Am I Blue?

Yes I’m blue.

Heck yeah I am! A blue ribbon winner, that is.

Long time readers might remember last year when I brought New Mexico cooking to my local county fair. I whipped up a batch of biscochitos, the New Mexico State Cookie, and they were awarded the blue ribbon.

This year, I decided to bring New Mexico back to the fair by entering a special “Culinary Arts” competition.

The event? Enchiladas.

Aw, yeah.

I love making my version of enchiladas with marinated chicken and Hatch green chiles. So I signed up.

Today, I was quite nervous as the judges sampled my offering and wrote notes and counted points.

And then they awarded me first place!! Whoooooo!

How I beat the guy who made his own mole sauce, I’ll never know.

But what I do know is this. Anyone who wants me to whip up a batch? It’s gonna cost you, cuz I’ve got a double blue ribbon winning kitchen.

Oh Fair New Mexico…boo yah!

Photo by Karen Fayeth and taken with an iPhone4s, and subject to the Creative Commons license in the right column of this page.

The More You Know

So there I am this morning, sitting in the harsh florescent light of the hospital white doctors office, with a paper not-really-functional garment wrapped around my mostly nekkid body waiting for the dr to show up.

I won’t go into too many details, suffice to say, this appointment was what I like to call the Lube, Oil and Filter change variety. The kind only girls have to attend. Is that descriptive enough?

So as I sat there a’waiting the inevitable prodding from a stranger, I tried to remain calm. A few deep breaths were at hand. Maybe some humming.

Then as I relaxed, my eyes began to wander to the décor of the room. I mean, there’s nothing else to do, right?

There on one wall was a BMI chart and a flyer about flu shots. Over there, a startlingly graphic chart of the female reproductive system. That’s always worth a few minutes of “well that’s just…weird….”

And then my eyes traveled to another wall and landed on this little piece of art:

My paper gown crinkled loudly as I shrunk back in horror.

Oh. My. God.

Ok, ok, look. I realize I’ve not had the opportunity to give birth in this little life of mine, but I am over 40 and fairly familiar with how all the parts work. I’m not naïve about the female body…….

But let me tell you this: that little candy mold looking thing is NOT encouraging any desire for birthin’ no babies inside of me at all.

That circle in the lower left corner? That thing is as big as a bread plate. I don’t want no watermelon coming though my bread plate! Hell, I don’t even want something in that part of my body to become as big as a bread plate!

And you know that the progression from the top left all the way to the right then down and back to the bottom left is going to hurt. You can’t take an orifice the size of dime and make it a bread plate without some massive amount of pain.

Personally, I think that when each little girl reaches that milestone in her life where she “becomes a woman” that she should be issued one of these little silicone baking dishes.

Just pin that to your wall, sweetheart, and take a gooooood look. If yer feeling frisky around those boys, just remember: BREAD PLATE!

I wonder if I can order two for my goddaughters? There’s still time to get ahead of this thing.


I appreciate that it is December and no where near Mom’s Day, but I’m just saying, if you still have a mom that walks this earth, take a moment to thank that nice lady for pushing your huge cabeza through her bread plate. That’s an act of love if there ever was one.

Note to my own dear, sweet Mom: I was your third watermelon. Whatever were you thinking? Both me and my huge pumpkin head thank you.

Caw! Caw!

Ooooh, it’s getting a bit raven-y outside my office door right now. You see, there have been recent changes in my organization. Some of our team moved to another location, and then some people left the company entirely and weren’t replaced.

The result is, for the past three months or so, we’ve had about four open hard wall offices along my row and about six open cubicles.

Now, if you’ve ever worked at any corporate entity, you know that office space is *always* a big deal. Especially hard wall offices.

For us, it’s been great, the open offices have been used as conference rooms in a pinch, and we have plenty of hotel cubes for when people are visiting. Also, when my UK Boss comes to the states for three months every quarter, he’s able to have space to work.

It was great to have a little open space around here. But I knew it wouldn’t last.

