Tag Archives: peppers

Gone Drinkin’ (Again)

Drinking-Champagne

It’s that time of year again, Snookums.

When I can’t come up with a damn thing to write about.

Time for a very short blogging hiatus. Now, now. Dry your wee little chipmunk tears. I’ll be back next week!

My money's on Rache.

My money’s on Rache.

Psst: This Friday at the Go Jules Go compound, it’s Peppermeister (Hub #1) vs. Rachel’s Table. That’s right. Those two are finally going head to head in a Spicy Pepper-Off to see who can handle the hottest homegrowns! I’ll have plenty to report next week.

If you want a delicious sampling of what’s in store, check out Rache’s fantastic “Peppermeister Roulette” videos (video one and video two)!

Don’t have too much fun without me. I love you.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

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I Tasted Another Man’s Peppers

Chipmunks, when I dream, I dream big bad.

And by dream I mean scheme.

I set my sights on things like embarrassing my friends. Or my in-laws. Or my web design classmates.

It almost never backfires. (Except for when it always backfires.)

Up until last week, I was still dissatisfied, though. A nagging, long-time dream eluded me:

Making my Current Husband, Peppermeister, jealous.

You see,  he’s always been incredibly secure, and, well, it’s maddening. Like, who is he to steal all the confidence in the world and leave nothing for the rest of us? Am I right?

What’s more, in order to keep the relationship balanced, I assumed the surplus jealousy he was unwilling to feel. Exhausting.

I yearned to put this pepper-lover in his place.

I tried talking about other men, crafting elaborate schemes to secure a second husband, flaunting my assets… Nothing. Nary a raised eyebrow or passive-aggressive-taking-of-the-last-Hot-Pocket.

Argh!

The closest I ever came? Justin Timberlake hosting Saturday Night Live:

“You know he’s not as funny as you think he is,” Peppermeister commented, watching me howl as J.T. brought it on down to Omelet-ville.

My heart fluttered. Could this be it? Was it not perfect teeth, rock hard abs, unfathomable wealth and a melodious voice, but another man’s comedic talent that would rile him?

“Are you jealous?” I asked.

“No. I’m funnier,” Peppermeister calmly replied.

Double argh!

Is it time to finally give up and accept his constant praise and unconditional support? I wondered.

Then, as if the chipmunk gods had spoken, last week Peppermeister caught sight of something resting on the kitchen counter:

“What the hell is this?” he asked, eyes as fiery as his homemade sriracha sauce.

Bingo.

“Oh that?” I batted my eyelashes. “This guy at work gave it to me. He said he has more peppers than he knows what to do with.”

I paused.

“And you don’t grow that kind.”

“This isn’t organic,” he spat.

“He said they were,” I replied innocently.

“Get this out of my kitchen.”

“He sits right next to me,” I sighed. “I just love the regular bell peppers.”

He stormed out of the kitchen, and I laughed and laughed and laughed.

At last.

At long last.

So. What keeps your relationship spicy? (PG-rated, please, Chipmunks.)

***BLOGGY NOTE(S): The deadline for my “Hold Onto Your Hats” Halloween Contest is Oct 27th! The prize is amazing: A jack-o-lantern designed and carved just for you by yours truly…and Sun-Staches mustache glasses!

Also? I’m sorry I’ve been pretty M.I.A. lately; lots of fun things to share with you soon. In the meantime, please know that you and blogging are an important part of my life. I really mean that. I hope it makes you as uncomfortable as my coworker [with the bell peppers] would be if he read this post.***

One Steamy Relationship, Coming Up!

Photo credit (before amazing annotation): geekisland.com

“You are trying to kill me.”

This is the quote [of mine] that Hubster, the one and only Peppermeister, used for his latest blog post*. The other night he made guacamole and salsa containing twelve Serrano peppers and one lethal jalapeno. I don’t know where these jalepenos come from (oh, who am I kidding? I’m married to the Peppermeister – they’re called Biker Billy jalapenos and the plant came from Cross Country Nurseries), but let me assure you they throw the whole Scoville scale off. They’re the hottest mother loving thing I’ve ever eaten. One seedless, spineless, centimeter-long sliver has me researching ways to exact my revenge chugging milk.

The perfect accomplice.

I’m tentatively willing to let this one slide, because otherwise I’ll get stuck on dinner duty. My husband is a great cook, and takes no small amount of guilty pleasure pride in measuring his peppers, insisting I take daily tours of his organic pepper garden, and trolling pepper-related websites. He’s helped me build an impressive heat tolerance, but on Sunday night, he went too far.

If I suddenly stop blogging, please alert the Spice Authorities. I’m pretty sure they can still be reached at 1-800-DIE-WIFE.

*If it seems like I’m shamelessly promoting my spouse’s new-ish blog even though he just tried to snuff me, I’m sorry. On a totally unrelated note, I have really high hopes for my Christmas present this year.