Observations by Key Monroe~~Home of Right Opinions, Cynical Viewpoints, and TMI in Hefty Doses
|E-mail: keymonroe [at] alltel [dot] net

January 31, 2005

Painful Moments

We all have little audio triggers which are by far worse than fortified acrylic nails down an old school chalkboard, yes?

For me, it is typically a smoke detector style BEEP-BEEP-BEEP which comes out of an evil alarm clock, and it only drones louder and louder until it becomes a sanity-depriving shrill... unless the right button is pressed thereby quelling the beast.

I can find that button in my sleep, eyes shut, no prob. That is why the alarm is on Shrek's side of the bed. Yes, I will continue to rise an hour before the sun. This I must do. But I do not like it, and I never will, not even when I'm 65 and am looking at a $5 dollar savings on a 5:30am buffet. Screw it. I look forward to my retirement for a reason, and that ain't it.

I honestly wish I could enjoy early am, seriously, I do. But I don't.

However, even given my irrational hatred for my alarm clock, I have found an audio trigger which is nastier even than the overhearing of your roommate blow chunks.

It's the sugary-sweet, hallmark moment, cornball music that comes on at the end of Full House, when everyone is so tearfully SORRY that they were a selfish, spoiled brat, and the audience says AAAAAAAAAAWWWW!

Aaw, how emetic!

And yes, I do feel bitchy as hell for saying so, even as I coax my nauseated stomach down out of my throat.

(From now on, Nick goes OFF after 9.)

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posted by Key on 09:55 PM | Comments (2)
» gay sex* pic free links with: gay sex* pic free
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I Can Think of No Better Use...

...for an Acidbath than to post a couple of pics of my beloved pets.

Here's Miss Beautiful-and-I-know-it, allow me to rub my butt on you:

And here is my baby. The purrfect cat, loyal, affectionate, and cuddly, I've had this one since before Miss Priss was born:

I had to do it. I owed Zonk a furbelly pic.

While I admit that it pains my ass that these two critters can NOT seem to get along after three years of cohabitation, I still prefer cats. I love all animals, but I do have a soft spot for cats. Hey, they are painstakingly self-cleaning, throw a marble on the hardwood and they'll entertain you for hours, and they purr when you cuddle them.

How do ya beat that?

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posted by Key on 03:59 PM | Comments (10)

January 30, 2005

I'm Not Blocking You!

I've spent the day bummin' my bootay off, enjoying North Georgia's "ice day," so I just noticed that we have a Munuvian comment prob.

I want you here. Really I do, but comments are blacklisting urls for the moment. So iffin you want to leave one, you'll have to do so without your http: link.

Iffin you are ADAM however, you are clearly just beggin' for trouble. Either that, or you just miss dancing.

(Hey, he started it.)

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posted by Key on 12:00 AM | Comments (11)

January 28, 2005


A Panama City Beach tale, in which "girl code" was nonexistent.

It was my senior year of high school (1992), and the girls and I had decided it being our senior year, we would not be denied our spring breakage from our conservative homes.

My parents were the last to cave, a problem, since I had been chosen the designated driver. But I broke character long enough to inform them that they could let me go, meaning I'd leave at a decent hour and check in frequently, or they could refuse, meaning I'd sneak out and be back in a week.

To this day I can't believe that worked. (Of course, three months later our happy home would fall apart and I'd be out on the street anyway, but they did not know this at the time...)

Shrek (Mr. Key) and I had been dating for 5 months. And although I enjoyed the first three months sans exclusivity agreement, he was at this point onto me and had humbly requested that I discontinue my fave sport, that of picking up guys.

So off I go to Panama City Beach with the girls, where the odds of guys to gals this particular week would be something like 4 to 1.

Losing battle from day 1, yet I persevered. I was lifted off of my cooler at the Drivin n Cryin beach concert, swung in circles and thrown into the sand by quite the hunkster.

Yet when he moved in for a kiss, I flattened my hand over his face and turned my head. These were difficult days.

This pattern of drunken frustration continued until eventually, maybe three nights into partying heartily, I opted for a night of rest.

The heavily intoxicated girlfriends, still soaked from their impromptu jump in the pool, opted for a night out on the town, shouting their creed, "If you can dive, you can drive..."

Of course, I refused to give up the keys, so they reluctantly settled for the party going on on the beach outside the hotel, disgusted with me and my boring committed self. Meanwhile, I stripped down to a mini-tee and undies for a night of rest.

I must have slept two hours tops before I heard them stumble into the door and fumble with the room key. I rolled over; they'd figure it out eventually.

And they did. All seven of them. My three girlfriends brought back four guys. "We brought you a guy," they sang.


As graciously as my annoyed ass could convey, I communicated that I wanted these fellas to go back to their room. And, as graciously as their drunken asses could convey, they let me know that that was tough shit.

Now I may have been laughing at their goofy drunken asses, but it was a frustrating moment as my modesty prevented me from jumping out of bed and showing those fools the door. So I fortified myself under the covers, and hoped reason would return to my girls.

It didn't.

The most animated of the girlfriends grabbed the arm of one tall, blonde asshole and said, "She's the one I was telling you about. She wants you..."

"NO I..." Too late. He pounced. I wrestled. He got the hint, but not before a flash went off sometime during my struggle.

My "girlfriend" holding the camera cackled with laughter. "Gotcha!" she crowed.

The picture was everything she had hoped it would be. Me in bed, he reaching over me, my outstretched arms....to STOP him, to keep him at arm's length, but the camera didn't know that.

And so, girlfriend got the last laugh as I attempted to convey the humorous story to my then boyfriend, who was less than amused.

But I initially kept the picture to go with the tale. It was after all, part of the trip.

