Subject: Another Contraceptive Message
Date: 06 Jan 1998 00:00:00 GMT
From: firstname.lastname@example.org (MegaLiz)
Organization: MotPU: Where Binary Moodswings are ALWAYS on the Menu
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
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!