Beloved and gentle readers, Saucytart is leaving the building.  She has moved on if you will.  In changing her life's path, she has decided to take a kinder and gentler direction. 

She hopes you will forgive her for deserting you, hopefully not in time of crisis. But, she must, she must, she must increase her bust. Wait, wrong mantra and so unnecessary! 

Dearest readers, a new page has been turned in the book that is Saucytart's life.  She is happy, content and filled with peace.

In short, there's nothing to bitch about.

Visit me at my other blogs.  Eat. Drink. Memory. Gamer Mommy & Geek Boy.  Ciao, my lovelies!

Saucytart is a believer.  There really are not enough hours in a day.  She's voting for an additional 8, for a nice wholesome 32. 

See there, Smarty-pants soccer mom in the elementary school office! 

Saucytart can add.  She just couldn't the day you were struggling for naught plus naught and she butted herself right in with the wrong answer.  Yeah, that was months ago, but it's still on her self-absorbed and insecure little sponge cake. 

But back to the original plight, a lack of time to do all that she has to do with her un- and under-employed self. That's right people.  Despite not having a 60-hour plus a week job to race off to importantly each morning before dawn, Saucytart cannot find the time to complete all her appointed rounds.  She has completion issues.  Perhaps it has something to do with staying up until 4 a.m. and rising at noon.  Perhaps not. 

Doesn't matter.  Snudge is away and Saucytart is gleefully entertaining her inner night owl. 

So her day started at exactly noon with Jonathan Schwartz, a cup of joe, and Eggs Maria (her super secret recipe for curing the Sunday morning blues or slight hangover or whatever).  Oh, yes, she did manage to do her workout first.  And now it's keyboard time.

A special shout out to Rob over at Luna Park Gazette.  Ahahaha.  You are one funny dude.  Saucytart enjoyed a solid hour of reading your blog in the wee morning hours after she'd had a similar Brooklyn Museum experience.

Some day she'll recount in lurid detail the morning she practically stole a dread's Starbuck's something-something-something special order tall and then died from mortification, but not before she passed him a forward let's get to know each other over a coffee she didn't steal note.  Um, he declined, causing further mortification.

C'est la vie.  Take a number.

Every time Saucytart thinks she has gained some personal ground, has in some way risen above the animosity she feels toward her ex,  she finds that -- No -- she is still a tantrumming child.

For instance, today she discovered that her tiny, miniscule even, brokerage account was swept clean by NY State for back sales taxes owed jointly by herself and the ex.  To date, she has paid $2400, with some $1600 more due.  Has the ex paid a dime? 

Ordinarily, she would say, c'est la vie.  However, these are not ordinary circumstances.  Saucytart has been either under or unemployed for more than a year.  She has borne the brunt of child-rearing and caring for the last four years.  So, yes, she feels she has been dealt an unfair hand.

Still, she is happy, happier than most.  This is worth more than money. So when her inner child begins to tantrum, she must remind her that there are worse fates than this. 

Last night Saucytart and a friend rambled about the city. 

We started  our ramble in Central Park in the evening glow of lamplights, beginning at Naumburg Bandshell, where we just caught the end of Flamenco San Juan. 

After the final curtain, we strolled down the mall and out of the park (smelling pungently of horse-pies, courtesy of the carriages) up Central Park South to the subway.

There we caught the A train down to the village.  I used to spend a lot of time in Greenwich Village and the East Village too.  This was like going home again.  We stopped into Dante's for a cappucino (with Sambuca, natch) and some conversation, then it was back onto the streets again. 

What a gorgeous New York night for walking.

Periodically Saucytart enjoys Googling herself and others of her acquaintance.  It fulfills a secret agent need to lurk in the bushes to find out what people from her ill=conceived past (and present) might be up to.

Call it a weakness. Call it what you will, it gives her a secret thrill to see her own name pop up first on a the  search and others, well, not at all or only after deep, deep digging. 

Most recently the old gal was wondering about a mad crush she had on a boy in grad school.  He was British, a red-haired poet, super smart and one imagined as one does in grad school on the fast track to becoming the next Allen Ginsburg -- or something like that.  Incidentally, he was quite roguishly attractive in that sexy-ugly way some men have (including the irresistable pull of the self-loathing artist).

So imagine ST's surprise when she Googled the old boy (because that's what he is now) and found nary a poem or publication to his credit, although she did run across some scholarly work.  And then the biggest shock of all -- how ordinary he'd become.  The boy-man who inflicted such passions in her unschooled heart is now a high school teacher at a fancy-pants prep school charging tuition of $29,000 a year!  He coaches soccer and teaches Brit-Lit. 

ST won't post his pic.  That would be too unkind, but suffice to say, he is changed. 

Mind you, Saucytart is not gloating.  She is merely making an observation about the way dreams are deferred.  She wonders when his dream became about making ends meet rather than making art.  She suspects it occurred rather early on, even before he left Brooklyn to earn a Ph.D. on the West Coast.

She remembers a comment he once made regarding his thesis, a chapbook of poetry, that no one would ever read it.  Perhaps he was right, having set his intention to that goal.

Saucytart wishes him well and hopes he's happy.  His school photo shows him smiling quite broadly, something rarely seen in his BK days when he seemed to milk the morose poet act for all it was worth. 
He was a very talented poet if not a particularly kind person. 

Saucytart asked her mother to come visit in mid-September.