Post it? Can't. Husband finally bought the story, but he hated the pic. Heh.

It's long gone.

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posted by Key on 05:35 PM | Comments (12)

January 27, 2005

Be Careful When Driving Thru North Carolina

You wouldn't want to get into an accident.

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posted by Key on 09:58 PM | Comments (1)

First Snow


Thanks to the dropping temp, as well as posts like Queenie's, I've been thinking about snow, surfing photo albums and staring wistfully at the scant evidence that Georgia has indeed hosted a few flakes (of the frozen variety).

This is my baby's first snow. Yes, my now eight year old baby...

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posted by Key on 05:40 PM | Comments (3)


I am nothing like him!

Okay, we may share a few of the same personality quirks, but THIS TEST pegged me the same personality type.

Horrified, I killed the results and took it again. So the next time I got Hippie...Niice.

Clearly a mutant hybrid, I've included both descriptions below, striking that which I deny, and bolding that which is spot on.

You are a SEDL--Sober Emotional Destructive Leader. This makes you a Dictator.

You prefer to control situations, and lack of control makes you physically sick. You feel responsibility for everyone's welfare, and that you will be blamed when things go wrong. Things do go wrong, and you take it harder than you should.

You rely on the validation and support of others, but you have a secret distrust for people and distaste for their habits and weaknesses that make you keep your distance from them. This makes you very difficult to be with romantically. Still, a level-headed peacemaker can keep you balanced.

Despite your fierce temper and general hot-bloodedness, you have a soft spot for animals and a surprising passion for the arts. Sometimes you would almost rather live by your wits in the wilderness somewhere, if you could bring your books and your sketchbook.

You also have a strange, undeniable sexiness to you. You may go insane.

You are a SECF--Sober Emotional Constructive Follower. This makes you a Hippie.

You are passionate about your causes and steadfast in your commitments. Once you've made up your mind, no one can convince you otherwise. Your politics are left-leaning, and your lifestyle choices decidedly temperate and chaste.

You do tremendous work when focused, but usually you operate somewhat distracted. You blow hot and cold, and while you normally endeavor on the side of goodness and truth, you have a massive mean streak which is not to be taken lightly. You don't get mad, you get even.

Please don't get even with this web site.

(Don't forget to visit the other bloggers who have joined in on the reindeer games.)

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posted by Key on 03:41 PM | Comments (10)
» Moogies World links with: 20 Questions to a Better Personality

January 26, 2005

Osama Bin Flat-footed

Apparently I have something in common with Osama bin Laden.

Well, now, it's like this, as Marfan Syndrome is an equal opportunity syndrome, we can't exactly discriminate against evil, stinky men who seek to take over the world.

And, if anyone deserves a disfiguring curvature of the spine, that dusty goat tops the list. Something interesting, however, about this connective tissue disorder, is that after years of researchers simply assuring that the syndrome did not adversely affect intelligence, recent correlations have been drawn between the affliction and increased mental aptitude, some describing those affected as being "bright and charismatic." Yet, so far, this makes absolutely no sense from a biological standpoint. (No need to bow to my aptitude. I was given the "bullshitting" gene, the sans elastic skin, and the scoliosis. My cousin got the genius, and had he survived the condition, I'm sure he would have taken over the world.)

Other historical figures assumed to have had Marfan Syndrome include Julius Caesar, Charles de Gaulle, Sergei Rachmaninoff, Mary Queen of Scots, Abraham Lincoln, and violinist Nicolo Paganini.

Regarding, Osama, I have a plan. I'll set up shop in the dusty caves of the Middle East performing echocardiograms for the Marfan afflicted desert rats. When he shows, I'm 50 million richer... provided I survive of course.

(Incidentally, and as a tangent, can you think of anything you'd do for 50 million dollars that you wouldn't do for 25 million dollars? Sorry, I've been stuck on that...)

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posted by Key on 04:56 PM | Comments (6)

January 25, 2005

Pin the Info on the Techtard

Okay, as I continue to debate amongst myselves whether or not blogworld is ready for the contents of a certain letter, allow me take a moment to appeal to the tech savvy among you.

Here's the deal. Talent show tomorrow at school, Miss Priss wants to sing 1-2-3 by Nikki Cleary. Now. How much trouble is it to find, download and burn a karaoke version of this song?

Yes, by tomorrow morning. No, I don't want to hear any crap about procrastination. She's prepared to go acappella, but she wouldn't mind accompaniment.

Update: While we're sort of on the topic, I'd like to go ahead and TEST all of you on your NERD quotient. I will confess that I am a "Wannabe Nerd." And that's only because the makers of this test aren't familiar with the phrase "Self-proclaimed techtard."

Hat tip to Chabliz.

Update #2: Talent show a success. Miss Priss was sporting jeans, satin-trimmed button-down, white denim jacket, and gemstone studded beret. (And, yes, I did get up 30 minutes earlier to assist her in the coordination of said outfit...)

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posted by Key on 09:36 PM | Comments (6)

January 24, 2005

Moral Dilemma, No. 547

Many of you may remember from my haunting tale of the history of my abode, that the previous occupant of this house was a sick fuck vacated the premises due to an invite that he just couldn't turn down at yonder state prison.

That was four years ago.

Apparently he had had a live-in named Sandy.

So a couple of months ago, as I was sorting the snail mail, I happened upon an unexpected piece...a letter from an inmate. Previous owner to previous luvah.

Now. How could he be so fool as to not know that his ass had been forclosed upon? FOUR years ago? This I wonder. But for whatever reason, he sent the missive to this address for that woman.

Now. I agonized over the decision to be made. Knee-jerk? "Return to sender," and back in the box.

