If A Duck Rode A Horse...

Of course, we've all been curious. Who among us cowgirls hasn't asked herself at one time or another: If a Duck rode a horse, what kind of horse would she ride and what would she name it?

Well, sometimes it take two blogs to mine life's intricacies. Extensive research and no small number of emails between Happy Hands Ranch and the exotically located Ducks of Happiness have led to an amazing breakthrough in the Horse of a Duck conundrum.

Meet Herbert the Horse, Duck's light purple stallion! Isn't he grand? Starr Ann and I cannot wait to introduce Oatmeal and Trickster to Herbert. He's different, but aren't we all.

And speaking of different, and in the same way we all are, if you haven't already treated yourself to Duck's offbeat, sometimes hilarious, sometimes poignant writing, you might want to saddle up right away and head over to her place.

Oh, and while you're there, be sure to welcome her to The Posse. Yep. Duck's another fine woman who's hot on the trail, and she's ridin' with us!

E is for Excellent

This is Blog Appreciation Week over at Bloggingham Palace and for some reason, Mimi honored us with one of her E is for Excellence awards. Well, we told her our E wouldn't be a silent one, and we meant it.

It's kinda like a meme award, because when you get it, you're supposed to pass it on by naming 10 blogs you think deserve an E for Excellence.

Well, Starr Ann challenged me to take things one step further. Starr Ann said wouldn't it be innerestin' to expand our bloggy horizons by picking 10 categories and then going out there and finding an Excellent blog within each one. So, that's what we're doing.

Here are our categories:

1. Horses
2. Astronomy
3. Sailing
4. Environmentalism
5. Physics
6. Flash Fiction (I think I already found this one)
7. A blog written from Iran
8. Running (human) (Heh)
9. A blog by a firefighter
10. Bartending

If anybody already knows an excellent blog on any of these themes, just shoot an email to: eforexcellence@gmail.com

Wish us luck! This might take a week or two.

Dancing Queen

I knew things were gonna get innerestin' last night when the first woman Starr Ann and I saw as we entered the bar was Siqala Du Chenne, president of our town's chapter of the Kentucky Society of Line Dancing Lesbians. Siqala's a looker, and to her credit she's never let the fact that she's the leader of a group of over 3,000 dancing lesbians, that wields tremendous lobbying power within the state government, go to her head. But even with all that going for her, the sight of Siqala still makes Starr Ann want to run in the opposite direction.

See, Starr Ann has this real alluring way about her when she dances. Walking up there, Starr Ann seems about like any other adorable cowgirl with a real cute butt peeping out of chaps that fit just right. Then, say they start playing Patsy Cline singing San Antonio Rose. Well, first Starr Ann gets to swaying all light and dreamy then the music just starts to noodle right through her body and before you know it hardly nobody can take their eyes off her. I know I sure can't.

Anyway, Siqala's life just won't be complete until she gets Starr Ann to join the Kentucky Society of Line Dancing Lesbians. Every time we run into Siqala, Starr Ann spends half the night thinking up new ways to decline without hurting Siqala's feelings.

So last night, Siqala tried a new tack that nearly worked. She just swooped in on us the minute we walked in the door, hooked her arm in Starr Ann's, and swooshed her off into the corner. About three minutes later, here comes Starr Ann over to tell me she'd agreed to learn a set of steps and dance with them. Seems Siqala gave Starr Ann some sob story about how they were real short on Line Dancing Lesbians that night, what with only about four hundred or so showing up. Siqala said the floor was gonna look positively deserted. Starr Ann said Siqala's voice broke real pitiful when she spoke of how it was gonna look like acres and acres of bare wood out there on that dance floor.

I found myself a table with a good view. No way was I gonna miss a second of watching Starr Ann dance according to a set pattern, fitting in with everybody else.

Siqala had Starr Ann over to the side, teaching her the moves they'd be using for the first song and I was getting comfortable, just about finished with my first drink, when somebody comes up right beside me, puts a fresh shot of tequila and a face down unopened envelope in front of me, and says, "Mind if I sit, Margo?"

I looked up to see Lori standing there holding a fancy schmancy glass of something, so I pulled out the chair beside me and said, "Heck, no, Lori. What in the world is that you're drinking?"

Tossing a careless glance at her glass, Lori said, "Russian River Pino, 2005."

"Dang, they're serving that here at the Velvet Tipper? Seems like just a couple months ago they got that extra tap for Coors Light."

"That would have been my second choice," Lori said, and nodded in the direction of Siqala and Starr Ann. "What's up with that?"

I looked over in time to see Starr Ann perfectly imitate one of Siqala's moves, which made Siqala smile big. "Siqala's finally done it. Talked Starr Ann into dancing with the Line Dancing Lesbians."

Lori settled in, took a discerning sip of whatever that was, and said, "Well, all I know is, it's always pure pleasure to watch Starr Ann dance." Then she tapped the envelope and said, "Came looking for you two on purpose tonight, thinking you'd want to read that right away."

I had to laugh when I saw it was a letter from Lane, to Starr Ann and me, but once again mistakenly addressed to Lori's address. "After all that girl's been through, you know, it makes me happy to see she still ends up doing such teenager things, like not being able to get the address right."

Since the dancing didn't seem to be getting ready to start very soon, I went ahead and opened the letter. Lori and I read it together. Here's what it said:

Hi Starr Ann, Hi Margo!

Well, this letter comes to you all the way from Walter Reed. Things have been crazy and I haven’t had a lot of time to write. Well, I’ve been writing, but not to anyone I know personal-like. I spent a whole bunch of time in the library here and found out that I like the Internet something fierce. I found this website on how to find your congressperson and senators and such and I wrote me a few letters about my holding pattern here. Talked about a few of the things I saw over there too. And, I told them about Jamila and how there wasn’t any need to take her so soon.

Well, that got me a call from the post judge advocate. Wanted to know why I didn’t go through the chain-of-command and got kinda’ annoyed with me. Heard from someone that it doesn’t make them look real good when they have to hear about something from the back end like that. I’ve heard story after story about things gone wrong here. Suicides and stuff. Not good.

So, I spent some time talking to a few folks who hadn’t planned on needing to talk to me. Brought up the fact that they’ve kept me here so long. My leg is as good as it’s going to get after four surgeries, so they started processing me for a military disability pension. Won’t never be running any more races, but I’ll still be able to ride my horse, so I guess that’s all that matters, huh? Could be a while before I hear. What they finally decided was that my PTSD can be treated on an out-patient basis and with some medication. Medication., my ass. I’m on medication for this and for that and for another thing. Apparently, I’m a little pissed off at them here and therapy isn’t doing much. They have me lined up to see a VA counselor when I get back.

Wait, I wasn’t going to tell you that yet. Yup, I get 30 days convalescent leave while they process my discharge and pension stuff, then I get sent home. I hear tell that if I get “lucky” and get 30% or more disability, I can go to college free – with a bad limp and a lot of pain, but free.

Wanted to run this by you two. Thought I’d hop a plane to Dallas and check in with the VA there and start that therapy. Maybe stay with Jamila’s family for a bit. I wrote to them too and they want to have me for a while. I figure if I spend some time there, maybe I can hear about Jamila when she was a kid and stuff and keep her alive in me a while longer. Would you guys be hurt if I did that instead of coming straight back?

Let me know. I miss and (gulp) love you guys.

Lane

Right as Lori and I finished reading, the music got louder and the Line Dancing Lesbians were lined up and moving. It was real nice to see them all stepping and swinging and twirling in time. And Starr Ann did real good. Nobody could have told she just learned the steps that very night. Another thing nobody could have told was the magic that usually happens when Starr Ann dances.

