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

August 31, 2005

Egad Karen!

Where's your tip jar?

(And don't sweat whether or not it's koo to have one. This is an emergency.)

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posted by Key on 06:46 PM | Comments (3) | TrackBack (0)


As I have occasionally posted on my experiences with foster parenting, I know I have gained the readership of at least a few people who have expressed an interest in adoption.

A friend of a friend has emailed me some information on a little Indian boy who is need of a home. I do not have much in the way of details, but anyone who is interested, I will be happy to supply the contact's name and number.

I do know that he is seven, he was found abandoned and malnourished a year and a half ago, and he has finally been cleared for international adoption.

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posted by Key on 06:37 PM | Comments (2) | TrackBack (0)

The Sky is Falling!

Shit, I admit, it ain't good. But I think I fear the panic over anticipated gas shortages more so than I do the actual shortage.

Remember the Seinfeld episode in which George, after having convinced these people that he was nothing if not a gentleman, PLOWED all of them down to get to the door at the first sign of smoke??

I see Georges.

Lines wrapped around gas stations, horns blowing, arguments over who was next, sheer panic... And, while I haven't been able to fact check, I heard there was a shooting today in Atlanta, the victim: someone attempting to steal fuel.

Wtf? What planet are these people from?

Assuming the stations really will go a week without having their tanks replenished? Well... In that case, no gas means stay home. Mandatory bumming. I'm down.

(You know the panic has gotten freaky when the media feels obligated to calm rather than rile.)

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posted by Key on 06:19 PM | Comments (3) | TrackBack (0)

August 30, 2005

It's Not Always About Being Right

Character is a gift from tough loving parents. Meanwhile, the gift of gab is no gift at all... more like a curse in my experience.

The abilities to exercise tact, proper timing, boundaries, etiquette, even common courtesy and common sense are not exactly natural instincts.

And so parenting is a constant exercise in patience.

Two children decide to pour themselves some milk. The gallon jug is quite full, very heavy, and the scrawny little kiddie arms struggle to hold it against the glass, which the other child holds.

During the doomed process, the jug hits the floor, and this happens about the time mom walks into the room.

Fingers are pointed(!!), as milk flows freely onto the floor.

"She was supposed to be..."
"He bumped my..."
"I told her to..."

Milk continues to pour, as the accusing becomes ludicrous, even to the pets, who have already begun to take advantage of the situation. Steam streams evenly from mom's ears as she lifts the nearly empty jug from the floor and places it on the counter.

As this relates to big people world? Well, I admit, I haven't been up on my blog-reading recently (forgive me!), and so, I'm not sure which ones my debate buddy refers to as having already begun the finger pointing on the topic of storm readiness and partisan policies, and I won't be digging for that dirt. But nor can I debate mon ami on this one.

Yes, I understand the frustation.

But there are healthy and unhealthy ways to deal. Biased though we are, I think most of us agree that before we continue on with our neverending policy debates, we have a job to do that requires immediate attention:

We have to clean up the milk.

Obviously, we can't all take a wet vac to Nola, but we can stand united in thoughts, prayers and/or contribution.

As much as I like to pick on the Dems, I'll admit that I have accidentally befriended a few! Since 911, I have felt confident that the most beautiful thing that we are capable of doing as a country is rolling up our sleeves together.

Personally, I have seen a very positive response.

Sure, the children will point fingers and the animals will loot, but the adults will get the job done.

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posted by Key on 10:11 PM | Comments (2) | TrackBack (0)

August 29, 2005

One More On Da Meet

...and then I'll shut up about it. For a while anyway.

We have about 14 attending, which is most excellent, a few newbies, a few I haven't seen in a while, and some of the tried and trues.

I am excited, and moreso pleased that you peeps took the 72 hour deadline seriously. The rooms are no longer being held for us, but if you haven't booked and are interested in going, by all means, give the Kristy a call and jump on board as long as there is availability.... the sooner the better. And I'm betting good ol Mark can be sweet talked into honoring the discounted rate, even though technically, the moment has passed. He has a soft spot, you see, for half drunken lunatics who spend their afternoons loitering in his parking lot, attempting to hit half a ball with a broomstick.

Regarding the availablity, I am considering giving up my room in favor of a cabin. So if you can't get in, let me know, and I may bequeath my res. ...assuming I haven't waited too late to get the cabin, of course.

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posted by Key on 05:20 PM | Comments (16) | TrackBack (0)

August 25, 2005

I Ain't Kiddin'!