Well...Understand, it just hit me for the first time that maybe the only reason that we've enjoyed a peaceful, stalker and arsen free existence is because this psycho hasn't been made aware that this particulah address is under new management.

Great. And now I'm gonna tip him off?

I wasn't sure about that, so I tossed the letter aside and granted myself a week to decide.

A week passed, and I began to feel for the man who had sent a letter, yet had heard nothing in response. Stupid female emotions. Piss on them.

None-the-less, I decided to return the letter.

Of course, it had been a busy week, and mail had been sorted, divided, and carried off by multiple members o' household. Okay, so yeah, I kinda misplaced it. Hey, thought that counts, right? Right.

So, last week, and two months later, I stopped by the trusty mailbox for the perfunctory retrieval of junkmail. And amidst the brochures and direct marketing literature was something unusual...handwriting.

The same all caps, black felt penned scrawl that I had seen a few months before. (Perhaps I should check for a powdery residue.)

It looked identical. From same former occupant to same luvah Sandy.

Seeking exoneration, as I was still processing the guilt from misplacing the last opportunity to set this man straight, I wasted no time adding the words, "Return to sender - No longer at this address" on the face of the envelope and dropping it back into the box, with only the slightest twinge of anxiety. (If anyone has some asbestos laying around, I'll take it off your hands. Anything to make this cedar box less flammable.)

The moral dilemma, you ask? Ahh, well, today, as I was cleaning out my car, I happened upon the first letter, the misplaced letter...

Situation having been handled and this sucker being three months old, it's not going back. So uh... trash it? Oooopen it?? The letter continues to hover in my possession like a bad omen, yet I can't seem to shake it...or trash it.

A little help here?

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posted by Key on 11:55 PM | Comments (19)

Jammies With Feet

I need some.

So I'm a southern wimp. I don't give a shit.

I'm cold.

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posted by Key on 11:37 PM | Comments (5)

Hickey What?

I'm hesitant to post this, but since she's not old enough to read my blog, I'm gonna...

Mom (that's me, in the pick up line after school): How was your day honey?

Miss Priss: Fine. Guess what? Alicia's going to sing a song for the talent contest.

Mom [realizing MP is for some reason obsessed with this contest]: Really? Which one?

MP: I don't remember the name of it, but it was by the Hickey Dicks.

Mom [laughing only on the inside]: Honey, that doesn't sound right. Try again.

MP: Something like that. Anyway...

Mom [rudely interrupting during crucial part of story]: Wait. We gotta fix this one. Was it Dixie Chicks?

MP: Yeah, whatever. So...

Mom [refusing to let it go]: Honey, I just want to make sure that you are pronouncing it correctly in the future. This is important.

MP: Fine, yeah, it was the Dixie Chicks, okay?

Mom: Okay! Much better!

Jeez, I never thought I'd be so thrilled to hear my daughter articulate those two words.

Everything is indeed relative.

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posted by Key on 04:39 PM | Comments (3)
» Evilwhiteguy's Blog links with: Thank God I Don't Have A Daughter
» Evilwhiteguy's Blog links with: Thank God I Don't Have A Daughter

Frozen Key

Don't I live in Georgia?

Yeah, I thought so. It is EIGHTEEN friggin degrees outside. One. Eight.


After my coffee then...

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posted by Key on 09:23 AM | Comments (7)

January 21, 2005

He Lives!

Donnie the AWOL Bejus Pundit finally emailed me!

My kind and understanding reply to the overture was of course, "Where the hell have you been?! Blog brother abandonment!"

"On the road, Sis, big-time..." his reply.

Well, fine then. I say he's forgiven. Well, just as soon as he books his room for the Georgia Writer's Seminar.

Good to hear from you Donnie!

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posted by Key on 04:42 PM | Comments (7)

Zits and Wrinkles

Ideally, the blemishes subside around eighteen or so, and the wrinkles don't even start for another ten years.

Ten years of milky, flawless complexion, right? Right. Okay, so who did I piss off in a former life to have BOTH at 30?

(If I can get a name on that, I believe I'll sue for mental anguish.)

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posted by Key on 01:26 PM | Comments (12)

January 20, 2005

Girl Code

Last night, as I attempted to assist Miss Priss with her Spelling homework, she made every effort to distract me from seeing her task through to completion.

She wanted to talk about the spies who had installed software on our computer. She wanted to talk about her new career goal, which is to be a singer. (Last week it was horse vet.) Clearly though, she was not satisfied with mommy's short answers and decided to move on to another topic.

"Mommy, do you know what girl code is?"

Okay, I had to laugh. But that's only because in my cynical adult mind I was thinking, Yeah, I know what it is. In high school, it means all boyfriends are to be tossed aside for your girlfriend. In college, it means that your girlfriend has the right to then DATE all of these boyfriends. And after college, it means even less than that...

But I was curious what it meant to an eight year old. So amused, I played along, "No honey, I don't know. What is girl code?"

I knew she'd have a matter-of-fact answer, and she did, "You use the girl code when you like a boy."

"I see. How does it work?"

"Easy. You just tell your best friend that you like him, and then you get to be mean to him together."


I like her definition better.

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posted by Key on 02:34 PM | Comments (12)
» Gut Rumbles links with: they start early
» Velociworld links with: Spinning Like a Roscoe Machine

January 18, 2005

Cursed Be Their Names

More annoying than sand fleas, more toxic than fresh moonshine, is a network of butt-munching spy-spammers known as the Bull's Eye Network.

Who let them in, I know not. But I'm guessing in my daughter's haste to close a pop-up, they got her. Oh, and they hid. But I found the nasty infestation.

Once discovered, this nuisance only pretends to uninstall, and even then, the pretense is bought only through a tedious process saturated with trickery and questionnaires.

