Tina, Eat the Food!

If you're lucky enough to live in Central Florida, then I imagine you had quite the horribly wet Independence Day I had.  There is a very short list of things I'll do when it rains like it has been this past week:  sleep and drink.  I guess I could add 'drink until I fall asleep' to make my list a little bit longer.  So, after some pretty solid day drinking at the casa, we headed up to a bar right next to our house, so I didn't spend money on a scarf for only the three people who came over to my house to see.

Once my toosh was firmly planted in a bar stool, I got as many of the televisions as I could set to watch my boys up in the ATL play some baseball.  One inning into the game, I noticed everybody else in the bar super focused on something else on TV.  What's more important than the Braves, you ask?  Competitive eating.

Now, I absolutely LOVE to eat.  Turn that shit into something I can get a prize for?  Sold.  All the competitions I've ever seen televised though, always involve hotdogs.  First of all, they always look boiled.  No.  Even when I was a carnivore, once I hit age 12 and grew some taste buds, those suckers needed to be grilled or I wasn't eating them.  Second, I am no longer a little meat eater, so if I ever entered one of these competitions everybody would have a seriously unfair advantage.  So, this got me thinking, what could I eat 69 of? (I'm not being immature, that's how many hotdogs that guy inhaled yesterday.)

I could eat 69 of those bad boys no problem.  I'd probably use those as a warm-up to eat 69 of something else.

I ate nine in one sitting once.  I only stopped there because I was eating breakfast with somebody and they started to look slightly terrified.  I could totally eat more though.

 

This shit.  This is my jam.  The only reason I haven't eaten 69 pints of this, is because they only keep like 4 of them in the store.  If you follow me on the Instagram and haven't tried this yet, you apparently don't listen very well.  

Every time we go camping, I might not remember bug spray, pillows, water, or anything you need to survive in the wilderness (thank God for having a boyfriend who does remember), but I will always show up with everything you need to make at least 100 s'mores.  And I would appreciate my marshmallow to be a shade of black that makes it unrecognizable as food, please and thank you.

I can't even begin to describe my love for these things.  They're the second best reason for Easter (What up, Jesus!).  I love these things an unreasonable amount and miss them so much when Easter is over.  Correction, I used to miss them when Easter was over.  First of all, I hit up those after Easter candy sales HARD, and stock up pretty well.  Once that supply runs out, I head on over to Amazon and order them online.  Yes, I order them online.  I'm aware it's a problem.

Last, but not least, fried pickles.  I judge a restaurant based on whether or not they serve fried pickles.  And don't give me pickle spears, because I'm not going to wait for them to cool down and I'll burn my mouth bad enough to make me unable to finish my pickles, and that's bad news.  I remember the day I realized Sheila was my best friend:  I woke up to home made fried pickles for breakfast.  Not only were there fried pickles waiting for me, they were crazy good too.  That was the day I also realized she makes ranch dressing, and that was when I fell in love with her.  

You know what I don't understand?  How are all the competitive eaters so thin?  I fully intend on blowing up to the size of the house when I begin my career as one.  The boy said since we've been together for three years now it's cool if I get fat.  GAME ON.