All aboard the yellow submarine....

Three odd things have happened.

The first odd thing is that I seem to be dressing like the Beatles, circa their Nehru jackets and love beads stage.  I'm not sure why this is and I didn't recognise it until the second thing happened.

The second odd thing is that Ringo Starr came to visit me in a dream.  Maybe you're saying, "What's so odd about that?  I dream about Ringo all the time." Maybe you were a swooning fan back in the day.  Or maybe you are a retro Beatles fan now.  I am apathetic towards  the Beatles.  I never understood the attraction.  Ringo dropping by for a visit?  Out of the blue?  Well, that's weird for me. That's like having a rabid dingo show up in my dream.  I just don't think about Ringo Starr or dingos.

The third odd thing that has happened is that my i-pad seems to have adjusted its spell check to the English version.   It wants me to type an "s" where there should be a "z" and to put "e" where normally I'd type "a".

What is the meaning of all this?  I don't know.

Well. Actually. I do have a theory...

I think George Harrison may be trying to channel a message through me.  As I mentioned, I've never been a Beatles fan, but I did have a favourite Beatle, just the same, and it was George.  George was rather beautiful and wrote most of the Beatles songs I did actually like.  In my humble opinion, George was the real talent in that foursome.  Also, he is the Beatle credited with their Nehru jacket phase.  It makes sense that if George were trying to channel through me, I might suddenly develop a fondness for Nehru jacket dressing.  Why he would send Ringo for a visit and not come himself is a bit of a mystery.  Is the message I'm meant to deliver intended for Ringo?

I'm not sure what it all means but as soon as the message comes through, I'll be back to let you know.

What is it George?  What are you trying to say?

Peace,

Chicken out

I've had my fill of shrimp dip...

My  sister makes a great shrimp  dip.  She brought a bucket of her crowd-pleasing shrimp dip to my party and now she wants to leave.  She wants me to keep the left over shrimp dip but she wants her tupperware.   She wants me to drop everything and search the cupboards for a bowl for her shrimp dip.

I do not want the shrimp dip because the vacation house does not have a garbage disposal.  I know this shrimp dip is going to end up in the garbage.  I do not care how good this shrimp dip is, we've all had enough bloody dip.  Just because we are vacationing  on the ocean does not mean we want to smell rotting shrimp dip all week.

"No, that's okay", I say, "You take it. We've got a lot of food already."

My sister insists I keep the shrimp dip.   "I can't bring it home.  I'll eat it."

My sister seems to be implying that if she eats the shrimp dip, she'll get fat, but if she leaves it here and we eat it, no one will get fat. Apparently, this excellent shrimp dip becomes magically void of calories when left behind.

"You  know what, I can't seem to find a bowl.", I say.

"Found one!", she yells, waving a cereal bowl over her head.

"But I don't have any Saran Wrap.", I say, "Just take it with you, honestly, it's so nice of you but we have plenty of food."

"Oh.  I think you could just leave it uncovered in the fridge until you get some.", she says.

"No, it might spill.  Better you should take it with you."

"Oh, look!", she says, "See this plate?  I'm going to put the plate over the bowl, and then I'm going to put the bowl in the crisper, that way  no one will knock it over by mistake.  Problem  solved!"

"Okay."  I sigh, resigned to shrimp dip smelliness, as the voice inside my head screams, "For the love of Pete, I don't want your fucking shrimp dip!  Why come you cannot hear me?"

"I just know how much everyone loves this dip.", my sister says, oblivious or triumphant, I can't tell.  "In fact, let me write down the recipe for you.  Do you have any paper?  And a pen?"

I'd share the recipe but I seem to have misplaced it.

Chicken  out

Hello Monday

It's not so good to see you, Monday.  I liked last Monday better.  Last Monday, I didn't get rudely awakened at 5 a.m.  Last Monday, I didn't make a work lunch or go to work.  Instead, I hiked to a lighthouse and combed the beach for sea glass. Last Monday, I didn't catch up with a single client but did catch up with friends and family.  Last Monday I didn't log into my fitness pal.  Instead, I ate cheese, chips with dip, and drank all the wine I could handle.  Possibly a little more than that.  And Monday?  Last Monday I didn't once think, "Can't wait for Friday".  I was only thinking about Monday, glorious Monday, with a whole week of vacation still left to enjoy.

So you see, Monday, I hope, that it's not personal.  First day back to work Monday can't possibly compete with first day of vacation Monday.  But still, you're not so bad.  Really.  You look cute today.

Love,
Chicken