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

June 29, 2005

Skipping Town

Before taking off, I promised Jack I'd write a little something. Now. It isn't quite as profound as what the prof has to offer, but read it anyway. Therein, I linked someone I'd been meaning to link, linked someone I haven't linked in a while, and discussed something that I had no intention of discussing with myself. So there you have it, a must read!

Okay, now it is MY turn to skip town. I'll be back on the 9th. I spect you all to be friendly with my blog while I'm gone... I also spect those of you who have keys (or access) to my blog to use them (it) to keep the issues here current over the next nine days!

Until then, I shall miss my peeps.

Now, behave.

(Not because I want you to behave; I just don't want to miss anything!)

Where am I going, you ask? Where else?

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posted by Key on 09:58 PM | Comments (5)

Lightning Bugs

Ah, one of the little things that lent meaning to my childhood.

For the past several years, since Miss Priss has been old enough to appreciate such wonders, I've noticed that there only seemed to be a handful at a time in the yard, whereas my yard was thick with them growing up.

And I thought, of ALL the bugs to die out, we have to lose the ones with glowing booties?

This has been my fear for a few years now. But last night, I was comforted.

I stood on my deck at twilight and stared down into my wooded yard, and it was glistening, twinkling, lit up like a Christmas tree.

It was a beautiful sight, an enchanted forest.

(Of course, I'm sure that I have at least that many mosquitoes as well, but I'll not think of that right now...)

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posted by Key on 07:32 PM | Comments (2)

June 28, 2005

Another Embarrassing Moment

I wear too much black. My friends have noticed. My child has noticed.

So today, I am sporting a pair of white capris. Oh yeah, I am living on the wild side.

Standing in line with my daughter at Subway, in the heat of the lunch rush, and just as it was time to place our order, Miss Priss and I had the following conversation:

MP: Mom, I can totally see your underwear through those pants.

Me: Shhh, no you can't. You want the club?

MP: Yes I can!

Me: She'll have the club.

MP: [Poking my rear] And if I can't see through them, how come I can see your smiley faced underwear?

Niiiice. Good thing I love her. Of course I'd STILL like to know "how come" she couldn't see them before we left the house?? Did I mention this particulah Subway is a place we frequent, downstairs from the office, know everyone there by name...?

Ah, it reminds me of the time the child was a vocal (and quite articulate) three year old... [Ladies, continue...]

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posted by Key on 06:34 PM | Comments (11)
» Moogies World links with: Boy does my face feel red!
» Parkway Rest Stop links with: Embarrassing Moment, To Say the Least.

June 26, 2005


I had my first taste of coffee sometime around age 10. My mom almost always had a mug in her hand, and half-empty mugs could usually be found here and there all over the house and vehicles.

I thought my mother was superwoman. I watched her hustle and bustle all over the house, getting things done, making things happen. And, hey, perhaps the caffeine gave her the motivation, but I was convinced then, as I am now, that there is nothing [short of brain surgery] that the woman can not do.

Given that... I always found it humorous when she would stop, look down at her empty hand and lose all train of thought, before asking the four walls and all in it, "Where'd I lay down my coffee?"

She'd putter, retracing her steps, for a moment or two, give up, and then pour up another mug.

I always wondered, amused, how superwoman managed to lose her beverage of choice, particularly since I never seemed to lose track of anything that I actually enjoyed.

And so... I thought of her this morning, not as I chatted away with my aunt on the phone, and drank hazelnut coffee out of my favorite beach mug...

...but when it disappeared.

Now. I thought of giving up, of pouring another mug. But, NO! It was the principle of the matter. I MUST find it. I. MUST. NOT. TURN. INTO. MY. MOTHER. Not because she's not an amazing person, but because... Well, isn't that obvious?

I retraced my steps. Once. Twice. Thrice. No mug. No coffee. No beverages to be found. Unnerving. Now, I had been home alone, meaning no one else ran off with it. Nooo, I did something with it. So I got off the phone, and having only visited three rooms prior to the disappearance, I checked them again, more thoroughly. I even checked dumb places like the pantry and refrigerator.

