I don’t know why I’m nesting. But I am. I have spent the past couple of days going through closets, organizing papers, collecting items to donate and even more things to throw out. Throughout my clean, I have found little notes EVERYWHERE. On papers, sticky notes, back of books, and in various journals. Usually it is just a jotted down note of something humourous I wanted to remember.
Sometimes I have no freakin clue what I am talking about. Like when I write,
‘gram bad- gigobyte/kd & wieners for dinner.’
What the hell was I trying to remind myself? There must be a story there somewhere and I am immensely annoyed that I have zero recollection of such an absurd train of thought.
Other times, it’s just one word. Like:
Which I must have heard and jotted down since I thought it was so funny. Yup, it really is funny. I have to find somewhere to use this word…
Boondockle?? or is it Boondoggle? (written as per my note)
Heehee, another fabulous word.
Sometimes it’s a note written on the back of a receipt that I dug out of my purse so I wouldn’t forget. Like from the fireworks show in the summer where we stumbled upon a sign that read,
“YOU MUST UNDERSTAND. YOU MUST NOT ENTER!”
I even wrote down something from one of those cheesy forwards you get in email. This one happened to be from my Gramma only a couple of weeks before she died. I remember laughing that she sent me this as she was probably one of the most pessimistic people I have ever known. But it was cute. And I was trying to have a baby at the time so wanted to teach myself some rhymes and songs that were not from the Grease soundtrack.
I wish I was a glowworm,
A glowworm’s never glum.
Cuz how can you be grumpy
When the sun shines out your bum!
More often than not, I write down a particularly funny conversation that Bal and I have had. This one is from a year or two ago:
“Fifty Cent may NOT be allowed in Canada!” blurts the anchor on the lead national news story of the day. The reporter falters on ‘Fifty Cent’. You can read his mind watching him. Should he attempt ‘Fity Cent’ and risking looking a fool or just say full out ‘Fifty Cent’ and face not being entirely up to date with the times. He ends up being both. Regardless, the reporter continues, “With a violent and criminal history, the popular rapper (avoidance of 50 cent entirely I note) may not be allowed over the border. Politician So and So does not want him here anyhow.”
Cut to politician. “His message is clear and we, as a nation, want none of it.”
Cue Bal who’s cooking in the kitchen. “What’s his message?” he asks having heard only the last bit of the report.
“Shootin is cool!” I retort.
“Really? He said that?”
Cut to me, whiter than white girl.*
“Well, no, not exactly. That would be dorky. He probably says ‘Fo Shizzle Mother Fucka Nizzle. Yo bitch needs to be shot!”
*pretending to be a bad ass, black rapper knowing full well that she is about to make a complete fool of herself.
Please note: I do not discriminate. I am equally as pathetic at pretending to be redneck, Indian, Texan, Chinese and French (among others).
(Hmmm… Is this what you would call creating for myself a snafued situation?)