Thumbs and Marshmallows?

I have an application in my phone so I can keep notes to myself.  It seems like a great idea.  Story ideas come to me all the time, but the problem is, they’re just notes, disjointed mini sentences with no syntax.  When one is trying to jot down epiphanies at a stop light, one must be brief. Then hours or days later, I have no idea what they could possibly mean.  Let me give you some examples.

• Must have the only dog with thumbs    Clearly there was an Idiot Dog story attached to that but I can’t for the life of me remember what.
• Marshmallow bathroom rules  I suspect this one was a doozy. 
  

  Maybe it was about him? Anything's possible

  How weird must my life be if I can write a sentence that bizarre and then have absolutely no recognition of what it means? 

Unbelievably, I can remember that Greek Monsters refers to a conversation I had with my nephew about books I bought him for Christmas.  He’s nine and I thought he’d really enjoy the Percy Jackson & The Olympians series and I was right.  I bought him #1 & 2 in the series.  He commented that there were a lot of cool monsters in the books, and I told him he hadn’t seen anything yet.  I assured him there were scads of awesome Greek monsters yet to discover.  If there was one thing those crazy Greeks could do, it was create mindbending monsters.  “Cool!” he replied. 

Though this is super cool, I doubt it's what he has in mind.

I also can remember what this means: Cardboard Box Furniture.  One day The Bandit told me he’d like me to bring home any big cardboard boxes that happen to come into my work.

“Why?” I asked.

“Cause I’d like to make some new furniture with ’em,” he told me.

Deep sigh.  My house is so ridiculously cluttered you practically have to walk sideways around the dining table to get into the kitchen.  I’m not talking about cluttered like those lunatics on A&E’s Hoarders.  Have you ever watched that show?  Dear Lord, that show is the proverbial train wreck you can’t look away from.  You have never seen anything like it.  At first you can’t believe it, but every week there is a weirder, more deeply troubled individual who’s home is mind bogglingly filthy with garbage and junk and animals and you can’t stop watching.  It’s horrible.

That is not my house.  I assure you.  You still can’t come over for me to prove it to you because it’s a disaster of a different kind brought on by a seriously overworked Mom, an exhausted Dad, two hyperactive kids and a completely insane dog.

All we need to make it whole is cardboard furniture and marshmallows in the bathrooms.