And then... I gave up. But I'll be damned if I was going to pour another cup! No, not gonna happen. I was finished anyway, I told myself.

Time passed. Three hours to be exact. And then I noticed the microwave was chanting it's fave word: "END! END! END!"

I didn't remember putting anything in there, but I checked. And yeah, there was my beautiful Seaside mug, holding my now cold hazelnut coffee. And yeah, I felt retarded.

But even more unnerving: I still don't remember putting it in there, not even a fuzzy memory. Nothing...

So... I figure that either my aging process is in warp speed, or I had a visitor.

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posted by Key on 06:11 PM | Comments (7)

June 23, 2005


And so here I sit, in my tiled and open office, overlooking the small town square, dipping my Cioccolati Biscotti into my cold gas station decaf...


I hate days dedicated to collections. The irony: Banks and lending institutions. I dare you to default on them. Sixty days and they ruin your credit, another sixty and you've lost your home.

So WHO owes us somewhere in the neighborhood of ten grand (collectively)?

Yar! Banks and lending institutions. Big names. Names you well know. I assume that they figure they only have to pay for an appraisal when and if they close the loan.

NOT! We are in the service industry. They are in the risk industry. Our fee is three figs, theirs is four. We get paid regardless, they get paid if they close it.

Well, that's the theory. Makes sense, right? I think so. Somebunny splain it to them.

We do the happy dance if we get paid within 30 days. Typically, it is more in the neighborhood of 60 to 90 days...though in the "delinquent" file which sits before me, accounts are growing mold. (I'm still trying to get 04 closed out with a few lenders.)

Have us by the balls, they do.

Can't drop them. After all, we need the biz. And they do pay us for about two thirds of the work that we do...


Tomorrow I'm transferring to another department.

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posted by Key on 05:44 PM | Comments (5)

June 22, 2005

Gross. I Can't Watch It...

And so I watched, glued to the set, for an hour.

In case you missed it, EATEN ALIVE will air again Saturday. And it will verify the veracity of many of the parasitic legends we have all heard, from the wife's chore of hand over elbow pulling tapeworms out of her husbands ass, to the discovery of tiny little worms surfacing on the eyeball of a man three years after exposure to the infant parasite.

Pictures? Oh, you must have pictures.

Elephantitis is actually caused by a parasite. Usually there is a "beautifully, harmonious relationship between worm and host." [Riiiiiiight.] Howevah... occasionally, there is a blockage of the lymph glands due to the invasion, and gnarly disfigurement occurs:

(I was nice; I picked a mild photo. Can't say as much for the -warning: nasty- site where I uncovered it.)

But the WORST...?! Remember in The Rundown when Mariana tells Beck not to piss in the waters of the Amazon, because the candiru would swim up his weewee? ...and then they'd have to amputate?

I thought it fiction. Comedic relief. It isn't. (Although, I am comforted by the fact that amputation is typically not necessary.)

Anyway, here's the little bitch (They are usually one to six inches in length; pic lifted from this site.):

What does it want you ask?! This, the world's smallest catfish and only vertebrate parasite, wants to swim up your peepee and anchor itself - with these little spikes it throws out - into your now bloodied tissues. It will then FEED on that blood and tissue. (Fortunately, it does prefer hosts with gills.)

I'll be traveling within the U.S. for a while me thinks. ...until these memories fade a bit.

(For the truly sick, I have provided grotesque surgical removal pics in the extended entry...)

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posted by Key on 08:03 PM | Comments (12)
» Gut Rumbles links with: oh. my. gawd.

June 21, 2005

Hell's Kitchen

Am I the only one who dreams of taking Chef Ramsey out to a back-woods, "mom and pop" eyesore for a greasy meat and three?

[Disclaimer re my having watched it: The Priss made me do it! She's addicted to reality TV...]