Lori tapped my arm and said, "What's wrong with Starr Ann? I usually get goosebumps watching her move."

I said, "I know," and we just kept on watching the dancers a while. Then I leaned over and said, "So, I think there's some real hopeful signs in Lane's letter."

Lori's eyes were still on Starr Ann, so I dropped the subject of Lane's letter and went back to watching the dancing. Then the song ended and Martina McBride's Independence Day started up. Starr Ann was in line, and started moving with everybody else, but that ain't a song about patriotism, and it has nothing to do with staying in line. By the time the first 'Let freedom ring' hit, Starr Ann had broken loose and the music was working its way through her. Before it was over, half the Line Dancing Lesbians were still going through their motions, but even they couldn't take their eyes off of Starr Ann. Told you. Once the music noodles through that girl, she's a sight to see.

After that dance, Starr Ann came over to the table to say hi to Lori. She spotted Lane's letter right away, and said all in a rush, "Lane! What's she got to say? Is she gonna be okay?"

With absolute confidence, Lori said, "That girl tames about as easy as you, Starr Ann. I'm thinking that's what's going to get her through."

I totally believe that.

I Made Starr Ann Do This

We got this from Frannie, who got it from Lori, who got it...ultimately from Wordle.

Working the Room

Our puppy Bates was limping a little bit last night, so Starr Ann and I thought it best to take him to the animal clinic this morning.

The clinic sits on the edge of our town's ghetto. Yep. Been there since right after the Second World War. You'd think the location would kinda dictate the clientele, but that's not the case. Some things are just more compelling than prejudice and fear of the unknown. One of those things, I guess, is the bond some people share with the animals in their lives.

So, here's this little animal hospital, that still uses typewriters to keep their records, that instead of allowing folks to make appointments they take patients on a first-come-first-serve (okay, I know the lesbian readership here's gonna have a field day with that, but it's the most accurate way of describing the clinic's system) basis, that no matter how early you get there you're prolly in for at least a two-hour wait (Starr Ann and I once waited over five hours, no lie) and the waiting room is always packed.

Why do so many people go there? Depends. Some, especially people from the neighborhood, bring their animals because it's the least expensive veterinary clinic around. But reasonable fees can't explain why people fly their fancy show dogs in from as far as New York. And cost is certainly not the reason Starr Ann and I load up our critters in the pickup truck and drive for a whole hour to wait all that time to see one of the vets. Speaking strictly for Starr Ann and myself, we go for the quality of care.

Anyway, we pulled into the parking lot around ten this morning, and the place was already mobbed. Had to ride around for about five minutes, just waiting for a parking spot to open up. Finally, this SUV's backup lights went on right when we were in position to slide in its spot. By the time we got parked, Bates was fit to be tied. That boy loves sitting in the waiting room with all the other people and animals. It's like he's the host of a big party, making eye contact with the owners until they trust him enough to let him sniff their dog or cat or snake or rabbit or you-name-it.

So, as we got out of the truck, Bates was all squirmy and squeaky. But Starr Ann and I took time to check out the bumper stickers we passed on the way to the door. As usual, there was an eclectic mix.

First one we spotted read: I’m So Old I Remember When America Made Things. Not too bad, considering some of the ones we've seen there. Starr Ann and I looked at each other and smiled cautiously.

Next one, slapped real haphazard onto the back window of a battered Oldsmobile, screamed the lovely sentiment: Celebrate Guantanamo! Uh-oh.

Moving on, we came to a neat little hybrid with a tiny sticker proclaiming: A Puppy Is for Life, Not Just for Christmas.

By that point, Bates was twisting so bad in Starr Ann's arms we had to speed up, just to keep him from straining something. I caught a few others as we zoomed past them: I'm a Survivor of Roe v Wade, One Nation Under Surveillance, Dick Cheney Shoots His Friends (I knew Starr Ann saw that one too, because she snickered), and Understanding Terrorists...one bullet at a time.

It looked like we were in for an innerestin' two or three hours, bottled up with the people who ushered those opinions around. For the record, our F150 has a turquoise sticker with brown lettering that says: Cowgirls Don't Take Directions. That's because it's true. Heh.

Well, we got signed in and since all the seats were full, we had to stand up at first, which was fine with us after that long ride. Bates immediately focused on the biggest dog in the room, one of the meatier Rottweilers we've ever seen. So Bates wiggles up to this guy, whose person was an eighty-something lady with shiny hair that wasn't exactly blue, but pretty close. The Rotty bellied out on the floor just in case Bates got cold feet, which he never would, and the two of them went nose to nose. Geronimo (the rot) and his lady (Kathy) were absolutely ga-ga over Bates, which played right into Bates' hand. Once he was like this with the biggest beast in the place, all the others were just a matter of a few tail wags and cute glances. Our boy Bates can really work a room.

Turned out Geronimo was in to have a little cyst on his back leg looked at. Across from Geronimo, there sat a tall slim boy holding a tiny pup. When Bates got to them the boy, who seemed pretty shy, said he lived over in Cliffsdale (which is a housing project a few blocks from the clinic) and he'd found the puppy on his way to the store last week. He'd been doing some jobs and saving up so he could pay to get the pup's shots.

Starr Ann went over and stooped down beside this kid so she could pet the puppy. "Whatcha calling him?"

"Jack, short for Jackpot."

Starr Ann patted Jack's head once more and came back over by me, since the kid seemed uncomfortable with the attention.

Over in the corner, there was this great big white guy holding an older brown poodle all wrapped up in a yellow blanket. I had the guy pegged as the most likely candidate for driving the Understand Terrorists...one bullet at a time car. I think Starr Ann did too, because she kinda kept Bates busy on the other side of the room, away from that guy. But then the first two seats to get vacant were right next to him, and it would've been a little obvious if we hadn't taken them, so we ended sitting right next to this big redneck-looking man who would most likely just as soon step on a couple of lesbians as look at 'em.

Bates continued to suck up all the attention in the waiting room, which kept the spotlight pretty much on Starr Ann and me too. So, people were asking us about Bates, and telling us all about their pets and things were rolling along pretty friendly and smooth.

Then, since that man was near us, some of the spotlight leaked over on him. Geronimo's lady asked, "What's your poodle's name?"

Well, you don't usually picture conservatives having soft, loving looks on their faces, but this guy just lit up as he looked down at his dog and re-situated the yellow blankie around her shoulders. He said, "Her name's Prancy, because when she was young, she could prance with the best of 'em." Then, just as unconcerned as anything, he bent forward and kissed Prancy on top of her brown curly head.

We spent the whole rest of the time before Bates got called back hearing about Prancy's condition. Seems she has this real complicated heart condition that needs close monitoring. Besides all the expense that Clay (how's that for a perfect redneck name?) has gone to for Prancy, he's put in an incredible amount of time bringing her to the vet twice a week, once for her treatment and once for a check to make sure her meds aren't harming her. When the technician came out to take Prancy back for her treatment, Clay kissed her head again right before handing her over.

Geronimo had been called back a few minutes before they took Prancy, so we got to see which car his lady, Kathy, got into. Ready for this? Kathy was the Celebrate Guantanamo driver. Tell you what, bumper stickers don't reveal half as much about the prejudices of others as they do about your own.

Bates is fine. They think he just twisted a hip muscle, so he's got anti-inflammatory pills and a muscle relaxer. Goes back for a re-check in two weeks, unless it looks like he's not improving. In that case, we're supposed to take him back right away.

