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The Great Serrano Incident of 2007

by whoorl

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:

Preparation:

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.

Enough About Me, What About YOUR Hair?

by whoorl

I must admit, I had a lot of fun creating the last post. I don’t know what is- maybe I was a barber in my former life, but I love everything about hair. You should have seen me watching the first season of Shear Genius, pausing the damn DVR every 3 seconds, studying certain techniques, checking out colors, etc. LAME-O!

I fully enjoy good hair days. And it doesn’t have to be in the traditional sense, either. Just a day where you feel great about yourself, and it puts an extra spring in your step. Don’t you? Well, I was thinking, I bet I have some damn fine readers and I would love to see photos of you.

Here’s what I’m thinking – next to my FAQ tab, I’m going to add a new tab (see! up there!) where I can create a one big mosaic of chicas at their best (dudes, too!). What say you? Let’s get this going! Here’s what I need you to do:

1. Send a photo of your sassy self to [email protected].

2. Include your first name and your website’s URL (not mandatory – only if you want people to check out your website).

3. I’ll do the rest!

See, easy peasy. Check out the Flickr set. I can’t wait to see!

FAQ

by whoorl

Here at whoorl.com, I receive questions via email. Amusing questions, compelling questions, bizarro questions. Y’all are FREAKS.

I very seldom answer these questions- not so much that I don’t want to, but I’m never sure if I should reply in an email or create a post or whatever. So, I’ve decided to create a FAQ page (see! up there!) where I can answer some of the questions I’ve been putting off.

If you have been on the edge of your seat, just dying (can’t take the suspense – it’s too much!) to know something whoorlesque, send me an email at sarahATwhoorlDOTcom. I’ll try my best to answer honestly with no exaggeration.

(Well, maybe a little exaggeration.)

(Yes, sometimes I embellish.)

(Like you didn’t know that.)

(Really? You didn’t know that?)

(Nevermind. On with the show!)

This Post Has No Direction Whatsoever

by whoorl

A couple of nights ago, I had a dream about Neil from Citizen of the Month. It was relatively benign- we were at some writer’s retreat and he wouldn’t stop talking to Sophia on the phone. I emailed the next morning to tell him, not that this information was earth-shattering or remotely original, but I just thought he should know that he had invaded a random blogger’s psyche.

Yesterday morning, I noticed on his blog that I appeared in his dream. I only had a cameo appearance, apparently brushing my hair. How fitting.

Well, guess who I had a dream about last night? Neilochka. Again! What is going on? This one was much more bizarre- he lived in a house on a clear lake over an early 20th century town. You could look into the water and see all of the old buildings and railroad tracks covered with algae (obviously the underwater station on Lost had some sort of impact).

We then had a daiquiri-drinking contest and Amanda from Kicky Boots won. She kicked some serious ass.

Anyway, tag-team dreaming is happening over here. Not THAT kind of tag-teaming- will you get your mind out of the gutter, please? I wonder if Neil will have a dream about me tonight – surely, there must be a Guinness World Record category for this.

In other news, So You Think You Can Dance is back for the 3rd season, which makes me clasp my hands and squeeeeee with utter delight. Unfortunately, I missed about 30 minutes of last night’s episode when I was accosted by a sugar-coated spider. Huh?

I am planning on making Ree’s Best Chocolate Sheet Cake Ever today, and was measuring the remaining powdered sugar last night to make sure I had enough. As I poured the powdered sugar into the measuring cup, I thought I noticed something black. I shimmied the sugar around, looked into the cup and didn’t see anything. I figured I was crazy or there was a dead flour bug (GROSS) in there, so I practically STUCK my face in measuring cup, shimmied again, and the fastest fucking spider I’ve ever seen scurried up out of the sugar mound and nearly killed me. It was ANGRY! And provoked by my shimmying! Did I mention ANGRY!? Oh, and it was white, given the sugar and everything. I dropped the measuring cup, it scurried behind the stove, and now I have a freaky white spider living in my kitchen.

I hate spiders. Especially the large ones living in my house behind my stove. Anyway, I couldn’t watch the show because I was blindly spraying non-toxic kitchen cleaner behind the stove, hoping the moisture would adhere to the sugar on the perpetrator’s legs, thus rendering it paralyzed.

I’m pretty sure it did not work, given the strange pain in my lower throat I woke up with this morning, obviously from the sugar spider climbing into my mouth while I was sleeping and vengefully biting the inside of my throat. Hence the weird dreams.

Welcome to my brain.

The Beach Visit That Never Ended – The Finale

by whoorl

Operation Ring Retrieval – Success!

Obviously, this was the best part of the day. The sun wasn’t so harsh, I had my ring and we could fool around with the metal detector looking for other treasures. Unfortunately, all SAJ found was the nickel I threw in the sand earlier to test the sensitivity of the detector. I secretly wish I wouldn’t have returned Metal Detector 1.0 for future treasure hunts. Oh well…

When I arrived at the beach earlier and spent some time mapping out my plan, Arnie the lifeguard suggested using a colander to help sift through the sand. Luckily, SAJ hadn’t left her house yet, so I called and asked if she would bring a colander.

