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.
