Trickster Wants A New Pair Of Shoes

Around the ranch, your senses tune themselves to the slow pace of nature and your sensitivity to movement, noise, smells, just everything, goes way up. Out there, the swish of a horse's tail clear across the pasture can catch your attention.


Town's way different. Things move fast and loud here.

Even up over the saloon, where there are seven women (eight, with me here) functioning out of two bathrooms, lots of joking around, and the constant irritation sound of that honky-tonk piano downstairs, the sensory input is a lot more than I'm used to. But I always adjust.

A long weekend with LouLou, Anne, Crystal, El, Penny, Angelique, and Marsh is like one huge slumber party. Our motto? There are no adults around, so we get to do whatever we want.

Last night, they got me all hyped up on an ice cream sundae supper. Usually, just a little bit of sugar makes me so sleepy, I can barely function. But whenever I'm away from Starr Ann, that condition reverses - I crave sweets and they hype me up. Weird, huh? One friend of ours says it's a "compensatory physical manifestation" of the fact that Starr Ann and I really want to have a sexual relationship. Bull hockey!

You wouldn't believe how many times we've thought a friendly tumble would be the perfect way to pass the afternoon. But any trying-to-have-sex-with-your-best-friend fiasco you name, Starr Ann and I have been through it. From cracking up laughing, to not being able to get ourselves situated, to one of us forgetting about that wad of chewing gum in our mouth, to alfalfa crumbs getting down our pants - I'm here to tell you Starr Ann and I were not intended to receive carnal knowledge of each other.

Penny, you could tell, was real disappointed to hear that. So now I'm going to have to invent a hot sex episode between Starr Ann and me to tell them about tonight. Don't worry, I'll eventually remember to mention it's a lie, but not before letting them digest it for a while first. It's what Starr Ann would want me to do.

Anyway, I'm off to the farrier's around the corner. Wanda Sue is the best horse shoer around, but she seldom gets out as far as our place, so I like to have her work on Trickster's feet whenever we get to town.

In case you've never seen an actual shoeing, here's how it goes. Each foot starts out with Wanda Sue bending over, facing away from me, while she pulls the old shoe and trims up the hoof. Then, for the final shaping, she turns around and bends over again facing forward. And Wanda Sue is given to dressing for comfort, if you know what I mean, so when her shirt falls forward there's really nothing else there to keep a light breeze from cooling her off a little. Once the shoe is on just perfect, Wanda Sue stands up straight and arches way back to loosen up her muscles. If you'll recall, horses have four feet. So the above gets repeated three more times. And, Holy Mother of God, it's hot today, so Wanda Sue is going to get that pretty sheen to her skin after a few minutes.

Well, how I do go on. Better get on over to the farrier's. Inventing that scene for the ladies, while watching Trickster get shod, is going to be a piece of cake.

Saloon Girls Are Nice

With a long holiday weekend ahead, I'm saddling up Trickster and riding into town to spend a few days up over the saloon with LouLou and her girls.

You know that old myth about how saloon ladies like to dote and fuss over a loner lesbian cowgirl? That ain't so much a myth as it is a red hot truth.

It's a 5-hour ride to LouLou's, but as I've mentioned before, the time just flies by once you get your jeans seam sitting in the saddle just right.

Cannot wait to tell the ladies about the new cyberfriends Starr Ann and I have made. It amazes us to think what a short time we've been here.

I'll for sure be talking a blue streak about my new buddies at The 'Tude (hi, Hill, hi, Marie). You all know how many times I've raved here about that site. Hill's from Drippin' Texas, and I'm trying to work up the nerve to ask her to send out my Christmas cards from there this year. I truly covet the Drippin' postmark. Marie's a professor (like Jodie, except I'm almost positive Marie has NOT been 'doing the fandango' with Starr Ann) with a killer sense of humor and a big ol' attitude that she isn't afraid to share.

Throughout the weekend, I'll be keepin' a sharp lookout for Lori's ideal woman. You hang in there, Lori. I know it's an emergency. (Remember, Lori darlin', to keep up the fluids intake too. It'd be a shame if you were all weak and dehydrated once I find her for you). Bless Lori's heart, she has this notion of waiting, this time, for the girl of her dreams. Whatever.

And the ladies'll be fascinated to hear all about Cap'n Dyke. If you're ever out on the high seas, or high out on the seas, and you get hit by a gale force gust of female energy, that'd be Th'Cap'n. Starr Ann turned 4 shades of green this week when Me Fine Strappin' Cap'n (that's my own personal endearment, so please don't use it yourself) promoted me to Th'Mound. I am now Cap'n Dyke's Keeper o'SuperPowers. You'll find our lovely B'Moundin' Ceremony in the comments under Jodie's White Knight.

So, I'm off! Heh. And I be leavin' (dang, that pirate talk is catchin'). I mean, I'll be leaving for LouLou's in a few minutes.

Where's Starr Ann? It's her 'moon time' so she's off to one of her bunkers with a bottle of ibuprofen, my laptop, and an armload of questionable reading material. She'll be back to normal by Monday.

