Bigly Bestest Summer Daze

@thebiglybestestdoggie: School’s out for the summer. Crazy kids are home and eating everything in sight. Worried they’ll soon run out of their own food and start eating mine. And to think, summer break has only just begun…

Whoever said animals eat a lot obviously didn't have teenagers.

Whoever said animals eat a lot obviously didn’t have teenagers.

~Happy Tuesday, friends! And to all of you with kids already on summer break… have fun, and good luck!~

Bigly Bestest Rumbly Tummy

@thebiglybestestdoggie: What is that scrumptious scent? Sure doesn’t smell like my usual crunchy crap doggie chow. And I sure could use a change of pace, ya know. So please tell me it’s a yummy meal for me and not just one of those deceptive scented candles…

I can practically taste my soon-to-be feast. Let's just hope it's actually food...

I can practically taste my soon-to-be feast. Let’s just hope it’s actually food…

~Happy Tuesday, friends! Lucky for Jett, it turned out that wasn’t merely a chicken-scented candle after all.~

Frantic Feeding Frenzy

It’s become an unofficial contest.

A challenge of sorts.

How quickly can these two boys of mine eat all the food in the house?

Or better yet…

All the newly purchased groceries?

Before they’re even out of the shopping bags?

Last week, I bought an overflowing cart full of groceries on Saturday.

We were nearly out of food by Tuesday.

Almost nothing left for dinner.

Almost nothing left to pack for school lunches.

One over-dramatic child resorted to drinking from an expired gallon of water from our makeshift storm shelter closet.

(Wait… Water actually expires?!?)

What’s next on the to-eat list, Jett’s dog food?

At least The Bigly Bestest doesn’t eat all his food in one sitting.

Gotta love teenagers.

Especially boys.

The time it takes teenage boys to eat seems to be directly proportionate to the quantity.

For instance:

A box of eight waffles will get devoured in approximately eight seconds.

Which averages out to one second per waffle.

And a six-pack of yogurt cups will last all of six seconds.

This pattern continues in a sickening whirlwind for several minutes.

Until all that’s left are raisins.

And so they move on to rummaging in my purse.

Until they gleefully discover a tin of mints.

Snacking on mints.

Wow.

At least these two haven’t yet resorted to drinking maple syrup out of the jar for a quick pick-me-up.

Sheesh.

They’ll claim that there’s nothing to eat, when clearly there is something still left.

Sure, it may not always be their first choice.

But when you’re snacking on mints, is that really the time to be picky?

How can you tell me you refuse to eat blackberries?

So don’t tell me there’s no food in the house when there are perfectly good berries here.

Eat the damn berries!

Oh, you’re starving?

But not enough to eat that delicious asparagus sauté , huh?

Or some plain yogurt?

Well, that’s fine.

More for me!

And whatever we don’t eat, we apparently save for the ants.

That’s right.

Ants.

Entire freaking colonies of ants.

Because we have yet to master the art of properly closing bags when we’re done snacking.

And so they march across the bottom shelf of the pantry, systematically working their way up the shelves like some kind of microscopic parade.

Until they’ve effectively invaded every last item in the kitchen pantry.

Cereal boxes.

Crackers.

Cheese puffs.

Jett’s special dog treats.

Well.

At least there was hardly any food left to begin with.

~Happy Friday, friends! Have a great weekend!~

Actual footage from our mealtime frenzies.

Actual footage from our mealtime frenzies.

Bigly Bestest Food Critic

@thebiglybestestdoggie: Inattentive staff. Slow service. Completely oblivious to my culinary cravings, evident from the same food I’m served every single meal, every single day. I’d give it zero stars if I could. 

This stuff again. Yay.

This stuff again. Yay.

~Happy Tuesday, everyone! They say variety is the spice of life. I think Jett would be inclined to agree, especially after getting a taste of real turkey on Thanksgiving. Luckily for him, Christmas is right around the corner…~

My Cup No Runneth Over

What could be better than a memorable evening of family fun?

Well, family fun minus most of the family, anyway.

There’s nothing like a bit of quality adult time, where you can sit back and enjoy a drink.

Or two.

Or, you know, none.

Ever been someplace where the service was so painfully slow that you almost forgot why you left home in the first place?

Welcome to Main Event, a  so-called family entertainment place where you can eat and play!

At least in theory, anyway.

If you ever want to ensure you don’t overindulge in alcohol (or anything else, for that matter), Main Event is the place for you!

At any rate, my husband DJ and I decided it would be nice to take my brother in-law Mike out for a fun night while he was in town.

Main Event seemed like a good idea, and I’d been there many times before with the kids.

But only to play games rather than to eat.

If the comical pairing of bull riding on a 110-inch tv with Lady Gaga blaring over the speakers was any indication, it was undoubtedly going to be a memorable night.

I started off with a Bahama Mama, and DJ ordered beer.

Mike made the mistake of asking our young waitress if they make White Russians.

A little food for thought-

When your waitress asks you what exactly goes into the drink you’re about to order, just remember two things:

  1. You are not the bartender, and it is not your job to be a walking encyclopedia of alcoholic concoctions unless you are getting paid to make that drink yourself.
  2. The bartender will probably be using you as their experimental lab rat, so do yourself a favor and order something else. From the menu.

I get that mixed drinks can take a few minutes to…

Well…

Mix.

But how long does it take to pour freaking draft beer?