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posted by Key on 12:58 PM | Comments (2)

June 17, 2005

Summah Luvin Da Dieting

So I decided to lose the last ten pounds that love me so and hate to go...those last ten that stand between me and that killer pair of jeans, which sit gathering dust atop my closet.

Upon making this decision, I immediately switched cereals. No more Special K with sliced bananas. Or yogurt. NO, I MUST have peanut butter Captain Crunch.

And no more of this fruit smoothie bullshit for a snack. Nooooo, I must have rewards now for my good behavior. Ergo, I have made, in the past month or so, some seriously divine desserts:

Pecan toffee trimmed with dark chocolate,
Homemade apple pie with Dutch topping,
Lemon cake with drizzled butter glaze,
Cookies with chocolate and toffee chunks,

But that is not all...Oh no, that is not all:

I went to the grocery store and bought OREOS! 2 Bags. Buy one/get one. Then I moseyed on over to the dairy case, where me and my lactose intolerant ass bought TWO gallons of Breyer's ice cream. (Also buy one/get one.)

And then I went home, and like a maddened scientist, frantically filled my (former smoothie) blender to the rim with a combination of the two delicacies, watching intently as they became one. And the Priss and I dined on Oreo-blackened shakes with a Lactaid chaser.

Conclusion: I MUST go off of this diet - IMMEDIATELY - before I gain 30 pounds.

I hate that I am so cleanly filed away as an example of such a simple psychological axiom, but uh...I'm afraid that would be the case.

Deprived! Prob: I am starving, bless my soul, I will never taste sweets again, so famished I have become... Solution: Therefore I must indulge one last time. And then, one more last time...

And...Fuck it.

I am officially off of my diet. I will now go back to fruit, yogurt and grilled chicken.

Soooo... Anyone else struggle with this particular affliction, "irony of the appetite" so to speak, or am I a freak?

I must admit that I was feeling a little guilt over my apparent lack of discipline until mid-morning today.

It was then that I found myself watching Fox news, as usual, and LO! A commercial for Relacore. And what a patronizing bitch sweet lady that was describing the miracle capsule, all 110 pounds of her.

Anyway, bless her soul, she told me that IT'S NOT MY FAULT! (Which - how did she know? - was EXACTLY what I wanted to hear!) Nooo, the fault is that of an evil hormone called cortisol! And it can be killed, if I'm willing to pay the assassins $153 per month!

Heh. I knew it wasn't my fault. If that damn Cortisol comes home with Oreos again, I might just hire the mercenaries to hunt it down like the dirty dog that it is.

Now I know. Those dirty bastards in molecular clothing. I will have their asses.

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posted by Key on 05:47 PM | Comments (14)

June 15, 2005

Need To Reset the Home Page

Netscape takes forever to load on my crappy dial-up, BUT...

Interesting link today:
Is THIS why it's so hard to trust people whom we lust?
...Or to lust people whom we trust??

(Wonder if the study applies to Alabama.)

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posted by Key on 09:24 PM | Comments (3)

June 14, 2005

Pillars of the Fucking Community

Jackson is a selfish, narcissistic megalomaniac who believes that he sets the standard for what is right and wrong in his own life. His love life is private, and it is none of anyone's business if he finds love with a ten year old.

This is what he believes.

He is a sick fuck. His mental substantiations for the selfish manifestations of his perverse mind are not, however, unique. There are two types of pedophiles:

1. The pillars of the fucking community
2. Sorry, toothless, jobless, drugged-up pieces of tax payer dependent trash

The number ones do not go to jail. They don't. That is the rule. There may be exceptions to the rule every now and then, but if so, they fucked up. They lost control of the game, they got sloppy, the manipulation failed, or their funds dried up. It doesn't happen often, but when it does, it makes the news.

The number twos are trash. They are uneducated, and they usually have a record. They are not articulate, nor do they cover their tracks well. The jury cannot wait to do them in. They are obviously liars.

