The Fight

I would like to start by saying that I am probably the easiest person to get along with in the world. I literally like everyone, even the people no one else gets along with. I guess I'm just the sort of optimistic person that finds the good in everyone. There is however one person I have been unable to find that good in - my roommate.

First, I think it's important for my story today to give you a little background on our household dynamic. I live with five other roommates, yes I said five. Now what makes this this tolerable is the fact that we live in a huge house; I'm talking five bedrooms, two kitchens, three living rooms big. All of my roommates including myself have graduated college and two of them are engaged to be married this summer. There is however one outlier, we'll call her RK.

RK is a student at our local tech school and she was one of those last minute sort of roommates that you get when you need a room filled fast. Having just turned 21, RK is younger than all of the rest of the roommates and it shows. At first none of us really minded her. She was loud constantly, brought home guys a lot, and wasn't the most considerate person but we all equated this to her being young and let it be. Well after awhile it came to our attention that this girl talks about everyone and not the nice sort of talk but the sort that is so negative that half of it isn't even real. There are certain people that thrive on gossip and drama whether it pertains to them or not and RK is certainly one of those girls.

Several months later it become incredibly apparently that not only was she talking to all of us about various "friends" of her's (which I became expert at toning out) but RK was also talking to others about all of us roommates. Not only was she talking, but making things up that were incredibly hurtful. She even fed lies to us about each other, pitting us against each other when there was nothing for us to fight about in the first place. RK had gotten into everyone's heads and exerted a control I believe she loved. The way she is has nothing to do with being young but honestly being an evil, hurtful person.

Obvisouly all of this is incredibly paraphrased and censored, but the fact is that all of it came to a huge breaking point. After all of us deciding RK had to be talked to after we were told she was talking bad about us by several people I hardly even know, we sat down to have a family meeting last night. We cautiously confronted RK about her various behavior, especially her addiction to drama. Well RK didn't take this too well and became instantly defensive, simultaneously spewing lies about us while saying she's never talked about anyone ever. That's the thing with RK, I honestly believe she talks about people so much she doesn't even realize it anymore - it's that ingrained into the person she is.

We all let her talk and let it roll off of our backs and made our points known. Then she said something that cut me deeper than anything anyone has ever said to me. RK made hateful comments about my parents who she has never even met. This is when with no self-control I flew at her. I had never fought anyone until the very moment when I began dragging her back down the stairs by her hair (and that really happened). Several flying punches and bleeding noses later my roommates pulled us apart and she promptly said she was moving out which was both started and completed last night.

I find it interesting that my roommates let me get in a few punches before pulling us apart. Later they even said they have wanted to hit RK countless times. Funny that as probably the least confrontational of all us I was finally the one to do it. But as good as it felt I did feel incredibly bad. I am just not the sort of person to take things to a physically harmful level and as such I apologized to her. I told RK that I meant every word that I had said, I owned up to being frustrated and annoyed and even disliking her, but I apologized for getting physical and coming at her. She never apologized for anything. So she's moved out and honestly today I feel as if a weight has been lifted from me - we all feel like that. The drama is gone and I couldn't be happier even with a swollen face.

Oh and by the way, RK is the same roommate who talked shit about one of my fellow Hooters Girls and broke my $2000 laptop I told you about before. So here's to you RK, grow the eff up because the real world is going to kick you hard in the ass someday and it may not make you bleed like I did, but it'll hurt a lot worse - trust me

The Politics of Cuts

Believe it or not there are some days when I don't feel very "Hooteriffic".  Sometimes it's impossible to find the desire or energy to bounce to Cotton Eyed Joe, hula hoop pour without spilling your precious beer, or scream, "Hi, welcome to Hooters" in my happiest, fake, cute girl voice.  These are also the sort of shifts where I feel like I would rather be wearing a black Hefty bag than the orange Hooters shorts.  These are the sort of shifts where I want to be cut and I want to be cut early.

Just in case you don't know, being cut means you're shift is done and you get to go home.  Hooters, like most restaurants, doesn't give you a set shift end time, rather the restaurant volume dictates when you'll get to leave.  Generally our first cut is relatively early because there always seems to be way too many girls scheduled in the first place (i.e. dumb scheduling manager).  These first one or two girls are cut at around 7:00 p.m.  The next cut is usually at 9:30, followed by one at 10:30 leaving two girls to close the restaurant.

