it ain't easy being saucytart

Damn Clean Hair

Recently Saucytart has had to relieve herself of a few bits of flotsam and jetsam. 

Dead weight doesn't do a body good.  It just makes you sink that much faster.

And so she has been removing the unsavory element which detracts rather than adds value to her life.

Naturally, this parsing of what works and what does not, that which is structurally sound and that which is not, has taken a bit of a toll.  At first she felt troubled, pained by her decision to let people go, cut them loose without looking back.  And because she felt this way, she back-pedaled, ultimately causing her more pain. 

She hoped the old dogs could learn new tricks.  But the old dogs didn't learn new tricks; they just kept pissing in her flower beds like they always did.  In short, they were happy (as only a dog rolling in shit can be) and she was not. 

Saucytart realized she would have to start from scratch. Old friends and old habits would need to be cast away.  She would need to get rid of the negatives in order to accentuate the positives.

So like Mary Martin in South Pacific,she's "gonna wash that man" (or woman) right outta her hair. 

Saucytart has some damn clean hair these days.

It Takes All Kinds, Indeed

Saucytart has noticed a distinct trend. 

Her most viewed post to date is Granny Panties Sell Like Hotcakes, a post which actually has nothing to do with bloomers actually.  However, it is apparent from the numbers -- substantiated by Feedburner -- that many Googlers are fascinated with the drab undergear. 

Blecch!

She is shocked and appalled, a situation that occurs rarely she assures one and all.

Granny panties?  Who knew?

Don't Do It Dishabille

There's no liquor in the house so Saucytart has started swilling pediatric cough syrup.  Just kidding.

She'd better make sure she's clear on that one before someone gets smarty-pants and calls Child Welfare Services.  Recently some holy rollers turned up on her doorstep, thumping their bibles and kind of loudly for 10ish in the a.m. Saucytart had to turn them away as she was expecting the city inspectors.

This she told her proselytizing pals and they wished her good luck.  She now realizes that they thought she had an appointment with CWS instead of Housing & Preservation. 

In hindsight, she supposes answering the door dishabille is not the thing to do.

Help, "Honey-do" Needed

Saucytart has been wondering why -- if she has all this alleged free time on her hands -- she can't seem to make a dent in the to-do list. 

Ah!

There are numerous and sundry reasons.  She will outline them for your leisure reading below:

• she has no "honey-do" to foist unwanted chores upon
• nor does she have a housekeeper, nanny or personal assistant
• she has no stable of lackeys to do her personal bidding. See above
• she is slightly disorganized and prone to brain fog when overwhelmed
• her forte is not focus and therefore she is easily distracted
• cleaning up fur balls from a "pet" she's been sheltering temporarily for 4 years is not fun
• nor is straightening the overloaded drawers and closets bursting with stuff

C'est la vie.  Saucytart goes once again to the drawing board.

It's Not Instability; It's Sensory Over-load

Now there's a name for what's been wrong with Saucytart all these years.  And here she thought it was okay to be sensitive.

Prone to bursting into tears over the tiniest thing?  Sensory over-load. 

Irritated by the stuff that others don't even notic?  Difficulty modulating sensory stimuli.

Repetitive sounds bring you to the brink of explosion?  Over-responsive.

Or in the inimitable words of at least two former friends: unstable.

Saucytart prefers the less demeaning phrase: brain-based condition in which individuals process sensory information atypically.

Post Haste

Ah, Saucytart loves a rainy morning and a trip to Target.

The simple shop for catfood turned into a catnip and a Tooth Tunes toothbrush for Snudge.

Fifty dollars lighter in the wallet, Saucytart made her way back to 1415 to see what other fun procrastinating projects she could fall into. 

Later for the pitches she needs to write.

Silverbells and Cockle Shells

The bluebells are a' bloomin; at 611.

Saucytart and Snudge hopped the #3 this morning, deftly ignoring the early morning drunk who kept flirting by asking us for bites of our bacon, egg and cheese rolls.  They ran into Victor who trimmed the giant tree casting too much shade on my bok choy and tomatoes.  Snudge helped feed branches into the wood chipper.  Exciting for him and a little scary for Mom.

Today's plan: weeding beds, thinning the seedlings, replanting the Italian broad beans, and transplanting the rosemary and thyme.  Victor brought some gorgeous gladioli -- champagne and a deep raspberry -- which were planted in a cluster at the front of the garden.

Saucytart broadcast a couple of boxes of wildflowers, picked up some trash, then hopped back on the train to do a grocery shop.  Out of soy milk. 

Now it's time to make shrimp charmoula and figure out what to do with the Jamaican Butter Fish.

It's Not Raining Now; Please Return the Brolly

This is Brooklyn.  And if it isn't tied down, it isn't yours.  Sometimes when it is tied down, it's not yours either because some sorry excuse for a human being comes, cuts the chain and steals what was once yours to sell for pocket change or whatever. 

Saucytart is still pissed about her peace lily.  The lily is still alive, but the three very pretty blooms were plucked off and to make sure Saucytart knew it was a deliberate act, the miserable mofos put the last bloom on her doormat. 

Misery does love company, doesn't it? 

The sad part about this is that Saucytart was seeking to make a miserable place more beautiful for all.  She put money, time and effort into decorating outside her door.  She put a pretty plant outside for all to enjoy.  But stupidity and hopelessness is a blight, a scourge, and tough to eliminate in places where people are used to treating themselves with little or no respect.

Saucytart wants to be lifted, not downtrodden. 

Her neighbor across the hall, put some silk flowers in the pot with the greenery.  They're pretty but they aren't peace lilies.  Still, it's a step in the right direction.

Now if the person who "borrowed" her umbrella tonight would please return it...

The Witching Hour

Ugh.  Saucytart is still tired from the weekend.  It's not that she did a lot of mad running around, though there was some of that. 

She's just got a low energy ebb.  Call it the end of the semester blues.  Call it what you will, she's got low blood sugar.

This afternoon it was all she could do to peel herself off the couch and go get the boy.  She read the same paragraph at least four times.  And her mind kept wandering to things that can't be changed.

It seems the worst part of the day is roughly 1 to 2, when she feels like she should have a nap or a coffee at the very least.  Naps are highly under-rated and coffee will keep her up all night.  She settled for some Vitamin D via the lovely and golden sun. 

Here's to feeling perkier.

1415 Rainy Day Blues

Snudge is in his room sulking. 

He's mad because Saucytart pried him away from his screen.  The boy needs a 12-step program to get over his addiction to videogames and cartoons.  An innocent rainy day has turned into a battlefield with the lines drawn in blood in front of the computer and the TV.

Arrrrgh!

On a happier note, Saucytart's teensy apartment smells like a Tide commercial since she whipped through it like Mr. Clean, sans the bulging biceps and bald pate. 

The new fire and smoke alarms are installed as is the fabulous handheld showerhead.

She loves a rainy day!