And that's what it's all about, right?...credibility. Sure, the children are believable over the TRASH! That's obvious. But not over the scout leaders, the deacons, the celebrities, or the attractive men who wear suits to work! The voice of a child is whiny and petty next to such a prominent figure. LOCK UP a productive member of society because of something a ten year old said? That's just too risky. It can't happen.

Check out the trash. This is what gets convicted. This is what serves time. This is like ONLY squashing the roaches that are stupid enough to run across the floor in broad daylight...and then thinking you've accomplished something.

There's no way to prove it, but I'd lay every dime I own on the fact that there are at least as many "number ones" walking around free, if not ten times that number. You will find them equipped with a sizable bank account, a smarmy disposition, and a network of white collar individuals willing to provide glowing character references. Shit, they'd call their own minister to their defense without batting an eye.

After all, they are pillars of the fucking community.

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posted by Key on 08:17 PM | Comments (15)
» white pebble links with: Key says it for me
» .:.WitNit.:. links with: Carnival of the BabeWits #2
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I've Been Here in Spirit

I'm still around actually... just puny.

You know how ya know kids are really sick when they make a face and shake their heads no when offered ice cream?

Likewise, you know that Key Monroe is really sick when she doesn't go online for several days in a row! Rather, I lay in bed all weekend cursing the name of the new doc I'd seen Thursday, who sent me home with an antibiotic I'd never tried before.

You know me - Pharmie! New drugs! Yeah, well, just so you know, Omnicef sucks. It befriended the bacteria growing on my tonsils, and enabled it to grow friends.

Soooo, yesterday when I revisited the clinic, and fortunately was assigned my tried and true doc, I had flaming red tonsils with a dozen pus pockets on each... An intriguing sight to behold, but for some reason, I couldn't psyche Shrek up for the viewing.

Anyway, doc sent me home with a ten day course of Biaxin, which we all know will get the job done, even if it does leave a coppery, crushed aspirin taste in one's mouth for the duration of treatment. I'm sick enough not to care.

I have been remiss as I lay wallowing. But I am pleased to see that my tagged newbies have participated in the reindeer games! Thank you to the lovely, overeducated cuz and to the unstable, orange lunatic for obliging.

I shall promptly return to my writing, just as soon as I can justify the further neglect of my biz-related responsibilities.

For your viewing pleasure, I have included a sick pic in the extended entry. Warning: Although this was taken 5 minutes ago, and is not nearly as nasty as it was yesterday (before I had started the Biaxin), it is still not for the faint of heart.

Hey, I warned you...

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posted by Key on 02:16 PM | Comments (11)

June 09, 2005

The Sunflower Festival

Gratefully inspired by your comments on the "Exceeding Tip Parameters" post and linkage:

A few years ago, my mom owned her own restaurant in her own town. (This little crossroads is much smaller even than my own little town, which I've pet-named Mayberry.)

The good country folk gathered from miles around to enjoy a genuine southern cooked meat and three by day, juicy burgers, fried catfish, or home smoked BBQ by night.

Children gathered on bar stools for hand-dipped ice cream or malts, and I myself, being between jobs at the time, was a Wednesday regular, as that was chicken 'n dumplin day.

These were good times.

Wednesdays became a family reunion of sorts, as I managed to actually pull my social butterfly of a mother away from her loving customers long enough to sit for a meal. We were often joined by my step-father, and perhaps my aunt would stop by, and my step-sister had a tendency to wander in...and my brother was night manager, but occasionally communed with us by day.

And thus... We would gossip and laugh and bitch and moan, like a bunch of country people who had nothing better to do in the middle of the work day.

The town mayor visited almost daily, and he often stopped by to speak to us about the local goings on. On this particular occasion, the event was the town Sunflower festival, which would be happening the very next Saturday, in the lot between the restaurant and the tracks. (In other words...directly in front of the restaurant.)