I ALWAYS close.  Usually I do not mind closing.  It not only means more money for me on that given shift, but also more shifts because I am easy to work with.  Once in a blue moon however, I too wish to be that lucky girl who gets sent home quicker than she can pull on her nylons.  Unfortunately, I am never that girl (especially on nights when I have super important things to do, like say, watch American Idol).

You see there are politics surrounding cuts and when I saw politics I mean the really dirty kind where there's a huge coverup to hide some elicit sex and gambling ring that takes place in the basement of City Hall.  Girls who want to go home early every night know how to play dirty.  There are several tactics for this.  One tactic is the ever popular, "I have homework" line.  Now I'm not saying you don't have homework, but as the only college grad at our Hooters I'm pretty sure you don't have a paper due EVERY damn day; I was there, I know.  Another favorite tactic is cheating on cut games.  Generally this will involve something like doing the name tag draw when not all the girls are present - funny how those not present have to stay.  And let me tell you, it's the same girls who go home early all the time.

So why does Hooters keep these slacking girls?  Well a good part of that has to do with the fact that girls like me will work their asses off picking up the slack.  If I do twice the work and never complain they don't have to hire another girl.  Also, some of these girls are our trainers who, in the beginning, worked their butts off but now don't give a damn knowing that they won't get fired because it would look bad.  Meanwhile, the rest of us trainers not only do twice the work but get a bad rap from the other girls.

It's all good though, I'll keep working my buns off and making my money and someday perhaps I'll miraculously have homework for a class I'm not even in. Oh and just so you know that homework involves watching American Idol.

Summer In Paris

I am imagining summer in Paris.  Riding the train from Amsterdam, we end up at a seedy hotel where plaster falls from the ceiling as we enter the sliding glass doors.  We pretend we don't mind the accommodations and imagine we're staying in a fabulous flat with handsome models across the hall.  We eat sandwiches everyday because they come on baguettes and we can order them without asking for translation - we feel more French that way.  So we sit on the Metro eating our sandwiches from paper bags while we wear impractical shoes that gave us countless blisters as we walked from the Eiffel Tower to the Louvre; we don't care about the blisters because high fashion is so French.  

We take a day trip to Versailles to escape the city.  I comment that the sky is the most perfect shade of Marie Antoinette blue as we eat ice cream on the Grand Promenade.  We imagine that we are ladies of the court in kitten heals and ball gowns while we discuss the fact that Marie never actually said anything about eating cake.  We imagine times gone by, lives forgotten, palaces never to be lived in again.

You want to visit Chopin's grave because his music is your favorite.  We go to the cemetery and you wished you'd brought a flower for him.  One day you say you'll go to Warsaw and visit his heart.  Later, you play his music on the piano in the hotel lobby and I feel your connection to a man you can never know; he comes to you through your hands as they touch the keys.  I remember wishing I had half your talent as you played that piano and music filtered up through the courtyard.

As savvy as we are, we are swindled by the immigrants on the steps to the Sacre Cure.  They tell me they are raising money for the Church and tell you they are are helping needy children.  I am embarrassed but you, as always, are assertive enough to demand your money back.  Within minutes our laughter overcomes our anger as it always does.

And then of course we climb the Eiffel Tower.  It is a windy day and though we can feel the tower sway, we refuse to take the elevator.  We look out over the many angled roofs of the city and take photos of the Tower's shadow as it darkens the houses below.  You buy postcards and even though they are more expensive you remark that they are even more special because you bought them from so high above the ground.  To end the day we spend all our money eating dinner at the Jules Verne just so we can say we ate at the very top and have romantic dreams about being proposed to there.  We call mom from a pay phone under the North Pier and when she doesn't answer we leave a message about being under the Eiffel Tower that she still saves.

Riding back to Amsterdam on the train we say how wonderful it is to be two sisters in Paris.  Perhaps we will never be two sisters in Paris again, I remember thinking that as the train sped along.  I remember feeling a fleeting moment of grief as Uncle Bruno met us at the train station to take us back to the apartment.  Maybe one day we can meet there again - two sisters in Paris.

Step One: Get Selected for the Colgate Country Showdown

I was selected for the Colgate Country Showdown! I turned in my demo and based on that I was one of 14 competitors selected from around 50 submissions. Now I have to contact the venue to do soundcheck (how official sounding) and decide what I'll play. I'll have ten minutes of performing time so I'll think I'll be doing a cover of Sugarland's "Stay" and an original song called "Falling Out". Here I come country stardom (I wish).