I am really NOT going to use my credit card to hold these rooms for you people! I love ya, but I ain't gettin' stuck with yo tab.

If you want to go to Helen, and YOU DO, you MUST call TODAY!

Some of you have booked and are on the list, some of you say that you have booked, but you're not on the list!!

You MUST ask for Mark, and you MUST say the magic words [Southeast Writer's Conference] to get the discount!

I'll even give you peeps a toll free numba: 877-464-3536. Use that one or the one in the post below, and hurry up already!!!

Update: Right, today's Thursday... Okay, you technically have until TOMORROW! But that's no reason to be slack. Get movin'!

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posted by Key on 11:16 AM | Comments (9) | TrackBack (1)
» The Brier Patch links with: Here We Go Again

August 23, 2005

Would Anyone Like To Join Us?

We've waited almost too long to get rooms, but Kel and I have decided that we gotta do Helen. Great time, short drive, for the Atlanta crowd, this is a must.

The rest of you? Well, ya'll can come too.

We shall congregate on the eve of September 30, and the wholesome goodness shall perpetually flow until the groggy, am checkout of Oktober 2.

The good news: Because we are checking in [technically] in September, I have charmed/gnawed/worn down the proprietor of the inn into giving us the September rate for the weekend, which is a savings of $50 per night for double occupancy.

The bad news: No, I am NOT going to be sending a gimongo sized deposit for all you procrasinatin' peeps. Ya'll just gonna have to move FAST! You shall not be spoiled, as this is no longer a Kimocracy. (Although the former Diktater and his 1st Lady will no doubt be in attendence, in case you seek autographs.)

Here's the deal: Mark at the Chalet Kristy is willing to hold 12 rooms for a grand total of 72 hours. Starting now. Calling tomorrow would be good. You must call by Friday! The rooms will be released come Saturday!

The discounted prices are as follows:
Double Occupancy, king bed - $109.50/night
Two Doubles - $149.50/night
Cabin, sleeps 4, plus 4 person hot tub - $239/night

To get the discounted room, here are your magic words:
(And that's only cuz "Blogging Half Rubber Drunkards" was taken.)

Ask for Mark; here's his numba: 706-878-2155, and he's there now, btw.

Okay, I did my part. Now you do yours. And if you've never been to a meet before, be very afraid... but book anyway.

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posted by Key on 08:56 PM | Comments (12) | TrackBack (5)
» suburban blight links with: Mmrph.
» The Brier Patch links with: Meet! Meet! Meet!
» Velociworld links with: CALL OUT
» Cadillac Tight links with: Georgia Writer's Workshop, 2005
» Bad Bad Juju links with: AIN’T NOTHING LIKE A GOOD BITCH

August 22, 2005

Are You My Bitch?

I could have SWORN that I just heard Miss Priss affectionately ask that of our female dog.

Immediately, I turned and gave the exchange my full attention as I thought, surely not!

"Are you my bitch?" I heard AGAIN, as the storm-frightened dog blocked her path from her seat....

...Ooooohh, "bench!"


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posted by Key on 08:03 PM | Comments (3) | TrackBack (0)

I Seem To Have Misplaced My Rant

Oh wait... There it is!

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posted by Key on 07:08 PM | Comments (2) | TrackBack (0)

August 19, 2005

I'm NOT Okay!

But I'm trying to pretend that I am, because life doesn't have a "pause" button.

However, I haven't been inspired to write anything witty of late. Perhaps I am simply lost without my hoop holder. She and I need a drink. Nola anyone?

Anyhow... I appreciate all of your thoughts and prayers re my bro. We had a conversation yesterday.

It did not go well. I can't tell im what to do... And I fucking hate that!

But I get it.

And I'll be back tomorrow.

Until then, I've got some dart therapy, for those non-pc moments when free cell isn't an option.

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posted by Key on 05:10 PM | Comments (7) | TrackBack (0)

August 16, 2005

Ukay, ukay, ukay...

In my defense, when I joked with the friskin' man about packing a semi-automatic, I didn't know we'd be taking off behind Airforce One:


I lay in the lap of the Blightess to get a decent view, while she cursed the bitches on standby for taking their sweet time boarding, allowing the POTUS to get ahead of us in line.