So mom buckled down for a crowd, and I psyched Miss Priss for the festival...cotton candy! old-timey cars! pony rides! caramel apples!

But of course, I don't do anything early on a Saturday morning unless I have to, so we pulled in to the party around 11 am.

The first imperative stop was to check in, and let the family know we were there. Soooo...I took the back door to the restaurant, where the Priss hooked up with her cousin, and together they chased down Papa for ice cream.

I continued into the kitchen, greeted my mother, and wasn't surprised to see her in panic mode, given the crowd outside. What did surprise me, was that she wasn't telling me to get the hell out of her kitchen, didn't I see that crowd out there?! No, she was HAPPY to see me, so much and so eerily so that I started backing toward the door, even as she screamed, "Thank GAWD you're here!"

Too late. She was throwing an apron over my head, spinning me around, and tying it in the back. "I've had one quit this morning, and one just NOT show. I neeeed you!"

And with that, and even as I sputtered something about having zero experience, I was given a healthy shove into the direction of the dining area. Having not come in that way, I was seeing and hearing the overflowing dining room, people waiting for tables, one flustered waitress, a frantic cashier, and a take out line to the door, for the first time.

Now, I had worked since age 17, but always at a desk. I had NO waitressing experience before this day. None.

Of course, I'd seen it done, so I understood the concept, but this was a helluva way to train. I filled my apron with pencils, order pad, and straws, and quickly learned the count for the tables...and then I dove in.

New blood!

My gawd, they must have seen me coming. I was chewed out, chewed up, spat out and stepped on. "Where's my this? I didn't order that! No one has taken our order! It's hot in here! Is somebody going to bus this table?"

And that was all on my first pass through, within moments of accepting the apron.

I spent the next hour working frantically trying to restore order and placate the crowd, and then the next two trying to maintain it. After three hours of mad, stress-filled panic, the crowd slowed to manageable capacity, and I took a turn on the cash register, ringing folks out, and dipping ice cream for the little people, the happy people.

During the course of the day, there had been only a few assholes that were so irate that there was no hope for them, and to those few, I explained that I was donating my time, and making no more than they chose to leave me. This seemed to humble them, but only slightly.

And I had already figured out why my mother paid her servers minimum wage plus tips, rather than the standard $3 or so and tips....these bumkins tipped for shit!

I think I made less than ten dollars the entire day.

Nonetheless, I continued to volunteer my time for the following weeks, as long as mom needed me, and until Shrek fired the insubordinate ruffian who had been assisting him at the office while I worked elsewhere.

All this to say: Hell yes, I have a HEALTHY respect for anyone who does this for a living, and who does it well...and particularly if they do so with a smile.

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posted by Key on 08:57 PM | Comments (7)
» Velociworld links with: ON THE WAITSTAFF

June 08, 2005

No MD behind my name...

But I do have quite the drug fetish. It's about fixing problems really.

Infected? Cillin it!
In Pain? Opiate it!
Inflamed? Cut it!

I wish I could say more for THE SEARCHERS out there, but that's all I know.

I too am plagued with the 24/7 nasty ass tonsils, every six months or so flaring from a meek and pitted status to a throbbing and painful house of puss, similar to those seen HERE!

The answer? Well, let's see, even when the ugly masses of lymphoid tissue are NOT providing a bacterial haven, they are regurgitating nasty chunks of pit deposit, which are gagworthy at best. Given that, I'm with Kel, let's yank 'em!

Want. Them. Out.

Given the six month cycle of tonsil hatred, I'm forecasting pure exasperation by December. How does a January surgery sound? Let us all yank them in unison! We shall then torch the formaldehyde soaked pitted masses in effigy! AHAHAHAA!!!

(Yes, I do have a fever, and yes I would rather burn my bras, but I seem to have missed that boat.)

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posted by Key on 06:39 PM | Comments (14)

John Schools Key Australian Style

He says to Key:

"You call THAT a pity party? Now THIS is a pity party!"

