So let me preface this post by saying I have an unnatural, unhealthy fear of fire. Seriously. I am 34 years old, college educated, extremely bright and yet I live in fear that anything and everything might spontaneously combust at any minute. Seeing as I have never been trapped in a burning building, I have given some serious thought to trying to explain this extremely odd neuroses and I have come up with 2 possible explanations:
1) When I lived in Houston, I worked in a big office building downtown and for whatever reason I was designated to be the fire marshal on our floor and so I had to go to fire marshal training and the only thing I remember is that the guy basically said fire never dies. Let's say you're at home and you
2) I've seen Backdraft too many times.
Either way, I am pretty certain that anything electrical and/or involving flames is going to ignite, self-combust or in general explode. It's not healthy. That all said...
Monday night was Pesto 101. Seriously. All I had to do was Tweet about the insane tomato bounty being thrust upon me and Alicat was all "I have an assload of basil I don't know what to do with." And I was like "Hello. PESTO!" And she was all "I don't know how to make pesto." And I was like "Hello again. PESTO PARTY." And then Lilsaej chimed in and was all "How do I get in on the action? I have chicken." And the next thing you know we are planning for Pesto 101. (And yes. Pesto 101 is totally the subject of NEXT week's Feed Me Friday because this week it's all about Blackberries and I totally get my Betty Crocker on. And yes - there will be plenty of gratuitous food porn. Both this week and next. I know what you kids like.)
So yes. Pesto does not involve fire and you probably think that I am insane or possibly tipsy and I am neither and I swear I am getting to the part WHERE I TOTALLY LIGHT MYSELF ON FIRE. I mean Holy Fucking Hell y'all. You thought my little sidewalk sex encounter in Asheville was bad? I totally, totally topped myself. Clearly.
Anyways, while pesto does not involve fire, um grilled chicken totally does. And I knew the Char-Broil grill was a little temperamental. It's old. Like 3 years old. And it was a cheapie grill acquired randomly at Lowes to tide us over until we bought a *real* grill. But it's a good grill. And well seasoned. And wee. Like me. And the big grill is too fancy. And so yes, I opted for the ancient, cheap, wee, temperamental grill to grill the chicken. And I also knew that the ignitor doesn't always work and that sometimes you have to use one of those candle lighter thingies. But I was hoping the ignitor would work since it worked on Friday night. But alas. I turned on the propane, turned on the burners, pushed the red button, and....nothing. And I kept pushing the red button hoping the ignitor would work. But it didn't.
You know how they say insanity is doing the same thing over and over again but expecting different results? Well, you know what else is also insane? TRYING TO LIGHT A FUCKING GRILL WITH THE PROPANE ALL THE WAY ON AND BOTH BURNERS ON HIGH! Um - yeah. They didn't teach me *that* at Duke.
So yes, with the propane on full and both burners on high I took my candle lighter thingy and pressed the button and you know what happened? My entire grill BURST INTO A GIANT FLAME BALL WHICH COMPLETELY ENVELOPED MY RIGHT FOREARM AND HOLY FUCKING HELL THAT SONNOFABITCH FUCKING HURT LIKE A MOTHERFUCKINGCOCKSUCKERSHITBAG FUCK FUCK FUCK OOOOOOWWWWWWW.....
Lucky for me, the grill sort of shot out the flame ball and then immediately it subsided so the only damage was that all of the arm hair on my right arm below the elbow was completely singed off. And Alicat, Lilsaej and I were all like: OMFG - did that just totally happen? And it was surreal and I was in shock (and yes I was sober) and in all honesty I am seriously lucky that the damage was minimal because y'all - I could have totally wound up with third degree burns or losing a limb and HOLY FUCKING HELL WHAT KIND OF FUCKING IDIOT LIGHTS THEMSELVES THE FUCK ON FIRE?
And then with the chicken finally on the grill, we went back in the house (where I immediately poured a glass of wine). And Lilsaej was all: "Y'all? Do you smell something burning? Because I still smell it." And I leaned and breathed heavily of my own singed flesh and I said "Darlin' - that's me you smell. That's my burnt singed flesh and hair that's permeating your nostrils." And she was all "Oh." And then I scrubbed my arm with lemony Dial because burnt flesh and arm hair is nasty.
And then Alicat asked me if I was going to Tweet about it. And I was like "No - because that's just wrong." And she started to Tweet about it and I was like "Who am I kidding? I am totally going to Tweet about it. Twice."
So yeah. Today. My arm still kind of hurts because WHEN YOU LIGHT YOURSELF THE FUCK ON FIRE the pain kind of lingers. And I am sort of tingly and aware of how hairless my arm is (not that I have hairy arms or anything but what fine, silky, girlie layer of hair that was once there is now GONE) and once again I say: OMFG someone was looking out for me because it could have been so much worse and really I am truly lucky and fortunate and Thank You! Thank You! Thank You!
Oh - you know what else totally sucked? Monday morning I fucking burned my forehead with the flat iron. Seriously. Clearly I need help.
And if that ain't country, I'll kiss your...
PS Given the events of Monday, I totally feel like my fear of fire is justified. And healthy.