you, but she will. She got a little misty.

Where is the beautiful butterfly that is Saucytart?  Where oh where have the flowers gone?