Hands on fire

I had a pretty gnarly "blonde" moment the other night.  (I know, I know....I haven't been blonde in years, and I was a bottle blonde at that, but that is pretty much the only relative term I can use for what occurred a couple of evenings ago.)

After work I was making it a point to cook some vegetarian chili so I would have something scrumptious to indulge in throughout the week.  (Slightly off topic, but I have started participating in Meatless Monday, something you all should consider if you haven't already!)

Well, I did a number on this one...spicy New Orleans/Emeril style, which I found adapted and posted on this lovely blog:  Ezra Pound Cake

Now, when I say spicy, I mean lots of dried spice (chili powder, cayenne pepper, cumin) and the spice of the vegetable variety, that requires CHOPPING (red bell pepper, serrano peppers).  Well, I think from here on out I am going to do more of the pepper chopping in a food processor, or I will be wearing some rubber gloves, because what happened later that evening was definitely enough to teach me a lesson.  (Not to mention that I don't have the best of luck when it comes to sharp objects.)

What did I do later that evening, you might ask.  KICKBOXING.

For those of you that might not have pieced this together already, kickboxing requires boxing GLOVES.  Well, about halfway through the session, I bet you can figure out how my hands were feeling.  If you can't....well, let me just fill you in:

LIKE THEY HAD BEEN STUCK IN A VAT OF DEEP-FRIED ICY HOT.

Not. a. good. feeling.

I haven't touched my gloves since, and I'm kind of afraid to.  Good thing I don't have class again until next week....maybe I will have completely forgot about it by then.  Dear sweet Jesus, I hope wiping them out solves the problem.

Song of the day:  "Tattoos On This Town" Jason Aldean