Happy Fourth of July


Happy Fourth to everyone in America! To celebrate, we will discuss my hot, sweaty thighs!

Three weeks ago, I started the Couch to 5K running program. I love it. Well, I love it every hour of the day besides the hour in which I’m actually participating in the Couch to 5k running program. I wasn’t sure if I could logistically follow the program, considering it involves time and distance measurement, until I found this podcast on iTunes. This very nice man created weekly podcasts with music in which he tells you when to Stop and Go and Keep Loose and Run Through Your Heels and Good Job, You’re Almost There!

The music is a little techno-y, but if you don’t mind the thump-thump-thump and an occasional siren blowing during the songs, it’s all good. Oh, except this one song in the first week’s podcast, when this whiney bitch of a dude sings, “Leave me alone, leave me alone, I don’t waaaaaaaant to see yoooo”. Not “you”, but “yoooooo”, which always makes me laugh hysterically while running, scaring all of the mommies and small children in Bugaboos.

However, let us not discuss whiney bitchy dude techno today. Let’s discuss running attire. I usually wear a wife-beater and stretchy capri-type pants, which was all fine and dandy until my neighborhood suddenly became Planet Hellfire this week. Must I remind you of my rosacea and heat intolerance? Well, wearing stretchy black pants is not exactly helping the issue.

As much as it hurts me to say this, I think I need to purchase some running shorts.

*dry heave*

I need serious assistance with this matter. Does anyone have any good recommendations for running shorts that:

1) Do not ride up the inner thigh into the nether regions.

2) Are loose enough to not make thighs look like sausage casing.

3) Are not fugly.

Help me, oh wise ones!


The Great Serrano Incident of 2007


Yesterday was not a terribly fun day. First off, Saturday night was date night, which involved vodka, pinot noir and some sort of champagne and Chambord concoction that the hostess swore on her life, was “Soooo refreshing!”, except that it sounded more like, “Soooo wefweshing! Sewiously, SO wefweshing! Twy it!” Might I point out, she didn’t seem to have a speech impediment during the previous 5 minutes while we chatted it up. No, she was just a hostess with a viable drinking problem. That or she was totally nervous around D, which we ALL know can happen to the best of us in conversations.

Sunday morning crept up on us way too soon, with a baby singing falsetto from his crib at 6:30am. I don’t really know who this baby was, but he definitely wasn’t Wito. Let’s call him Needy von Neederstein. “Neevonee” graced us with his presence for the entire day yesterday. Pick me up! Put me down! WAHHHHHH! Pick me up! Put me down! WAHHHHH! This coupled with a pounding headache and that creepy skin feeling almost took me over the edge. In fact, I do remember looking at the clock at 1:30pm and declaring, “This is the LONGEST day ever! Will it ever end?! WHY, NEEVONEE, WHHHHYYYYYYY?”

The day was dragging – Sunday nights are Taco Night, and I decided to make guacamole. Specifically, a recipe for Chipotle guacamole that I found online, which tastes almost exactly like the real thing. This recipe calls for Serrano peppers. Now, I’ve worked with Serranos before, and given my unbelievably sensitive skin, I have worn gloves in the past. Except yesterday, in my hungover haze, I convinced myself that I had seeded Serranos in the past without gloves with no problems.

I am still trying to figure out why I didn’t just put some damn gloves on. Maybe I was still a little tipsy, or maybe I am a stupid, STUPID masochistic individual. Regardless, I seeded, minced and handled the peppers for about 15 minutes before washing my hands. Mother Fucker.

Wow. It burns, people. It burns bad. And it burns for a long time, even when soaking your hands in vinegar, followed by milk, followed by holding ice cubes while trying to not visualize blisters forming underneath your skin. Then, cutting off your nails in order to get into the little spaces where the oil has seeped into your fingernail beds. And then, googling repeatedly, only to find this over and over:


Note: Handle Serrano chiles with care. Protect your hands because the capsaicin can make the skin burn. Wear rubber gloves, or coat your hands with oil, which native cooks have done for centuries. Once your hands or gloves have been in contact with chiles, do not touch your lips, eyes, face, or delicate body parts. To prevent burning those sensitive areas later, scrub your hands and arms vigorously with plenty of hot soapy water. Don’t rinse chiles in water because this removes the oils, which hold much of the chile’s flavor. Preparation will depend on the desired heat.

I, Whoorl, am here to impart my pepper oil wisdom to you. NOTHING works, except time. I tried every folk remedy under the sun (thanks to Google and my fellow twitterees!), but they all sucked (NO thanks to Google and my fellow twitterees!). Luckily, 3 hours later (180 minutes! 10,800 seconds!), the Level 10 Mind-Numbing Hell Fire morphed into what I’d refer to as a Level 6 Slow Burn.

I’d also like to mention how hard it is to NOT touch your face or eyes or baby for several hours due to the residual Capsaicin oil, which doesn’t completely come off your skin for 12 hours. It’s similar to getting a manicure, when all of the sudden, your nose just WON’T STOP ITCHING, and yes, YES, the eyes! The eyes are itching too! But you musn’t touch! DON’T TOUCH, for the love of God!

After a good night’s sleep (praise Jebus), the slow burn has now diminished to a Level 1 Tingle. And the world is right again.