Santa's Little Helper

Martha here. Holiday greetings, pa rum pa pum pum.  Quick note to say that Aunti M is back home now. The Mall cops, after a bit of persuading, and a little softened up with Christmas cheer, agreed to release her to our custody, without charges.  But I’ll let Aunti M tell the story, even though she is still mad.

I am dadgummit, I am mad but you would be too.  Who knew Santa didn’t have a sense of humor.  And it was all in fun, honestly, but what is the world coming to if a girl can’t get her jollies at Christmas?

It all started Christmas Eve.  Toddies for breakfast, Fa La La La La, and there was a little extra so I put it in my flask.  It seemed the perfect day to go sit in Santa’s Lap for awhile, and to dress for the occasion.  It had been a long time since Aunti M had had on a garter belt and it took her awhile to find the candy cane stockings, the ones that go with the red elf miniskirt and the little fur top, but a few little nips later, and your Aunti M was a thing to behold.  It took a little while to get the TaTas and the black patent leather belt to coexist peacefully, but finally, twas done.

Martha took one look at me and said, “Oh no you don’t” and it was then I realized I was going to have to take this thing into my own hands.  Since she wouldn’t drive me (sometimes she is such a drag), I called Clarence, my friend who makes special deliveries for  "Likkers", his uncles's liquor store and doggy day care franchise.  Seeing as how it was Christmas Eve, and about all his customers were captive one way or the other, he came right on over.

“To the Mall!” I said and away we flew.   We got there at about the tail end of the Santa display.  There were only a few children left in line and Santa was looking a little ragged. The elves were checking their watches and leaving for long smoke breaks.  According to one of them Santa had already been peed on twice, but a quick mopping up had left only a slight dampness and the faintest aroma.  Finally, finally, it was my turn.

“Oh Holy Night” said Santa when he saw me, well it might have been something else, but that’s what I heard. “Santa Baby” I said, crawling right on up onto those massive thighs, just as he was trying to get up to welcome me.  Wiggled myself on down in there, and pulled out the flask.  “Little nip?” I asked him.  “Well, why not”, Santa said,” it’s been a long day.”

They were already starting to take down the candy cane fence and pull up the cotton batting with the spray snow, so Santa and I just sat for a minute, resigned to it all, and enjoying the moment, me wiggling into his lap, he with the flask. His eyes - how they twinkled!  His dimples - how merry! His nose, his nose!  More and more like a cherry!

I was just refilling the flask for the third time from the bottle in my toysack when the Mall Cop lumbered by.  He did a double-take - those stockings on these legs the with the garters slightly showing have always been an eye-catcher - “Wait a minute. . .” and over he came. . .”well here’s a ho ho ho,” he said.

Well, that’s when things kind of got out of control.  I won’t go into detail because you don’t need to know everything but Clarence had been called in for an emergency delivery to Morton’s Rest Home and Tanning Salon (Motto: turn em and tan em), so that left me without a ride.  Santa sure wasn’t in any condition to drive.  Well, truth be told, I wasn’t either, so that’s where Martha had to get re-involved.

Well anyway.  It is Christmas, the season forgiving, so I’m sure everybody has taken a lighter view of all this by now.  Come on over anytime.  We have plenty of fruitcake.  My elf outfit just about doesn’t smell of urine anymore, its been washed three times, and we are all looking forward to New Year’s.

Aunti M's List. . .

Hey everybody, Martha here.  Aunti M has shown up again after several months of travel elsewhere.  She isn't in a very good mood but she insisted on posting anyway.  My apologies in advance. . .


Oh, for Pete's sake. Like she said, I'm back to her house and I have something to say.  Lordy, it has been awhile.  But then I'm not a believer in opening your trap just because you have one, and I've been busy.  First there was that Harley convention at the VFW.  Modeling the Latest in Leather for the Senior Fashion Show was a real hoot although honey at my age, I don't recommend the thong.  Although I thought it looked great with the thigh-high cowboy boots, at this age there is enough Southern drift that the thong kinda disappeared under the folds and it caused rather a stir. Well, some of those old coots needed a little excitement so I don't mind. It's the least a girl can do to provide a little entertainment from time to time.

