Enter the Pre-Apocolyptic Ramblings of a Fat Woman on the Edge OR Some Title I Came Up With Because it Sounded Funky

Avowal the first: I shall not blog about HI (or Home Improvement to you Fat Woman neophytes).  (Sorry Hawaii and/or the USPS.  No offense intended.)

Avowal the second: I shall not blog about politics or the Olympics or the fact that it's all HIM's fault.  (Although I enjoy a rousing moment of what-else-can-I-blame-on-my-dearest-scapegoat-er-husband, it is NOT his fault it's an election year or a leap year or the Summer Olympics is occurring and the Chinese seem to be whupping our collective tushes.)  (But not me personally, the only Olympic sport that I would be good at would be the 100 yard Snark, in which individuals use their sarcastic tongue to berate anything or anyone in their general vicinity.  Extra points go to creativity, inventiveness, and making contractors cry over the telephone.  Wait, the last part was just me and I didn't really make a contractor cry over the phone.  Also I seem to be breaking my second vow in record time.  It could be another possible Olympic sport.)

Avowal the third: I shall not blog about my daughter's moron cat.  (The moron cat got stepped on last night because he was too stupid to get out of the way in a dark hallway and he particularly enjoys a sprawling stance on the hard wood floor.)  (I've never had a cat who seems to lay down on the floor 90% of the time.  I'm certain that he would lay down in the litter box if he thought he could accomplish it without losing his dignity.)

Where was I?  Blogging.  Ah yes, the house is empty at the moment and I'm watching the Home and Garden channel where there is a woman bitching about getting a free bathroom redone.  She doesn't like the tile.  She doesn't like the fixtures.  The lavatory is wrong.  I think this woman is a twit.  I want a free bathroom redo.  (Wait, am I talking about HI?  No, I'm talking about some stupid woman on HGTV.)

Anyway, I'm making gumbo today.  Chop.  Chop.  Chop.  Celery.  Onions.  Bell peppers.  Garlic.  Some hot peppers to make sure our stomachs don't disrespect us no more.  Once I was done chopping I started in on deboning the chicken I had just finished crock-potting.  Then I reached up and rubbed my eye.  Big mistake.  Apparently I should have worn nuclear-plant approved gloves to chop the hot peppers.  There should be a warning on the peppers.  (Don't touch your eyes, dumba**.  Just sayin' if you like the flaming, holy-carp-my-eyes-are-burning-please-dig-them-out-with-a-teaspoon feeling, then go ahead, touch your eyes.  But if you don't like that feeling, see above for good description, don't touch your eyes...stupid.)  So I went and washed my hands, but apparently the peppers of doom have a long lasting effect.

(There was this one Simpsons episode where Homer was attending a chili contest and the peppers used by Chief Wiggum.  "The Merciless Peppers of Quetzalacatenango....grown deep in the jungle primeval by the inmates of a Guatemalan insane asylum."  Consuming the peppers made Homer have LSD like visions and then things went down hill from there.  Well I didn't use Quetzalacatenango peppers, but the peppers I did use were like their cousins.  Their very close cousins.  Their even-in-rural-areas-that's-too-close-a-family-connection cousins.)  (The Don't-Touch-Your-Eyes-After-Chopping-Us Peppers for further clarification.)

After my eyes stopped flaming out, I finished with the gumbo and went to take a shower.  (Because cooking always makes me sweaty.)  Then I discovered that washing my hands apparently didn't wash off all the pepper juice and made my eyes burn all over again.  (Yes, Virginia I washed my hands with soap and I even sang the Happy Birthday song whilst I washed.  No, I didn't sing the Happy Birthday song, but I did wash my hands for a long time.)

So HIM came to see what all the screaming was about and decided to take the kid to see a movie.  (They went to see Diary of a Wimpy Kid: Dog Days because that's what we've been reading for the last week or so.  I was not permitted to take the kid to Batman Kicks Butt Again in a Moody Fashion so I stayed home to bath my eyes in Visine and morbidly watch HGTV.)

But the gumbo smells great.  (And hey wouldn't a pepper eating contest be a great Olympic sport addition?)