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posted by Key on 07:38 PM | Comments (4) | TrackBack (0)

A Study In Advertising

First, how can you save me money on my car insurance after you've spent a MINT on advertising? Although, I'll admit, it DEFINITELY puts things in perspective. World's smallest house, work out equipment, hair tonic, camp wear, etc, etc, etc, etc, etc, all of those things are GREAT... but they won't save me a fucking DIME on my car insurance!

Reminding America what really matters, that ad campaign was money well spent, fucking genius.

On a positive note, I am loving Coke revisiting the 80s. It's about time something from my childhood musters a warm fuzzy. I'd like to buy the world a Coke. And as soon as I've done enough butterflies to pull it off, I'm gonna sport one of those "Have a Coke and a Smile" mini tees. Vive la 80's!

Last but not least, why on earth would I want Lance in my pants? I mean... Is he hot or what?

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posted by Key on 05:03 PM | Comments (2) | TrackBack (0)

August 14, 2005

Priss V. Tom

How to obtain the right balance?

You want your girl to know she's a girl, to be able to turn on the charm and light up a room.... And yet, ideally, she can also rev up the tomboy on demand, throw a fast pitch, outsmart a goalie, outrun the boys.

Right? Well, I feel I am a bit challenged here:

My child has a few things that seem to come naturally to her. One is a look of smug indifference, letting anyone who dare antagonize her know that they have permission to eat shit and die. If that doesn't work, waterworks are next. (I'm already feeling sorry for her first boyfriend.)

The other thing is the Priss factor...obviously. She already has the head toss, the confident walk, and the tendency to arch her brows when she feels she's being fed a line of crap.

May I remind you that she is nine. We've already had a few heart to hearts about attitude. I call it as I see it with her, but she is damn stubborn.

So... The things that do not come naturally to her are warmth and athleticism.

Priss has a dozen or so close friends, whom she has known since kindergarten. Every activity she is signed up for must include one of these girls, or I can forget it, she will suddenly lose interest and no longer care to be signed up.

When placed in a setting with a group of new peers, she will stand silently, smugly sizing up each and every one of them, and never once will it occur to her to actually say hello to any of them. The very idea is terrifying.

If an attempt is made to speak to her, she will supply one word answers until they either go away, or actually persist long enough to draw her out. In which case, she is a friend for life, or until they shit on her... whichever comes first.

I fear she has inherited my social retardedness (thankfully, to a lesser degree), which I have overcome as an adult, but I was mightily afflicted as a child. And I am still reluctant to engage, preferring a party of three or four to a party of thirty or forty.

In an effort to offset both the prissy side, as well as the hesitancy to engage, I have kept my girl active in sports since age five. Soccer every fall, softball every spring. She is actually gifted with a very athletic frame, but lacks the confidence to do anything with it.

The involvement has helped. In fact, due to her peaking interest in sports, she has watched quite a bit of televised ball over the summer. So, I told her father that we needed to take her to a Braves game.

We finally did so on Friday, and she was very excited. ...until we got there, and it was raining, and the Priss came out! She was getting wet! Omigad!

So being rained on AND shut out wasn't a whole helluva lot of fun, but once the Priss had a poncho (an $8 white garbage bag with a Braves logo on it), she was content. And determined to stay until her team scored at least once.

Unfortunately, this did not happen. And so, I spent as much time people watching as I did on the last few innings of the game.

And I come full circle here, because the young girl seated a few rows in front of us, is unknowingly responsible for getting me going on this entire thought process.

She prissed and primped and head-tossed and pouted and prissed and primped and head-tossed and... you get the idea.

The rain was devastating to her. She'd steal the boyfriends cap anytime it was heavier than a drizzle, reluctantly covering the stressed-over locks. Then it'd let up, and she'd shake it out, head-toss, retreat to the restroom to brush it out, reapply make-up, come back to her seat and resume her process.

I actually laughed out loud when she pulled out her compact for the second time (right there in her seat) to touch up her eye make-up.

It's not that I haven't been there. I have, making it ballsy of me to pick on the girl. At my worst, I was a teenager on the prowl, nightclubbing it amongst stiff competition in Athens. But even then, all I was packin' was lipstick and a fake ID.

This chicky was out with the boyfriend, post-20, primpin' it up in the midst of an athletic event... in the friggin RAIN!

I'm actually very forgiving in this area, but I'm not doing this justice. Ya just had to see it. I found it disturbing enough to begin contemplating exactly what I'll have to do to prevent my child from turning into that.

(I wonder if the girl even noticed that we were getting our asses handed to us. At least my Priss knew that we were sucking.)

