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

August 23, 2006

School Preparation

When I bitched wrote about dress codes/uniforms/being forced to iron khakis, many of you suggested that it may be time for Priss to learn how to do her own laundering.

I have been working towards such a beautiful goal for...well, years.

I blame the frequent setbacks. For example, here's typical convo:

Me: Hon, that isn't the shirt you had on a minute ago. Where'd the other one go?

Miss Priss: Decided not to wear it.

Me: Okay, well, did you hang it back up?

MP: Yeah.

Me: [incredulous] Uh-huh. Did you really hang it back up?

MP: Yeah, Mom...I did! It's in the laundry room.

It would be too much to hope that the shirt had managed to get itself hung up AND transported to the Priss closet. No, I was prepared to be impressed if it had actually found its way back to the hanger.

Ah, and it had. But I still think this counts as a setback:

shirt.jpg

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posted by Key on 05:24 PM | Comments (582) | TrackBack (0)

August 22, 2006

Mini-Meet!

Okay, so it wasn't exactly a mini-meet. It was me, going across town to visit the Blightess and her new bundle. If only the Zonkman had skipped work to hang out with the kool kids, a meet it woulda made.

Regardless, Mini-Blight, though he slept the whole time, is a blessed little feller for giving us an excuse to sit about on a Tuesday afternoon and have us a nice chat.

Mother and infant are doing well, they are both beautiful, and I have the evidence:

Mother...
kelandbaby.jpg

...and angel
babyblight.jpg

I am a wicked-awesome cell phone photographer, non?

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posted by Key on 08:44 PM | Comments (515) | TrackBack (0)

August 17, 2006

A Jawja Blogger Breeds

We have another in our midst!

Congrats to the Suburban Blightess and her family on the birth of a strapping young lad. He is graced with the same linebacker stats as was a young Key Monroe: 8 lb, 13 oz, 22 in. That's right. Nobody in the nursery messes with those numbas. Below is an exclusive first day pic, that you will only see here:

beerbaby.jpg

(Would be more fitting for say a Yabu baby, perhaps, but I work with what I have. Pic to - hopefully - be replaced by the real deal tomorrow.)

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posted by Key on 07:37 PM | Comments (356) | TrackBack (0)

Free Will Conspiracy Theory

Not to be confused with Freedom. No, I am nostalgic over the ever-elusive free will.

I have ranted and ranted about how much better charity would be if more privatized, a free will decision. I'm guessing - cuz it would take three years to research it - that maybe a dime of the tax dollar actually trickles down to an abused woman living on welfare with three kids... So why not let the taxpayer give half the amount directly to a battered woman's shelter or [insert your cause here], so that she can have five times as much, and yes, in my fairy tale, we even get a tax credit for our efforts. Everyone is for the better, less the pink-slipped middle-men. The tax credit is a beautiful thing, as is the efficiency, and being in control of my own income would surely leave a little less Uncle Sam resentment in the back of my throat come April 15.

But no...encroachment upon free will is alive, and it is spreading like flesh-eating bacteria upon the face of our land!

Many of us jest about the disparity between the mandated and free will tip. Yet it is quite real. When I dine at a table of six, for instance, a 15% gratuity is added in, without my consent, and I leave it as such. Yet when I dine at a table of three, I typically leave a 20-25% tip, of my own accord. See? I'm dropping more dough, but I'm feeling good about it, see, because I decided how much of my money I wanted to share, based on my personal appreciation of service. Free will is beautiful thing.

Enforced sharing, however, has penetrated our society! It is pandemic! You must! Not an option! You have. They don't. Share! I'll make you!

I have proof.

Remember the Ice Breaker mint? Of course you do. It was the free will mint. To share (large opening on one side) or not to share (small opening other side).

I liked. Yeah well. Now look at it!

mints.jpg

What? Where is my "not to share" option? Wtf? It is a conspiracy, I tell ya. They're just seeing if we'll quietly and passively accept the socialist mentality, and this is the test product! Not me, man. I've tasted my last wintergreen mint.

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posted by Key on 12:02 PM | Comments (193) | TrackBack (0)

August 13, 2006

Dress Codes Uniforms In Public Schools

I have a very black and white opinion on this one, peeps.

From age four to fifteen, I attended private school. Private Christian school. I had to wear skirts or dresses to below the knee, no sleeveless shirts, no showing of more than two finger's worth of collarbone, etc.

I actually received a pretty good education there, and some of it I actually applied, though I am to this day a poor student. So, trade off. You get something more, you pay something more, you put up with dumb rules. During tenth grade, I finally managed to break enough rules to get suspended, at which time I opportuned, using the please send me to public school; you don't want an expulsion on my record angle.

It worked. Freedom at last. Now, the other kids at Clarke Central didn't think so, as they were not allowed to leave school early on their own will, lest the Greenie Beanies (green-jacket wearing attendance police) haul their asses back, throw them in in-house.