This, friends, is the reason I was down for three days. This Bull's Eye crap (all 5 megs of it) crashed Internet Explorer. Crashed. Burned. Gone.

Upgraded Explorer. Crashed. Burned. Gone.

I needed to download Ad Aware and a new browser. But that's kinda hard to do when ya CAN'T GET ONLINE!

This is seriously cramping my techtarded style.

So I squashed the bug to the best of my ability, recovered the dial-up connection, and resurrected Outlook. Tech support emailed Netscape to me, and so, here I be, pissy but present.

I just need two things: Access to the Bull's Eye Shit Headquartahs and a bazooka.

I feel violated. Seriously.

And I've picked up these disturbing fantasies. Remember the glutton in the movie Seven? Well, put a spammer in his place, and change the menu from spaghetti to Spam.

Yeah, that's where I am with this.

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posted by Key on 11:46 PM | Comments (22)
» Straight White Guy links with: Technology...
» the rantings of a homicidalManiak links with: Kill 'em all!

Ode to Man, Velociman

Many thanks to my favorite cunning linguist for keeping the place company while my antique computer spent the weekend wrestling with my bumkuntry dial-up service.

Apparently, my browser and my modem are not speaking.

I am at work at the moment, but I will go home again tonight and attempt to play matchmaker. Perhaps even download a browser (gasp) other than Explorer. (Note to tech-baby: call Momma when you get back into town.)

Disclaimer: Can you guys tell that I spent much of my offline weekend watching the Bondathon on Encore? Clever phrase above ripped from Tomorrow Never Dies, Moneypenny to Bond: You always were a cunning linguist, James.

Heh, that just never gets old.

Well, not to me anyway...

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posted by Key on 04:39 PM | Comments (8)

January 17, 2005

Magic Balls

Key's internet access is down, and I hate to see a blogsite collect cobwebs, so I thought I would freshify things until her return. And out of respect I will put up a rarity for me, a post that does not involve forest defecation. Lookit:

When I was six or seven I went on a camping trip with a boy's club group of some affiliation or other. I forget, who, exactly, but my Sunday School teacher was a chaperone, and he was a kindly sort, so I went along. The campsite was great. It was somewhere between Blitchton, Georgia and Stilson, Georgia. A bend in a creek canopied with old growth forest, boughs of great girth sweeping majestically over the water. There was river, slow, somnolent. There was no sunlight, other than sporadic rays filtered through the leaves. It was a magnificent environment for young boys to whoop it up.

After venturing down the dirt road we found some open space. Dirt flats between the sand hills (this was, and is, sand hill country). Here we played Capture the Flag for several hours, and returned to the campsite, exhausted, sweaty, and sandfly-bitten for weiners over the campfire, and some highly effective ghost stories. Bliss.

The next day we cane-pole fished for bream and perch. The catch was plentiful, but none were keepers. No problem. We had weiners. In the afternoon a friend and I set forth in exploration, to divine the secrets of this primordial realm. We were perhaps a mile deep into the woods, following the creek, when I came upon a remarkable sight: a strangely configured pile of odd, luminescent balls, arranged in an indecipherable pattern.

"What do you think they are?" I asked. "I dunno," he said. "But they're real strange."

I thought these might be eggs of some sort, and could spawn duck-billed platypuses, or walking catfish, or something even more exotic (dinosaurs, perhaps). They seemed alive. I scooped up a handful, and carefully cradled them in my hands. "We have to go tell Mr. Kaufman!" I said. "He'll know what they are!"

We hied it back down the river path, ass over elbows, the long mile back to camp. When we arrived, breathless, I proffered my prize to Mr. Kaufman. "Look what I found!" I said. "What do you think they are?" Mr. Kaufman adjusted his horn-rimmed glasses, peered at the rather slimy specimens in my hand, and quietly said "Deer poop. Son, you have deer poop in your hands."

So, okay, I lied in that second sentence. But in my defense I will state that I, frankly, don't seem to have much else to talk about.

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posted by Velociman on 07:20 PM | Comments (7)

January 14, 2005

Magic Beans

Don't ya hate it when your kid pulls a bag of shredded cheese off of the counter?...upside down.

Don't ya hate it ten times worse when YOU do that? Heh. Yeah, I'd never done that either until yesterday. So there I was, walking and talking, and simultaneously littering the floor with a trail of monterey and cheddar...

That is but ONE example of some of the stupid shit I did yesterday while under the influence of that scribed yellow pill, that which was intended as a mild muscle relaxer, yet was actually the closest thing to tequila in a capsule that I've ever encountered.

I was drunk. Undrivably, untalkably drunk. Yes, someone attempted to call me. Too bad I answered the phone upside down.

No shit.

I figured it was a bad connection and hung up. Well, I eventually hung up. I had to find the side of the phone that had the buttons on it first.

If that was you, I apologize.

Is cool now.

(Magic beans to go on the market shortly. And, of course, the law abiding citizens among you know that I'm kidding. The rest of you know where to find me.)

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posted by Key on 11:04 PM | Comments (3)

Smallpox Vaccine Anyone?

This worries me, people. I've wondered why the fear isn't in the news daily, in conversations, basically I'm surprised it hasn't evolved into full-blown panic...not that that would accomplish anything.

I've always been aware of disease in general. As a child, I viewed adolescent diabetes as a fate worse than death. After all, what is a life without junkfood?

Then I got older and learned about some of the contagious diseases that I was immunized against. And I learned about the scar my mother has from her smallpox vaccination.

"Why didn't I get one of those?" I asked. "You don't need one. That disease isn't around anymore."

Uh-huh. I never bought that. I always knew somebody somewhere had to have it, and I wanted my damn shot.