From there I went to Alaska where it is too cold for thongs for sure.  And although I liked it well enough and would go back if begged, I do have a bone to pick.  I am sick and tired of hearing about the damn Bucket List. In the months working up to the trip, as people would ask and I would tell them I was going to Alaska, over and over they would tell me it was on their goldarned Bucket List. Bleah, bleah, bleah.  I got so tired of it, I decided to make my own list just to break up the monotony.

So here it is, the Fuckit List and right on top A Number One:

1.  The Bucket List.  Anybody's.  This includes yours. Being where you are right now, doing what you are doing right now, is a helluva lot more important to pay attention to.  Manchu Picchu just sounds more romantic than the checkout line at Wal-Mart. Pay attention anyway.

Number 2.  Most Churches. For Pete's sake wake up and smell the bullshit.  If somebody up front is telling you you need to go inside their building and believe in only what they've got to say, wake the hell up.  This is just shorthand for "you got it, they don't" which only causes separation anxiety which leads to war.  And watch out, there's an offering plate coming your way so you can fully express your gratitude to the Church for helping you realize how right you are and how fortunate not to be those other people who don't get it. Go to the woods, any woods - and this is important:  without any electronic device.  Sit still. Stay with the restlessness long enough to begin to hear. God speaks on your channel too.  You just have to tune in.

3.  People walking around talking out loud into the air.  I swear I want to slap these people. And you if you are one of them.  How did their business get so important it needed to be broadcast. I didn't tune into that channel.  Air pollution.

4.  Big corporations pretending to be your friend.  Where the hell does the Giant-Ass power company get off asking me to contribute to them so supposedly they can give poor people a break on their over-inflated electric bill when the whole company is geared toward generating extra money for people who already have extra money to gamble in the stock market?   Supposedly, this ruse is so I'll feel all warm and fuzzy toward this company trying to help the poor - with my money not theirs that with the sanction of the government, they extracted from me and all the others like me in the first place?

5.  Monsanto.  What planet are these people on?  One without children and grandchildren evidently.  The Kool-Aid must be mighty strong.  Maybe it has Roundup in it, that kills off any logical thinking. We already have proof it causes brain damage in children.  Maybe this is another side effect.

6.  Having anybody else tell you what is or isn't good for you.  Especially corporations.  Except Aunti M.  You know what is good for you and what isn't, way down deep, and if you don't, test it, but just a little bit for crying out loud.  Burying the gas pedal on something you are trying for the first time is for idiots, whether that's tattoos or magnesium for constipation.  Start Little. Start Slow. Trust your own instincts, unless Aunti M tells you different.

7.  Constipation.

8. People I love who are in pain and I can't help, even by doing what I do best which is being a distraction.

9.  People I don't love who are in pain and I can't or won't help because they've pissed me off so bad.  But I'm tryin'.

10. Whatever it is, whomever it is that makes children afraid.

11. Flat stomachs.  Where did this come from.  You are born with round, not flat get a grip.  The only people with flat stomachs are either twelve-year-old boys or people who spend so much time at the gym they don't have a life.  You can't laugh very deeply with everything all tight down there.

Well, that's enough for now, and here come's Martha with my toddy. It is about time.  Well, if you have something to say about all this, come on over, there's two rockers on the porch.  I don't need to talk to Martha, she's here all the time, so I would (sort of) welcome the company. Just don't stay too long. . .

Dueling Ta Ta's?

Auntie M.  

I’ve recently been diagnosed with a recurrent breast cancer and now it seems the only course is a mastectomy.  I have the option of reconstruction, but if I do one of the girls will be my age, mid-fifties, another more like a 25-year-old.  Seems to me this could be trouble.  What do you think?

Signed, 

Unsure in the Body Part Department. . .

Dearest Unsure,

First of all honey, let me just say how sorry we are that you are having to go through this again.  Once is more than enough in Auntie M’s book.  Although Auntie M has known several women who say cancer was the best thing that happened to them as it revved up their joie de vivre and made them realize how precious life is in general, let's find a cure for this thing and get our joie de vivre a different way;  chocolate and afternoon delight come to mind.