But they did not know. It was freedom. We wore whatever. Bottoms could not hang out, of course, and cleavage could not be excessive, and shoes had to be worn. Some may have felt oppressed by this. Not me, man. I was wearing jeans. The cheerleaders were wearing cute little skirts, and they danced at the pep rally. We could chew gum, and we could eat outside for lunch! I was seeing sunlight for the first time.

Gawd, I don't know what I would have done had I not had two and a half years at a REAL school. I imagine that had I gone straight to UGA from the small Christian school - where discipline was so rigid that social norms could not be observed and adopted independently - I would have been clueless on the outside.

My personal wardrobe throughout the school years? Oh, my mother dressed me funny. Hand-me-downs, yard sale clothes, thrift stores, and yes, occasionally new stuff, provided it was on clearance. I didn't argue. Who cared. Dress code precluded style.

On the flip side, when I made it over to public school, I realized that it afforded the opportunity to show some individuality, even a little style, without spending the big buck. Oh, you could spend several hundred per outfit, and some did, but it wasn't necessary to fit in. In fact, when the girls and I did splurge, coughed up babysitting dough for one or two outfits at The Limited, it was for our own satisfaction. Public school is a jeans and a tee kinda place.

Now...Priss will accessorize ANY outfit to death. The chokers, coordinating watches, belts, shoes, sashes, hair wraps, etc., etc. This is where we, as parents, drop serious change.

Purpose of public school dress code? To be modest. Quite necessary, within reason...give us the flip flops, okay? They're cheap, and the kids love 'em.

Purpose of the uniformed dress code? To put everyone on the same playing field.

Whatever. I just spent $200 on a bunch of ugly khakis. ...So that my daughter can wear a tucked golf shirt with belted khakis, and look like a boy...Until she overcompensates by accessorizing like a hip-hop princess.

The result is...ridiculous. And I didn't save a dime.

But I wasn't really pissed. Nah, didn't really care. Just one year. We'll make the best of it, I tell Priss. The Fifth Grade Academy! It's a neat idea, and the little boogers even look kinda cute, in a country club offspring kinda way.

So, I was cool - Until! It was time to wash and dry eight pairs of khakis. No big. Got a new dryer. This bitch could dry eight pairs of jeans in an hour!

Prob: See, we don't wear khakis much around here. When Shrek wears them, I buy only things with "wrinkle-free" stickers. Know what? These little girly capris, the evil nonpoly purists, don't come in wrinkle free!

So, one hour later, I pulled eight wadded up khaki balls out of the dryer. And then, I cussed. And after that... I ironed til midnight.

And now, I have a clear-cut opinion on this whole uniformed dress code idea in public schools. I say NO. Where is my ballot? Kids should wear denim. Period.

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posted by Key on 10:58 PM | Comments (154) | TrackBack (0)

August 12, 2006

Replacement Surgery

So....since I chickened out of giving up my uterus, I thought I'd be a good sport and donate my ugly tonsils to science.

They are truly disgusting...large, pitted, mutant and resilient. Infected again, and spitting in the face of 500 mgs of Zithromax. So, after years of hating the tonsils, I have finally made an appointment with an ENT to discuss their removal. Unfortunately, the only one I could get is on the Friday afternoon of a certain JAWJA blogmeet. (Life, and it's damn difficult decisions!)

I realize that the physical ailment theme is beginning to sound like a conversation over the bridge table, but hey, I'm dry on topics at the moment anyway, so I thought I could at least offer up an absentee excuse.

And as long as I'm whining, Priss brought home a stomach bug. It is the cherry on top. She's well now. Bouncy, energetic, wrecking the living room, terrorizing the cats. Meanwhile, I'm regretting my lunch.

(I know. So much for Quality Control...)

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posted by Key on 05:19 PM | Comments (51) | TrackBack (0)

August 09, 2006

I Chickened Out

And it wasn't because of the scrubs!

Back in the spring, abdominal pain that I've ignored for years became unignorable. Pain was severe, swelling was unbelievable. And I don't know what I looked like, but I felt like an old, hunched over, pregnant lady.

I went in mid-June for exploratory outpatient surgery, and ended up being admitted overnight, due to the severity of my case. (I'll spare you guys the pic that I forced upon the eyes of the innocent.) It is severe endometriosis, and the scoping must have royally pissed it off, thus the unexpected overnight stay, without so much packed as a toothbrush.

Anyway, the doctor said I would need a complete hysterectomy, and given the level of excruciating pain, I didn't object, and so it was scheduled... for today.

Obviously, I am not under the knife.

During the past month, the pain and swelling have diminished enough that I've decided to consider a less serious measure. (I chickened out.) After a consult with the doc yesterday, I settled on plan B. I will be taking a series of Lupron injections that will turn me into a fat, zitty, grumpy, hirsute, hot flashing, post-menopausal woman overnight.