Then I got older and realized how nasty this stuff is, and I wanted my damn shot.

Then rumors began to spread of countries harboring the illness in labs, and I wanted my damn shot.

I think some people are under the illusion that if you survive smallpox - big if - you can go on to lead a normal life.

I met someone who survived it.

There was an elderly couple who sat behind us at the Georgia games last year. She was a smallpox survivor. This photo depicts the disfiguring aspect of the illness. I had always thought that if you beat smallpox, you healed, or for the most part anyway. I was wrong. She looks exactly like the boy in that photo.

It isn't enough that she had to endure near death pain and torturous illness, she has had to go the duration of her life with these disfiguring scars. And I am being kind by saying so little about it. It is truly a shocking site to behold. I can not begin to imagine what she went through.

I'm not trying to be an alarmist. I'm just saying. What's with that false sense of security we had going on in the 70s? I can't imagine why that vaccine didn't remain in rotation with the MMR and others which we continue as routine.

Spilt milk, I know. And we fought the battle before. And plans are underway to prepare, should we need to fight it again.

According to this site, the United States is negotiating for the manufacture of 300 million vaccines, enough to treat our entire population. 54 million are estimated to be complete by next summer. But the information feels outdated (if not forgotten), and at this rate, it could be a while.

Conclusion? Here it goes: This is one uncomfortable window. So basically, I'm left wondering, first, if anyone else is freaked out about this, and second, if anyone else has any words of comfort.

If not, make something up.

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posted by Key on 05:56 PM | Comments (15)

Ode to Kelley

Kelley my friend, Kelley my dahling is leaving purgatory blogworld, and I am already feeling the loneliness given the void.

So, in my whiny despair, I have decided to reach out by song, and this is in a strictly platonic way mind you, as she and I have agreed not to become lesbian luvahs until our next lives:

Kelley my darling, you are my sunshine;
When we're together I feel fine.
Your smile is so lovely; your hair is so clean;
You make me feel that the whole world is mine.
Kelley, Kelley, Kelley, Kelley, Kelley, Kelley, Kelley, Kelley,
Kelley, Kelley, Kelley, Kelley, K-E-L-L-E-Y ...
Why? Because you're

Kelley, Kelley, Kelley, Kelley, Kelley, Kelley, Kelley,
Kelley, Kelley, Kelley, Kelley, Kelley,
Kelley of mine!

Mine, Mine, Mine, Mine, Mine, Mine, Mine, Mine,
Mine, Mine, Mine, Mine, Mine, Mine, Mine, Mine,
... Mine!

Source: Cheers, edited for spelling accuracy

(Heh, I love that song. Eric, you gotta do honors of singing that one to Kel at the meet!)

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posted by Key on 12:37 PM | Comments (6)

January 13, 2005

BUI Disclaimer

I am blogging and working under the influence.

It just took me about 15 seconds to find the return key. Heh.

It's supposed to be a mild muscle relaxer. I'll have to tell my doctor that he and I define the term differently.

If you would like to cuss me out, I suggest you do so within the next four hours, while I don't give a flying duck.

The only reason I mention this is because I continue to drop comments despite my less than articulateness, so I thought I'd run a disclaimer.

WHY? Why you ask, am I driven to self-medicating? I have abandonment issues that I'm working through.

Bear with me.

(HEH! Told ya I reserved the right to pout! ...But heartfelt post is forthcoming, must be lucid.)

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posted by Key on 02:59 PM | Comments (8)

January 12, 2005

Divorce Saves Lives

Seriously. It does.

While I do not believe that matrimony should be a revolving door, I am grateful that I live in an age where divorce is at least an option. This appreciation was particularly driven home after I watched a special on the evolution of poison last week.

Back in the days of the Roman food tester, there lived several reasons for their employment. They were poison assassins for hire. And while any ranking official kept his guard up at all times, these assassins mostly specialized in the service of spouse removal.

Over the years, of course, poison became readily available and the assassins were out of a job. Wife and mistress one day, wife under the house and cruise with the mistress the next. Divorce was just not done. Desperate times called for desperate measures...

Even given the fine-tuning of forensics these days providing an additional deterrent, I believe the stats would none-the-less be quite different had divorce not evolved into a more viable option. It is criticized for becoming commonplace, and this is true. It has, and that is regrettable. But had it not, I fear that not only would more people be married right about now, more people would also be dead.

Matrimony is dangerous. Why isn't there a mandatory waiting period on purchasing a marriage license? (And I don't mean 72 hours.)

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posted by Key on 05:37 PM | Comments (16)
» Electric Venom links with: Blog Bites

January 10, 2005

Where's My Anna Nicole Smith Thread?

Suckers! I'm just the diversion while Velociman runs for cover.

But I do have a question: Would she and Howard Stern not make a handsome couple?


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posted by Key on 11:32 PM | Comments (9)

A Different Argument

And I've been advised by those who know and love me not to go here, but as I find myself writing the same thing over and over in response to personal emails, I thought I'd save myself some time.

Yes, the NCLB Act post went a bit awry. I included a number that ended up being a figure of mass distraction, and the argument somehow evolved into convincing me that 13 tardies is a problem.

Okay, I knew that already. There's no fight there.

And I understand that some parents are to blame for these things. But for some reason, I assumed that my friends and readers knew me well enough to know better. I mean, come on, it's my fault ya think I'm gonna post on it?

I don't advertise my shortcomings. I'm a better marketer than that. Give me a little credit.

But in response to concerned inquiries, I gave up the following:

Here is a breakdown of the 13 tardies to the best of my recollection:

Late because Mom was running late - twice (This is why I don't drive in the morning. Her dad does, and he's a punctual freak. I wrote a note accepting responsibility each of these times, particularly since one of these two times I was sick as a dog.)

