Category Archives: Go Figure

Tucking Fat Folds

Question:  If your spouse snores (although he adamantly denies that he snores), would a jury of your peers (assuming they are married to snoring spouses – since that is what makes them your peers) find you innocent and uphold your claim of justifiable homicide?  Hmmm.  Something to ponder following another night of little sleep. 

I love Mr. Farish.  I do.  I do not love watching and listening to him as he delves deeper into a REM state leaving me floating on the surface of dreamland.  I do not love hearing his nasal passages expressing their joy as they are released from the confines of his body.  I do not love prodding him to turn over only to have him release a thick stream of hot-steamy-stinky-confined air into my face in the process.  Aarrgghh!  Now to be fair it isn’t entirely his fault, but come on, snoring is not an enjoyable lullaby in which one can easily be lulled into slumber. 

Last night was one of those never-really-got-into-REM-nights.  We’ve all had them.  You toss and turn, readjust the pillow, kick off the blankets, put the blankets back on, lay on your left side, roll to the right … all the while your spouse sleeps soundly on.  On nights like this I usually have really strange thoughts/dreams.  While still aware of household sounds my mind is strangely transferred, bringing forth thoughts I dare not think during the day.  Suddenly I have a zillion failures.  All the woulda-coulda-shoulda’s come floating to the surface.  The deliciously dark chocolate covered raisins I snacked on earlier have suddenly turned into large masses of blubbery fat, that quickly adhere to various parts of my person ala Gwyneth Paltrow in Shallow Hal.  Roll over.  Fluff pillow.  Kick off blankets.  Doze.  I am now standing on the scale and watch as the needle inches higher and higher.  I envision tucking fat-folds into my pants, trying to zip them up.  Looking down and not finding my toes.  Doom.  I haven’t paid the bills.  I missed an important meeting.  I haven’t studied for finals, (am I the only person that still has finals nightmares?).  Roll over, fluff pillow, pull blankets up, poke Mr. F. who is still blissfully sleeping whilst continuing to snore up a thunderous storm. Watch clock. Roll. Toss. Fluff.  Turn.  And on it goes until the only sound worse than snoring is released into the room … meep-meep-meep …  


Hello Again

What the hey?  It’s always nice to find that you have friends in the blogging world that miss you when you are gone.  I have had texts and emails and phone calls asking when I was going to post.  So here we go …

First off, I must tell you why the break.  It has to do with my last few posts.  They were mean!  Yes, I am ashamed to have posted about people that I have never met but that struck a (silly) chord with me.  Rude. Cruel. Down right not nice!  I needed to re-group.  To think about why I blog and what it means.  I know what you are thinking, “Just delete the posts”.  Nope, I won’t be deleting because they will serve to remind me that I went down that path once and it didn’t make me very happy.  No more I say.  No more!

So I ask for your forgiveness and hope that you will continue to visit me every now and then… and please visit my other site:  for updates on whats cooking in my kitchen and in my soul.

And What’s Your Major Again?

SACRAMENTO, Oct. 12 (UPI) — The two-man team that took the top prize at a California college fishing championship

(are you kidding me? A Fishing Championship?)

said one member fished for 10 hours with a hook in his head.

 (Clearly there is plenty of empty, unused space in there)

Robert Matsuura, 23, said he was fishing alongside Sacramento State University fishing teammate Peter Lee, 22, during the FLW College Fishing Western Regional Championship

(Wait, hold the phone … are their parents aware that they are spending mom and dads hard earned college cash on fishing?)

 Saturday at Folsom Lake when Lee’s treble hook lure — comprised of three hooks each connected to three smaller hooks — struck him in the back of the head during an attempted cast, The Sacramento Bee reported Tuesday. The pair said two of the three larger hooks were embedded in Matsuura’s skull. “I yelled at (Lee) to cut the line,” Matsuura said. “Then I jumped in the driver’s seat and drove straight to the ramp. I figured I’d go to urgent care to get it out and maybe come back later to fish. But there was a guy there saying, ‘Hey, why don’t we cut off the lure and the one treble hook that’s not inside your head.’ The other two hooks were just in too deep.”

(Now there’s a true friend; cut the line and keep on fishin’)

 Matsuura said he took two Tylenols for the pain and continued fishing for 10 hours,

(yeah, I had to read it twice myself … TEN HOURS … that’s 9 and ¾ hours of over fishing in my book)

with the two man team finishing the day with a haul 2 ounces heavier than that of closest rival Chico State University.

(Really? Was 2 ounces worth 10 hours of brain pain?)

The student said he and Lee collected the $50,000 reward for their university and then set about removing the hook.

