I’ve learned my lesson about peppers!

Last year we had an abundance of jalapeño peppers from our garden. Matt made and canned salsa. I pickled some. I also learned how the make pepper jelly. Well this year the jalapenos didn't do as well, but we do have quite a few habanera peppers. I wanted to make some jelly again so that I could use it as a glaze for some chicken or pork. So last night I picked a few and got a new recipe to try that added apple juice in with the peppers. The recipe said to wear glove, something the recipe I followed last year also told me to do. I hadn't done it last year, and things went just fine, so I proceeded on gloveless last night too. I made the jelly, canned it, processed it, I washed my hands repeatedly and religiously, sat down to watch TV and work on a sewing project. Then the heat. My fingers turned red, and burned. So I washed them. It didn't quit, so I washed them again. Bed time came, so I washed my burning hands again and then made a huge mistake. I took out my contact lens. Holy Jesus! What was I thinking?!?! I lay in bed weepy and red eyed, squeezing my blazing hands. I got up and washed them again. Matt asked me to scratch his back and I told him that was probably a really bad idea. I woke up through out the night because of my burning hands.

This morning I woke up to my hands STILL tingling. It was that tingling/stinging sensation you have right after a slap. I did not even attempt to put in my contacts, for fear of being blinded. And at around noon today I noticed my hands were back to normal. I'm in no rush to try my blazing concoction and I'm seriously considering tossing those lens a little early.

I also got to thinking of all the clever names they have for hot sauces and levels of heat when you order hot wings. I thought I would probably name mine something like "don't taze me bro" after my whole little experience.

We’ve been hit! Or so I thought.

After we left the train station, Matt and I decided to punch in the address to the Inn/Hotel on the GPS and head there to relax for a bit (We like to call the GPS our "Guups"). And as usual with all the road trips that Matt and I have been on, we manage to find a low income part of town. I swear every time we go to a different town on a little trip we manage to find at least one little section of hood. For example, We decided to drive around and look at the old antebellum homes in Savannah Georgia one time we went to visit. We are all, "ewww… Ahhhh… look at that one!" and then we get to the end of the street and make a turn and BAM! Ghetto! What the heck!

Anyhow… back to the Chattanooga story. The Guups sent us straight into a lower income part of town, it wasn't completely ghetto, but it wasn't exactly somewhere we wanted to visit. We just drove along aimlessly following the Guups directions and commands. We were stopped at a light, when we heard an extremely loud pop followed by what sounded like crackling. Matt ducked, I pop up and stiffen and start looking around. I'm looking for a rock, a bullet hole, some point of impact or entry. I was sure we had been hit by something. Then we hear the spewing and hissing. Matt had left two cans of coke in the back seat of my tiny car. During our train ride, they had apparently gotten really hot. Which led to them exploding at just that moment. After our heart rates lowered to a functioning level, we surveyed the damage in the back seat. The mess wasn't that big. But as for the butt puckering factor… I give this one a 10! It scared the Hell out of us.

Hunka-hunka- burning crumbs!

I love a light, full of fiber, English muffin in the morning. In fact, I have one almost every day. The particular brand of muffins I like have this gritty cornmeal type coating on the bottom, and they tend to fall off and collect in the crumb catcher.

Yesterday, when I heard the toaster oven ding, I noticed a bit of smoke billowing from the glass door on the front. I opened it up to find a flame roaming around the bottom of the toaster oven engulfing all the little gritty crumbs. I holler, “Fire! Fire!” and Matt quickly appears in the kitchen. The flame was almost through consuming the little grits, so it had died down quite a bit. I looked at Matt and asked if I should but some water on it. Matt said, “NO, NO, NO! You never use water to but out a fire when it is coupled with electricity [toaster]. Pour salt on it.” I grabbed the salt, shook, and the flame went out. I told Matt that he was my hero, and that he had saved me. And I know this is a little over kill, but really he just might have. I say this because, if it ever happens in the future I know never to go to the water (like I wanted to in this instance, because it was my first reaction). Always remember Baking soda for a grease fire (but don’t store it above the stove or you may not be able to reach it in an emergency) and maybe I little salt next to the toaster.

Maybe I don't know what I'm talking about...

So we made our pilgrimage to Little Rock to meet my sister half way between Texas and Tennessee.

The trip turned out pretty well. The kids (niece and nephews) behaved really well the entire 7 hours it took to get back to Tennessee. Thanks to Ms. Molly’s van, everyone had plenty space.

My mother is in full Nanny effect.

Matt is in full Uncle Matt effect.

We went over last night to bring a cake for my nephew’s birthday and to give the kids their Christmas presents from us. There was jumping, there was tickling, there were Nerf darts flying around.