Walking out to the truck, we saw Clay driving off, and there was Prancy's pretty little face right beneath his, between him and the steering wheel. We were right, by the way. Clay was the Understand Terrorists...one bullet at a time guy.

Once we were all settled in the truck and Bates had decided whether he wanted the window open or closed (open, of course), Starr Ann looked over at me and said, "You know, I always think of them as hating us because of who we love, and us being disgusted with them because of who they hate."

I nodded. "Yep. Gets murky when you have to realize they're capable of love too."

Starr Ann turned the engine over and sighed real big as she said, "Guess as long as we're seeing it in us and them terms, nothing's going to change much."

I had no illusions about how hard it was for Starr Ann to reach that conclusion. And I'm sure she'll be her old self and back to thinking up ways to torment Republicans real soon. But the shades of gray gained a little space in her spectrum today. Mine too.

Return of the Blue Blazebian!

My best friend Starr Ann (hi, Starr Ann) waltzed in late Sunday evening just as big as you please.

The brat didn't say one word about her bunker or what that algorithm of hers had spit out. She kissed Jodie hello and hugged me, then pointed to the mantelpiece clock and clapped her hands in a chop-chop way. "Whatsa problem here? Where's the laptop. Ya'll forget what night this is?"

Jodie said, "Computer?"

I said, "Forget what?"

Well, Starr Ann put her hands on the hips of her chaps (she had on the beige ones I named Creamy Dreamy) and gave us a disgusted look. "Let me give you a couple hints." She shook out her shoulders, took on this real cute muppet-like face and said, "I want you to have my finger babies."

If we'd have been on email or something, the capital letters would have been flying faster than two tops who've spotted the same lovely bottom headed for a heavy door that's gonna need opening.

But we happened to be functioning in real time, in person, in our living room, so Jodie and I just said, at the same time, "Oh Goddess! It's July 28th! Liz Feldman's new season starts today!" Dang, that was a phenomenally long string of words to say simultaneously. After hanging out together so much this week, Jodie and I are like this.

Anyway, the second season of Liz Feldman's vlog, This Just Out, starts today!

Endless Possibilities

Sometimes I just don't get Starr Ann. There she was a few days ago, all concerned about the fact that I've not posted about Jodie for a while and that Jodie and I seem to have drifted apart. Which, if you ask me, we haven't. But once Starr Ann gets an idea in her head, it's there to stay until she gets rid of it her own self, in her own way. So, I filled out Starr Ann's weird questionnaire (what the heck does my hottest, most recurring sexual fantasy have to do with this, anyway?) and she was supposed to use her homemade algorithm to run my 'data' and come up with the best possible way for Jodie and me to reconnect.

I handed Starr Ann the completed survey, and guess what she did? Without even glancing at my answers, she saddled up her trusty steed Oatmeal and rode off, saying, "Going to one of the bunkers to process this, Margo. Be back soon." That was three days ago.

That night, Jodie asked me over to her place for supper so we could try to figure out what kinda ordeal Starr Ann was going to come up with for us. Jodie's first guess was that Starr Ann would send us off on an extended camping trip. Maybe to Red River Gorge. That sounded real fun to me, so we stopped what we were doing, right in the middle of making the salads, to go check out the Gorge online. Pretty, isn't it?

Then, after another margarita or two, I started thinking that was way too predictable. Starr Ann would surely come up with something a little more subtle than that. Jodie said I was prolly right.

While Jodie and I were all caught up in Googling the Gorge, we started smelling something odd. Right at the same second, we both realized the odor was coming from the kitchen.

Jodie got to the stove first, and started stirring one pan all fast and furious. She said, real relieved, "We nearly scorched our white sauce."

For some reason, that sentence struck me way too funny. My side was killing me, and each time I almost recovered from the laughter, Jodie would make this wry face and repeat, "We nearly scorched our white sauce." Which sent me into another laughing fit.

During dinner, we made all kinds of plans about the camping trip. Then I remembered how, just about a month ago, some guy went missing in Red River Gorge. I told Jodie how Starr Ann had smirked while reading the newspaper article that said he was found about a week later right near where he'd originally camped, had to be identified through dental records, and all his valuables were missing. The smirky part came when Starr Ann quoted: Police do not suspect foul play. In other words, tourism brings in too much revenue to let one person's misfortune get in its way.

Jodie said, "I see your point, Margo. Starr Ann isn't about to let us go trekking off into someplace she deems dangerous."

So by dessert (Jodie had made her super special key lime pie) we were back at square one on figuring out Starr Ann's plan. Jodie threw her hand out, real frustrated like, and nearly knocked over her amaretto coffee.

I poured a little more liqueur into both our coffees and said, "We've gotta get into her head. Gotta think like Starr Ann."

Jodie cracked up. "Takes a brave woman to try a thing like that," she said, and raised her cup. "Here's to brave women."

I raised mine. "Brave women."

After a few minutes of silence, I offered, "Maybe she'll send us off on an exotic vacation somewhere. An Olivia cruise."

Jodie clasped her hands behind her neck and stared at the ceiling for about five seconds. Then she dismissed my idea with, "Hell, no. That'd leave all the chores on both ranches for Starr Ann to do all by herself. Plus, you know how nosy Starr Ann can be. No way is she about to send us off where she can't snoop around on whether we're re-bonding or not."

I said, "Point well taken. You can say that again."

Jodie quit squinting at the ceiling and focused on me. "You're getting tipsy, Margo."

"Not on your life. Not a snowball's chance."

Jodie smiled real knowing-like. "It was just an observation, not an accusation. More amaretto?"

"Yep, fill 'er up. Top me off."

The bottle seemed to be getting a little frisky, so Jodie handled it very deliberately. She spoke real slow and careful too. "You're definitely buzzed. I can tell because you're starting to speak in clichés. And you're reinforcing the first one with a second one."

"You're off the mark, Jodie. Totally out of the money, here."

I swear Jodie's starting to take on some of Starr Ann's mannerisms, because right then she did a fairly accurate version of that one smug smile that Starr Ann practically has a patent on.

So, we played strip Scrabble for a while, until it was way late. Finally, we decided Miss Algorithm wasn't going to show up that night.

"You might as well stay here tonight, Margo. Trickster and Amelia get along so well, and I'll bet they've already bedded down out there beside the hay roll."

I said, "Moon's up by now, and it's fairly large tonight. Let's take a moonlight walk to the pasture and surprise those two with some carrots."

Jodie was on her feet and getting the carrots before I even finished what I was saying.

Turned out, we didn't get moonlight. Nope. Cloud cover was so dense, we couldn't even pick out a glowing area to tell us where the moon was hiding.

We had climbed the fence and were taking care not to trip in the pasture, which tends to be rougher going than a plain old grassy field, on account of deep hoof prints. All of a sudden, Jodie put her hand on my arm to stop me, and we stood there very still for a few seconds. Our eyes began to adjust to the deep darkness, and we could see both horses lying flat out over by the hay roll, right where Jodie guessed they'd be. Lightning bug paparazzi flashed all around us, and off toward the south fence, we saw the silhouettes of about ten deer, heads to the ground, casually grazing. It was one of those moments where you feel like you're getting a glimpse of what lies underneath everything we call reality. I knew Jodie felt that way too when she took my hand and squeezed it nice and even.

Well, Amelia and Trickster didn't even bother to get up, so we stooped down and fed them their carrots right there on the ground. Lazy bums.

In the morning, with still no sign of Starr Ann, I stayed and helped Jodie do her morning chores then she came over to Happy Hands Ranch to do mine with me.