My Life in Spandex

I feel like my whole life has revolved around spandex. I played volleyball on a state championship winning team in high school - the sport of all things spandex - and had some amazing pink shiny spandex that was the staple of my favorite rollerblading outfit when I was 8. My bike helmet even had these sweet spandex covers so I could change the color whenever I wanted to (which was daily because every girl knows her bike helmet simply must match her outfit).

So when I saw some pictures of the new style Hooters Girl shorts on fellow a Hooters Girl's blog I started having flashbacks of spandex gone by. The new shorts quite frankly reminded me of all that has been purely awesome in my life (even those damn helmet covers). Most notably, I am reminded of my college track uniform because - shit you not - minus the cute little slits on the sides I ran my ass off in nearly the EXACT same shorts. That's right, I ran track in some of the shortest spandex I have ever worn. And all you men thought track and field was boring! I do have to say though, as cute as I probably looked in those little maroon hot shorts they do create certain uncomfortable situations when one's primary activity is jumping into a pit full of sand - I shall spare you the details.

Needless to say I am fairly excited about the proposition of wearing something that is made of the most awesome material known to mankind. Especially considering that the current shorts are so obviously outdated. I mean I realize that the shorts are quintessentially Hooters but there is nothing flattering about an article of clothing that simultaneous lets your butt hang out while creating the longest mom-jean ass ever - they're a wardrobe oxymoron.

Long story short (haha short) I want the new shorts! Unfortunately, our store has at this point decided not to get the new shorts. One of our managers said that they'll maybe get the new ones when they run out of what is currently stocked so we should buy them up if we want the new ones. Not sure where the logic is in buying a whole bunch of something that may be obsolete in the next month, but it's certainly nice for the store's bottom (haha bottom) line. Really though I just hope we get the spandex soon because I'll feel right at home in that skintight fabric

The Hooters Truths

Being a Hooters Girl there are certain things that you will find to be an everyday part of your life. These things, that I call the Hooters Truths, can be annoying, exasperating, and tiring but are unfortunately unavoidable. I’ve decided to start outlining these many Hooters Truths into a list that I’m sure will take several posts as more of them come to mind. For now, lets get started.

As a Hooters Girl you WILL:
1. Gain what can only be described as an intense loathing for nylons.
2. Go through crazy amounts of makeup, as you are required to wear it daily.
3. Most likely stop doing your hair and makeup when you have a day off.
4. Love your pouch as it is the best defense against ever present camel toe
5. Smell like chicken wings, hot grease, and beer pretty much all the time.
6. Be disgusted by the copious amounts of ranch consumed by Americans.
7. Know the words to nearly every popular 80s song.
8. Become addicted to lip gloss.
9. Turn and look whenever you hear clapping – everywhere you go.
10. Try the notorious “double bra” to enhance your cleavage.
11. Become a pro at hula hooping, beer pouring, yelling, paper towel kicking, and dancing the Cotton-Eyed Joe among other things.
12. Own Sharpies in every color.
13. Have stinky ass feet (disgusting I know, sorry).
14. Start standing the “Hooters way” in every picture you take, even in real life.
15. Miss nail polish.

This is just the start of the Hooters Truths. Don’t worry, there are more amazing Hooters secrets to come…

Creeps

I'm not sure why being suddenly single brings the creeps out of the woodwork.  It's as if they have some sort of creep radar that tells them that this poor girl is newly single so they should try in all their creepy might to get into her pants.  Now why they think I want them anywhere near my pants, let alone in them, is beyond me.  Sorry that I'm not turned on by your charmingly cliche, tired pickup lines.  

Perhaps you are surprised, but girls generally don't enjoy when you start a conversation by saying things like, "do you know how sexy you are?" or "mind if I get to know you?".  Actually, yes I do mind because I noticed right away how much you enjoy my boobs and how your creepy hand lightly places itself above my ass.  Do you mind if I turn you down and don't do it bluntly?

Being single is so damn exhausting!  Now can someone buy me drink without having a staring contest with my chest (guess what, they'll win, they never blink). 

Girl Returns to Singledom

Probation didn't go to well with the boyfriend. Once again the issues with distance proved too much for him and made no sense to me.  I won't go over all the reasons why we finally broke up (you can read most of them a few entries down) but basically it comes down to the fact that he can't be with someone when any distance whatsoever is involved; no matter how much he likes me it can never work when we live apart in his eyes.

