Archive | January, 2009


30 Jan

Do not even get me started on the Octuplet mom. Who already had 6 kids and was having FERTILITY TREATMENTS FOR MORE. Jim Bob and Michelle Duggar are the model for responsible family planning compared to this person .

And the doctor who agreed to implant 8 embryos into a woman who already had 6 children and just “see what would happen?” Should lose his license. Or barring that, should be required to adopt 14 children desperate for homes just so he can see what a household of 14 kids is like before he decides to shoot up another uterus chock-full o’ babies.



Dear Michelle Duggar

30 Jan

I’m sorry I had to miss you and Billy Bubba Jim  Bob on “The View “this week. I would have watched, but you know, I hate “The View.”

If I want to hear that level of intellectual discourse and reasoned conversation I can just open the bedroom window at 2 a.m. when one of the neighborhood stray cats is in heat. I named the strays  Barbara, Joy, Whoopi and Elisabeth, and occasionally yell out the window “What do you think of Obama?”

( BTW, Elisabeth the tabby is missing an ear from the time I told them “Sarah Palin’s totally qualified to be VP!”  And Sherri Shepherd, what are you doing there? You seem kind of cool.)

Anyway, I missed it.

But of course, thanks to the magic of YouTube, I can watch it. Michelle, you looked lovely. Usually you’re rocking that mullet hair in your denim jumpers, but apparently the heathen wardrobe and makeup department gave Cletus Ray Jim Bob some kind of sedative so he would allow you to be tarted up with the devil’s face paint and wear normal clothes. Even the mullet bangs were pulled back in a camouflage ploy.

Although, as I’m writing, I’m wondering if the mullet is the secret to your seductive pull over Jimmy Dean Jim Bob. Maybe with the mullet down, he might just attack you on the couch. It was probably for the best.

Michelle, you seem like such a nice person, and I love Jesus, too,  so I am not going to even get into the whole purity rings and dates with Daddy because I respect that. It seems like a bit of misfocused priorities. But I am sure if we sat down over some tater tot casserole, we’d have plenty to talk about. Unless you had to hop up suddenly and give birth.

But when you start talking about number 19, in the words of my dear friend Jane, I get a little stabby. Let me be really clear about this. YOU HAVE ENOUGH KIDS. I know God said to go forth and multiply. But even Israel had only 12 tribes. When you can not only field your own baseball team, but two teams plus managers, it’s enough.

You saying God obviously wants you to have more kids or you wouldn’t get pregnant is like me saying God obviously wants me to weigh 350 pounds or he wouldn’t have let someone invent Krispy Kremes.

Need to continue nurturing little ones? Volunteer at a children’s shelter. You and Johnny RayJim Bob are obviously bright, articulate people with a lot to offer. You don’t have to birth children to impact their lives. You don’t have to populate a community to make a difference in one.

Teach some classes in household organization to struggling single moms. Take those skills you all learned building your own house and go fix a senior’s roof. Just do something that doesn’t involve your uterus.


1-800-Vasectomy Now

Dear Facebook Friends…

26 Jan

Stop. Tagging. Me.

There are not 25 random facts about me that need to be on the Internet. But yet, I feel rude ignoring you.

OK, fine. Let’s get this over with.

1. I have pretty blue eyes, but when I was a freshman in high school, I was obsessed with getting green contacts because a stupid boy told me “you would be “really gorgeous if you had green eyes like Jacklyn Smith.” 

2. I say boy, but he was 24, and he stopped telling me anything when our youth minister’s wife told him I was 14. Which really annoyed me at the time.

3. KISS was my favorite band in junior high.

4. Then my mom went to a “listen to records backwards” seminar and decided that KISS stood for “Knights in Satan’s Service” and took all my records away.

5. Then I went through a stage where I thought Jesus only approved of Amy Grant, Sandi Patty, Michael W. Smith and *possibly* Petra.

6. I sang with Sandi Patty a couple of Easter Sundays ago when she came to our church, and she is a lovely woman.

7. I have “A  Morning Like This,” on my iPod.

8. Although now I also have Kanye West and The Cult on there, having gotten over my earlier concerns.

9. When I was a kid, I climbed out on a rock to see the tide pools, and then the tide came in and I was stranded out there.

10. My mom says her first thought was “my mother is going to kill me for moving to California and letting one of the kids drown.”