All through chores, all while we enjoyed a delicious lunch Jodie whipped up, all during a late-afternoon ride down to the big pond for a swim, and then even all through fixing supper that night, we came up with one hypothesis after another trying to guess what kinda plot Starr Ann's gonna come up with to help Jodie and me get close again.

Jodie's going to stay here tonight, because we're going to scour my hard drive for that algorithm. Try to beat Starr Ann to the punch. Heh. It's always good to stay one step ahead of Starr Ann when she gets all possessed with something like this.

Pocket Protector Days

My best friend Starr Ann (hi, Starr Ann) came walking toward the barn with that one look on her face and carrying a clipboard. Right away, I calculated whether I had any shot at getting out of Trickster's stall and through the back door without Starr Ann seeing me. It didn't take a genius to come up with odds of about 37 billion to one. Against me.

So I said, "Hey, Starr Ann, see you have the clipboard. This should be fun." Actually, when Starr Ann has the clipboard, you can say anything that comes to your head, because she isn't going to hear what you say, unless what you say has to do with whatever's on the clipboard.

Starr Ann grunted and took the pencil from behind her ear. "Printed out a few graphs, here, Margo. Found something innerestin' about your writing lately."

"My writing?"

"Yes. About The Chronicles."

And here, just to show off to myself how well I know Starr Ann, I said, "Corn cob holders shaped like Peruvian mice."

She nodded all serious and said, "Exactly."

See? Clipboard plus any subject other than what's on her clipboard equals transparent.

Anyway, I said, "So tell me your findings about The Chronicles."

Starr Ann braced the edge of her precious clipboard on her hip real cute and consulted the top sheet of paper as she reported, "I've graphed the number of times you mention Jodie against time and found a shocking drop-off in Jodie-related posts over the last few months."

Well, I couldn't hardly argue with that. "You know as well as I do, Starr Ann, that Jodie's been working her heart out on that book, being totally meticulous about documenting the Bush administration's atrocities here in the last months of the regime."

Well, she couldn't hardly argue with that. "I do know that. And I also know you've made it a point to stand back and give Jodie and me time alone whenever she does come up for air." Starr Ann flipped to the second page. "Here we have a histogram that clearly shows you've been doing that over roughly the same period of time as the Jodie-deficient posts."

All of a sudden it hit me. Lori Hahn. I said, "You saw yesterday where Lori posted her Spreadsheet of Moving, didn't you, Starr Ann?"

Starr Ann shifted to her other, non-clipboard hip and said, "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Well, that proved it. Lori's post definitely had everything to do with this, or else Starr Ann wouldn't have even heard what I said. Heh.

I went on, "You saw that spreadsheet and just couldn't stand it. What else have you got charted there in that stack of papers?"

She clapped the clipboard up close to her chest. "Nothing much. Now, Margo, what are we going to do about your estrangement from Jodie?"

"Estrangement?"

"What else would you call it? Can you even remember the last time you sat down to a meal with Jodie? The last time you put up fencing with her? The last time you saddled up Trickster and rode over to her house to see if she'd like to hop on Amelia and go for a ride? The last time you ganged up with her and made fun of me while I'm listening to music?"

"Stop right there, Starr Ann. We were not making fun. We were sharing how much we love you." Starr Ann didn't even hear that, because it had nothing to do with her printouts. Then I couldn't help myself. I said, "I sure do remember the last time I was all alone with Jodie in this barn. In the biblical sense."

Starr Ann smiled. "That was an anomalous data point that I had to exclude from my reports here. Believe me, I tried to work it into something, but like I said - anomalous."

Since I was just about finished grooming Trickster, I cut to the chase. "So, what do we have to do in response to your findings, Starr Ann."

"I'm glad you asked that, Margo."

I silently cursed Lori Hahn one more time for good measure. "Just tell me, and get it over with, Starr Ann."

Starr Ann pulled several bottom sheets free of her clipboard and repositioned them on the top. "All I need you to do is fill out these forms I've made up." She turned the board so the forms were face up from my perspective. "Answer from your gut, not your brain. And when you're finished, I'll apply your parameters to a little algorithm I've written. After that, I should be able to tell you what we're gonna do about this."

Lori Hahn and her dang Spreadsheet of Moving.

It could all be so easy

Find what you really care about,
And live a life that shows it.

--Kate Wolf


Check out Stacy Westfall, a woman who has done just what Kate was talking about.

Notice there's absolutely no tack on this horse.




Thanks to Joyce at Hapless Tigger for posting this so we could steal it.

Not Your Grandmother's Doilies

My best friend Starr Ann was born with her very own, fully-formed ideas about home décor. Her criteria? If it pleases her eye, she goes with it.

One time, when we were little, Starr Ann and I got in trouble for something. I think it had to do with a fake rattlesnake that accidentally got left under Sister Blissie Marie's pillow for her to find as she got into bed one night, but I'm not sure. Anyway, Starr Ann and I had to clean the convent living room, dining room, kitchen, and Sister Blissie's room - all before we could go outside and play.

We did the kitchen first, and were miserable the whole time. Then that single interior decorator gene of Starr Ann's kicked into action, and she decided we would not only clean the other rooms, but we were going to make them look better than they ever had before. Something inside me feared this would only buy us more housecleaning duty, but I just couldn't ruin her enthusiasm and send her back into drudge mood, so I kept quiet.

Well, Starr Ann took off and just poured her little heart into cleaning the rest of those rooms. In the living room, the nuns had this tall cherry table, where they always kept a fresh vase of flowers. Starr Ann had to pee, and since we were allowed to use the sisters' main bathroom while we were cleaning, that's where she went. When she was finished, Starr Ann (remember, she was real little) came out carrying a few sheets of pale pink toilet paper. She'd been sitting there doing her business, looking at that pastel pink, and got it into her head it'd look real nice on the polished cherry table, under the vase, like a doily.

Starr Ann put that toilet paper underneath the sisters' fancy flower vase and stepped back a couple steps to admire the color and texture combination she'd created. I didn't know what to do. She seemed so proud of what she'd done. And what harm was it going to do to leave it there? So I didn't say anything. Actually, I thought I'd have time to sneak back after we'd finished and just remove the toilet paper. No big deal.

Problem was, there was this one real mean nun, nothing like Sister Blissie, but real mean to everybody all the time. So Sister Mary Flagellate of Christ showed up not long after Starr Ann had added the toilet paper touch. Sister stood in the doorway scanning the room for any tiny piece of lint we might have missed, and then she saw it. The toilet paper.

"Which of you came up with this mockery?"

Of course, we both said we'd done it, and so we both got in trouble again, and were invited back for next week's cleaning, and the next, until we could learn to be more respectful.

Which brings me to what I intended to write about. Heh.

Most of our neighbors are real nice. But wouldn't you know, one of the ones who isn't so nice, one who isn't very tolerant of people who arrange their lives the tiniest bit differently than he does his, happens to live right next to our place. Now, that doesn't mean he lives real near, just that he's closer than anybody else.
Elrod's driveway runs right alongside the outside fence of our farthest pasture.

Elrod's a surgeon. Been married at least three times that we know of. Seems like a real material type of person. Doesn't have a lot of use for homosexuals. If he isn't a Republican, it's a real shame, because he sure is a big enough jerk to make a good one.

Well, nine whole months ago, Elrod started having a stone gate built at the entrance to his property. Two workers, at least, have been building this monstrosity for longer than it takes to build a house these days. It's this huge brick and iron fortress sitting out in the middle of nowhere, with an automatic gate that's got to be driving UPS and FedEx, who have to make about four trips up Elrod's drive every day, nuts.