Don't worry, I'll still be posting. Whenever I stay at LouLou's, Angelique lets me use her laptop when her lap is busy elsewhere.

Plain English

My best friend Starr Ann (hi, Starr Ann) can pick the oddest times to decide I need a cussin' lesson.

Here we are, down in Louisiana to heckle the government goofs who've flocked down here to take a bow two years after Katrina hit. The Goof-in-Chief is even down here, acting all concerned and buddy buddy.

Anyway, we were looking around the French Quarter, and I got to tell you, it doesn't look half bad. Then we swung around a corner a few blocks away and, wham! We stumbled into block after block of ruin. I mean it. There are places that still look like a hurricane went through yesterday.

First thing out of my mouth was, "What a pile of suck!"

Jodie cocked her head, and Starr Ann just did that exasperated sigh she does when I try to use an expletive and it falls out completely wrong and stupid. Starr Ann proceeded to explain to Jodie that I have what Starr Ann refers to as a 'dyslexic form of Tourette's Syndrome.'

I really can't help myself. Sometimes, just to make Starr Ann proud, I'll come bursting through the door meaning to be foul-mouthed, and say something like, "Ass, I had a fucky day." Starr Ann is usually so patient, and she calmly explains all the reasoning and nuance behind the fact that "Fuck, I had a shitty day" would have worked so much better. You get the picture.

So now, Jodie and Starr Ann have got their hearts set on working together to cure me.

Good luck to them on that.

In other matters, Starr Ann struck up a conversation in a restaurant last night with this woman who turns out to be a teacher at the very same 'rebuilt elementary school' where Our Mighty Leader is doing his scripted photo op this afternoon. Starr Ann just about has this fine lady talked into pulling a nice surprise on his Edumacated Highness if he comes by her classroom. The plan is to, in front of the cameras, where they can't really refuse, have the Leader of the Free World take a little vocabulary test right along with a group of second-graders.

What a confidence booster it will be to those young people to be able to say they got higher test scores than a President of the United States.

Southbound

It's a darn good thing our northern border is securely anchored to Canada, what with all the heavyweight politicians killing themselves to get down to New Orleans over the next two days. Hey, hypocrites! Photo op in the Ninth Ward!

Well, somebody has to be there to heckle them, so Starr Ann, Jodie, and I are on our way.

Only hitch is, Starr Ann is PMSing. Send a good thought to Jodie and me, will you? I usually try to trick Starr Ann into spending most of her time in one of her underground shelters on these 'delcate days.' But the Katrina anniversary has taken away that option. Will the damage never stop?

Got my saddlebag laptop and lots of WiFi zones along the way, so no worries about keeping in touch. In fact, if you've been reading our blog you already know how I have raved about the liberal lefty site The 'Tude, right?

Well, in a lapse of judgment, the fine people who run that asylum asked me to join them. So I did. Craziest bunch of smart alecky straight people (hi, Glenda) I ever knew. We'll be smackin' down on FEMA, Brownie's heck of a job, Brownie's boss, and Gonzo's proposed replacement all day at The 'Tude today and tomorrow. Come on over there for a visit.

Gotta go. Starr Ann is scrounging in the saddlebags for more chocolate. Not a good sign.

Jodie's White Knight

Jodie Diamond had an edge in her voice when she called my cell early this morning.

She said, "Margo, can you get Starr Ann and ride over to my place right away?"

I said sure I could, and was there anything wrong?

Jodie said, "Not yet, but there's going to be! And when you get here, don't turn Oatmeal and Trickster out in the paddock with Amelia. I've got two clean stalls waiting for them with some nice alfalfa in the corners to keep them happy."

Starr Ann and I love a mystery, and all the way to Jodie's we tried to sort out what could possibly be up. Jodie had planned to spend yesterday working on her ambitious project aimed at recording an objective account of this horrific first decade of the twenty-first century. What could have happened in the course of a long day at her desk that would have Jodie sounding so exercised?

When we arrived, Jodie took us to the kitchen, put coffee in front of us, and laid it all out. Yesterday afternoon, our handsome neighbor Randy Sneed had knocked on Jodie's door. Randy apologized for taking so long to come over and introduce himself, then asked if she had a few minutes to talk.

Right off, Jodie didn't care for Randy. No big surprise. Randy's one of those guys who makes very direct eye contact when he talks to a woman - his eyes, her breasts. But Jodie was willing to let that little hobby of his pass, for the sake of not riling her new neighbor.

Pretty soon, Randy warmed to his true mission and started in warning Jodie about getting friendly with Starr Ann and me. He told Jodie there was no way a decent, fine looking woman like herelf, a professor for God's sake, could be expected to pick up on the unnatural life Starr Ann and I lead.

To hear Jodie tell it, she has newfound respect for her own powers of self-control after the way she held her tongue and just let Randy talk. Then she very sweetly told him she was pushing a deadline yesterday, but would he like to stop by this morning around ten and finish their chat. Apparently, this got Randy all puffed up and strutty, and he said he'd be happy to oblige.

Starr Ann and I got there about half an hour before Randy was due. And just as Jodie was bringing us up to speed on her plan, here comes a knock at the door. Wouldn't you know old Randy would be early. Starr Ann and I ducked into Jodie's bedroom real fast, so he wouldn't see us right away.