The injections will start in a week or two, and the treatment lasts six months. Unfortunately, for the effort, it will probably only buy me a few years before I will have to endure another treatment (or surgery). A necessary evil, though, as I am not quite ready to give up my ovaries. Well, not today.

(In case the 'ol roll is wondering, this has been a public service announcement. Meaning, you peeps may want to think twice before inviting my hormonally crazed ass to any blogmeets in the near future!)

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posted by Key on 01:15 PM | Comments (64) | TrackBack (0)

August 08, 2006

Scrubs

Okay, I'm probably going to offend some people here - like quite possibly one out of every four Americans, including many, many peeps on the 'ol roll - but uh, this must be said:

WHAT IS THE DEAL???

I have remained silent for years as I have watched this irrational trend develop.

When I was a kid, these things were green, and docs wore them for surgery. Button-down, tie, lab jacket for office, scrubs for surgery.

Then the docs that worked hospital/office same day said fuck the tie; surgeons wear scrubs. Okay, I can dig.

Then, when Priss was little, I noticed many of the pediatric nurses began to wear cutesy scrubs with little firetrucks or Elmos on 'em. That's sweet, I thought. I could appreciate that sacrifice. You know... I mean, I sympathized, cuz they were hideous and all, but hey, cute move for the kiddies!

But...but then it spread. Then my dental hygienist went scrub, peach scrub!

Then the receptionist at my doctor's office!

Then...then...Day-care providers. And ParaPros? Wtf? Cutesy little ex-cheerleader mommies struttin' their prissy stuff down the elementary school hallways in this:

scrubs.jpg

For the first couple of years, I stared in wonder as the trend grew and grew and grew... Very weird, Twilight Zoney even. And now...Is this becoming accepted attire for ANY woman in the workforce?

At least in the beginning they were worn for medical jobs, and that was it. But now...I go to the grocery store at the end of the day, and I see scrubbed people! In produce, frozen foods, going through check-out. Everywhere, loud, noisy shirts or blah pastels, all in identical pajama cuts!

And so, I have been holding the following in for a long, long time:
EEEEEEEEEEWWWWWWWWW!!!!!!!

I apologize and sympathize, of course, if my rant has reached someone who is required to wear these gawd-awful things. However, if this movement was made as an optional move towards comfort, couldn't we have just pulled all the wires out of our bras and called it a day?

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posted by Key on 08:45 PM | Comments (113) | TrackBack (0)

August 03, 2006

Imaginative Lyrics

One of the things that the American Idol judges kept stressing to/demanding of the contestants last season was to ENUNCIATE!!

I couldn't agree more.

Growing up, I was convinced Michael Jackson had a "one-eyed lover" in Billie Jean. I still hear it that way.

While everyone else hears the classic "Can't Buy me Love," a friend of mine hears a song about "Catalina." (That one surprised me, but whom am I to judge? I was envisioning a babe with one eye...)

And now my dear Priss... Well, she has been shaking it like a "pollywog wiener." Oh, hell yeah. She gets down with those girlfriends shaking it like a tadpole.

Ah...I guess she's too young to know what a Polaroid is anyway.

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posted by Key on 09:56 PM | Comments (43) | TrackBack (0)

August 01, 2006

Slow Night

Not around the world, but certainly in my living room. Ya know, bought a new Swiffer, and wondered at its ability to attract dust-bunnies... that kind of night.

So maybe I'll rent Passion of the Christ.

Hey, never saw it; no time like the present, right?

The latest on Mel Gibson took me back to the time of that movie's release. Oh goody, the churches had fodder. Most instilled into their congregations the sheer necessity of viewing this film.

My church included.

However...My church also supports a missionary over in the Middle East somewhere. A Jewish missionary.

He visited during heat of the hype, spoke to the congregation, and funny thing... I don't think he liked the movie. "It wasn't the fault of Jews!" he shouted, "It was the fault of sinners! All of us!"

Yeah. And? This is what I was thinking. I know that. Duh. But I hadn't watched the movie. Nor had I considered the sensitivity that is Jewish guilt.

Regardless, I found his response surprising. Well, until I saw the response multiply all over the web. Still...twas odd I thought.

Now? Now that I hear about this transcript? I'm thinking maybe this fella saw something that most church leaders did not. Otherwise, I don't think they would have insisted that we must see the film!!!

Me? I skipped it because I have a serious problem viewing human torture. Like...serious. The five seconds I saw of Reservoir Dogs (eight years ago) is still haunting me.

So I guess I will have to rely upon the unbiased opinions of others, because now I wonder more than ever: How was that movie?

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posted by Key on 08:29 PM | Comments (25) | TrackBack (0)