(which was then duly handed over to the ER docs for removal of said hook that wound not have landed there in the first place had these boys been doing what most other college kids do … use your imagination here)

 “A family friend is a dentist,” Matsuura said. “He numbed it and pried it out.”

(I stand corrected, he went to the DENTIST for removal … such an obvious choice)

Lumps, Bumps and Oddly Placed Body Parts

So I am purusing (I love that word) through the Victoria’s Secret catalog while waiting my turn for that little bit of pampered piglet pleasure, the pedi., and it dawns on me … there is not one thing in this entire catalog that I could ever possibly even dream of wearing without looking like an overstuffed trash bag.  The thing is, I’m not exactly fat, perhaps a few pounds overweight, definately in need of a good workout (or 30), but really?  What real woman can wear those things?  I ask you sincerely; WHO?  Bearing in mind that Victoria’s Secret is basically out of the question unless you are 20 and anorexic, I toss the catalog back on the table with a huge sigh and waddle over to soak the gals.
There is nothing that revives me more than a good pampering, be it massage, facial, or pedi. So once my pedi is complete I am invigorated and ready to hit Macy’s to buy all things summer.  What is up with clothing stores today?  Who is buying these things?  I can guarantee it isn’t a person over the age of 40 that’s for sure.  Walking through that entire store it is very clear that there is very little that will realistically look good on my body.  I start to question myself … Have I missed the fashion boat?  Snug, body contoring clothing beckons me to try, try, try.  The lumps and bumps of me warn it’s time to run, run, run.  My body is not going to accomodate these styles.  As I walk through the racks of clothes I start to look around and notice that I am not the only one discouraged by the lack of age-appropriate offerings … and I am not talking shapeless caftans and mumus … I may be over 40 but my taste, style and attitude all scream much younger … so just give me something modernly stylish that wasn’t crafted with a teenager in mind.  Something say, that understands that my breasts are no longer perky and pert, my stomach has accomodated many children, my hips are wider and my arms are not ropey and slender.  Nope, I do not sport a models body.  What I have is a lumpy, bumpy, body full of misplaced parts that when put altogether are actually just fine.  Why?  Because I am older. Not fatter.  Not lazy.  Not anything other than a woman that has been around for awhile and would like to be able to go shopping and find real clothes for a real womans body and not feel hopeless and discouraged when leaving the store. 
Hoping for reassurance when I got home, I cuddled into Mr. Farish’s arms and told him how horrible I felt.  Here’s the thing; men don’t get it.  They don’t.  I know Mr. Farish was not trying to be mean, I know he meant well, I know deep down he thought he was being supportive when he said, "You just need to exercise more and then you won’t have any problem."  AARRGGHH!  Exercise I did … I walked right over to that refrigerator and rummaged around until I found … an apple!  And so it goes …

Two On Five Off I Say

I want to know who is responsible for making the ill-fated decision that Monday through Friday are work days, while Saturday and Sunday are days off.  If anyone had asked me I would most definately have said two days on, five days off. 
This is what we packed in this past weekend:
Saturday:   7:00 a.m. Walk with Mia and Mr. Farish – park and Starbucks
                 Mani and Pedi with Cydney
                 Japanese Street Fair with Abi, Cydney, and Dustin
                 Skate Shopping – Cydney and Abi want new long boards
                 Museum of Natural History – Cydney, Abi and Dustin
                 Pick up Vicki, Lori and Kelly – go to Buffalo BBQ and get 18 take out orders
                 Girls night at Sylvia’s
                 Home at midnight
Sunday:      7:00 a.m. Walk with Mr. Farish and Mia – park and Starbucks
                  Clean out refrigerator and cupboards
                  Grocery shopping – take Cydney so she can cash in coins
                  Make a marinade for Carne Asada meat
                  Start pork for Carnitas – slow simmer for 3 hours
                  make Flan for dessert
                  Cook the Carne Asada, chorizo and corn tortillas
                  Eat dinner with the family
                  Load the dishwasher
                  Sit down for the first time today to watch The Amazing Race
                                                   (You can’t help but love Jet and Cord)
                  11:00 p.m. – Exhausted!
Do you see what I mean?  Two day weekends are enough to wear me out. 

What’s in a Name?

How would you pronounce this child’s name:
Leah??                NO
Lee – A??            NOPE
Lay – a??             NO
Lei??                    Guess Again.
This child attends a school in Detroit, MI. Her mother is irate because everyone is getting her name wrong. It’s pronounced "Ledasha", When the Mother was asked about the pronunciation of the name, she said, "the dash don’t be silent."
SO, if you see something come across your desk like this please remember to pronounce the dash. If they axe you why, tell them the dash don’t be silent.