Holy moly! Randy had on so much cologne, our eyes were watering all the way back the hall in Jodie's room. We kept the door cracked and listened as Jodie said, "Randy, I...I...I forgot all about asking you over this...perhaps we could..."

That was Starr Ann's cue! I rumpled her hair up a little and she went striding down the hall, right into the living room, and put her arms around Jodie. Randy started sputtering and Starr Ann swivelled around like she hadn't known he was there.

Starr Ann said, real nice, "Well, good morning, Randolph."

"I'm Randy."

"I'm sure your are."

Randy was about to launch into orbit. As if it were any of his business, he started preaching to Jodie about all kinds of things. He was rather disjointed and I was just catching isolated words and phrases like 'going to hell,' 'need a good man,' and 'fucking dyke trash.'

Time for my appearance.

I rumpled my own hair and padded in from the bedroom. That shut him up. Then I crossed over to Starr Ann and Jodie and wiggled in between them, kissing Starr Ann on the cheek. Thinking, what the hell, never get an opportunity like this again, I wrapped my arms around Jodie and helped myself to an extraordinary kiss.

Randy stopped yelling.

I pulled back from Jodie a bit, blinked once at Randy, and started crying. And I had to take some license for the sake of good acting, so I shoved my face into Jodie's cleavage and sobbed hard, barely getting out a few pitiful pleas, like, "Why can't the world let us be happy?" and "Oh, Jodie, Starr Ann and I just want to be understood."

Randy backed out the door, quiet as could be, and rode out the lane as fast as his horse could carry his confused, sorry self.

When he was good and gone, Starr Ann suggested that I remove myself from Jodie's thigh. Oops, guess I was kinda frozen in place by all the drama.

We opened all the windows so Randy's cologne fumes wouldn't build up anywhere and trigger an explosion (that was, of course, Starr Ann's idea) and as soon as the air was breathable we put on another pot of coffee and had the best time imagining Randy going around to all the neighbors telling his big story.

As we rode away later, Jodie called after us, "Nice kiss, by the way, Margo."

I think Starr Ann might have met her match in Professor Jodie Diamond.

Sunday Observance

The nuns at the orphanage were always reaching for their rosary beads over how Starr Ann and I behaved. We were...difficult.

Religion just never took with us. We wanted to attain that feeling of holiness in Church that everybody seemed to get, but it simply wasn't there. Mass depressed us, we manufactured elaborate sins to tell in the confessional and, being at that age where farts and poop were funny, the word rectory sent us into hysterics. Okay, it still does.

But now that we're grown women, we understand the need for some way to experience spirituality. Starr Ann always said there was no shot we'd ever get that through righteousness or piety or by following any group's doctrines.

One night we camped out in the woods with a bottle of ouzo, a bag of green leafy stuff, a deluxe box of Hostess Twinkies, and the biggest bag of Nacho Doritos you ever saw in your life. That green leafy sure makes your taste buddies vacillate between wanting sweet and wanting salty, and we were totally prepared.

Here's what we came up with that night, religion-wise. Speaking strictly for the two of us, there are three states of grace: Wonderment over Nature. True empathy for another being (non-humans most definitely included). Happy sex (I already blogged about this one).

This Sunday Starr Ann and I have decided to pursue grace through wonderment. And we are focusing on the impossibly beautiful feat that Nature performs every time a foal is born.

If you ever need to cry from a place other than pain, sadness or rage, try witnessing the birth of a horse.

If you've ever seen a photo of a horse clearing a jump, you've seen the position nearly every equine assumes to enter this life - one foreleg extended farther than the other, head pushed forward and down to streamline and loosen the shoulders.

And then there's the face. Through the cloudy, slippery sack, the baby's unbreathing nostrils, relaxed mouth and closed eyes bear a trace of otherworldly expression. Maybe she's still saying her goodbyes to the ones she's leaving behind to travel here.

Then, when the mother gives that last push and the shoulders emerge slowly followed by the narrower hips just rushing out, everybody gets busy - breaking the sack open, pulling the baby clear, dodging her flailing front legs. Yeah, they usually come out alert and kicking.

Within the first hour, she's up tottering around, seeking anything to suck - the stall wall, your elbow, your shirttail, anything except what you keep trying to aim her at, the jackpot between the mare's hind legs. You're usually worn out from the drama and the effort, but you can't drag yourself away from that hundred pounds or so of life that fears nothing and expects everything to be interesting and wonderful. So you hang out for another hour, wearing a dumb grin and watching her bond with her mom.

For this Sunday's brush with grace, Starr Ann and I are going to think about foaling.



Here's wishing you your very own innocent way to sanctify the day.

Don't Drink The Polonium-210

Some people see the proverbial glass of water half full. When it comes to our federal government and other terrorists, my best friend Starr Ann (hi, Starr Ann) tends to not only see it seven-eighths empty, but she swears it probably isn’t even water. Bless her heart, she was checking everything for polonium-210 before checking for polonium-210 was cool.