So, up until last week, this thing was just something to laugh about. I swear, every time Starr Ann had to ride home that way and pass by the thing, I knew it because she'd come in the house shaking her head, saying, "That guy must sure feel the need to compensate for something."

Last week, though, things turned ugly. The workers topped several of the brick pinnacles with lights! Bright, polluting, unshaded lights that if you accidentally look directly at them you run inside to a mirror to make sure your eyes aren't squirting blood.

We've been livid. Yes, I said livid. And then I checked my spelling of the word livid, because if you look at it long enough, it starts seeming like there's no such word. But there is. Livid is a perfectly good word, and I even used it correctly.

Anyway, we've been livid over these lights.

And the worst part is that Starr Ann and I just aren't used to carrying around a lot of negativity, but I'm telling you, we've been full of bile over this.

Today, Starr Ann's been off visiting Miss Opal Mountain at the nursing facility, and on the way home this evening she's gonna have to pass by The Brightly Lit Eyesore. I've been trying real hard to figure out a way to keep her from just busting wide open over that thing again tonight. Then it hit me. Hard as it's gonna be, we've gotta find some way to understand Elrod, even a little bit. Only thing's gonna get us up out of all this ugliness is to claim an inch or two of common ground. I think I found about 16 square inches, as a matter of fact.

In our hallway, we have a tall table where we keep things we need to grab on the way outside, like our work gloves, a pocket knife, sunglasses, that kind of stuff. So, I put all that away and set a pretty vase of flowers there on a few squares of pink toilet paper.

Betcha anything Starr Ann gets the message.

Just In

Well, I guess this puts all Starr Ann's nonsense to rest. Frannie has now found 18 horses in the 15-horse picture.

Frannie Comes Through - Big Time

Well, it's not every day you can outwit Starr Ann. But with Frannie's (thanks, Frannie) help, I think we did it this time. Starr Ann claimed she had not only found all 14 of the hidden horses in that image, but had also found an extra one! I gave her until noon today to prove that claim, and guess what? That's right! Not a peep after that.

Meanwhile, I was sitting on a covert email message, with the unappealing subject field "Awesome Things About George Bush." Heh. Although Starr Ann, as not only my best friend (hi, Starr Ann), but my System Administrator, has full access to my email, she never even bothered to check that email. Chalk one up for Frannie.

Anyway, Starr Ann did not deliver proof of her own success in finding all those hidden horses, and it's past noon, so I'm posting Frannie's excellent work. Wouldn't you know it would take the eye of an artist to find 'em all!

Thanks, Frannie!

Starr Ann, you're so immature.

Optical Confusion

Starr Ann can be so immature sometime. Just now she came in all busy and blowing her bangs out of her eyes that one way, and she asked me to please find something a little more visually appealing to put above that terrible politician drawing.

So, I started checking around for a nice horse picture and found this one at a place called Planet Perplex. It's a site full of optical illusions. Prolly for kids, but Starr Ann and I got caught up in it for longer than I care to admit.

Anyway, that picture up there has seven horses hidden in it. I only see four. Starr Ann says she sees all seven, but refuses to point them out to me because she "doesn't want to spoil the joy of discovery" for me.

This one is supposed to have 14 horses.



I've found six. Guess how many Starr Ann says she found.

Starr Ann's so immature sometime.

Politicians Don't Kill, Voters Do

Life is so sweet. And lighthearted moments are the sweetest ones of all. Starr Ann and I are sometimes amazed at how easy, how important, how endangered true lightheartedness is today. That's why we take it where we can find it, and nurture it with laughter, humor, and hopefully, a little bit of grace.

But keeping the lightness alive also means not deluding ourselves. This is July 8. The Bush administration intends to attack, or at the very least, support an attack on Iran (a NUCLEAR power) before August is over. My friends, in six months, we'll be reading articles that will refer to this very month, day, moment, as part of the run-up to the Iran War.

You don't need our help with your search engine skills. Check it out. Here's just one journalistic alert:

The current tension among political observers as to whether the U.S. and/or Israel will undertake military action against Iran before president Bush leaves office has been greatly intensified by the prospect that Congress will pass a frightening resolution, HR 362, as early as this week.

We should be taking to the streets, but we aren't. Let's at least write, phone, and visit our representatives to let them know we aren't going to stand idly by for another war.

Surely, we're better than this.

Leaving Marks

You wouldn't believe what a good laugh we had the night all three of us - Starr Ann, Destiny Jane, and me - showed up at Destiny Jane's truck carrying water to pour under that tire, just to make sure Destiny Jane couldn't leave the next day.

Once we stopped laughing enough to talk, Starr Ann said, "Well, if this isn't about as rigged up as as a no-bid contract to service Iraq's oilfields."

Wiping laugh tears from my eyes, I said, "Starr Ann, you I suspected. But Destiny Jane, you flatter me no end, woman!"

Destiny Jane got this smile on her face that I'm starting to recognize means she's gonna try to say something funny to diffuse the fact she's a little bit embarrassed. "Just trying to keep the tire hydrated, Margo. Why, look at these other three." She walked all the way to the other side of her truck. "Poor things are drier'n the dust on a desert rat's sombrero." She kicked the front tire. "At high noon." She almost cracked up as she pretended to examine the rear tire. "In Tijuana."

Starr Ann swiped her finger along the third tire's tread and said, real sober, "During drought."

So we decided we might as well cut out the whole tire-watering step and figure out how long Destiny Jane could stay, given it was obvious none of us wanted her visit to end. Turns out, she had to be all the way over in Virginia in just one more day. Seems she was all set to start the dream job of her life - directing a non-profit horse rescue organization. Not exactly the kind of job I could feel anything but proud of her about.

Anyway, yesterday morning the three of us went down to the road, which drained off real nice once we stopped watering it, and fixed Destiny Jane's tire. It took about no time to do it. Just jack up the truck, change the tire, and Destiny Jane was good to go.

She tested things out by pulling the truck forward a few feet, well away from the sizable rut that was left after having a pickup stuck in it for several days, not to mention all the water we sloshed in it. She hopped out again, once the truck was in the clear, and we started our goodbyes. Lucky for us all, we're too smart to get overly emotional just because somebody we think we might love a lot has to leave for a perfectly good reason and it would be crazy to change around a bunch of lifelong dream plans over somebody you've known less than four days.

Last thing I said to Destiny Jane after she climbed back up behind the wheel and started her engine again, and we were both looking in her sideview mirror at the place where that tire had been stuck, last thing I said to Destiny Jane was, "Every time I see that hole, I'm going to think of you."

She said, "Perfection, Margo." Then she put her truck in gear and rattled off toward Virginia.

When Destiny Jane was out of sight, I said, "That had to be the stupidest exit line anybody ever came up with."

Starr Ann took my hand and started us for home. "It wasn't an exit line. An exit line is when she isn't coming back. Don't worry, Destiny Jane'll definitely be back."

A Novel Idea

My best friend Starr Ann (hi, Starr Ann) had herself an idea. Starr Ann says on Sundays we should start posting chapters of the book I finished last year - one chapter a week until we've posted the whole novel. So starting tomorrow, that's what we're going to do.

There are two reasons for Starr Ann's idea. First, there's just too much to do around the ranch in summer, and we have to buy time anywhere we can find it. Second, I'm working hard on a third novel, which leaves even less time for writing everything else.

