I burned the shit out of my tongue.

So.

Yesterday, before I went to Carolina's Legal Art thing, and then to the Victor Hotel (FA. A. A. A. A. BULOUS, by the way. The Delano is so tired and done already, so it's nice to have some new cool blood on South Beach...I mean, the Delano will always be the Delano, as Stephen pointed out, but the Victor is like...everything that I think a swank hotel/bar should be. Plush, surreal, and ginormous.), I made myself some black bean soup. I did this because 1) I saw Dave Lieberman do it on his show, and I figured I'd try out his recipe (not really, I sort of just improvised, but I liked some of his ideas. I also want to do him.) 2) I needed to use up the last of my bacon before it went bad (I know. Bad, Jew!), 3) I figured I could simmer the soup while I showered, and 4) I'm on strike buying groceries again, so I have to eat canned goods until about the 30th. Ugh.

La la la, soup looked phenomenal, la la la, put it in a bowl, didn't bother pureeing it, because I was in a hurry and it looked tasty, sort of like tortilla soup, without the tortillas. La la la, put on a dollop of sour cream, and la la la...took that fateful bite.

La la la, did the slurpy thing, where I fanned my hands and moved my tongue around thinking, "SHIT, SHIT, SHIT, SHIT, SHIT, I BURNED MY FUCKING TONGUE!"

My friend Danny burned his tongue the other day on Subway soup, and right after he did it, he said, "Well, great. Now I've ruined the rest of today."

And I thought, "Wow, that's really true. Burning your tongue is one of those injuries that really drains the fun out of a day." As I ate my soup, the pain subsided, and I figured that it was just a minor wound, and wouldn't cause long-term damage.

Last night I proceeded to get drunk, and have a fantastic time. This morning, however, when I woke up stinking of vodka, and cigarettes, it didn't help matters at all that my tongue now feels like it's coated with cheap carpet.

Mother. Fucker. I have the Three-Day Tongue Burn.

I hate that. I can't taste jack shit today and I keep scraping my wounded tongue against the top of my mouth for the sheer sadistic joy of that slightly rasping pain it brings, and to remind myself that I now have a furry alien caterpillar in my mouth, instead of my tongue.

Like, honestly. Why do tongues burn? They're covered with water!!! (Spit, I guess, but I consider that viscous water.) Shouldn't the water absorb some of the temperature differential, and spread out that temperature differential, efficiently, thereby avoiding burnt-tongue syndrome?

And why does it hurt so goddamn much when we burn things anyway!? This is going to be one of those dumb statements, but, "I hate burning myself." Yeah, yuk it up at my simplistic statements, but I'd much rather have a papercut or a nice, satisfying bruise or a scab than a burn. Burns...HURT!

So, I finished the offending soup today. It's a good thing I'm sequestered in my room, gassy and depressed that I can't taste anything. Stupid black bean soup. This burn would also hurt a lot less if I didn't have to learn the Florida Torts Distinctions. Not for any particular purpose, I just felt like syaing that.

And you know what? I'll bet tomorrow isn't going to be much better. I feel like this is one of those burns that's gonna linger. I wouldn't be surprised if those little molten hell beans make my tongue peel. (Isn't that a horrible thought?!)

Pity me. For my tongue, and for my inability to learn.