On the way home I began my normal gripe with Matt about all the rough housing and playing, and the blurred limits and boundaries that could cause problems. He agreed, waited a while and then he responded something like this:

“Maybe I like to tickle them. Maybe that is just how boys play. Maybe that is one of the things I look forward to the most. And maybe you should just leave me alone and let me play with my niece and nephews.”

Of course I’m completely smiling at Matt who is smiling back. Both points were made. Uncle Matt will return for round two tomorrow night.

Cush Arthur! Cush!!!!

In the past 7 days I have, gotten the certificate from the state to get the motorcycle endorsement for my license, practiced my newly developed skill on a dirt bike, (Thank you John and Dan) and rode a camel (NO THANK YOU DAN!! :).

By far the camel ride was the most terrifying of the three. Seriously. I’ll blog about the motorcycle class later, but this story was too funny to sit on.

Let me set this up for you. Last night John (my fellow slave to law school and friend) took me to a mutual friend Dan’s house to ride dirt bikes and work on my clutch throttle skills. Dan and his family seem to be creating a miniature zoo on their farm, and I really wanted to see the animals (I’m like Ellie May Clampett, I love myself some critters). They have lots and they have actually bought a young camel. His name is Arthur, and just like most young adult male humans (and some adult men for that matter), Arthur is reluctant to follow directions and do as he is told.

Dan said, “lets see if Arthur will ‘cush’”. Apparently getting a camel to cush, is getting it to fold its legs under and lay down on its belly (example in the photo, but this is not Arthur). And Arthur was a very good boy, he cushed on first request. Everybody (John, Dan, Jasmine, and Myself) was impressed. Arthur had the appearance of being such a good, well behaved camel. Dan calls for me to come over and get on Arthur and he’ll lead me around for a little ride. So here I go over and climb between his two humps (still thinking Arthur is a good boy). I hold on to the front hump, Arthur gets up, and we begin.

As soon as Arthur gets up, I realize that this bareback camel ride is nothing like the ones I had ever taken as a child at the zoo. It was pretty uncomfortable. I liken it to sitting on a 2x2 board or a small metal pipe (you pick) and having two people hoist the ends and pick you up in the air and walk you around. After a few minutes I proclaim that it “really hurts and it’s well, splitting my biscuit up here!” My brief ride was declared over (or so I thought). For the next 10-15 minutes Arthur showed his teenage defiance. Arthur refused to cush. REFUSED. Dan kept asking him to cush, and the more Dan asked, the more Arthur refused and fought. Arthur would thrash, and I would squeal. I tried hard not to squeal, because when I did, Arthur would turn his long neck and head to look at me while he trashed around. So I tried to hold back my squeal hoping that he would stay focused on Dan, who was giving him the command to cush. But when he would get close to the electric fence, I could not contain my shrieks. I just kept picturing in my head that any minute that camel or me, was going to touch the fence. I could see Arthur bolting off and me plummeting to the ground. Arthur pooped, but that didn’t help, he still wouldn’t lie down. After many attempts and much pleading by me for Arthur to obey, Dan tells me I’m just going to have to get off while he’s standing.

I asked if he was serious, I made my last plea for Arthur to frickin cush, and then started trying to figure out how I was going to do this. Dan told me just to swing my leg over, like I would a horse, and slide down. Okay two problems. One, I’m a whole lot higher up than a horse. Two, it’s a camel! There’s two foot humps both in the front and in the back of me creating quite an obstacle for me to “just throw my leg over”. There’s no saddle, no stirrups to shift your weight inorder to heave your leg over. How the hell I’m I supposed to clear that hump with my leg? Hummmm? How? There’s no way, NO WAY! I’m going to hit the ground, I’m just going to. Should I try to clear the front one, or the back one? I’m surely going to fall. I gathered courage, Dan stood behind me to brace me from totally landing flat on my back. Jasmine held the camel (Thank you by the way) and I lean to the side to initiate my dismount. Of course, as I was afraid, I did not clear the back hump ( that’s the one I choose to go for). And at one point, as I was sliding off, I amazed myself at my flexibility because my foot was stuck behind that hump, way over my head. But I made it off in one piece and I didn’t even hit the ground, thanks to Dan’s help. John was quite disappointed that he did not have his camera present to capture the memorable moment. But I’m sure it would have been hard to get a good picture while laughing as hard as you were. Only after I got off did I realize that very few people have attempted to ride this camel. I suggest a cushion and some of those stairs they roll up to board airplanes before I try again.

Arthur was a very friendly camel, and he held no grudges over the whole thing. He came up and nuzzled me and loved up against my body right afterwards. He checked me out from head to toe. So I am not holding a grudge either. Let’s just say I won’t be imagining a camel ride through the Western Desert anytime soon. Or a camel ride through the pen in Dan’s backyard either.