"There are trees in the desert since you moved out."

Wait! Read here, then here, ok now you can read the rest of this.

Oh my lord. Martha is a ball of nervous energy. And her nap, all five minutes of it, she spent mumbling something about the way my dishes are stacked in the cabinet. She's been organize, organize, organize since the boat that she rowed arrived, and slung off her dark glasses and yellow raincoat in one sweeping graceful movement.

I petered out at 5 this morning, and awoke to her evoking the north wind and the archangel Michael in a protection ritual, oh yeah, she's a big time witch. How else do you think she amassed such a fortune selling her wares at K-mart, of all places. She brought some Araucanas with her. And let me tell you, those chickens aren't just used for there pretty blue eggs, there blood is of a particularly strong magical ilk, having a long South American association with Santaria, poor little things.

I drew the line at ritual disembowelment and blood letting though.

I told her, "Absolutely no blood letting in my house! The Divas are watching."

She argued, "Streisand always lets me blood let."

I reminded her that I'm a Bette Midler fan, and what Streisand allows has little baring on my life.

She's busy conjuring in my kitchen as we speak, in between lining the shelves with a roll of 18^th century Irish linen, that she just happened to have in her duffle bag. She sure has some strange priorities.

I replied, "What you divas do in your own houses is none of my business, besides I've recently been demoted from Diva to Princess because of my drifting to the dark side of the force, and RuPaul's book of queenly etiquette expressly states that for the status of Diva to be reinstated, a strict policy of non-bloodletting must be observed until such time as the Council of Divas has reviewed said membership."

She's stewing a bit right now, and mumbling under her breath about having to slum with me, and about me having actually read 'that bitch RuPaul's' book, as she refers to him. And that if we were not both sisters in the cult of Stilton she would so have already dropped my ass. I pretended I didn't hear, I know she's just stressed. She even tried bribing me with promises to make me a lovely chicken and avocado soup after the ritual, but I don't know, I find all the clucking peaceful, They give Mia something to chase too. Besides, I don't dare incur the wrath of the Diva's council, I mean look at poor Whitney, she wouldn't heed the councils warnings and now look at her-- stuck with that bastard husband of hers. Those divas are never kind with their curses.

She's pissed that all I have growing outside are roses, passion vines, and basil, all fine for love potions, but she needs some wicked strong protection spells going on. I slipped some passion flowers into her tea, herbal Valium you know, hopefully she will chill soon. Besides, I can't take her "I only sleep 3 hours a day:" much longer.