But don't worry. If you just don't have the kinda time it'd take to read a whole chapter a week (and who does?), The Starr Ann Chronicles will still be here from Tuesday through Saturday. Approximately.

Clear As Chocolate Pudding

Any other time, if my best friend Starr Ann (hi, Starr Ann) went to all the trouble to dress for town, she'd stay there long enough to get her whole backlog of errands taken care of. Any other time, it'd get so late I'd start to wonder if everything was okay. Well, the morning Starr Ann and Jodie went to meet with Jodie's publisher and left me alone with Destiny Jane didn't turn out like usual.

Right about the time Destiny Jane made that nice comment where she kinda compared me to a piece of fruitcake made with bourbon whiskey, which gives it a little bite, just the way she likes it, here comes Starr Ann and Jodie riding back up, big as anything. So, instead of progressing back inside for a little while, just Destiny Jane and me, the four of us ended up taking a trail ride. All afternoon. Until suppertime.

I was feeling real smug though, thinking to myself the whole way that Destiny Jane was bound to take me up on the offer to sleep in my room. The farther out we got on that ride, the more I told myself a little anticipation never hurt anybody.

We were all half starved by the time we finally got home and got the horses squared away. Once we hit the kitchen, everybody jumped in on fixing supper like we'd been working together forever. Eventually, talk got around to Starr Ann's bunkers, and Destiny Jane seemed to be real innerested.

Then Starr Ann said, all casual, as if she wasn't doing the prurient equivalent of sliding a knife between my ribs, "Since the moon's fairly new, tonight'll be a good dark one for testing some equipment in my bunkers. Be happy to have your company and show them to you, Destiny, if that sounds inviting."

"Sounds about as inviting as flute music noodling down a holler in the green lighting right before a downpour."

Starr Ann slapped her leg and sealed the fate of my evening. "Then we'll head out soon as supper dishes are done."

Not long after they left, I filled up a bunch of water jugs and carried them down to where that truck of Destiny Jane's sits stuck in mud that was drying way too quick. Lucky for me, that bad tire was in a little dip that held moisture real well. It only took me two trips to soak things up bad enough to make it impossible to get a jack stable underneath there. Heh. Someday, Destiny Jane and I are gonna laugh about all this.

They didn't get back from the bunker run until way after it got light. And, of course, they were both so tired all they could do was fall dead asleep after I fed them breakfast.

Later on, Starr Ann was the first one up. She looked like a little cleaned-up kid walking into the barn all sharp and fresh, with her hair still slightly damp.

I said, "So did Destiny Jane like the shelters?"

Starr Ann smiled and said, "Does a ruby-throat like a trumpet vine?"

I had to shake my head. "You're starting to talk like Destiny Jane, you know that Starr Ann?"

Starr Ann tilted her head sideways. "I'm getting an Indiana accent?"

"No, silly. I mean all the analogical language."

Starr Ann tilted her head to the other side. "Margo, sometimes you make about as much sense as clothes on a cartoon character."

"You're telling me you haven't noticed anything about how Destiny Jane talks?"

"Well, sure. I hear a trace of Indiana accent, but it's not that much different from ours."

When she gets like that, there's just no place to go with Starr Ann, so I dropped the whole subject. "Okay, Starr Ann, then let me ask you this. Did Destiny Jane mention anything about how long she can afford to be stuck here?"

"Not a thing. Why?"

"Because, Starr Ann, I'd like nothing better than for it to rain real hard for about a week, to keep that truck right where it is, if you get my drift."

Starr Ann started nodding her head all of a sudden and she gave out a low whistle. "Dang, guess I've been as dense as an oil executive testifying before Congress about record profits." She kissed my cheek. "I'm real sorry."

By the time Destiny Jane woke up, Starr Ann had a real romantic dinner ready, and as she put it on the table, she made her excuses about leaving us alone. Said she was spending the night over at Jodie's and not to expect her home until late the next day.

As Destiny Jane and I started eating, I heard Starr Ann turn on the outside water spigot before she rode off. And when I checked later, all those jugs were missing.

Like Wet On Water

I went for a long, easy ride this morning, just letting Trickster meander wherever she wanted, picking up a couple of neighbor dogs along the way, getting lost in thoughts about nothing at all.

When we came up out of the woods over by that big beaver dam on Salt Creek, Trickster's ears flicked forward and she cut left, toward that old road everybody used to use for a bypass before it got too rutty. As we picked our way along the grass shoulder, I caught sight of the white top of a pickup truck just over the next rise. Juno, one of the neighbor dogs who'd been following us, took off trotting and got over the hill first. By the time I got up where I could see good, the woman beside the truck was sitting there having a real involved conversation with Juno. That struck me as awfully cute.

Riding up, I could see what the holdup was. I called out, "Hey, there," in my friendliest voice.

She just nodded once.

I took my hat off and pushed my bangs back. "Looks like you're stuck."

She stood and turned a little pirouette, picking her feet up all lively. "Nope, ain't any more stuck than a six-inch shovel in two inches of dry dirt." Then she looked down at her front tire. "Now, my truck's about as stuck as a full-grown hummingbird in a baby bullfrog's throat, if that's what you're talkin' about."

"Um, yeah, I meant your truck. Anyway, my name's Margo Moon. Happy to be of any help you might need."

Isn't it funny how sometimes a real irrelevant thought creeps in? All of a sudden it hit me that I've never really been intimate with a blonde before.

She looked back the road for a second, then turned her head and looked forward, kinda squinting her blue eyes in a way that reminded me of something or somebody I couldn't quite put my finger on. Then she offered her hand. "Destiny Jane Cavanaugh. Pleased to meet you."

I think I shook her hand too hard. And a little too fast. "Mighty pleased to meet you, Destiny Jane."

There's power in the ability to just stand there not saying anything and looking like you don't mind how long it takes for the next sentence to come out. I think Destiny Jane coulda been happy to wait all day, so I had to give in. I said, "Do you happen to have a spare tire?"

She smiled so bright, I knew the answer was going to be yes. She said, "Did Evel Knievel know how to pop a wheelie? Question is, do I have a jack."

Dang. I said, "Okay, do you have a jack?"

"About like a butterfly has a suitcase."

I took a deep, cleansing breath. "So, no?"

"You're a mighty perceptive little thing, Margo."

Who the heck was she calling little? We were the same height. Exactly. I said, "Well, I guess the only thing to do here is get you back to Happy Hands Ranch and see about fetching a jack that won't slip in all this mud. You hungry?"

There went that smile again. "Is cornbread for soppin'?"

Trickster stood nice and still while we got on, and somehow, without me even telling her, she knew it was time to go directly home.

When we got there, Starr Ann was out by the front gate, and I could see Jodie's horse, Amelia, in the paddock with Oatmeal. I waved big at Starr Ann from pretty far across the field, and seeing I had somebody with me, she waited for us to ride up.

I said, "Destiny Jane Cavanaugh, this is my best friend Starr Ann."

"Hi, Starr Ann."

Well, that kinda disappointed me, the way Destiny Jane greeted Starr Ann so normal.

We slid off Trickster and I explained the situation to Starr Ann. She told Destiny Jane, "Unless you're in a hurry, probably be best to wait until that mud hardens up before trying to jack your truck up. You're welcome to stay here for the night, and I bet things dry out by tomorrow."

Dusting off the seat of her pants, Destiny Jane said, "I'm no more hurried than a jackrabbit in two acres of carrots on a sunny day in July."

I thought the games were about to begin, but Starr Ann just said, "Perfect! Now let's go see what Jodie's cooking for breakfast."

