Subject: Another Contraceptive Message

Date: 06 Jan 1998 00:00:00 GMT

From: (MegaLiz)

Organization: MotPU: Where Binary Moodswings are ALWAYS on the Menu

Newsgroups: alt.foot.fat-free






Bobo (the artist formerly known as Lemmy) has decided that she's ready

to play the keep awake game. It must be a developmental

necessity--they all have an idea that if they do some magical

something JUST SO, if they are extra charming or monstrous at the same

time, I will stay up and play all night. They fiddle endlessly with

the formula. I am firm but they are stubborn.


Last night was sadly typical. Once I checked Bobo over and determined

that she was in perfect PHYSICAL health in spite of the intermittent

screaming, I put plugs in my ears and waited her out. Then I did the

same thing at about FIVE A.M. She can't see me at bedtime any more.

She knows I'm there, though, so she'll coo and bah until I uncover my

ears and then will bansheefy until I cover them again. This goes on

for about half an hour, or until I wise up and hold perfectly still,

whichever comes first. She deliberately offers her cutest noises at

this time. If I laugh, I pay.


She's enormous now, and her Micheleen legs are the size of a large

child's arms and weigh about five pounds a piece. When the cooing and

the chants of vah-vah-vah-dee-blah don't get a reaction, she begins

the leg lifts. These aren't ordinary leg lifts in the sense that you

would ever see this move in a workout video.


She begins by studying and admiring her feet. She believes her feet

are special people who visit, but have very little to say. Bobo

becomes so excited that her new friends will let her chew on them that

she accidently flings them away; possibly she tickles herself as well.

WHOMP-SCREE! Twenty pounds of focused muscle apply themselves to the

base of a rickety crib. This discovery-excitement-POW cycle can repeat

every 60 seconds or so. From witnessing this maneuver, I can say with

great certainty that after impact she tucks her chin to her chest,

which makes her look like a great, fat, triangle head, and thus

contorted, she makes a resonant bleating noise.


She knows I know that she looks even stupider than she sounds. I close

my eyes and wish fervently for her fatigue.


I'm dying the Death of a Thousand Wakings. I've come to depend on

doing things in 30-second snippets, and this is a fairly bad thing.


Tonight, I planned to make coffee, yes, "planned." Everything is

strategy. Once I had the kitchen to myself, I began by learning that

formerly used coffee grounds can exhibit an amazing degree of

bounciness, if you are wearing a white shirt. I thwumped about half of

them into the sink, though.


As if in the heat of battle, I pulled my shirt off and got right back

to work. I had to stop rinsing to think about the formulation. Since

Christmas, we have good coffee and not-so-good coffee and horrible

coffee. Some of these are represented by decaffeinated varieties and

some are beans. Because I am frugal now, I elect to keep the horrible

coffee and MIX it with good coffee until it is gone.


I study the row of bags and cans in the freezer. Lots of horrible

coffee looks back. Figuring that I'm going to use up some horrible,

ground, caffeinated coffee, I decide to balance it with a quarter-cup

of good decaf, which will have to be ground. The canister for decaf is

full, however, so I'll need to measure the beans into the grinder then

put the grounds in the reusable, goldish filter. Okay. So far so good.


Now for the horrible coffee, which should be simple, but is not

because the frozen grounds in the can miss my measure all together and

plop into the filter thingy in a mysterious amount. At this point I

finally swear.


After thinking it over, I remove the filter and check the mixed

grounds with my quarter-cup measure to see if they are somehow luckily

near to the desired half cup. They ARE! In my joy, I recognize too

late that I have dumped the precisely re-measured grounds from the

filter into the BASKET of the coffee maker. It even takes me a minute

to figure out that this is NOT OKAY. At this point I start to laugh.


I sort all this out and lose few grounds getting them back to their

correct station. Okay. Oh. The water level shows that I'll need

another quarter-cup of coffee, (it's a BIGASS machine).


FUCKIT. I add more horrible coffee by eye and decide not to warn the

Rev about any of this. Either more sleep or much more coffee is in my

future. I hope it's sleep.



Spunky: "Lookit all the foot prints! Lotsa people were here!"

Sparky: "OR it was ONE THING with a jillion feet."

* alt.foot.fat-free: where you can collect yummy cheese!