The recent carnal festivities with Jodie Diamond have softened Starr Ann's vigilence a bit, though, and she actually approved when I told her that I'd been given the opportunity to do a Guest Post on a brand new lefty blog - The 'Tude.

Starr Ann would typically eschew such exposure on the grounds that in today's America, you have to watch your back and keep your profile low. I always follow Starr Ann’s instructions in these matters, as she is not only my best friend, but my Systems Administrator, Executrix, and Power-of-Attorney.

But The 'Tude is going to accomplish great things, and I was so honored to be asked, I actually accepted before consulting Starr Ann. We discussed it this morning between cartoons (who do Boris and Natasha remind you of? Come on, think!) and all is good.

We Won A Pissy!

My best friend Starr Ann and I are proud to receive this dubious extreme honor.

Starr Ann could not be present to accept, because she's spending the day rolling around like trash with Jodie Diamond. I speak for both of us when I say that she definitely got the better assignment here.

But I do want to thank Lori, the charming creator of Hahn at Home (and a budding fiction writer) for deeming us worthy of this here Pissy.

Being new to these parts of the Intertube, Starr Ann and I don't have five whole friends to pass the prize on to yet. But we'll be on sharp lookout.

Hang on, my cell is ringing.

It's Starr Ann. Using Jodie's phone. I type real fast, so I'm just going to stream her remarks for you. Here goes!

"Margo, this is unbelievably exciting...harder, Jodie...What? We won something? Is there money?...yes sweetheart, right there...An award? For what?...out just a little, darling...Margo, I gotta go. Say whatever comes to your mind."

There you have it - directly from a big puddle of Jodie-Starr Ann soup. Those two crazy kids! Once their brains are out, they'll be as communicative and lucid as ever, I'm sure.

So, once again, we will covet this as if it were worth more than it is.

Think I'll spend the afternoon cleaning tack and making the horses shine. Maybe get out my favorite saddle, the one I named Sigourney, and take a long ride.

We Weren't Trying To Be Nice - Part II

Here's one of those Republican fake cowgirls I was telling you about yesterday. Looks genuine, doesn't she?

So where was I? Oh, yeah, Starr Ann and I were in the middle of a delightful day at the County Fair doing everything we could think of to aggravate the conservatives. After getting ourselves accepted into a little 'cowgirl' clique known as Cowgirls United for National TraditionS, we proceeded to mess with their minds.

Later on in the afternoon, I was getting tired and hungry, so I said to Starr Ann, "That's enough for today, don't you think?"

Starr Ann wasn't nearly ready to quit. "What are you talking about? I think we should take them out drinking and whip their asses in pool."

"I'm starving, Starr Ann."

"Well, then, we'll get something to eat. What'll it take to persuade you to keep playing?"

I tried to look pensive before suggesting, "I'd really enjoy sleeping with Jodie."

"Forget it."

"Just once?"

"Absolutely not."

"Good, I'm taking that as a maybe."

So we went out drinking with the Cowgirls United for National TraditionS. Have you ever been in a bar full of straight Republicans? I don't recommend it. First thing we noticed was that all the ones in suits were really guys. It's true. And the girls' restroom? Full of only girls. I swear. Not people who identify as women, but strictly biologically female people. Conservatives have no detectable imaginations. And their music is crappy.

After a few drinks, I started watching this one woman who had those cruel-yet-kind brown eyes that drive me crazy and thighs that you just know could pin you in place until she was good and finished with you.

Starr Ann saw me looking and cruised past me, saying real low, "I've got ten dollars that say her last semen injection is less than 24 hours old."

That snapped me awake. We didn't stay much longer after that. Starr Ann put on a brief eightball clinic for the Cowgirls United for National TraditionS, relieving them of a bunch of their money and all their pride, and we decided to call it a night.

Not before slow-dancing together, though, and topping it off with a very nice kiss, just to make the Cowgirls United for National TraditionS uncomfortable.

On the way home, we decided it's no wonder those poor heavy-duty Christians are so invested in the next life. They simply are not making the most of this one.

Oh, and for anyone who thinks it's unfair to poke fun at the Republicans - get over it. Being right-wing in this country at this particular moment in history amounts to intellectual and moral failure. Unlike Nancy Pelosi and her gang, Starr Ann and I are taking nothing off the table.

We Weren't Trying To Be Nice - Part I

In 7 days we mark the second anniversary of Hurricane Katrina's devastating blow to New Orleans.
In 9 days we mark our unelected, incurious president's quick flyby of the ruins.
In 13 days we mark the moment the leader of the free world congratulated Brownie on doing a heck of a job.

Within hours of Hurricane Dean hitting the Yucatan Peninsula, Mexico's President Felipe Calderon cut short a summit meeting with his US and Canadian counterparts to rush to the aid of his people.

Yesterday, Starr Ann got so stirred up all over again about the Katrina Disgrace, she had to let off steam somehow. Around noon she said, "Margo, we need go taunt some Republicans."

That sounded good to me, but these days you can barely find two overt conservatives to rub against each other. Sorry about the imagery there.