But on to your question. You have certainly come to the right person, as bosoms and the proper glorification of same was key to one of Auntie M’s careers.  And with two such different specimens on display at the same time, well, one would certainly notice if one was at one latitude, and the other further south; the first rather perky and nerf-ball esque, the second, shall we say, more relaxed, as one tends to be after a long career and multiple children. Plus twenty-five year olds can be rather disdainful toward their more mature sisters and you don't want that kind of attitude on your chest.  And, when you take your shirt off, which we all want to do from time to time, well, that just seems too confusing for all concerned.

We’re guessing that another option is to showcase the remaining breast, let it not have to compete for once in its life, be the Main Event.  (Auntie M is picturing a celebratory tattoo. . .or two.)  And seeing  as how brassieres are all duos, a Pretend Boob could be a place holder under that shirt of yours during the daytime, and no one would be the wiser. Then at night, when it is just you and your sweetie, well, it seems to Auntie M that that is the Most Important Time to be All You, not you plus a nerf ball.

Now, here comes Martha with my toddy, but before she gets here let me just say this.  It is absolutely true that God made breasts, and they are Fabulous, including yours, we’re sure. But God also made cockroaches and Maury Povich, and that doesn’t mean we can’t do without them.  You are so very precious, trust Auntie M on this, she is one of many who feels this way, with or without any one of your parts. Plus, we all need more exercise and you'll be an absolute whiz bang in Senior Archery. Invite Auntie M to the awards ceremony, that's all we ask.  We'll bring the punch. . . 

Men?

Q.  Hi Auntie.  I want to know about men.  Why are they so attached to their Jobs?  In this economy, lots of guys are laid off, and they are miserable to live with!

Signed, Wondering in the Yadkin Valley. . .

Dear Wondering,

This is such a Big misunderstanding. People didn't use to have Jobs.  People don't naturally have Jobs anymore than birds or turtles do.  What people have naturally is Life Juice, that wants to express itself helpfully, doing enjoyable tasks that need doing. This whole idea of Jobs is a later invention that involves Satan and garages and it’s complicated. Men and women deal with this differently, like just about everything else. But you want to know about men, so here we go. . .

About the time History was invented, it became clear that tiny helpless people only came out of one brand of adult, the one also equipped to feed it. It was easier for the brand of person who didn’t have babies hanging off its chest to kill saber-toothed tigers; scary hairy beasts that saw babies as lunchables. Full employment, everybody doing what they did best.

But then saber-toothed tigers disappeared, and people started planting seeds and staying put. Men began to wonder what they were good for, except for planting baby seeds which by then had gotten figured out as necessary to the whole thing and which was enjoyable every time, at least for them.  More research for women in the enjoyable department was required. 

Men were looking for something to do, like be in charge of something and about that time The Old Testament was invented.  And there it was, The Book of "JOB"! Everything was fine, as it usually is in the beginning, God and JOB are good.  But then Satan shows up and starts making trouble (which is his job, you will notice) and  JOB's life as he knew it dissolves, just like your friend’s has done.


The screws on Being Without Jobs wrenched even tighter when a man named Steve took a bite out of an Apple - The Old Testament again - and invented a bazillion dollars in his garage.  Now everybody with a garage is expected to do the same thing, especially men because they are the only ones who go out there.

And that's where we are now, with the men friends who are on the down cycle of JOB.  That's what they are doing on the couch, just taking a little nap, in between pondering the Big Questions: What is it All About Anyway?  And What is My Role With My Family Now That There Are No Saber-Toothed Tigers? And Is God Mad at Me? It just breaks Auntie M's heart.

But here's something Auntie M has never understood.  There is never never never never any shortage of work that needs doing, by everybody, men and women.  If your J-O-B disappears, what you have is T-I-M-E, which you were always complaining about not having when you had the J-O-B.  

If you can just get enough life juice to get off the couch and look out the window, I’ll guarantee you'll see at least five ways you could help out, right now, from picking up all that litter on your very road, to washing windows for that elderly woman who lives down the street and has no business on a ladder.  Or if that’s too much, just smile at somebody that looks like they need it. We can all help.

So Wondering, here's the thing: just remember that these cranky people you are having to vacuum around have simply had a Giant Memory Lapse.  They have temporarily forgotten the big ol' hunk of wonderment that they are. They just got so used to letting whomever's name was on a paycheck tell 'em how much they were worth in round numbers, they forgot about way back when.  And their Life Juice is on Low.  They need our understanding to help get them turned back around.