Breakfast was real good. Jodie makes better hashbrowns than just about anybody in the world. Sitting around the table full of empty plates afterward, Jodie asked Destiny Jane how she happened to be driving along that old road anyway.

Destiny Jane rocked onto the back two legs of her chair and said, "Might as well ask how it happens that userid DestinyJane88green was already taken on Yahoo."

I could hardly believe Jodie nodded in complete agreement, and said, "Know what you mean."

A little while after we got the kitchen put back together, Jodie and Starr Ann announced they were heading out for a ten o'clock meeting downtown with Jodie's publisher. Starr Ann said, "Hate to rush off from such nice company, Destiny Jane, but we're already about as late as a pregnancy clause in a contract full of loopholes."

Destiny Jane said she knew how that was.

Destiny Jane and I were sitting in the porch swing watching Jodie and Starr Ann fade in the distance across the fields. She said, "So, are you spoken for, little Margo?"

"About as spoken for as a slice of fruitcake on a platter full of sugar cookies. And I'm as tall as you are."

Destiny Jane smiled real big and scootched over to my side of the swing some. "Well, just so happens I prefer fruitcake. And I bet ya'll make it with bourbon here in Kentucky, for that nice bite I like so much."

Right then, I started thinking that road prolly won't be dry by tomorrow. Might even take several days to get safe enough to jack up that truck.

They Walk Amongst Us

Nobody ever accused my best friend Starr Ann (hi, Starr Ann) of timidity. And I don't guess anybody ever will.

There's a Baptist convention in town! Yep, Starr Ann was talking to our neighbor earlier, our neighbor Andrew who waits on tables at TGI Friday's.

Andrew said, "Girlfriend, they're four-percentin' us to death! Just to death."

Starr Ann tried to cheer him up. "Well, they have to save up, Andrew. Can you imagine the gas money it's gonna take to get all those buses back to South Carolina? They might have to end up skimping on beer."

Then Andrew started reciting, in that real snippy tone of voice he can get, a bunch of phrases he caught as the Baptist people were picking their teeth after eating supper last night. Things like 'blasphemous same-sex marriage farce,' 'God hates fags and fag-enablers,' and 'Satanic sodomitical outrage masquerading as holy matrimony.'

Well, that was when Starr Ann stopped trying to put anybody, including herself, in a better mood. Right this minute, we're dressing up like Republicans. Us 'morans' are going downtown to mingle with the Baptist mental giants. Confuses the heck out of them when you look all Wal-Mart dressed, just like them, yet you say things like, "Hi, I'm a vegetarian who loves women, Praise the Lord! And you? I'm guessing carnivorous fornicator?"

Later, Starr Ann's gonna poll folks coming out of the convention center on whether they'd support a ban on opposite-sex marriage. She's willing to bet a month of doing the dishes that over 50% say yes. So far, nobody's taking her bet, especially not me, because I still recall what Starr Ann did to all those Christians from the "Be Not Deceived, God Is Not Mocked" festival two years ago.

Seeking Protection

Look at these legs. The front ones in particular.



I took that photo moments after 2007 Horse of the Year Curlin won the Stephen Foster Handicap on Saturday. It was a Herculean accomplishment. He carried at least 10 more pounds than any other horse in the race, and for most, he conceded 15 or more pounds. Watching Curlin's long, relaxed stride as he rolled past in the stretch, you'd have thought he was out for a romp in the park. He did it easy and he did it happy. And this half-ton boy did all that on those legs you see up there.

Starr Ann and I promised to stay on top of what the horse racing industry does to make breeding saner, racing safer, and life better for thoroughbred horses. So far, they're making all the right noises. Here's the latest:

Ban on Steroids, Toe Grabs Recormmended
Email Print RSS
by Blood-Horse Staff
Date Posted: June 17, 2008
Last Updated: June 17, 2008

The Thoroughbred Safety Committee announced June 17 that it is recommending the elimination of steroids in race training and racing, a ban on toe grabs, and a series of whip-related reforms, all aimed at improving safety and integrity in Thoroughbred racing.

You can click here to read the details.

Anyway, we aren't about to forget. And if these reforms fall by the side, or if the changes don't keep on coming, we're ready to turn up the volume. But one thing we won't do is turn our backs.

Curlin about 15 minutes before the race:



And right after being doused before going to the winner's circle:



And since this is a lesbian blog, we can't let some big boy have the whole post. Here's a pretty little girl who won the very next race, The Mint Julep Handicap. This champion filly is Dreaming of Anna. Now, what self-respecting lesbian has never dreamed of Anna?

Sometimes At Night

Do you know that wave that washes across you for no reason and it feels just like homesickness, only you’re at home? That happened to me last night.

So I went to Starr Ann’s room and stood in her doorway because Bates growled from somewhere in there and I just really wasn’t in the mood to get my foot bit.

All Starr Ann had to do was say, “Bates,” and he settled back in his bed. Then she said, “Everything okay, Margo?”

“Yeah. Just having the dark blue lonesomes.” That’s what Starr Ann and I always call it.

By the window light, I saw Starr Ann pull back the sheet. “Well, come on in here and let’s get all floaty.”

Once I was settled and we were both lying there looking out her window, Starr Ann said, “Don’t you just love those trees against the night sky?” Then she got real quiet so whatever I needed from her could filter up.

I said, “Tell me the first, prettiest thing that comes to your mind.”

“When two women are singing a duet, the smile on the face of the one who’s not singing at the moment.”

I nodded in the darkness. After another while, I asked Starr Ann to tell me something that never fails to crack her up.

She said, “The sound you made that time when we were little and you jumped off the high end of the porch holding that umbrella like a parachute.” Sure enough she cracked up. “And then you laid there in all that pain and figured it was probably that you were just too heavy for the umbrella, so you told me to try it since I was littler. And I actually did! And there we both were – laying there lucky we didn’t break something.”

“Tell me the first, saddest thing that comes to your mind.”

“When you cry.”

I smacked her arm real light. “It’s hard to make me cry.”

Starr Ann cranked her head in my direction some. “Margo, you cry at yard sales, for Goddess sake.”

“Yard sales are mighty sad.”

She got her head re-situated on the pillow, and I could tell she had that one smug look on her face.

“Tell me the first, best lines of poetry that come to your mind.”

Starr Ann recited:

I can’t believe your hands and mouth
Did all of that to me,
And they are so daily naked
For all the world to see.

“Tell me something fun I get to have tomorrow.”

The longer Starr Ann thought about it, the funner I knew it was going to be.

Finally, she said, “I’ll do my Elvis for you. I’ll do him singing Rock-a-hula Baby.” And she even gave me a preview. “Rock-a-hula, rock, rock-a-hula.”

I said, “Nobody loves me like you do, Starr Ann.”

It was too dark to see it, but I just know Starr Ann was smiling like the lady in a duet who’s not doing the singing at the moment.”

War On String May Be Unwinnable, Says Cat General

We've seen the prettily decorated generals testify before Congress. We've heard some of the right questions get asked. We've heard the lies and ambiguities that passed for their answers.

We've seen the bloated oil executives testify before Congress. We've heard some of the right questions get asked. We've heard the lies and distortions that ended up making them sound like victims of high oil prices.

The House Subcommittee on Commerce, Trade, and Consumer Protection, has scheduled several big names in thoroughbred racing to testify starting June 18 in a hearing called, “Breeding, Drugs, and Breakdowns: The State of Thoroughbred Horseracing and the Welfare of the Thoroughbred Racehorse.”