Then Starr Ann had herself an idea. The County Fair! It’s County Fair Week here and that means the bunch of right-wing prisspots who call themselves Cowgirls United for National TraditionS are in town. We headed directly to the Fairgrounds and found this bunch of lovelies sitting outside the main rodeo barn.

Now, real cowgirls they ain’t. These Coulter followers don’t know a stifle from a hock, they pay others to muck their stalls, and they do not know that a horse is a 3-decade commitment and a lifelong love, not an investment to trade up on in a year or two.

So Starr Ann starts right in winning the hearts and minds of these Cowgirls United for National TraditionS by saying things like “Don’t you just know Jenna’s wedding dress is going to be amazing?” and “I really like these hot pink bows you’ve braided into your black stallion’s mane.” Starr Ann can be real sickening when she tries. And, girl, was she trying.

After about an hour hanging around those Barbie Cowgirls, Starr Ann had them believing we were with them all the way. So, as this one Cowgirl United for National TraditionS is about to ride out to the arena, she fluffs her hair and asks Starr Ann how she looks.

Starr Ann says, real enthused, “Your hair is perfection.” Then she acts kind of pained to have to add, “But those jeans make your butt look big.”

Well that little Republican fake cowgirl started whipping her hands around and twisting her head all crazy, like if she whirled around fast enough she might actually catch a glimpse of her own butt. Then they called her number and she had to ride out in front of all those people feeling like she was having a bad butt, yet good hair, day.

You’d think an incident like that would put Starr Ann out of favor. But no. Conservatives have a peculiar obedience to pecking order and when this girl came back to the barn she couldn’t quit following Starr Ann around. Since Starr Ann truly does have the cutest butt ever to peep out of chaps, she instantly became this girl's idol.

This is getting a bit long, so why don't I wait until tomorrow to tell you about the rest of our day tormenting the Cowgirls United for National TraditionS?

No Peek

Starr Ann and I played poker at Jodie Diamond's last night.

And we got to meet three of Jodie's friends. One woman was an engineer from Mexico, one a clerk at a Home Depot in Tennessee, and I didn't quite catch what it is that Pokey does.

Now, when the conversation turns to current events, Starr Ann's natural tendency to radical statements can make for some tense moments. But no need to worry about that with this bunch.

First hand, Pokey folded, saying, "I'm out, like a tourist fleeing a Category 5 hurricane."

Sabrina from Home Depot threw her cards in. "Yeah, I fold, like an advisor deserting a Category 5 presidency."

The engineer, who gave off definite Jodie-seeking vibes, laughed and raised the bet, saying, "Let's pump in some liquidity and see what happens, ladies."

You get the picture. And the banter rolled along innocently enough until somebody mentioned sky snoops. Of course, that put a burr under Starr Ann's saddle, and she just had to have every detail. I won't go into it all, but here's the story, in case you're interested in the fact that Homeland Security is about to create a new body — the National Applications Office — to vet requests from local law enforcement and federal civilian agencies to get unprecedented access to spy assets typically reserved for the intelligence community.

Yes, the most intrusive and destructive administration in history is about to give itself a new toy - domestic spying from space. Smile, Chemical George is watching! No matter where you are - in your garden, in your bed, at your dentist - Big Brother can watch, legally.

I thought Starr Ann would spit the bit and head for the horizon over that piece of news, but she just got real calm, like you never want to see Starr Ann get, and said, "Doubt they can penetrate the sensor-scrambling technology I've applied to all my underground shelters. I'll see your dollar, Pokey, and raise you fifty cents."

Well, that ended the poker game. Sabrina and Pokey started in grilling Starr Ann about her "hobby," while the engineer followed Jodie out to the kitchen. I passed the kitchen door just in time to hear Jodie telling the engineer, in effect, thanks but no thanks because her heart's currently in the able hands of a certain Fed-dodging, conspiracy-theorist cowgirl from just down the road. I could have hugged Jodie Diamond for that.

The night ended with a field trip to Starr Ann's nearest bunker. The ladies were impressed, to put it mildly. Starr Ann broke out a fresh deck of cards, along with some chips and salsa, and we played our poker like a bunch of free citizens transparent to government surveillance.

I won $2.25 and Starr Ann lost $1.50.

Fixin' What's Broke

My best friend Starr Ann (hi, Starr Ann) follows me all over the Net.

Far be it from Starr Ann to give the NSA a scrap of data to come after her with. As far as the Feds know, she has no online identity, she does not exist on paper, and needless to say but I will anyway for completion, she does not pay taxes.

So Starr Ann uses all my Internet accounts, has all my passwords, and is basically my Systems Administrator. She'd prefer that I follow her example and 'disappear,' but since I won't do that, she figures she might as well cruise the Net under the cloak of my identities.

Which brings me to my point. Starr Ann is all excited over a brand new self-proclaimed Lefty news source. It just went public today and it looks like a major winner.

It's called The 'Tude. Starr Ann found it this morning and this is the first time I've been able to get her away from my computer so I could post. Heh. Had to tell her I thought I heard Jodie Diamond's horse, Amelia, galloping up the lane.

Here comes Starr Ann! Gotta run. Go to The 'Tude. Go now!

