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

June 28, 2006

For Rob...

I am out. On my way to Savannah, to give Rob the proper send-off, to raise a drink and tell a tale with cherished friends.

For those of you who cannot make it, I raise a cyber toe-toast...

You see, Rob and I had that antagonizing, love-hate friendship thing going on, and so, at all of our blogmeets - though I painted HIS toes red - I never gave in.

I wore maroon toes.
I wore frosted pink toes.
I wore hot pink toes.
I wore cranberry toes.

"Got-dammit, that ain't red," he said to the cranberry toes, "you do that shit just to piss me off."

Heh. Yes hon, I did.

So for Rob, I bought a bottle of Revlon's best today. The color is new, and perfect for the occasion: frankly scarlet. Very clever. He would approve.

I will be wearing open-toed sandal's tomorrow. Rob, this toe's for you:


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posted by Key on 04:10 PM | Comments (14) | TrackBack (0)

June 26, 2006

Blogworld Tragedy

God... It can't be true.

I know I am not the only one who has struggled to wrap their brain around this. It is amazing that the "good ol days" of Blogworld were only two years ago and change. Rob has had his struggles of late, I know, but I knew he'd come back to us. After all, for many of us, he is our Blogfaddah. And even during the rough patches, I have observed and concluded that he is just too stubborn to die.

So I stared at Sam's words today, and waited for them to go away. To change. To not be true.

In the beginning, I could not have blogged without him. His was the only blog I knew. In fact, when a google search landed me on his site in the summer of 2003, I sent him an email demanding to know the meaning of this mystery word I kept seeing: blog. What the hell? I wondered what kind of X-rated company paid him for such editorials, because surely, he was not doing all of this writing for free!

He was. And now, I am. Along with many of my blog-sisters and brothers and friends.

Within my first year, I had met such cherished friends as Sammy Baby, Velociman, Zonker, Cat and even a few yankees. And I had already met the tried and trues - Kelley, Eric, Dax, Donnie, Denny, Adam, Rick and Georgia - these guys I met early on, pre-Key, back in 2003 when Rob called the first Jawja blogger gathering. And since that first year, I have met dozens more, watched birthings of some of my favorite blogs, and strengthened many, many friendships...friends I love, friends who will get me through a week like this one. (And hopefully, my shoulder is worth something to them as well.)

I am grateful to Rob. Before I even had a blogworld identity, he told me to write. He made us a family.

He rated our progress, adopted our identities, told us how we should smell, and highlighted our follies.

He played at my site, mocked my misery, and constantly picked fights.

Oh, we fought. And consequently, I jumped on and off of his blogroll. But he had trouble staying mad at me. I knew it, and abused the privilege. He knew it, and abused it far worse. Naughty little fireball. And I described him as such in this post, the very one from which he extracted the sidebar quote. (What sidebar quote, you say? You will have to strain your brain. He took it down during War of the Blogs, Part deux, I believe. Oh, but he loved a battle...)

The lusty links? Heh. Too many to bother with. I begged the man to give my brain a little recognition. "If you're gonna link me," I'd say, "Link me on content!" I would demand this regularly. He'd laugh, call me darlin', and link me however he damn-well pleased.

So, while this post may have seemed small to the rest of blogworld, it was a humungo milestone for us. And it meant a lot to me.

Many of us saddened as we knew our friend, and for many of us, blogfather, was deteriorating. But we couldn't accept it. Not fully. "Rob will be Rob," we would say...but he will be here was the sentiment. In Blogworld always. And he will.

But we struggle now. Because those of us who cared deeply for the stubborn old fart, well, we will be lost for a while.

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posted by Key on 11:59 PM | Comments (14) | TrackBack (0)

June 10, 2006

I Can't Breathe!

Home needed. I will attempt to make a long story less long.

Our first german shepherd - that we bought from a neighbor, as a pup, upon Miss Priss's begging, when she was a cute three year old with spiraled curls - was stolen from my yard over four years ago.

The dog was wearing a collar with his name, my number, and rabies tag with our vet's number. He was definitely stolen. And yet... Priss would not sleep until we had checked every shelter in North Georgia. And we did.

The last of the shelters we checked was in Barrow county, which holds animals ONLY 5 days before euthanizing. I walked in and, of course, did not see my dog. The guy explained to me that Shepherd rescue sweeps up most of the purebreds anyway.

But they left one. I guess her blood wasn't pure enough for them, as she is smaller in frame and looks to have just enough Husky in her to make her fluffy. Meet Kira:


I looked at her big, brown eyes and asked the guy at the shelter how long she had. "She's been her nearly a week ma'am. She's to be put down in the morning."

Well, that was it. It wasn't the plan, but she was going home with us.

She is the sweetest animal, and soon became a favorite of the family and extended family, but before too long I discovered that I am quite allergic to her. Determined that my sinuses were bad anyway, - and they were - I decided to postpone a decision on whether or not to keep Kira until I had had my sinus surgery, which would happen later that year.

It helped actually. But my allergy has grown over the years, and last time I went to the allergist, the "dog" spot on my arm looked more like a mosquito bite within seconds.

Stubborn me, I still didn't want to give her up. But... Now, on top of my not being able to breathe with this furbaby in the house, it seems that Miss Priss is developing similar allergies. Combine that with the prolonged out of state travel, and I realize it is time to find her a home that is more suited for her.

I don't even have a fence. Kira has become too human-like. She prefers to eat what we eat, wants to sleep in the same room we do, and she has become a regular couch potato.

Why here instead of the paper? I am advertising here because I have never known such loving, tender-hearted people as bloggers, and I want Kira to go to someone who will pamper her, who will bring her in on hot days, cold days, stormy days, and every night. And who will lavish her with more attention than I've been able to give her thanks to my watery eyes and incessant sneezing.

The facts: She is timid, especially with men, as she was likely abused before I came to own her. She is also the most mild-mannered dog I have ever known. Her best friend is a feline, and she has frequent play-dates with another dog. And thanks to the foster kids, she has been tried and true around little ones. She loved and protected the attentions of the 18 month old, the hyper 3 year old, and on up to Miss Priss's current age of 10. Ironically though, I am her favorite.

She does not have accidents, and can hold it inside for as long as 10 hours. She is recent on shots, and she has muscle relaxers, but only needs them for storms, and NO! I have never dipped into her stash. (Seriously.) She has NEVER bitten or nipped at all. (She is even gentle when she accepts a treat.) She does not bark or growl, EVER, unless someone is lurking around outside. And yes, she is the scare tactic I used to get the lascivious bug man out of my house a few months ago.

She will be sorely missed. But this is something that has to happen. And so, if it must let her go, I am begging my blog-buds for help getting it done. For the right home, I am willing to drive the mileage to get her settled in.

UPDATE: Priss and I made a Father's Day road trip. ... Up to North Georgia to check out this Vicki person whom I met in my comments. She graciously offered to take Kira on a temp-to-perm basis, depending on their mutual agreement.

It turns out that Vicki is this wonderful, dog-pampering sort, who has doggie treats that I wouldn't mind eating, plus she has canine friends for Kira whose eccentricities do not seem to clash terribly with those of my nervous pup. Amazing.

As Priss and I left, Kira seemed quite content, and I felt more than comfortable leaving her with a faithful reader of GOC, and occasional reader of yours truly, the former, of course, being the better endorsement.

Vicki promises to keep us posted, and if Kira doesn't work out there, I can always gift her to one of the gracious peeps who linked her story. (But I have a feeling it's going to be a match!)

Thanks Vicki.

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posted by Key on 08:43 PM | Comments (13) | TrackBack (2)
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