And so I continue, on my seemingly endless pursuit to round out my daughter's character in all of the ways that mine lacked balance, hoping that she'll learn young, hoping that I can spare her the worst of the hard lessons... (knowing that I won't prevent all or even most of them.)

Of course, I must say that I am damn good at this, and it's a good thing. Because as much as I love her, I have been dealt one helluva challenge.

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posted by Key on 09:05 PM | Comments (5) | TrackBack (0)

August 11, 2005

Horn Broken

Watch for Finger.

I saw that bumper sticker today, and I thought Exactly! It's just been that kind of week!

I despise the concept. Flipping someone off. How punk. How déclassé. I am so above that.

Usually. (Besides, I don't trust the ROAD RAGERS who carry shotguns.)

But as is common knowledge, August 9th is National Flip Somebody Off Day, so you see, I HAD to.

But THAT wasn't me. (Just a Red Hatter enjoying the holiday, I'm sure...)

NO, my target audience was a redneck pieca crap, who had just left half his tires on the asphalt behind my vehicle in an effort not to hit me -- AFTER I HAD SIGNALED to inform said jackass that brake application, as well as a left turn, were in my immediate future -- and, then, THEN he had the 20 oz. infused audacity to sit on his horn...AS IF!

I didn't even think. As I made my scheduled turn, the finger waved goodbye of its own volition.

First time in years.

I did this in Mayberry! And I don't even have the grace to be ashamed of myself.

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posted by Key on 08:51 PM | Comments (7) | TrackBack (0)

August 10, 2005

Lightening the Mood!

I have an announcement to make:

To the lovely (if ABSENT!) hostess of Muddy Death, a most talented and incredibly well-read writer, scholar AND teacher, to whom I was initially intimidated to share my own work, to my loving first cousin and friend, who has shared my frustrations over the past week (as if she hasn't had a dozen other things on her plate), CONGRATULATIONS on a job exquisitely well done!

After having successfully defended her dissertation, you peeps may address my cuz as DR. Ophelia, but I prefer Prof, myself.

This represents a lot of hard work for her, and I hope that I am among the first of many to wish her all the best.

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posted by Key on 06:45 PM | Comments (3) | TrackBack (0)

Gratitude in Lieu of Update

Thank you, gentle readers, for all of the support, advice, encouragement, commiseration, etc. that you luvahs have shown me this week, as I have bubbled and bled frustration and worry.

I don't have an update yet, but as I am encouraged or exasperated, no doubt, this forum will be the first to be notified.

Thank you, my therapists.

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posted by Key on 06:41 PM | Comments (0) | TrackBack (0)

August 05, 2005

My Little Brother

It was impossible to keep a stitch of clothing on the cherubic little devil until he was near four years old, save his cowboy boots and gun holster, which he wore 24/7.

When he reached age five, my asinine parental unit of the paternal persuasion bought the lad a BB gun, with the understanding that if he EVER shot a person, it would be gone forever.

Birds must be really boring moving targets. Because one day, as I rode my bike down our long drive, the little booger followed me with his scope from the center of the front yard. I didn't sweat it though, had to have been fifty feet.

So, he got me in the thigh. Luckily, I was wearing jeans, and there was no bullet to pick out, but there was one helluva goose egg. Oh yeah, and it friggin hurt!

Not to worry though, he didn't get that gun back 'til the about the middle of the next DAY! [I don't use the term asinine lightly.]

It was at least a few weeks before he shot anyone again, though. This time himself... in his ear cartilage, thus beginning the first of many trips the boy would make to the ER over the next decade or so. RE the BB lodged in the fold of his ear: he was an adult before he admitted that he had just wanted to see if he could cock and shoot with his big toe.

While I was a low maintenance child, low energy, laid back, shy to the level of social retardedness, a thinker, an artist, a sassy-mouthed debater and a self-motivator academically, he was the complete opposite... item for item.

When we fought, I would coach, "Use your words," even as his six years younger ass would beat my older and taller one into the ground.

The rod was not spared.

My mother kept a freshly groomed switch between the logs in the wall behind the refrigerator. It would last half a day or so before he'd pull a chair over, grab the switch, and shred it into toothpicks. Obviously, this was a switchworthy offense, and the woman always had a spare.

He'd see her go for it, though, and he'd run. The punishment worsened because of that, but it never stopped him.

In the next house, when we upgraded from country cabin to big 'ol two story brick traditional, we had a formal front staircase off of the Foyer, as well as a back staircase off of the Breakfast Room.

