The Tale of The Flaming Buns

Okay, I admit it: I have a tendency to torture myself. Whether it’s setting my own broken hand, starving myself in a seven day detox or getting all of the hair ripped off of my nethers in a Jewish Community Center, I have a special proclivity for putting myself through some ridiculous shit. I would like to point out, however, that in every most cases I have a legit reason for torturing myself. For example I was forced by a lack of medical attention to set my own hand and the detox was bolster my health and the Brazilian wax was necessary because it was the start of swimsuit season.

See? Good reasons for insanity in all most cases. And such it is too with The Flaming Buns that I had a good reason for torturing myself.

If you’ve watched my videos on youtube then you can probably tell that I’m constantly sniffling between perpetual allergies and/or a cold. One of the things that really sucks about this–aside from the obvious abundance of snot–is that because of my cardiac issues I’m not supposed to take regular allergy or cold medicine so I usually just suffer through it. However the other day I was scrolling through Pinterest–where all good ideas come from–and I found a homeopathic cold remedy in the form of a Ginger detox bath which promised to help you sweat out your afflictions. The next thing I knew I was grabbing my keys to make a trip to the supermarket.

“Where are you going? It’s dark out!” my mother exclaimed as I headed toward the front door. (My mother is from the school of thought that females should not go out after twilight or they will surely be accosted by ghoulies, beasties and long-legged nasties.)
“To get some ground ginger,” I replied.
“Why do you need ground ginger at 9:30 at night?”
“Because I’m going to bathe in it.”
And as she is so used to doing, my mother just accepted that I had said something inane.

After aquiring the ground ginger without being kidnapped–though I told my mother that I fought off a hooligan who tried to shiv me and an old man who offered me candy–I dug the baking soda out of the cupboard and went upstairs to brew a Gingered Kat Stew.

I ran the tub full of hot water, added the ginger which turned the water a disgusting shade of brown, shook approximately a third of a cup of baking soda into the mix, eased myself into the mess, grabbed a book and let myself cook. It only took about ten minutes before I started to sweat but you’re supposed to soak for at least forty minutes to get the full effect of the ginger so I continued to soak and read my book.

Pikachu Spanking gifI’m not sure exactly when it happened but at some point I looked up from my book and realized that my ass was hot–and not “hot” as in “cute”, “hot” as in “I feel like I’m sitting in a vat of salsa”. While I had been occasionally swishing the water around in the tub, a healthy amount of the ginger had settled to the bottom and I found that I was sitting in a layer of pure ginger. I swished the water around some more but it was too late; my buns were officially on fire. It wasn’t exactly painful though so I went back to reading and sweated out the remainder of the time, however by the time I got out of the tub, my ass was numb. It was one of the most fucking bizarre sensations I have ever experienced… and of course I made worse by smacking myself and then laughing like a bloody lunatic because I didn’t feel anything when I did it and my mind instantly made a dozen filthy jokes. But aside from amusing the hell out of me, I will say that this ginger soak did actually clear up my stuffy, sniffly nose, and not only that, but I went to sleep soon after I got out of the bath and didn’t wake up once during the night, which is very rare for me.

polar plunge logoAnd in a hilarious turn of irony my next tale of maschicsm is already in the works except that instead of burning ass, I’m going to be freezing it off. Tomorrow, 1/19/13, I’m going to be jumping into the semi-freezing Atlantic Ocean with my Gal-Friday of insanity, Jewels, and my brother Mike (known on here as “Gator”). Again there is logical reason for this madness and we are not arbitrarily jumping for my hypothermic fun of it but because we joined the Polar Bear Plunge to benefit the Special Olympics. Jewels and I have already our minimum donation goals thanks to some brilliant peeps who I’ll be linking to their blogs/twitters as my featured Super Peeps next month, but my brother hasn’t reached his goal yet, so I’m extending my thanks of pimping to anyone who contributes to his goal, too. For a minimum donation of 5 bucks toward Gator’s/Mike’s goal, I’ll shout you out in the post I do about the Plunge and also have the link to your blog on my sidebar in all of its glory for thirty days (or more usually).

But before you think that I’ve gone soft and am helping my brother because I’m a nice person or something, let me clarify that by donating to my brother you are actually still helping me because if Gator/Mike doesn’t reach his goal, he can’t plunge and I will feel much better about plunging into icy water if I can look over and laugh at my brother’s freezing ass.

Finally I wanted to add that by donating, not only will you be helping me, but you will also get bragging rights that you personally helped me in my latest tale of what-the-fuckery.

How can you resist that, right?

(And this is Number 25 on the List of Shameless Shit: Ask for help.)