Two reasons.  First, she and Snudge haven't seen her in a few and also Saucytart has a three-day business trip.  The plan was for Mom/Grandmom to come a few days before the trip and leave a few days after -- about a week in BK.

All was agreed upon.  Saucytart was feeling pretty good because she would be able to leave Snudge with a trusted person and Snudge would be able to demonstrate what a big boy he is by showing Grandmom the ropes around la casa. Plus everyone would have a nice visit.

Ha!  Today the waffling began.  And it went something like this. 

"What would it take for Snudge to come here in September?" asked M/GM.

"Um, what do you mean," asked ST, thinking M/GM is on a kick to get the BKers to move South. Again.

"You know, while you're away?"

"But, Mom, he'd miss three to four days of school."

And so it went with M/GM suggesting it would be cheaper, etc.  Huh? 

Saucytart would have to take Snudge to North Carolina and then go from there to Florida, then return for the pick up.  How is this cheaper, she asked.

M/GM said ST would save on local transportation, Huh?  We spend $80 a month on a Metrocard. This is money already spent and M/GM would be using my pass. The Snudge has a free pass.  Since M/GM lives in commuter land and pays roughly $4.50 a gallon, ST does not see the transportation savings. The only expense is a  RT airline ticket for M/GM as opposed to two RT to NC on top of a RT to Florida.

Saucytart is no mathematical genius, but even she can figure this is going to cost some cash.

But in all things the truth will out.

M/GM has volunteered to do some dynamic do-goody thing (which she is always complaining about having volunteered to do because it's a time-suck,  but stalwartly continues to do) and is committed to following through. ST is happy and pround of her Mom's do-gooding.  She is a truly amazing person.  But could, just this once, charity begin at home. ST is really, really tired of taking a back seat to every one, particularly everyone UNRELATED to her.

This is what is actually interfering with M/GM's trip up to Yankeeland. And in the end she admitted it was so, and even offered to send a check for things ST really needs. ST really needs a trusted person to care for her child in their home!

WTF?  This is so typical.  M/GM likes to provide what SHE thinks is needed based on what SHE needs.  Does she ever, ever listen?  Now ST sees where she gets her own peculiar brand of not hearing.

ST is now forced to ask a mother of a school friend to keep her kid for three days while ST works.  ST would love to have a sitter but ST doesn't have the resources now to pay for 3 full days of childcare.

Wah-wah. Boo-hoo. Saucytart knows that is what you are thinking.  She doesn't care really what you think right now.  Her feelings are hurt, and rightly so.

Saucytart was up into the wee hours updating her *professional* blog, that place where she posts links to her writing and photography. 

After much back and forth and indecision, she decided to link to her advertorials.  These are work samples, but not work of which she is particularly proud, rather what she calls bill-paying work.  Like the working actor, the working writer takes opportunity where she finds it. 

Still, while Saucytart strives for something better, she pours her creative energy into even the smallest jobs.  Work is work and is deserving of one's best effort. 

Now, off to keep the canary alive.

Saucytart is up, ready and raring to go.  Blessedly, she has moved up, up, and away from the nasty spiral of negativity she found herself sucked into recently. 

She is grateful to have shed herself of the self-helpless in her life.

As soon as she gets the call from Snudge, she will be showering and out the door to get into some mischief. 

There's a bit of weeding to be done at the garden (since it's been weeks since she's been there, Saucytart is sure the weeds are up to her knees.  The plan is to weed the garden, plant a few hills of beans, and hope for the best. 

Then there's petanque calling.  Or it could be the Obon festival.  She's not sure which.  And, of course, there is always the siren song of work, work, work beckoning.

Yesterday was spent chillaxing with a friend, sharing a bottle of wine and the poor man's tapas -- Doritos and cheddar cheese. Midway through the afternoon, we decided to trim the unruly tree taking over the backyard. It looks so much better now.  If I can just get that pedestal reclaimed; it's yearning to reinvent itself into a sidetable.

Lovely day.

Saucytart today stumbled across this Fakebook missive FWDed by neither friend nor foe -- just a simpleton.

This beautiful, leisure loving 13 yr. old Calico will be abandoned on my doorstep on June 26th as told to me by an estranged friend.
4 years ago, Gadget belonged to me and my x, we had her since she was a kitten.
I live in a landlord occupied brownstone where pets are explicitly not allowed.
If you have room in your home for this innocent little spirit you will be saving her life, I believe, as well as meeting your best companion!
She is spayed and was up to date on her shots when my x had her 4 years ago and I will happily pay any vet fees if she needs updated shots.
Please contact me if you have any leads
k malone 70 at hot mail

How touching.  She's dumping her cat off on a new sap.

For the record, the "leisure loving" Gadget was pawned off on yours truly 4 years ago with the promise of veterinary care, visitation, supplies, etc., just until we find a space where we can keep our beloved cat. This beloved cat was dumped with one bag of cat litter, a bag of kibble, a litter box and a two stainless steel dishes.   

The ex moved twice and never, ever asked about reclaiming the cat, but then he was the one who was trying to ditch her at the NO-KILL POUND (living death, lol).  The poster of this plea used her ex's hard heart to soften Saucytart's, which is how she came to feed, house, and care for someone else's cast off.

The poster might have asked once or maybe twice in 4 years about the health and well-being of this lovely cat she'd had since it was a kitten.  Nine years, I'll do the math for you. Nine years and it's disposable. 

Disposable as an *estranged friend*.  Please, somebody, anybody save this cat from this dysfunctional home.