Okay...well he said it in so many words. From now on, he shall be filed in my rolodex under "Master Party Coordinator," as he mixes a mean rita and draws a fine crowd.

Thanks to all who came, partied and signed the guest registry! You guys are effective spirit lifters. [pun intended.]

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posted by Key on 04:19 PM | Comments (5)

June 06, 2005

Episode III, PG 13

So I promised Miss Priss a movie Friday night, and I - having been culturally deprived growing up - usually attempt to infuse a little culture into the child when the opportunity arises.

Meaning...it was time. She should be introduced to STAR WARS! Besides, I wanted to see it.

Prob? PG 13. Wtf? Normally, I wouldn't give the rating a second thought, but this time my baby was coming with. (Yes, I know she is nine. But recall the litany, "she will always be my baby.")

I was thinking spilt blood (since I knew Vader was to be mutilated), a copulation scene (since I knew twins were to be gestated), the worst...

Soooo, on the way into town, I fired off a text to a handful of geeks cultural elitists (with children) whose numbers I have stored in my phone. Well, either I misjudged them, or texting isn't "geek cool," because only ONE actually replied to the text prior to movie start time, and that was to say, "What do I look like, a geek? Haven't seen it yet."

Fine. Over myself I got, made my own call I did. Then I bought the child a ticket.

And so. This is my public service announcement to anyone else who wonders about the rating...

No worries, tis fine. There is a birth scene, but no copulating. Lots of people die, but no blood and guts (although Vader did get really yucked up, as expected).

I'm giving the okay for kiddies eight and up. (Of course, if you have a five year old boy who likes to set frogs on fire, I'm betting he can get through it without any major nightmares.)

Oh...enjoyment factor? We've been through the trilogy TWICE in as many days. I'd say she's geekified culturally edified!

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posted by Key on 05:58 PM | Comments (7) | Public Service Announcement
» Feisty Repartee links with: Uneasy Topics

June 05, 2005

Exceeding Tip Parameters

I'm a 20% tipper. Period. Very little fluctuation. Well some... If they suck, but with a great attitude, they get 15%. And if they are hateful while sucking, rock bottom is 10%.

While this is my anal little rule, I broke it Friday night for someone worthy of mention.

I bumped it to 40%, and had I had a crisp Ben on me, I would have been sorely tempted to leave it....yes, even though I am in debt up to my eyeballs.

She smiled. She asked how we were doing. She was bright-eyed and chipper. She got everything right. She was only eighteen.

That was impressive enough, but I held her at the table long enough to find out a little more:

She has been waitressing full-time since age 16. She has not only stayed in high school while working full-time, she has held a seat in the student council, participated in the marching band, and been a member of the Beta club.

And she will continue to work full time while putting herself through college.

WOW! That's what I'm talking 'bout.

I know it's not ideal. I hate that she is having to work so hard, but I can for damn sure appreciate it, and raise my glass to her.

(Did I mention that she was always smiling?)

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posted by Key on 07:51 PM | Comments (18)
» Gut Rumbles links with: tips
» Velociworld links with: ON THE WAITSTAFF

June 03, 2005


1. I have blog friend issues. I know this, because all but a couple defied blog etiquette 101 on my first meme post by not commenting even though they were linked! I am now officially eating worms. They are best chopped, fried, and served over a bed of spinach leaves. And I recommend the raspberry vinaigrette.

2. More importantly, the 2 newbies that I tagged in that post are very new to blogworld. How new are they? They are sooo new, that they know not the wonders of Sitemeter and Blogrolling, nor do they know what it means that they have been tagged. But they are bright minds, so I know they'll figure it out. In fact, this post is actually a sad attempt to pimp them.

However, I urged them to do this little thing, and so pimp I will try. Of course, if any of you gracious and prolific bloggers like what you see, feel free to assist me in the linkage duty here.