Spanky, Spanky, Ben Bernanke

Starr Ann is evil.

As expected, she stayed at Jodie Diamond's last night. Then this morning, I'm minding my own business, checking the lay of the world, letting a few ideas for this post roll around in my head. You've heard - haven't you - that Shrub is "disappointed" in the Iraqi government? Seems they have failed to meet some political goals. Poor Maliki. Wonder how he'd look in a play-pretend flight suit? His advisors should dress him up in something daring and script a "Mission Accomplished" moment for him.

Anyway, as I'm drifting around the Net, marveling at the poignancy and power of Mother Earth's presence on many front pages - the huge knotted fist of Hurricane Dean poised to strike...somewhere...who knows...maybe just some islanders...but possibly our OIL RIGS - and bleak dispatches concerning not one, but two cave-ins, on opposite sides of Her body. In Utah and all the way over in Xintai, Mother Earth has violently protested our uninvited digging around in her entrails.

That's when my Live Chat pinged. Yay. Most visitors seem hesitant to chat. But it's a new toy for me, and it's fun (particularly since I'm sure it contains no lead paint).

So, it pinged me. And who do you think was there? A user by the nickname Ben Berninke. I was polite.

"Hi, Ben! Nice to meet you."
"morning margo." [5 smiley faces]
"Guess I'm not the only one who gets up early on Sundays, huh?"
"i've been up all night worrying about what the markets are going to do tomorrow." [1 sleepy face]
"Are you a big investor?"
"you could say that. mostly i'm worried about which corporate buddies i should kowtow to."

I was just about to unleash on him about subprime lending and the fact that as thousands of earnest people started losing their homes, there was no real help in sight for them. But the markets start heading south and...

I got another ping. Gosh, it was the first time I ever had two chats going at once.

"Hang on a minute, Ben. I just so happen to have a little algorithm you might find interesting."

The second chat nick was Arundhati. Now, I'm lucid enough to know it wasn't really HER. But these online identities play hell with the imagination. Associations are associations, and no matter how many times you tell yourself to picture a pale, pot-bellied guy with bad skin who smells like old beer, if the screen name says Arundhati, your brain forces you to picture an articulate, beautiful woman of heroic sensibility.

"Hi, Arundhati! What a sparkling morning!!!!!"
"Yes, beautiful. What are you wearing?"

Okay. I may be slow, but I'm not stupid. Starr Ann and Jodie Diamond were obviously taking a fuck break and decided to have a little fun with me.

"Oh my, Arundhati. I feel so inexplicably inclined to be perfectly honest with you."
"Then tell me."
"I'm wearing my best friend's tan chaps. The ones she has forbidden me to touch."

Both chat rooms slammed shut and I haven't heard a word since. Heh. If Jodie was all settled in for the morning, thinking they'd be going back to bed, she can forget it. Jodie Diamond is about to get her first lesson in Starr Ann's priorities. I'd better get going now. Gotta find those forbidden chaps and have them on when Ben and Arundhati get here.

Remember Saturdays?

Well. Wow!

After cartoons this morning, Starr Ann and I took coffee outside and watched the closing of some beautiful blue morning glories.

We hadn't checked the news yet. Didn't know the latest on the trapped Haitians, hadn't read any blog rants, weren't even aware of today's forecast. I told Starr Ann I felt like a slacker.

Starr Ann thought about that for a while and said, "Name some human behavior you consider endangered."

I wasn't quite sure what she meant and asked her to go first.

She said, "I think long attention spans are endangered."

Oh. I got it. "Okay, I'm gonna say guileless amusement."

"Naps with drool."

"Long walks where you end up lost."

"Sweet, hot, happy sex that has nothing to do with ego, status or possession."

I broke form and asked, "So, whatcha getting at, Starr Ann?"

Starr Ann finished her coffee, stood, and ran her fingertip over a half-curled-up morning glory. She said, "These are done for, you know. Different ones will open on this vine tomorrow morning, but the ones we've been sitting here having coffee with will be dead by tonight."

Suddenly, I couldn't take my eyes off the blossoms. Real quiet, I said, "I didn't realize."

Later on, Starr Ann got on her trusty steed Oatmeal and headed over to Jodie Diamond's place. Said not to wait up. I'd bet anything those two are about to do their part to rescue sweet, hot, happy sex from Starr Ann's endangered list.

Rachel Carson wrote: The more clearly we can focus our attention on the wonders and realities of the universe around us, the less taste we shall have for destruction.

Think I'll spend this lovely Saturday afternoon doing my part to rescue long attention spans from the brink of extinction.

Cowgirl Awe

Big storms here late yesterday. Weakened by heat and drought, lots of trees just threw themselves on the ground as soon as the wind picked up.

Starr Ann was saying she should ride over to Ms Jodie Diamond's place, since she's new to this part of the country, and check on her. No need. Right as Starr Ann was saying that, we heard boots on the porch and Jodie Diamond knocked at the front door. You should have seen Starr Ann's face.

To be accurate, it's Professor Jodie Diamond. Professor of American History on sabbatical from some university up in New England.