Late because Miss Priss HATED everything in her closet, was fighting with her best friend, hadn't finished a homework assignment she hadn't told us about until THAT morning, or otherwise stalling to go to school - five times

A series of dental visits that I THOUGHT made sense to schedule first thing, and assumed they'd be excused and wouldn't count against her. - four times

Dr appts, same story. - two times

That is not a justification, nor a life habit which I endorse, nor an invitation for a critique. It's just life, and sometimes it'll get in the way of even the best intentions.

And yes, the goal is punctuality. And there are a couple of points here. The first is that it would help if a distinction were drawn between excused and unexcused tardies.

Here's how it worked when I was a kid, and for some reason I assumed today was no different:

EXCUSED tardy - As a child, this was a glory dance. This meant that it was not my fault. My mother walked inside the school, signed me in, and provided either a doctor's note, or her own personal note explaining that I was late through no fault of my own. These did not count against my total number of tardies.

UNEXCUSED tardy - The shame... I was dropped with no note, no explanation, without which it was my fault by default. I sat out of recess until I could write "I will not be late to school" 25 times. And if a child is late because they are dragging ass or being an ass, this is exactly what they should be doing. Double jeopardy in fact, as in her case, it will be disciplined at home as well.

Having said that, the second point is that there will always be a difference of opinion as to how to prioritize within the home. For example, if Miss Priss is having a horrible morning (emotional as opposed to attitudinal), and in her eight year old mind, she is convinced that waiting for her at that school is the crisis of her life, I'm going to sit down with her until she's calm. She'll be late as a result. I won't give a shit. I'm a mom first, and I won't apologize for that. She usually loves school, and bops out early no problem, so this behavior is out of character. And yeah, if tardies were excusable these days, I'd write a note saying that she was ill that morning.

The husband, on the other hand, does not see tears as a hindrance to punctuality, nor does he draw a distinction between spoiled brat tears and tears of overwhelming anxiety. If there's nothin' broken, get your ass in gear. He is not ashamed of this mentality, and like so many who fit the description, will be happy to tell you as much.

And I'm not glorifying my position or dogging his. This is just the way it is, and the balance is probably good, even if neither of us can appreciate it at the time.

But I'm glad that I have compassion in that area, particularly since I am not a terribly compassionate person; I just have a soft spot for children, particularly mine. I also remember the social stresses of school, and they in no way compare the social stresses of the workplace. The latter is a walk in the park relatively speaking, and I can, and likely will write a post on that issue alone.

Meanwhile, this issue is fatigued. It's going to bed.

(How the blog opera ended? Heh, I knew some of you rubbahneckahs were only coming back to see if Acidman and I were done fightin'. We are. Sorry, we're getting too old for this. We're spent. We've agreed to disagree regarding the punctuality obsession, and I fully realize that he'll come down on the side of my husband given the situation mentioned above. And that is fine. I think they're both freaks. Heh. Only kidding, it is an admirable personality trait. I will give him that. Having said that, GAWD I hope he's late to the next meet! There will be no end to that hell...)

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posted by Key on 04:48 PM | Comments (12)
» Inblognito links with: Work

Must Have Been a Hell of a Weekend

There are a couple of folding chairs in my yard, and a bathrobe is dangling out of the tree nearest the street...


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posted by Key on 08:22 AM | Comments (6)

January 08, 2005

So A Duck Walks Into A Bar...

...sits down at the barstool, and waits for the bartender.

The bartender walks up, hands the duck a menu, waits a while, and comes back to take his order. "What'll it be?" the bartender says.

The duck says, "I think I'll have the grapes." "Well, I'm sorry sir, but this is a bar, we don't serve grapes here. Now, I'll let you look a bit longer and wave when you know what you want."

The duck looks at the menu, then waves the bartender down. "Ok, you got your order?" The duck nods, saying, "I'll think I'll have the grapes."

The bartender, kind of peeved from the duck, says, "Look Mac, we don't have any grapes here. This is a bar. We don't serve grapes, so what will you have?!"

The duck looks at him in the eyes and says, "I'll have the grapes."

The bartender, enraged, shouts, "If you ask for the grapes one more time I'm going to nail your feathered ass to the barstool!!"

The bartender cools off a bit. "Now what will you get?!" "Got any nails?" "OF COURSE WE DON'T HAVE ANY NAILS! WHAT DO YOU THINK THIS IS? AN APPLIANCE STORE?"

"Good, got any grapes?"

Source: My Fun Portal

...Heh, stupid, but made me laugh. Levity is a wonderful thing, no?
One more...

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posted by Key on 09:13 PM | Comments (9)

January 07, 2005

The No Child Left Behind Act

...still has a few kinks to iron out. It is good. The goals are good. The intent is good.

Still. Let's let some of the schools make a judgment call or two.

For example, this morning, 9AM, the phone rang at my house, and the caller ID said GYM:

GYM: Mrs. Monroe?

ME: Yes?

GYM: This is Mr. so-and-so, your daughter's gym teacher. We are dividing up names of parents to call regarding tardies.

ME: Uh-huh...

GYM: According to The No Child Left Behind Act, we must call parents when I child has more than 5 tardies in one academic year.

ME: Yes, I was so informed when she hit nine tardies back in November.

GYM: Well, now she has thirteen, and well [sheepishly], we have to call. We also have to tell you that excessive tardies can seriously hamper the educational progress of your child....

ME: Yeah, okay, thanks.

She can have twenty absences a year, she can't have more than five tardies? She's had less than three per month, and it's been a matter of her getting there at 8 instead of 7:50, unless she's had an appointment.