When she arrived at our spot, I had already found the ring and completed my numerous victory laps around the sand. Did I mention Arnie the lifeguard brought tons of orange cones to block off my Operation Ring Retrieval area? He was the best.

Little did we know that the colanders would be such a hit with the kiddos. Wito was obsessed with red one – he couldn’t get enough of it. These are my favorite photos of the day. Thanks to SAJ for capturing the shots!

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The Beach Visit That Never Ended – Part Two

by whoorl

Part one here.

After a couple of hours, we packed up and head back to our homes since both babies were hungry and/or tired. I pushed Wito up the hill from hell and as I got to the top, I noticed something. My ring was not on my finger. My stomach instantly dropped 1,000 feet.

I mentally retraced my steps, hoping I would remember taking it off at my house before walking down to the beach. But no, I had the ring on my finger when I arrived. I instantly tore apart the stroller, looking through every blanket, bag and compartment, but it was gone. And the tears started to flow because I knew it was somewhere buried in the sand (SAND! DAMN YOU, SAND!) on our big beach.

And it was my ring. My RING. Forget the fact that it was such a beautiful band from my favorite place, it was the band that D gave me when I had Wito. It was the band that, after a particularly rough delivery and a frightening week in the NICU, D slid into my palm while I was preparing for a nap after returning home with our beautiful little boy. It was the band that meant more to me than anyone could imagine. Gone. In the sand.

How could I have been so stupid? So distracted? I never wear jewelry to the beach!

I immediately called Brenda. She told me she would meet me back at our spot and would help look for it. She walked back down to the beach with a hungry baby in tow, just to help me out. What a friend!

And so we looked and looked, on our hands and knees, fingers raking the sand for this tiny and delicate ring. Several strangers offered to help and we formed our own little search party, but time passed and we had nothing to show for it. I thanked everyone for their help, but realized without a metal detector, we had no hope. With so many people walking around the area, it most likely had become buried deeper. Poor Wito was so starving and tired. I wanted to stay at the beach and stake my ground, but I didn’t have any food for him. I had no choice but to go home. Everyone dispersed, Brenda reluctantly headed home and I started to walk back to my house. With no ring.

I wonder what people thought as they passed by me on the sidewalk. I couldn’t stop sobbing. I was so angry at myself for taking the ring off to put on Wito’s sunblock. So angry for becoming completely distracted and forgetting about the ring on the blanket. So angry for vigorously shaking and flipping the blanket out in the breeze before leaving, which most likely sent the ring flying through the air. So angry and sad.

I called D and he was very gentle, which was very reassuring. He told me not to give up yet, but if it was inevitable that the ring wasn’t going to be found, it was at least insured. That made me feel the tiniest bit of relief, but I didn’t want a new ring, I wanted my ring.

When I arrived home, my parents (who I called from the beach) had found some info about a metal-detecting service in my area. I called, but it was an answering machine, and I felt like time was ticking, so I made the executive decision to buy a metal detector. After some quick internet searches and phone calls by D at his office, we found a place with some reasonably-priced ones. I fed Wito and off we went. Sure, it was totally possible that I would buy the detector, still not find the ring, and be out more money, but it was a risk I was willing to take. This gal’s not the type to sit around, YO.

I bought an el cheapo detector and head to the beach. When I arrived, all of the people from earlier in the day were gone and a whole new crop was scattered about. Thank goodness the seaweed we placed around the area was still intact. I started to pace up and down, mentally mapping out a grid, when a lifeguard in a truck approached. He told me he had a better-quality detector if I wanted to borrow it, disappeared in his truck, and several minutes later returned with Metal Detector 2.0 and a shovel. Now, where was this dude earlier in the day? No worries, I was so glad to have his super-duper detector. Thanks, Arnie!

And thus began the search. Just me, Wito (strapped in the stroller) and Detector 2.0. Oh yeah, and about 20 people staring at me, keenly interested in my treasure-seeking activities. Back and forth, side to side, nothing. Some scrap metal, an old dime, a bunch of crap.

I found myself thinking about our insurance deductible when I heard a beep. I bent down and brushed my hand through the sand, but felt nothing. I realized I wasn’t in a likely place and started to move on, but the damn thing kept beeping. So I got on my knees and repeatedly hovered the space with the detector. I started digging like a crazed dog, moving the sand out of the way, and then I felt something. Something hollow, something delicate, pulled it out and it was my ring!! My RING!! How it got so deep, I’ll never know!

I couldn’t contain my excitement! I stood up and danced around, smiling and jumping and generally looking like a total ass. But I didn’t care! And the best part? All of the people around started clapping and cheering for me. Some wrinkly man in his eighties yelled out “I thought for sure it would be a penny! I’m so happy for you!”. It was truly the best feeling ever. I will never EVER lose this baby again!

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Coming soon – Part 3! Which is nothing but tons of happy beach photos from when Brenda arrived to celebrate my ring’s return.

Part three here.