You wouldn't believe how much you can learn about a woman in the process of killing a bottle of Cuervo Gold. Jodie is our new idol. She left her job and bought that ranch so she'd have the time and a little quiet for recording the atrocities our country is committing around the globe. Recording them in a way that only a historian can.

I'll never forget one part of the conversation. Jodie said, "These cocksucking bastards are rewriting the facts AS THEY HAPPEN! And the bulk of this TV-watching, trans fat-avoiding, SUV-driving society slurp it up like it's the God's honest truth. So what in the fuck do you think the history books are going to read like in ten years?"

Main thing I'm thinking is Jodie doesn't talk like you'd expect a professor to.

Jodie continued. "You saving the rest of that tequila for a special occassion, Margo?"

"Um, sorry. No. Here you go."

Jodie continued again. "On the slim chance there's anything left of America - the America we loved - ten years from now, I'll be ready and waiting with a historical account that isn't overflowing with fear, bullshit and righteousness." She didn't wait for me to pour the next one, and after she threw it back she said, "God damn those motherfuckers for pissing all over my country!"

Jodie Diamond is our new idol.

Forgive Her, Father

Once Starr Ann starts having fun, you gotta just get out of her way. Like yesterday. When the local media began falling for her fake news stories, Starr Ann got obsessed.

First, like I already said, one of the local television stations actually broke Starr Ann's hot story about Alberto Gonzales fast-tracking execution by lethal ingestion of Mattel toys. I'll give them credit, the television people did check back to verify some of Starr Ann's facts before they aired the story.

When they called, Starr Ann got all excited and made me answer their questions while she went into the bathroom and screamed from inside the shower, "NOOOOO. NOT THE WATERBOARD!"

This lady reporter on the other end said, real sneaky-like, "What was that?"

"Oh, nothing," I said. "Now, like I was saying, Mr. Gonzales insists that lethal ingestion is much more humane than lethal injection. Think of it this way: needles scare people, toys are fun."

Starr Ann's other big success was with the small e-newsletter put out by the local archdiocese. She leaked to them a bulletin from Archbishop McConnell to the effect that the Catholic Church is initiating a new abortion policy. Starting immediately, the Church will issue Abortion Credits. Starr Ann, in her best Sylvia Poggioli accent, likened these to a cross between the long-gone Church practice of granting Indulgences and the modern environmental policy of emissions trading. She even got the guy at Kneeling Online to believe the Church would be accepting all major credit cards for Abortion Credit purchases.

And to be fair, the e-newsletter guy did try to do some verifying too. But when he asked to speak directly with the archbishop, Starr Ann said, in a real meaningful way, that he was busy with some troubled youth over in the rectory.

Slidey Saddles

Starr Ann never made it to Jodie Diamond's place. Seems she was riding along, with her jeans seam sitting just right, thinking about Ms. Diamond, and Oatmeal stopped short to pick at a green leafy he spotted. Saddle conditions being what they were, Starr Ann hydroplaned right over Oatmeal's head and ended up hugging a tree that happened to be wearing a poison ivy sweater.

Poor Starr Ann. She's covered in Calamine and calling in fake news tips. So far, one local station has actually reported that members of Karl Rove's family are leaving the country in fear of spending more time with him.

Right now she's emailing FOX with the hot lead that Alberto Gonzales wants to fast-track execution by lethal ingestion of Mattel toys on the grounds it's "more humane" and will be "less costly." For authenticity, she's also noting that pharmaceutical companies are fighting the measure.

Break In The Weather

...and yes! The girls have gone wild!

Back tomorrow with news of Starr Ann's trip.

al-Bush Chatter

Starr Ann didn't make it back yesterday and I'll admit I was worried there for a while. I mean, Ms. Jodie Diamond's place is just a twenty-minute ride from here. Make that seventeen or eighteen on Oatmeal.

After letting my mind cook up all kinds of trouble Starr Ann could have gotten herself into, I remembered the bridge. There's a bridge across a creek between here and the Diamond ranch. And although Starr Ann hasn't explicitly said it, I know her well enough to guess that she will not be crossing any bridges. Not in America. So, by my estimate, avoiding the creek crossing, the trip to Jodie Diamond's now takes three and a half hours.

Still, she shoulda been home early this morning. Unless she got word of unusual "chatter" from the terrorists in the White House. Then I heard the news. Terrorist Karl Rove is branching out to his so-called "family" cell. I'm sure Starr Ann took this as a call to mobilize.

Every time al-Bush makes a move like this, you can bet Starr Ann's going to disappear, and in a few days, somewhere in the Kentucky foothills, there'll be a brand new hollow tree stump that's actually a portal to a brand new underground shelter with a generator, enough non-perishable food and potable water to last 3 months, plus two vibrators with enough batteries to last 6 months (the girl has her priorities in a certain order).

A Little Look-see

My best friend Starr Ann doesn’t deal well with unsatisfied desire. Never has. She about drove me crazy yesterday, what with her barely talking most of the time (which, in Starr Ann, is not a good indication). Even when I did get a few words out of her, she’d lose the gist of what we were saying and re-route the whole thing back to our new neighbor woman.

