When the coffee maker is filled to the 4.5 cup line on the whaddayacallit, the … let me go look … (heh, those cats get all excited if you even move toward the stairs) the decanter is what it’s called. I thought it was something different, but it’s written right there on the lid. Decanter.
Anyway, 4.5 cups as marked on the decanter fills my Las Vegas mug (the one with my name on it) to the brim twice. I don’t understand that. I guess the point is that I either drank 4.5 “cups” of coffee or two mugs of coffee. Whatever the case, it’s 4:30 and I’ve got some serious jitters. I’m wired.
This is the stupid-thirty I was talking about earlier. Four-thirty, five-thirty, what-have-you. If it’s dark outside and I haven’t been to bed and the little hand is more than halfway from the 12 to the 6 and the big hand is pointing straight down, it’s stupid-thirty. Like right now.
Cabin Fever is on HBO. It’s a movie about some people getting a flesh-eating virus while staying at a cabin. I only watch a couple of minutes. Some kid named Dennis bit one of the guys who had the virus, and now his dad is pissed that the guy “gave” his son the virus. And then there were some boobies, I think, back at the cabin. On G-String Divas one of the strippers was getting all pissy about other strippers “stealing” the songs she dances to. Yeah, there were some boobies on that show, too. I turned the TV off, though. Maybe I need output more than input right now, so I can’t just sit and watch TV.
I guess it’s day six. If I’m awake before noon, it won’t be by choice. I hope I’m asleep before six. Wasting half a day off because you decided to make coffee at midnight just reinforces the assertion that you require constant adult supervision.
I think I’ll probably play five hundred games of Spider Solitaire now.
Edit: Carafe! On our old coffee maker, the pot was called the carafe. “Do not use if carafe is cracked or chipped.” That’s what it said on the old pot. The old carafe. Why did we get rid of that coffee maker? It had a timer on it. The new one doesn’t. I don’t remember why we got rid of it. “Decanter,” my ass.