Running was more fun then. He'd run up one stairwell and down the other to evade punishment, fast, with this amused grin on his face as he whooped and hollered Daffy Duck style , "WOOHOO! Woohoo [laughter] WOOHOO! Woohoo [laughter]...!"

I tried to teach him how to play chess... he threw the pieces across the room. I tried to teach him how to treat the ladies... he hid under my bed and watched my friends change into their swimsuits.

As I was stealing from the liquor cabinet at age 17, he was as well, at 11. As I was a bridesmaid in my cousin's wedding earlier that year, he was slinking around the tables, finishing off unattended glasses of wine.

It was later that year that my parents divorced.

He had never really had a decent father figure to begin with, but I don't think he actually realized that until all hell broke loose.

Shortly thereafter, he began hanging with an older group, who gladly supplied the cute and charming youth with alcohol, cigarettes and pot. And by age 13, big sis embarrassed the hell out of him, as I felt the need drill into his head the seriousness of STD's, even as I hoped there was no need for it...yet.

The next year he was sent to a wilderness camp in Utah, one of the brutal ones that reporters like to expose. His shiny shoulder-length locks were shaved, and he thinned considerably. I wanted him out, but was impotent as a mere sibling. Finally, my mother went in person and extracted him.

Thankfully, he found the determination to continue his education, without dropping out at 16, as the state allows. He did, however, manage to earn himself a probation officer before he managed to earn himself a diploma.

Nonetheless, the diploma was his.

And I had had high hopes. Apparently, so had he. He just defined "high" a wee bit differently.

He did manage to secure a job in construction, and was under the influence of nothing more than Mountain Dew, allegedly, when he flipped his truck during his lunch hour.

We almost lost him then.

After an agonizing wait at the hospital, I was allowed to see my spleenless brother, with an eight inch sutured incision running sternum to navel, cuts all over his face, and I'll never forget his beautiful eyelashes, blood-matted.

But he made it.

And even as I had hoped that he then realized the value of his own life, his next two hobbies were pool hustling and bar brawling, which tend to go hand in hand... As does serving a little time.

Finally, the wild child settled into a bit of a routine, working within the family business, and even maintaining a relationship or two.

And despite his roughened demeanor when confronted with the drunk and the toothless, he's always been a mild one any other time, a cutie, a passionate flirt, and a gentle spirit.

One of the good guys. Looks like Johnny Depp, and could charm the pants off a nun.

Of course, I've always wanted the best for him, always painting him a promising future. But unfortunately, I seem to have more faith in him than he has in himself. And I fear that he is now stumbling on yet another one of life's many hurdles.

I have been quiet on my page this week. He has been on my mind.

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posted by Key on 05:37 PM | Comments (11) | TrackBack (1)
» Gut Rumbles links with: wild child

August 04, 2005

I Bought a Fang!

...or part of one.

You should too. All the cool kids are doing it. Almost there; let's make it happen.

Here's why and how.

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posted by Key on 06:09 PM | Comments (4) | TrackBack (0)

August 01, 2005

Freedom of Religion

Miss Priss has a little boy in her class who is not allowed to celebrate ANYTHING. No pledge. No holidays. Every day is as another.

He literally sits quietly as every other child stands and pledges their allegiance to the United States of America.

There is no Christmas and no birthdays. I actually overheard his mother tell the teacher that he is not to be a part of ANY holiday or birthday celebration, not even so much as to indulge in the consumption of a cupcake from another kid's birthday party.

Now. FAR be it for me to judge an area as sensitive as religion... But, somebody tell me, WHAT kind of religion deprives a child of EVER opening a gift? And what kind of religion forbids a citizen -who indulges in the greatness of this country- from pledging their allegiance, with or without the words "under God"?

Seriously, I am apparently just not familiar with this particular religion. Somebody enlighten me. I need to hear an upside, so that I no longer feel obligated to mourn this kid's lost childhood.

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posted by Key on 10:50 PM | Comments (16) | TrackBack (0)

Pics I WISH Had Turned Out

I have a few of some other peeps, but they are just as fuzzy, and I'm not sure if the ladies in the pics want to be posted. The following peeps, however, don't get a vote in the matter:

angkelbeads.jpg boas.jpg

jackspark.jpg  kelkimbourbon.jpg

mezonk.jpg  my2peeps.jpg

Do we REALLY have to wait til next year?!

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posted by Key on 07:06 PM | Comments (7) | TrackBack (0)