I’m already so sick of the name Jodie Diamond I think I’m getting desensitized. Really desensitized - to the point that I didn’t get the radio turned down fast enough yesterday and accidentally heard Condi Rice’s voice and the usual wave of nausea failed to pass over me. Curse Jodie Diamond.

Anyway, early this morning Starr Ann tacked up Oatmeal, her swift trusty stallion, saying it’d be only neighborly to make sure Ms. Diamond was getting along okay.

Have I mentioned Oatmeal yet? Oatmeal is the fastest horse in the barn, but Starr Ann gave him that name and put it in big letters on a nice plaque on his stall door “in case Homeland Security comes and seizes our horses for their own use in a national emergency.” She figures they’ll pass right on by Oatmeal and take the ones with flashier names like Lightning Rod, Glory Hole, and Rock Hard Eleven. When I told Starr Ann she might be confusing the Feds with how the Yankees used to appropriate things during the discourtesies between the states, she just gave me that one look, kissed my cheek, and said she’d always protect me no matter what.

Hankering

My best friend Starr Ann and I were watching Saturday cartoons this morning when she sat forward on her end of the couch and put her bowl on the coffee table. And there was still plenty of cereal left in the bowl! If that fact doesn’t raise a bunch of red flags for you, then you just don’t know Starr Ann and you sure never saw her spoon her way through a box of Froot Loops.

Naturally, I was concerned. In fact, Starr Ann has caused nothing but worry lately. First, she disappeared for three days after hearing about Shrub commuting I Scatface Libby’s (remember him?) sentence. Soon as she got word of that she started in on how this just might set off the Big One. According to Starr Ann, there’s a platoon of rogue CIA operatives (led by beautiful ex-Agent Valerie Plame) who are planning a takeover of the White House. Starr Ann thought it would be best for her and me to go underground until the dust settled. I declined the invitation, and Starr Ann pouted a little bit, like she always does when I’m not paranoid enough for my own good. She got over it, though, and tacked up her trusty stallion, Oatmeal.

Long story short – she was gone for eight days. She showed back up on Thursday and I was so happy and relieved to be sitting there with her watching our cartoons like always, I guess I just didn’t notice there was something eating at her until she put that bowl down and her attention strayed from the TV right as Tweety Pie was about to set Sylvester’s uvula on fire.

Those big brown eyes of Starr Ann’s clouded up and she spilled the whole messy truth. She wants the new neighbor lady who just bought the spread two places over from here. Wants her bad. But if there’s any force stronger in my Starr Ann than the desire for a woman she’s got her heart set on, it’s her unshakable honor. And Starr Ann is absolutely convinced that the terrorists in the Oval Office have her near the top of some hate list and would target Ms. Jodie Diamond (that’s the new neighbor woman) if they got wind of Starr Ann and her “doing the fandango.”

Anyway, I think Starr Ann at least felt better after we talked it out, because she finished her Froot Loop sludge and got real interested when Road Runner came on. In fact, Starr Ann was wearing her Dalmatian PJs and from the corner of my eye I could see some of the dots moving on the front of her pajama bottoms. She paced herself perfectly, too. Her moment arrived just as Coyote accidentally ran over the edge of a cliff. And I tried not to hear, but I’m almost sure she called Jodie Diamond’s name at the very second Coyote splatted against the canyon floor.

Night Visit

My best friend Starr Ann climbed through the window and woke me up last night. She couldn't sleep for thinking about the Logo Presidential Forum we'd streamed earlier.

All while we watched - first Obama, then Edwards, followed by Kucinich, Gravel, Richardson (wonder if he thinks he was born Hispanic, or chose to be that'a way?) and finally the big cleanup by H. R. Clinton - the whole time Starr Ann kept shaking her head and saying, "Something just is NOT right."

First couple of times she said that, I got up and fiddled with the screen angle, thinking she meant she couldn't see it well.

That wasn't the problem. Problem, according to Starr Ann, was that she could feel herself discounting all the upstanding, forthright things Kucinich said as 'nice' but 'nobody cares' so let's move on to the beef. So about halfway through the forum, she calmed down and accepted this sad state of her own mind.

Then that headshaking started up again. Starr Ann said, "No, no, no. It's worse than that." She got quiet again for a while until smack dab in the middle of all us LGBTs getting Hillary'd, Starr Ann turns to me and says, real quiet, like you never want to hear Starr Ann sound, "Margo, we're just like the rest of this country full of K-Mart shoppers. Here we are, arguing our faces off over wanting the right to call ourselves married, practically begging these PROFESSIONAL POLITICIANS to invite, embrace, welcome us into the mainstream. Here we are, in this siloed studio, setting ourselves apart by ignoring all the broader stakes on the table right now, while we pin these suckers to the wall over what they're going to CALL our full rights under the law when we get them. We're setting ourselves apart while pleading to be included."

Starr Ann got up, kissed me on the cheek, took one more look at Hillary sitting there looking very at ease with the gays, and climbed halfway back out the window. Starr Ann paused to mention, "Coulda watched this whole thing and never guessed we're in the middle of a pre-emptive, imperialistic war. Blue Light Special on the LGBT aisle."