Not a bad idea, not at all, but it needs some tweaking. I have my shit together, as do most of the parents at my daughter's school, and the teachers realize this. They wasted their day, and I don't enjoy being scolded.

And make no mistake, that WAS the intent of the phone call. Had it been an eighth grader, it would have been a heads up. Third grade? It's a scolding, and it's ridiculous, particularly given that I am a parent of an advanced, straight A student, who has missed maybe two days of school this academic year.

Maybe I have no basis for my agitation, but given my knowledge of unpunished sorriness, I seriously feel the effort misdirected. The teachers should be allowed to selectively call parents, rather than being forced into an across the board sweep.

(I moved the "Update" into the extended entry. It is an angry, reactive rant that lacks cohesion with the point of the story. That point being -for those who missed it- that although I do not encourage allowing tardiness to go unpunished at any age, I disagree with federal legislature that mandates local policy changes across the board rather than where needed. In many areas, as mine as well as the town in the linked article, it's not only fixing something that ain't broke, it's generating more bureaucratic bullshit. I'm also guessing that this program is almost as expensive as it is annoying.)

Read More "The No Child Left Behind Act" »

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posted by Key on 05:57 PM | Comments (29)
» Gut Rumbles links with: late is late
» RedNeck Ramblings links with: The terrible "T" word

One Nation Under God

Because that is for which the Republic stands.

It is history. It cannot be changed.

But what annoys me FURTHER is one Mr. Michael Newdow's new suit. He believes President Bush shouldn't be allowed to pray during the inauguration due to the Establishment Clause.


All I hear is, "I don't want to hear it, therefore you shouldn't be allowed to say it."

Bull. Close your ears, sphincterhead. Yeah, I name-called. Let's get this straight. I DO NOT LIKE THIS GUY.

He is arrogant, controlling, and would for damn sure try to take over the world (with his little pea sized brain) if someone would just give him an inch.

It's not enough that he has the right to choose NOT to pray, a right given him through Separation of Church and State, no, he wants to infringe upon others' right to pray.

One question, isn't it infringed enough?

Separation of church and state was intended to further freedom, not restrict it.

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posted by Key on 05:35 PM | Comments (10)

January 06, 2005

Putting a Face on the Bloggers

Catfish sent a few pictures my way today. Heh... I'll work on cropping and such and will post a few tomorrow, if Cat doesn't beat me to it.

Want a preview?


ME? My roots are showing and I look like I had been smoking something that I HADN'T. I'm just mellow naturally. Seriously. (Sober as a judge, and unfortunately, I'm not joking about that.)

YOU! There is a pic of you handing me something. I have no idea what, but SOMEONE has his eye on it, whatever it was. Or maybe he just likes to watch.

Next up, YOU, again. One with your lovely wife, and one with your lovely BOYFRIEND, who is nipping at your ear.

Heh. Don't think I'm not posting that.

Update/disclaimer: The Straight Guy denies any extramarital association with the Velociraptor. In fact he wasn't even there on the night in question. Any evidence I have to the contrary must be Photoshopped, and if I choose to go public with it, I get to have an exclusive date with the Staight Attorney.

Heh. I just have one question for you. Is he cute?

(As for MY pic... Hey, why should I show mine if they're not gonna show theirs?)

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posted by Key on 06:45 PM | Comments (8)

January 05, 2005

Ashlee Simpson, Bless Her Heart

That's all I have to say about that.

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posted by Key on 04:39 PM | Comments (9)

Tossin' and Turnin'

I was having trouble sleeping last night. I blame blogworld.

So I lay in bed on my side and stared at my snoring husband.

My orange tabby, typically a lazy bum, was restless as well. She was on the prowl. She furtively traced the perimeter of the bed, jumped up, then continued her pace.

Something to do, something to do...(how nice it must be to sleep all day and play all night.)

I felt little paws start at my ankle and walk themselves up and over my back, and when she came into view again, she had lowered to a haunched slink. Prowl, indeed...

She made her way to Shrek's the husband's pillow, where she employed every ounce of her grace and stealth as she positioned herself adjacent his head.

As this is atypical behavior for my beloved pet, I watched with increasing curiosity as she put her face to his, nose to nose. I'm convinced that she held her breath, as he had no knowledge of her presence. Satisfied, she pulled back a centimeter or so before releasing the sandpapery tongue upon her prey.

She unloaded half a dozen fast and furious licks upon the end of his nose before the assault registered and a dazed, confused, and angry ogre husband with squinted eyes and spiked hair, jolted upright and tried to focus on the source of his sleep disruption.

He failed of course, rolled over, and drifted off as his evil wife cackled in the background.

Heh. The things that amuse me at 2am...

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posted by Key on 04:33 PM | Comments (8)

January 04, 2005

Are You Too Busy For God?

A woman of Faith I am. A woman of picking up your Holy Bible and smacking it upside thy brother's brow, I am not.

A country mile down the road from my horse country dial-up dwelling, I watched a church building go up a few months ago. I use the term "building" loosely.

Two large, white double-wides were planted the right geometrical distance apart, so as to allow for a joining of their rooftops overhead, and to further allow the space between them to be built in for use as the auditorium.

And I must hand it to them, for a tight budget and a small congregation, that was creative.

Now they have a sign up in an attempt to draw people in. Here's their clever acronym:


Heh. A little harsh, no? Wait til I tell my husband, children, real estate customers, carpool, in-laws, and dermatologist that they are tools of Satan! (Bloggers? Whew, admittedly that one's iffy.)

So harsh, but effective. I'm thinking I might show for services Sunday morning.

(I'll wear some glittery red horns and have the husband on a rhinestone-studded leash.)