Were these people growing fresh fruit for the cocktails out back?

Painstakingly harvesting wheat for the beer?

Our delightful waitress finally brought our drinks out half an hour later.

Mine might’ve been a Bahama Mama…

But it took so damn long to get there, I couldn’t be sure if that’s what it really was, or just Kool-Aid spiked with a touch of rum.

Mike’s White Russian had a disproportionate amount of vodka.

Could’ve been worse, I suppose.

Hopefully it was the good stuff, at least.

More bang for your buck, right?

We’d also ordered onion rings, which arrived shortly before the drinks.

Minus any plates, napkins, or utensils.

We stared and stared at the onion rings.

A few moments passed before we redirected our intensely disgusted gazes in the direction of the bartender before DJ got up and demanded plates and napkins.

Our ditzy waitress came over a few minutes later.

Oh, so that’s why you needed plates! 

Ya think?

Come on, did we look like complete savages?

Plates and napkins are somewhat of a necessity when it comes to eating.

Especially in a restaurant, for crying out loud.

Unless you’re a child.

But we didn’t bring the kids, so I was kind of planning to eat like a civilized human being that evening, thank you very much.

A different waitress arrived at our table with a large tray containing our entrées a while later.

We watched in disbelief as she dropped off my hummus and vegetable platter and DJ’s steak…

And then she looked at the remaining entrée, looked at Mike, looked back at the entrée…

And then took off like a possessed hamburger-snatcher.

We continued to watch in part curiosity, part horror as she strolled aimlessly from table to table with that hamburger before returning wordlessly to our table.

What the hell?

Perhaps that’s why our drinks had taken so ridiculously long.

Maybe this other waitress had gulped them down.

All of them.

Then Mike asked for ranch dressing.

We started taking bets on how long it would take for the dressing to materialize.

I contemplated ordering another drink, but then thought better of it.

We were ready to get out of there.

But our waitress was nowhere to be found.

DJ set the timer on his phone to five minutes.

Five minutes until we were going to bolt out of there like a trio of bandits?

I can’t be sure.

Finally, DJ about had it.

He stormed over to the front desk to see if they could be bothered with something so trivial as allowing us the honor of paying for that bizarre dining experience.

Perhaps we should’ve run out of there.

Well, okay.

Fine.

That isn’t something I’d ever done before, nor could I do anything like that in good conscientiousness.

We finally moved on to the games.

I over-enthusiastically whacked some moles.

DJ and Mike played a few intense rounds of Rambo.

Then Mike moved on to a game where he got to repeatedly kick the crap out of a soccer ball.

I think it’s safe to say we all had a tiny bit of pent up aggression from our dining experience. 

Oh well.

We all needed a break. 

And what we got was a good laugh. 

Along with a fairly good idea of where never again to go for dinner.

Ever.

~Happy Friday, everyone! Hope you’ve had a terrific week, with an even more fabulous weekend on the way!~

Why so sad, little drink? Is it because you've been waiting so long to be served that you're crying tears of condensation? Yeah, me too.

Why so sad, little drink? Is it because you’ve been waiting so long to be served that you’re crying tears of condensation? Yeah, me too.

A Slave to the Rumbling

C is for cookie.

C is also for cannibalism.

But unlike cannibalism, cookies are Cookie Monster approved.

Cannibalism is…well…nobody approved.

It’s just a bad idea, plain and simple.

I am stomach. Hear me roar!

Roar with hunger, at any rate.

I think my brain may be ruled by my stomach.

And I evidently enter starvation mode if I go more than two hours without food.

Case in point:

Right around the three-hour mark, I typically start exhibiting signs of feral beastly hunger so intense that this vegetarian becomes pathologically unpleasant while getting dangerously close to resorting to cannibalism. (From Threading the Needle)

Yeah…

It’s that bad.

And so I am left to consider absurd possibilities.

Like eating toothpaste and Do Not Eat packets.

Okay, fine.

I would never actually do that.

Not intentionally, anyway.

In the 90 seconds it takes to make oatmeal, I sometimes have to grab something, anything, really, to tide me over long enough so I don’t pass out and knock myself senseless on the way down.

Like one of those funny-looking cookies that’s been sitting on the counter for a couple of days…

OMG, I hope that rock-hard thing wasn’t actually a dog biscuit.

Apparently, my brain gets its wires crossed when I’m excessively hungry.

Ooh, look!

Something that may or may not actually be food…

But hey, close enough!

Hmmm…

I’ll rummage in my purse, only to discover an avocado as my sole food option.

Avocado?

What’s that doing in there?

And more importantly, how the hell am I supposed to eat that while driving?

I’ve also been known to drink my kids’ juice boxes on the fly.

Oh yeah.

I’ve eaten whipped cream out of the can as a snack, in an attempt to quickly calm the turmoil in my belly.

Oh, and I once ate these horribly sickening nicotine cupcakes.

In my defense, I had no clue what was in them.

They were just sitting there, and I was hungry.

Bad idea.

And another time, when I tried a little too hard to sneak a piece of Laffy Taffy out of the Halloween pail…

Well, let’s just say I may have eaten a chunk of the wrapper in my haste.

Damn oppressive humidity.

All I can say is, hopefully the wrapper and ink were at least nontoxic.

But then, what do you expect from someone whose child once ate a glow stick?

Me want cookie! Om nom nom nom.

Me want cookie! Om nom nom nom.