Now I must ask you a question. If I were to tell you that a severed bloody limb lay on the ground before you, would you look? If so, you might enjoy Clockwork Orange Happier. If you prefer the humorous thoughts of a literature prof, try Ophelia.

(Both will be added to my blogroll momentarily. I hesitate to call them my blogspring though, as my children seem to have a tendency to run away from home....even the chosen one!)

Update: At least one, if not both of the newbies are out of town and without connection for the weekend, so if any of you kind souls linked them, give them a couple of days to find you, thank you, and update accordingly.

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posted by Key on 06:02 PM | Comments (48)
» She Who Will Be Obeyed! links with: Sorry
» Argghhh! The Home Of Two Of Jonah's Military Guys.. links with: Hey! Pity party!
» Cadillac Tight links with: I'm up way too late
» Righty in a Lefty State links with: Key to the party
» The Gun Line links with: Sprint and Drift...

June 02, 2005

The End

The end of The Gunslinger is up, and it is delivered by the hand of the great Velociwriter. Go now, and enjoy a brilliant gift, be both spoiled and humbled by his masterful prose...

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posted by Key on 09:02 PM | Comments (1)

Christian Protocol

I have Faith, but I ain't preachy. I am, however, well enough educated in matters of the cloth to know when I'm sinning and feel the appropriate measure of guilt, as is the intent of the Southern Baptist. To them, I am a failure fo sho.

Anyhoo, regarding any sort of disagreement, there are rules of engagement that Brethren must adhere to, should they have any hope of being deemed in the right. This conditional exoneration matters more to some than others, but allow me to continue...

Simply, one is to take it first to the source of the dispute, then if unresolved it advances to the attention of the elders, and so forth.

Of course, the Bible also demands that we are to "obey the laws of the land," and so occasionally, local PD trumps the hierarchy.

On with the story...
Summer opens the doors of the Bible belt churches more frequently, and often houses the pent-up energy of our youth.

Recently, some boys decided to pick the site of a local church to bully a much younger boy. Six on two, smaller kids cornered, blows thrown repeatedly.

Before I continue, let me assure that the kids are fine. Well, no major injuries. Cuts, bruises, and the incident not doing much for still forming psyches, but otherwise okay.

Meanwhile, I find this disturbing. This is not a playground scrap. This is unprovoked bullying within a church atmosphere.

Given my compilation of observations, it would appear to me that here lies a segment of society once known for discipline, now emasculated, weakened over the past 15 years or so.

But to continue with the story...
Obviously thereafter lied parental v. parental confrontation. The response? Unbelting and tearing loose on the ruffians? No, that would be rash, harsh even.

"We need to have a meeting. Let us ask our boys why they felt the need to confront yours. We need to know if the situation was provoked in any way." That's right. What were they feeling? Perhaps they were punishing them, six on two, for their sins...

Meanwhile, I was raised to be terrified of "casting the first stone," having never myself been "without sin." None-the-less, I think I would have been tearing up some ass, were the perps my boys.

We don't do our children any favors by defending such behavior. That is so painfully obvious that I'm shocked to find myself typing it. I'm appalled though, that while I wasn't looking, the wussified influence seems to have begun an infiltration process even within the former "spare the rod and spoil the child" crowd.

Furthermore, assuming Christian protocol is not respected in such cases, these boys could easily find themselves in juvenile detention, with defending attorneys rather than defensive parents. (And personally, I'm not so sure that doesn't need to happen...)

I write this perhaps for myself. I am a loving, overprotective, strict disciplinarian. I have been accused of having a "lack of compassion," but I consider it "selective compassion." When children deserve compassion, they should get it. When they're wrong, they're wrong. They should know it.

The gray only confuses developing character. As an adult, I can take Live's advice and "learn to appreciate the beauty of gray," but with children, the laws of budding character need be in stone.

(And that is a lesson that I would have rather learned in my youth.)

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posted by Key on 07:14 PM | Comments (5)

Existing on Fumes

Although sleep would be better.

