Closing Shop

For the past ten years I’ve had the opportunity to meet people outside my little niche of the world. I want to avoid being the annoying guest who overstays her welcome, so I am closing shop.

Thanks to everyone for reading my post for the past ten years. You can contact me at this email address:

Native Texas Uterus

I am a uterus. I live in Texas. Never in the history of the state have I been the focus of this much attention. I am confused by all the attention as legislators have never indicated much interest in my owner’s welfare.

I am horrified by their misinformation about my function. The intelligence level of the legislators who are passing laws focused on my well-being is somewhere beneath that of a fruit fly. It is embarrassing to be the prime area of concern for this body of people.

The ignorance used to justify proposed legislation is staggering, but I do have a new respect for their creativity.

Most of the people determining what is best for me are men. I do not understand this at all. Men do not have a uterus, but their status as sperm donors must give them a false sense of entitlement.

Elevating my status to such a state of importance requires an attorney to determine my highest and best use. I am puzzled why the senators believe my owner and my doctor are not the best qualified to determine what happens within my boundaries.

There is not a sane woman in the nation who would move to Texas. I guess the Governor while promoting the business climate in Texas forgot that some of us uteri live within female business owners who could decide against relocation here.

I am going to call my friend, prostate. He may want to take some protective measures. The next election may bring a bunch of angry women making decisions about his owner.

Note: First posted in July of 2013 and proposed legislation has become more radical in 2021.

Texans without Electricity Yada Yada Yada

Let me begin by stating I have never worn sweats over pajamas to run errands, but on February 13, 2021 in Dallas, Texas I did. I have lived here long enough to know if weather forecasters mention snow, grocery store shelves resemble the fields after a locust invasion.

I felt a bit silly as snow predictions rarely materialize here, but who wants to go without coffee anytime, especially when the weather is awful.

It was a quick trip, and I did not see anyone I knew; one of the few advantages of the mask – total anonymity.

Back home while unloading the groceries, birds, hordes of them, began to swarm overhead zigzagging crazily and chirping. It was a creepy moment and I wondered if mother nature was giving them a heads up.

She was.

The next day we woke to a cold house, and no power. It would be the first of three days, that I wore insulated underwear under pajamas, under fleece lined sweats, under a heavy fleece lined bathrobe.

I’m here to tell you Dr. Zhivago’s romantic romp in an ice castle is total bull.

We made it the first day with sterno can soup and coffee huddled with the cat in a room with a propane heater, open window and carbon monoxide detector. I was thankful to have fully charged laptops and extra power banks for phones.

We were fortunate as we had rolling electricity after a day and a half. During that time, a mad dash to prepare hot food and coffee to put in a thermos occupied our time.

Rick Perry said, “Texans would be without electricity for longer than three days to keep the federal government out of their business,”

Rick did not waste one nano second to work for the federal government after his failure at Dancing with the Stars.

When Trump’s ship sank, Perry joined the board of LE GP, general partner of Energy Transfer.

I’d bet my last cup of coffee, on February 14, 2021, Rick Perry was not in a sub-zero home wearing insulated underwear under pajamas, under fleece lined sweats, under a heavy fleece lined bathrobe.

Rick Perry can go straight to hell.