it ain't easy being saucytart

Another Happy Ending

When Saucytart has a happy ending without any -- um, you know, nookie contact -- it's time for a summer fling.

True enough, the old gal flipped her tiddlywinks on the massage table this morning.  She swears there was no below the belt contact, although there was some when she got home. *wink-wink*

Funny part was trying to keep it to herself.  Guess all that pillow-biting wasn't for naught. 

She's Got Issues

Saucytart doesn't claim to be perfect.  She's got issues, as they say. But, most of the time, well, a lot of the time, she can keep her issues under wraps.

Generally speaking, she relies on indifference.  Someone snubs her or her child, for instance, she proceeds to shrug her shoulders and ignore said offender.  She and Snudge play with people who know how to play in the sandbox.  They avoid those who piss in the sandbox.  And they appreciate their own company better than anyone else's.

Here lies the secret.  Have no expectations -- of anyone -- and one will never be disappointed. Saucytart has gone from a standard so high even she was incapable of reaching it to having no standards at all.  She is happier this way.  Nothing leaves a bad taste.

Donne was wrong.  Man can be an island.  And often is more content without all the extra baggage.

And Saucytart Thought She Was A Piece of Work

It's too bad we can't choose the parents of our kids' friends. 

Saucytart is thinking of how she can make her Snudge feel better about NOT being invited to the sleepover party that one of his little friends is hosting.

The snub came AFTER the two boys had been talking about it and a verbal invitation had been extended.

But that's the thing about kids. They don't get it that parents are a f*cked up bunch.  They just want to play.

The truth is Saucytart thinks the mother of this child is a narcissistic, punitive and controlling b*tch. She knows the mother wouldn't dare invite Snudge to a sleepover when the woman has already made it clear that her child may not sleepover at Snudge's house.  She'd have to be a crazier b*tch than even Saucytart gives her credit for to pull a stunt like that.  Hell, would be frozen like the tundra first for Snudge to accept a sleepover invite under those circumstances.

But, that doesn't change the fact that there are hurt feelings.  And it doesn't change the fact that one egotistical parent has managed to erode a friendship between two lovely little boys -- all because she doesn't like Saucytart.

Thanks for playing!

¡Que Boracha!

Saucytart is dusting off her bar tools!

She just got a little premium liquor care package from Partida & Co.

The first thing she'd like is a Texas shooter, but that involves another pair of lips & a warm body, so she'll settle for a Mexican Mojito.

There's just a small bottle of G'vine, the "ultra-premium French gin crafted by Jean Sebastien Robicquet and Bruno de Reilhac," which makes Saucytart sad.  She'd hoped to have more than just one sampling of the neutral grape spirit said to be "smoother and more suave" than the average juniper berry-flavored gin. 

Dreaming of la dolce vita, she'll tipple a classic digestif of Averna Amaro Siciliano 1868 after that amazing plate of orecchiete with porcini.  That should do for now.

Sheesh

Saucytart woke up mad and sad and bad.

Maybe it's because she's still sleeping on the floor.  When will that f*ckn Ikea open so she can join the unwashed masses to clog the Big-Box like greasy hair in a drain? 

Or maybe it's because she is just not over blaming her parents for her own screw-ups?

What an energy drain -- all this b*tchn and moanin.

'Scuse Me, But Does Saucytart Tell You What to Feel

Why is it that some folks -- generally speaking people who either broker power or like to think they do anyway -- enjoy telling Saucytart how she should feel?

Just this morning, her landlord began telling Saucytart she shouldn't panic over X,Y &Z.  The whole time she is talking over Saucytart in the supercilious way certain landlords in New York have with their tenants.
Saucytart is not given to panic, but neither is she going to accept half measures.

The bottom line: get an exterminator in here again or Saucytart will see your British-accented a** in Housing Court. And she will withold rent until corrections are made.

Saucytart is not playing.  This building is a mess and she doesn't really care if the ownership is new and needs to get its bearings.  That is ownership's problem.  She pays rent and they collect rent.  Rent covers services tendered, not services half-tendered.

The next time the landlord tries to tell Saucytart how to feel, Saucytart might not be able to keep the b*tch in the can of whoop-a**.

Sheesh.

Another Middle-Aged White Lady Reads Blognigger

Saucytart notices that anyone and everyone who is anybody reads Blognigger.

Heavens, gentle readers, she doesn't want to be left behind with her old-fashioned, white-gloved & lily-white self.

So, she's jumped on the little red wagon crammed full of whiteys who want to think they think outside the box.

Whoo-hoo. Come on in.  It's stuffed tighter than white socks on a sausage-casing ankle.

Good Things Don't Get Any Better

Saucytart loves to think about all the wonderful, playful good things in her life.

So without further ado, here are a few of her favorite things:

• a kiss goodnight
• ice cold watermelon with a little sprinkle of salt
• clean-shaven faces, no cologne
• fresh line-dried sheets smelling of sunshine
• sleeping in and watching movies in bed on a rainy day
• heat lightning
• the sound of rain on a tin roof
• wild June roses
• my son's laughter
• playing in the sprinklers
• collecting seashells and walking on the beach
• a brand new Flair pen
• a fresh page to write on

Bed-fucking-Bugs

When Saucytart was a kid she thought bedbugs were just some nasty invention of the imagination, like cooties, hauled out when necessary to diss some little shit who was pissing on your personal sunshine.

But, no.  Turns out the little nasties are all too real and on the upswing in Gotham.  If you think lice are a problem, you sure as hell don't want bedbugs.  They are nefarious and pretty ugly too. 

So, when her neighbor told Saucytart that her son's room (and her sofa) were infested with the vile bugs, Saucytart's skin began to crawl (and itch) immediately.

She went straight into her apartment and began ripping the place apart, spraying pesticides along the seams of the walls abutting her nabe's buggy pad. Saucytart spent hours on her hands and knees with a flashlight and a magnifying glass, scouring for any sign of pests -- even in the middle of the night because the damn things are partial to darkness.

Blecch.

How could you miss that your couch was crawling with bugs?  Yeah, they're small as you can see, but they bite people and those bites hurt.

This and the fact that she can't eat chocolate or cheese without breaking out into welts has Saucytart's knickers in gi-normous twist.

Does this shite ever end?