Don't give up.  Remember, God never ever lost faith in Job and vice versa and it all worked out in the end.  Job got all his camels back, had ten more children, and lived to be 140. And that was before Viagra.

Now I’m going to give myself a rest.  There are other questions desperately needing Auntie M's attention.  Later on,  I’ll get back to M-O-N-E-Y, and how women (mostly) handle this whole employment question differently, seeing as how ever since babies and laundry and men were invented, no woman has ever been without something to do.

My Cousin. . .

Dear Aunti M.
My cousin takes himself so seriously.  He claims to be on this Giant Spiritual Path, which evidently makes him better than any of the rest of us, and I'm just sick of it. I have to go to a wedding where he will be - get this - The Best Man - and his sanctimonious-down-the-nose makes me want to dance naked on the tables!  I know this isn't generous of me, but I just can't help it.  I know you have been around a lot of people like this, so what do you do?
Signed, Ready to Strip at a Family Gathering

Dear Ready,
We do sympathize; honestly we do.  And depending on your age, and your exercise routine, stripping may or may not be the best route.  This option has been closed to Aunti M for some time, you may not be surprised to hear, although elder women getting naked en masse has proven to be a powerful political statement, but we digress.
You are not going to want to hear this, but that is not a criteria for saying things that Aunti M honors, so here goes.  Giant Spiritual Path People deserve your compassion too.  They are in their own parade, just like Giant Money People, or Giant Political People. They've just added a different frequency of insecurity.  It's ultimately all the same.
Aunti M has learned when people got to keep reminding you of how much they've accomplished in any category, when they are wearing it out loud, it is because they have to keep reminding themselves.  If you can just picture, while you are listening to him tell you how many hours he meditates, or how he eats only bean sprouts with purified whatever juice on top, just picture him as a frightened, naked little boy, because that is - trust me on this - how he feels inside.  Your getting mad at him will only confirm his illusion that he can't manage in the world as he really is - made of the same fabulous all-mixed-up-together humanness that you are and that Aunti M is. . .
However, this doesn't preclude dancing naked on the tables. . .but only if these people are Unitarians. . .

Oh honey, just come and sit by me. . .

I want to introduce myself.  My friend and niece Martha (see her picture over there, that's actually pretty flattering, she has more wrinkles than that) is so nice to invite me here.  I know all of ya'll have a lot of questions because everybody seems to. We'll get to those next, hold on honey, nobody's hair is on fire.

I don't know what it is about me, maybe you can tell me.  I have been traveling around for the longest time and it just seems like wherever I go somebody sidles up and asks me some big ol' question about life. Martha may be the worst! But I love her, and she cooks for me something powerful when I come visit and she showed me her blog. I didn't know what it was at first, I'm kinda behind in the techno department and frankly blog sounded like some kind of nose obstruction, but here I am, trustin'.  She said she wanted me to just sit on the porch and she would bring me a little somethin' and I could answer questions about life. 


Well, about that time, about the time I was thinking about it, and waiting to see if the little somethin' was actually going to show up, somebody called and asked her a question about life (I'm not sure why they asked her, she seems to have a whole lot more questions than answers.  I guess it is a good thing I showed up when I did).  Wisely,  she passed it on. So I am thinking about it and we are going to give it a shot in the next post, after I get my little somethin' and let things percolate. If you like what you read, and want to submit a question, just send it to her:  marthasimmons@ctc.net.  Before you do, read the disclaimer, because we don't want to hear you complaining.

DISCLAIMER:  I have been around a long, long time and at my age and station, I don't put up with much in the Bull S./Whining Department.  And, just so you know, I'll answer only one'ish a week, and I will probably change the question to say what I wanted to in the first place.  And, I'll probably choose questions at random, so please, for gosh sakes, don't submit a question if you get your feelings hurt easily!  Just remember that Aunti M loves you because she can't do anything else and its not personal.  Nothing is personal.  Nothing.  If you get that part, you are already home free. . .Now, let's get on with it.

Oh, and P.S., if I get tired of this I'll quit for pete's sake life is too short to intentionally suffer so enjoy it while you can. . .