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posted by Key on 07:30 PM | Comments (19)
» Velociworld links with: Matters of Faith
» Inblognito links with: Queenie Does Religion
» Round the Fire links with: Religion in America
» Gut Rumbles links with: on religion
» A Single Southern Guy In America links with: Calling On My Neighbors
» Moogies World links with: Praise the Lord and Pass the Peanuts


Miss Priss learned a "new" word at school today.

The shame. I have dropped the ball. My eight year old has never seen Mary Poppins...

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posted by Key on 06:58 PM | Comments (3)

Tsunami Pictures

Separating fact from fiction.

A BBC pic, I'm assuming this one FACT. Plus it's an awesome shot, worthy of sharing.

FICTION, a Photoshopper fo sho. And might I add, both sloppy AND insensitive... Notice, half of these people are smiling. They may be running, but not for their lives.

I'm not sure about this one, but it is beautiful, and therefore worthy of inclusion. This one may be my new wallpaper. (Thanks to Anna S., my faithful forwarder, for supplying that one.)

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posted by Key on 04:51 PM | Comments (8)

January 03, 2005

Best Sign At The Outback Bowl

For those of you who shamefully missed it, this was my Jawja Dawgs and the Wisconsin Badgers.



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posted by Key on 10:05 PM | Comments (5)

Give Me Chocolate, Or Give Me Sex

Because Lord knows I could use an endorphin release.

Endorphins, chemicals produced in the brain in response to a variety of stimuli, may be nature's cure for high levels of stress.

The release of endorphins upon ingestion of chocolate likely explains the comforting feelings that many people associate with this food and the craving for chocolate in times of stress. ...Sex is also a potent trigger for endorphin release.

See? I wasn't kidding. Pardon me while I grab the M&M's.

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posted by Key on 09:08 PM | Comments (7)

Tsunami Dreams

The news, the pictures, the numbers, the inability to process it all... It has just seemed surreal. And, believe me, I hesitate to use such an overused - trite even - term, but I'm using it more appropriately than the teenagers from Dawson's Creek anyway.

I have had giant tidal wave dreams for as long as I can remember. Not every night, but occasionally and consistently since childhood. The giant wave always hits a small town, and I'm always standing on the edge of the town closest the shore. I see the wave, and I run. And everyone around me runs and screams and falls over each other, yet keeps looking back.

Why do that? It slows you down, right? We have to see it. We have to see the magnificent freak of nature (that is about to consume us) hit the shore. And each time, just as the wave is about to swallow me, and I can take no more of the sheer panic that is jolting my system, I wake.

So I stared at the coverage in disbelief as this nightmare of a dream came to life and stole tens of thousands of lives.

And I sure as hell wasn't going to write about it. I had nothing to say. Humbled by nature I was.

But however daunting Ma Nature, it is we humans who must clean up after her. Where to start, what to do?

Bodies. That got me. I understand and reluctantly agree with the necessity of the burn piles and mass graves, but I don't like it.

And I do not glorify the body once the life is removed and the soul is no longer there, but I believe that even the most minimal respect for the dead demands identification.

So when Velociman tackled the topic, I was comforted (in more than one way) when the following comment was posted:

Cholera is an almost automatic consequence of leaving decomposing bodies exposed longer than absolutely necessary.

There are teams in Thailand taking a finger or tissue sample from unidentified bodies to hopefully provide later identification for next of kin.

The luxury of "dignified" burial is not available. The Thais will nod politely at these requests (orders) by the Euros, and will get on with the job.

I can't believe that I am actually writing this, the scale of this disaster is almost beyond comprehension.

And, BTW, thank you, Americans, for your incredible generosity to the various fundsproviding relief.

I know that my corner of the world is exceptionally grateful.

-Pedro, from Australia

I hope the comment and the information within is legit. I want to believe that the bodies will later be identified. And I also want to believe that - outside the UN anyway - there is an appreciation for us much-loved Americans.

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posted by Key on 12:24 AM | Comments (5)
» Truth, Lies & Common Sense links with: Tsunami Dreams
» suburban blight links with: Love Tap

January 02, 2005

Without Hangover

Thanks for the New Year's wishes guys! I hope everyone had a safe and happy one, and didn't make too many of those gawd-awful resolutions.

I lived, Zonk! Pretty uneventful actually. I decided not to drink, as I can't seem to get even slightly tipsy without also getting violently ill.

However, I walked into the large and very beautiful, custom tongue and groove cabin that is my parent's abode, and upon making my way to the Kitchen, realized that my brother and step-father had bought enough likka to float the friggin county. They were therefore quite irritated with my decision not to partake.

Remind me never again to accept an already opened can of Coke from my brother. As his concoction was neither shaken nor stirred, I got a nice shot of straight Wild Turkey via the first swig.

There was no second swig.

I know. I sound like such a dud. I just can't process the stuff.

Pills. The wave of the future.

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posted by Key on 03:00 PM | Comments (4)

Baby Names Are In

Miss Priss's name is absent the list once again, and this is good, as I kinda like her being the only Miss Priss in her class. She knows seven Kaitlyns. Of course, their names are spelled seven different ways...

The top 10 baby names of 2004 (vs. 2003)

Girls' names:

Emma (Emily)
Madison (Emma)
Emily (Madison)
Kaitlyn (Hannah)
Hailey (Hailey)
Olivia (Sarah)
Isabella (Kaitlyn)
Hannah (Isabella)
Sarah (Olivia)
Abigail (Abigail)

Boys' names:

Jacob (Jacob)
Aidan (Aidan)
Ethan (Ethan)
Ryan (Matthew)
Matthew (Nicholas)
Michael (Joshua)
Tyler (Ryan)
Joshua (Michael)
Nicholas (Zachary)
Connor (Tyler)

Source: MSN

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posted by Key on 02:22 PM | Comments (6)