Ever noticed that if any member of the household can't sleep, mom isn't allowed to sleep either?

So Shrek couldn't sleep last night. Ergo, I am exhausted.


Shrek: I can't fall asleep. The cat won't get off my head. Will you get your cat?
Key: [Relocates cat.]


Shrek: Why is the dog whimpering? Does she need to go out?
Key: She's afraid of the storm. Do you want me to give her a muscle relaxer?
Shrek: No. It'll pass.


Shrek: [Jumping up, loudly] What is her problem?
Key: She's afraid of the storm. Do you want me to give her a muscle relaxer?
Shrek: No. It'll pass.


Shrek: Where are those muscle relaxers?
Key: In the medicine cabinet.
Shrek: How do you make her swallow it?
Key: Open her mouth. Drop it in. Shut her mouth until she swallows.
Shrek: [Cusses loudly.]
Key: I'm up. I got it. Go back to bed.


Shrek: Is it hailing outside?
Key: Wake me when it's breaking the window panes.
Shrek: I think that's hail.

Meaning...there will be no late night blogging for me. Besides, a little sleep is bound to do wonders for my mood.

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posted by Key on 01:33 PM | Comments (3)

June 01, 2005

Meme Cherry Go POP!

I don't even have virgin hair... But until now, I was an innocent in at least one sense, having never been visited by the meme fairy. Not even Alabama and I got tagged by my bro.

10 things I have not done, but intend to do before I die. I've adopted a travel theme for most of these, number one being the obvious exception...

1. I would like to perhaps eventually USE my college degree for the purpose in which it was intended...when and if I ever figure that out.

2. I intend to coerce my bro into attenting another meet. Jack too, for that matter. Hey, we make it France, and I get a vacation out of the deal.

3. From there, we could mosey on over to Scotland, where the red-headed step-brat and his lovely bride are assigned tour guide duty.

4. While in the neighborhood, I must visit Ireland, as I owe a fraction of my blood to that fair land, thus sayeth my cousin, who has studied our roots. In fact, when we lost her brother, she (per his wishes) scattered his ashes over an off-the-beaten-path castle there. I would very much like to visit this castle with her, and I am certain that she will be letting me know momentarily the name of said castle. (Yes, I should know it. And I will. Shortly.)

5. Christina has a familiarity with London, so she has that tour. Although, I am as equally interested in her mother's homeland... so she has that tour as well, someday.

6. Costa Rican blogmeet courtesy he who is totally restless and somewhat native.

7. Adam and I need to go back to Honduras. We've each done some mission work there, and it never leaves you. It just doesn't. Maybe someday I will write of the beauty, of the lifestyle, of how I washed clothes in the river and showered under a cold trickle... keeping a watchful eye on the four inch "baby" scorpion on the concrete block wall. But obviously, I need more than a paragraph to devote to this topic.

8. My girl and I need to do a cruise. This needs to be a very long cruise of the all inclusive variety. I want no rock climbing wall or ice-skating rink. No busy work. However, many Caribbean isles need to visited, as it is all about taking in the beauties of nature, and breathing the herbal goodness.

9. And when I get brave enough to take that trip to visit the land of the dancing bears, I know who to call. And, should I opt for the regular old bears, an Alaskan cruise will work.

10. Last but not least, it would be shameful for me to pass on without exploring our fine homeland, sea to shining sea, so I intend to do just that. And the sooner the better.

Tagging it on. I pass this meme to only one, and this one more virginal than I, as tonight is her FIRST POST EVER! Please go say hello to my first cousin Ophelia, as on this first night out, she explores the wonders of sex and ramen noodles.

Update: One more tag: It's always fun to tag someone who is sure to HATE this meme thing. And so, while there are many to choose from on the blogroll, I choose some new blood. Go now, Clockwork Orange Happier, and write your ten things that you haven't done, but intend to do before you die.

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posted by Key on 10:34 PM | Comments (5)