Thursday, May 10, 2007

So Noted

I leave myself notes. The notes are sometimes helpful, like, "I owe Rebecca $5." or "E-mail Kay's birthday pictures." (Which I will, I promise, I just don't have my camera with me. But I won't forget. I wrote it down.) But sometimes, the notes, not so helpful, or um, sensical, like "tangle red," "Lisa Anner Aver Bach," "Geiko Charo add Blumenthal 2 much time," "#54 = good." What the hell?

Often my notes seem like they should be helpful. I'll leave myself notes of song lyrics so that I can track down the song, which seems useful but is not because the lyrics I hear, not the lyrics that were sung. Other times, my notes seem like they should be fun, but again, they are not. I left myself a note of some sort of knitting pattern with four different rounds. Great right? Wrong. I have no idea what it is or where it is from. I'm not sure if I was copying someone else, making up my own thing, or leaving myself a note of what I already had done. Maybe it is plagiarism. Maybe it is an invention. I dunno.

I do know that I wanted to blog about nasty feet. I left myself a note that said, "blog about [illegible] nasty feet. Dirty pig!" I'm not sure whose feet I saw, or where I saw them, but apparently they were bad, bad enough that I thought I needed to share my very definite thoughts on foot care. Because yes, I DO have very definite thoughts on foot care.

Once upon a time, I was a nail technician. Licensed and insured. 100% certified. And though I always thought people with nasty feet should not bare them in the light of day (it is called socks and shoes people!), I did not become militant until I was forced to touch other people's feet. Since moving to Connecticut, I've seen more skeevy gefilte feet and I thought I had become immune (and somewhat smug about my own superior foot care). But sometime in the last month, someone showed me his or her cloven hoof and I was not immune and I was NOT happy. So not happy that I felt the need to write it down and remind myself to mock the nasty little fuker. If only I could remember who the nasty little fuker was ... damn you brain, think! Alas, the subject of my scorn is lost to me, but the scorn, it isn't. Whoever you are, you know you have nasty feet and you should be embarrassed. Shame on you!


Suz said...

Your half of the brain doesn't work either!

handknitbyafailedfeminist said...

I think you should make the notes into avante garde poetry!