It couldn’t last.

At this very moment, there is a coven of crows Executive Admins outside my office squabbling over the space.

My Big Boss got dragged into the middle of this since technically he owns the empty space. It should be noted that Big Boss is only about 5 foot 5 inches tall on a good hair day.

Poor Big Boss, he never stood a chance. He listened patiently for a while then said, “Just let me know what you decide” and walked away (that he can pull that off is what makes him the Big Boss…just sayin’ )

He left much cawing in his wake:

“But I need two offices for my team!”

“No! I need all of the offices, I have all directors! They can’t sit in cubes!”

“What about my team? We can fit into that space which means they can all sit together!”

“But then you have to move everyone!”

“But you can have my old space!”

“Then my team doesn’t sit together!”

Lest anyone every think differently, the true power of this company lies right there in the center of that circle of post-menopausal women.

They are negotiators, leaders, deal makers and will claw your eye out for a hard wall office on the right floor in the right corner.

They own everything that happens around here and everyone in it.

Which means I’m hunkering down in my office. Except when they look in here to check out my space. Then I sit up quite tall and make my little room look VERY occupied.

I’m scared, mommy!

Photo by Justina Kochansky, and found on the Articulate Matter Flicker photostream.

Gettin’ Ready!

Hello Lady Readers, just a quick post for you.

Back in April we chatted about about my fandom for Sally Hansen Salon Effects, a fabulous easy to apply nail polish product.

Well, I’m back and I love Salon Effects more than ever.

New in stores, seasonal nail goodness!

I love that I’m wearing this at my stuffy corporate job. Most ladies here have simple buffed and clear polish hands.

Not me! (Ok, to be fair, I did check the calendar and I don’t have any in-person meetings with suppliers or managers until next Tuesday. The ghosties will be stripped off by then…. I do have some sense of decorum…..un poquito….)


Happy Early Halloween!

Power to the Patas!

Last evening I soaked my weary body in a hot bath. I have become diligent about walking three miles every day at lunchtime, and my aging and out of shape body feels it. Both for better and for worse.

While running through my usual bath stuff, I got out my little cheese grater looking dealie and went after some of the rougher spots on my feet. As I smoothed out the soles, I started looking closer at my feet. My poor feet. They are really taking the brunt of three miles a day, every day.

I’ve always been a little iffy about my feet. They are fairly large, rather wide and my arch is kind of high. My feet are a bit malformed (bunions!) due to genetics, a few years dancing in toe shoes, and a lot of time on my feet over the course of my life.

Mostly the paws serve me pretty well. They don’t hurt and they get me around the lake four times a day so that my heart and mind get healthy too.

So I should love my feet. I sat there in the tub with my right foot near my face, trying to find things to like about them. Aesthetically speaking I mean.

After the bath I started wondering how I could learn to love my feet. How could I give them respect they deserve? They’ve been awfully good to me over the years.

I thought about how in many cultures we adorn that which is valuable, so I got out my beautiful red nail polish and gave myself a pedicure.

Now then. That’s better. Pretty!

Then I decided I should photograph them. Doll them up, pose ’em and give them some love.

It feels weirdly very intimate to share this photo on the web. I’m rather sheepish about it, to be honest. It almost feels more nekkid than putting something rather more naughty out there.

I had second, tenth and eightieth thoughts about it.

But here we go. There’s my toes.

I was fantastically late to work this morning because of this. I’m glad my boss is out on business travel, because that would have been a tough conversation.

“Karen, you’re late. Why are you late?”

“Um.” (that’s me hedging because I really can’t lie. I have a moral blindspot, especially around an authority figure.) “I’m late because I was having a photoshoot. With my feet.”

My boss would then give me that look he gives me over the top of his extraordinarily stylish frames and then walk away. After a year together he knows better than to ask too many questions.

Meanwhile, I keep looking at the photo and after a first cringe, I think “you know, they are not that bad. Not bad a’tall.”

Learning to love my body, one toe at a time.