According to reports, a subcommittee statement said recent deaths “point to a persistent and widespread problem, raising significant questions about the sport and its governance.”

It sounds like they've summoned the right people and are going to ask a lot of the right questions. Maybe for once, they'll actually demand accurate answers.

Who knows, it might start a trend.



Whether you live in a horseracing state or not, a letter or email to your representative, urging real pressure and expressing concern for horse welfare, could help.

Click Your Way To Happiness

You know how we imagine technological change to go one certain way and sometimes it does, but sometimes it doesn't? Like how a long time ago, people thought cars would give way to tiny private helicopters. Or like how when you were little you thought they'd soon invent a pill that would make you miniature and whole families would be able to live in a single chest of drawers. Or how we believe any day now Google would have an olfactory option where you can search for, say, "brownies baking" to get a bunch of search results that when you click on them you'll enjoy the chocolatey scent of hot brownies?

I don't know. Maybe it's only Starr Ann and me who think that way. Because none of that's come true yet.

Anyway, something they have come up with, and I'm telling you, Starr Ann and I are as surprised as anybody about this, is a brand new, beta version, clickable orgasm. I know! What the heck!

So, this snappy new technology is being tested all month over at Hahn at Home. Just click the button you'll find at the top of Lori's blog. I've highlighted it here with a triangle, just in case you aren't familiar with its location. Heh.

Feel free to click all month. And not just for your own selfish pleasure. Clicking often will also help Lori finally beat out that Xeno blog that seems to get a load of votes every single solitary time Lori almost takes the lead.

You know how Starr Ann is. She's getting adventurous with her 'votes.' Right now, the evil thing is out with my laptop, clicking in various innerestin' WiFi spots around town. She's also threatening to double click later on and I've kinda dared her to try a right-click. We'll have to see what happens with that.

Me? I'm heading out to Best Buy for an optical mouse. Gonna hook it up to Starr Ann's computer later on and see if I can't rig up a little surprise for her.

Good luck. Happy clicking. And please come here to share any new features you discover with this beta version of ClickJoy by MycroSofter.

We Take Back What We Said Earlier

So, there was this man,


and he did a quite honorable thing.


When my best friend Starr Ann (hi, Starr Ann) and I were still at the orphanage, they brought this little boy to stay there. He was real cute, and real small for his age. Starr Ann was around twelve at the time, and I guess Jake was maybe four or five.

Anyway, Starr Ann was crazy about this child. She took him over right away and gave him the closest thing to a mother you can imagine. I always found it so sweet to see how Starr Ann and Jake got along.

Jake was forever falling out of some tree, wrecking his scooter, or being hit by a swing. Getting banged up was one of Jake's claims to fame. The other claim was that he was constantly talking about being a jockey someday.

Well, Starr Ann was pretty protective of that kid, and every time he got hurt she'd go pick him up and check him over real good, then worry like crazy that he had internal bleeding or something. One time, she heard in health class that when somebody hurts their head, besides making sure their pupils aren't out of sync, it's a good idea to ask them a question and see if they answer it the way they normally would. So, since Jake was never without a favorite jockey, that was Starr Ann's question for him. Whenever Jake got messed up, Starr Ann would grab him up (after carefully checking for broken bones) and rock him for a few minutes, then ask him, "Who's your favorite jockey." And he'd tell her his current favorite, which Starr Ann always knew, and then she could finally relax. Well, except for waiting for him to poop, so she could be sure he wasn't bleeding internally. But at least she could check head injury off her worry list.

Jake got adopted after only one year at the orphanage. The nuns frowned on letting kids keep in touch after they left us. Starr Ann grieved for a long, long time.

Still, after all this time, I don't mention Jake hardly at all. I'm just not up to seeing that one look Starr Ann gets on her face. But yesterday, after watching the Belmont, where Big Brown had an off day, and his jockey pulled him up coming off the final turn, regardless of what anybody might think of him, I kept thinking of Jake for some reason. And I could feel that Starr Ann was too. I just knew she was.

About an hour after the race, Starr Ann came walking by as I was folding some laundry. I rolled up a towel and bumped it across her head. "Hey, who's your favorite jockey."

The sun came out in Starr Ann's eyes. "Kent Desormeaux."

Well, at least I knew she didn't have any head injuries.

The Boobs Have It

My best friend Starr Ann (hi, Starr Ann) doesn't take no-class stupidity lightly. Well, she doesn't exactly take it hard, either. Here's an example of what I'm talking about.

She was surfing around the Internet (under cloak of my passwords, of course) and all of a sudden we hear her, all the way out in the kitchen, laughing that one way you really don't want to hear Starr Ann laugh. Jodie looked at me. I looked at Lane. Lane shrugged her shoulders.

I said to Jodie, "Lane hasn't seen Starr Ann in this particular shade of sardonic before."

Now, we're working real hard, all the while trying to make it look like we aren't working at all, on getting Lane to get even halfway innerested in something, anything. So, naturally, she didn't take the bait.

Jodie pursed her lips (I love when she does that) and said, "Well, Miss Lane, get ready, because in oh, I'd say about 20 seconds," Jodie took a fake look at her watch, "Starr Ann should be coming through that door with a great big load of some kind of bullshit."

Lane nodded real neutral.

In about 20 seconds, Starr Ann came walking through the door, carrying a copy of that picture up there. She showed it to Lane first. "These people have the honor of being connected with one of the best-going horses to come along in our lifetime, and look how they've decided to try and cheapen him."

Lane took a dismissive glance and handed the photo to Jodie, who didn't hold back one bit. "Fuck a frickin' duck upside down and sideways!"

If you think I didn't rush across the room to see for myself, you're wrong.

Starr Ann's eyes darted over at Lane. Still nothing.

So Starr Ann got this real casual swing to her voice and it all of a sudden sounded a whole lot more Southern than usual. "Tell you what, Margo, I think you and me oughta buy us a racehorse. Name her Boob Job. See if Hooters wants to pay us the big bucks for lettin' 'em sponsor her."

"You're right! I can just hear the race call now. '...and as they near the wire, it's Boob Job by a nose, no wait, that's not a nose...'"

Jodie said, "Then after she wins, '...now entering the winner's circle is Boob Job, a 3-year old gray filly out of Silicone...'"

Starr Ann's turn. "...by the two time Grade II winning sire Owl Eyes..."

Ouch! We all groaned at that. Well, Jodie and I groaned.

But the really bad lines crack Starr Ann up more than the good ones do and she was ready to roll. "Reminds me of those Hoof Hearted videos on youtube."

I said, "Huh?"

Jodie said, "Huh?"

"You never saw those? You gotta pronounce 'Hoof' like 'roof' and say 'Hoof Hearted' real fast."

Jodie said it out loud that way and just about peed in her pants. "...and it's Hoof Hearted by a nose..."

Then the miracle occurred. Lane asked, "And I suppose you're going to tell me Hoof Hearted has a come-from-behind running style?"

I doubt any of us has ever in our lives been so happy to hear such a silly, juvenile joke.

Tomorrow, we put Lane on yet another airplane. This one will be taking her back to Walter Reed Army Hospital (you know, the one at the heart of the not-so-distant neglect scandals) where they will subject her to their Warriors In Transition program.



Starr Ann, Jodie, and I have every reason to hope that Lane's wonderful, resilient, youthful, hopeful, healthy mind will whisper something like '...Hoof Hearted coming on from the rear...' or '...gray filly by Silicone...' right when she most needs a chuckle.

And just for the record? They haven't invented a level of base corporate sponsorship low enough to take one bit of class away from the likes of this exquisite creature.