11. Fortunately, my dad was not paralyzed by thoughts of parental disapproval and just swam out to rescue me.

12. They are the coolest parents in the whole world. And yes, I even thought that as a teenager.

13. My dream job is doing the fake news on Saturday Night Live.

14. I told my mom  repeatedly that I was  not getting married or having kids.

15. I got married almost 20 years ago.

16. And the kids are 11 and 9.

17. I also said “we are not getting any more dogs.”

18. Then we got a JACK RUSSELL TERRIER PUPPY. Who may be the anti-Christ.

19. I am not making any additional blanket statements.

20. I was recklessly fearless as a kid, and used to terrorize my friend Wendy by walking across the rickety railing of a bridge that was a good 40 feet above a creek gorge at summer camp.

21. Jesus probably only spared me because I was humming Amy Grant tunes.

22. We were packing to leave the hospital with our infant daughter when her pediatrician thought she heard a “little murmur” and had us stay for an echo-cardiogram.

23. That “little murmur” turned out to be hypoplastic left heart syndrome. And in that moment, all the fear I hadn’t felt for 29 years hit me like a tsunami.

24. After 4 major heart surgeries, she’s thriving. And I am grateful every day.

25.  Before I die, I am definitely going to go zip-lining across the Costa-Rica rain forest and snow-shoeing in Canada.

Dear Silver-Shorts Cyclist

26 Jan

The weather’s getting beautiful here in South Texas. Just like the swallows return to Capistrano, the Lycra-clad return to the roadways.  And so there you were, stopped at the light, right next to the car window.

Good for you for seizing the day.  And for wearing a helmet. And for following traffic laws. I used to bike quite a bit myself, and I’m happy to share the road.

But I need to let you in on something.

Those shiny silver bike shorts? They’re conspiring against you, dude. Too small. A little sweaty. And obviously worn on quite a few rides.

And that, my two-wheeling friend, is the holy trinity of unholy transparency.

Repeat after me. Aerodynamic, good. See-through, bad. It makes for some hairy conversation with kids in the car. Speaking of hairy, it’s a quick pedal to Jeanette’s Salon in Stone Oak, and they have a *great* waxer there. You’ll be more aerodynamic.

Before you head out again, do yourself a favor. Put your shorts on.  Get them a little damp. Reach over and touch your toes and have someone take a picture from behind out in the midday sun. If you could then play connect-the-dots with your posterior pimples, it’s time for new shorts.


Bleaching my Eyes

Dear Internet

22 Jan

Could everyone please give a warm cyber-welcome to “Not Going Postal’s” newest reader,  my precious husband? At least a friendly wave?

He, of course, chose *yesterday* to decide he would go ahead and read this little blog thing that I’ve been writing.  Not on the day I wrote about the MLK March, mind you? Or penned a  hopeful post about our new president.

No, on the day that I professed my crush for a 9-fingered democrat *AND* may have told the world-wide-web of his previously private predilection for Ms. Samantha Brown.

Howdy, Cowboy

Howdy, Cowboy

Awesome, right? Welcome to the Blogosphere, honey.
Now, if y’all will excuse me, I apparently need to go shopping for a cowgirl outfit.

Hello, New Imaginary Boyfriend

21 Jan

Rahm Emmanuel

Bossy can have Barack O’Boyfriend, Rahm. I will take the guy who went to college on a ballet scholarship and grew up to be the baddest Nutcracker in politics. Only problem is, we can never break up because hello?  You mail dead fish to people who leave your team. I promise to never hum the Arby’s jingle when we argue.

But face it, the last 8 years have been a drought not only of  competence, but crush-worthy administration members.

Let’s review.




Mr. Burns



and of course….



I could go on, but  I’m already twitchy from seeing Karl Rove again, and I would rather focus on the possibilities of a new administration.

New policies, new hope, new dangerously hot chief of staff.  It’s going to be a great four eight years.



P.S. My husband surely won’t mind since he’s pretend-dating Samantha Brown from the Travel Channel. Just saying.

Good Morning, Possibilities

20 Jan
AP Photo

AP Photo

I welcome you, this Inaguration morning,  as Hope dances with History.

I watch as the sun rises on witnesses packed shoulder-to-shoulder, and a president-to-be ducks into a church to pray.

And I pray too, first for protection this day and all others that he serves. 

For wisdom and discernment, that he would listen to the right counsel.

For courage to make the hard choices that surely face him.

For humility in the face of hero worship.

 For patience, for the work ahead is surely long and will not be easy.

For gratitude for the amazing opportunity he has to be “the first.”

For his family, who joins his in this journey.

I pray, and prepare to celebrate.

And say “Good Morning, possibilities.”

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