The worst part is that neither of us could say goodbye.  In a tear filled, three hour conversation at 2 a.m. we came to the realization that both of us are in very different places when it comes to our relationship and as much as I would do anything to make it work he just thought that it couldn't.  In the end we never said goodbye, but simply goodnight and it was done.  

I miss him dearly, but that was part of the issue for him - he missed me too much to be with me.  This point makes no sense to me because I'd rather miss him and be with him then miss him and be without him (a point he couldn't see).  I guess I just have to get over missing him and move on as impossible as it may seem. 

Right now I'm trying the good 'ol "give him space and he'll want you back" trick but if it doesn't work at least it's the first step in getting over him.  I'm also using this to write music (he always called me 'pretty girl' and this is turning into an amazing song: "guess your pretty girl isn't so pretty anymore") so maybe one day he'll be so lucky to hear me on the radio - now that's a nice dream!  Perhaps I should also call my old roommate, he plays for the Dolphins now and I'm sure he knows lots of single, athletic men (hmmm...another nice dream).

But don't worry, I'll be fine.  I'll just eat lots of ice cream and all the chocolate in the cute Easter basket I made for him - I knew there was a reason I got all my favorites.

Decisions: Bikinis or Guitars

Our Hooters Bikini Contest is just around the corner. Taking place on May 3rd, my body is hot and ready (thanks boxing/bootcamp/running my ass off) and I just bought this hot bikini from Target that totally looks just like a really expensive one from Victoria's Secret (sweet find!). So basically I'm ready to go and flaunt my body in an attempt to win some very awesome prizes and hopefully a trip to Florida.

Well not quite ready. Actually I'm not participating at all - though I had every intention to. So what happened to make me miss out on this once in a lifetime chance to parade around in my cutest swimwear? The Colgate Country Showdown happened. Not only did it happen but it happened on the exact same day as our Bikini Contest. Damn.

So what is the Colgate Country Showdown? The Showdown is only one of the biggest talent competitions in country music. To give you an idea of how big, Garth Brooks participated way back when and didn't even make it nationals. That's right, one of the biggest country recording artists (or just recording artists in general even) didn't even get to the national level. Basically it starts at the local level at hundreds of competitions around the country. If you win your local contest you head to state, win that and head to regionals, win that and you compete at nationals on live TV. The national winner gets $100,000, crazy amounts of exposure, and of course a recording contract.

It'd be a very long shot to make nationals, but I would kick myself for not trying. I would at least hope to win state because at that level you win $1000 and still get a healthy amount of exposure. Also, I'll get extra points for not only playing my guitar but for singing original material (a fact that makes it superior to American Idol in my opinion) and after watching another local competition I've realized that most girls sing cover songs with karaoke backing tracks - more points to me, hell yes!

So why am I talking about all this now? Well my demo is due to the radio station today; today officially starts my journey to the Colgate Country Showdown. Technically, it probably started when I was recording in my closet (which actually makes a pretty phenomenal little studio with a decent mic and GarageBand) which of course was done last minute. Anyway, my demo is due before 5:00 and I'll know if I was selected sometime next week. Then, if selected, there is a preliminary on May 3rd (Bikini Contest day for those paying attention) and a local final on May 17th. Here goes nothing!

Oh and as a side note my managers wouldn't let me choose the Bikini Contest over the Showdown (in fact one of my managers was the first to hear the radio commercial for it and tell me I BETTER do it). A part of me still is a little bummed that I can't be in the Hooters Bikini Contest, but country music is my dream. Maybe I'll just play the show in my bikini - I wonder if you get extra points for that.

Things Overheard

I am one of those nerdy type people that reads pretty much anything she can get her hands on from classics to historical fiction to chick-lit. As an avid reader I have found several things I have in the last few days utterly depressing.

First off, one of my guy friends and I were talking and I was saying how I've spent hundreds and hundreds of dollars on books (actually it could be far more than that but I'm scared to even really think about it).

Without flinching he said, "I've only read on book. It was Hatchet and I'm pretty sure that was 4th grade."

First of all when I read Hatchet as a third grader I thought it was awful. Second, of course I figured he was joking, but no he was in no way joking. Logically my first question was how does one get through something like, say school without reading and he promptly admitted to cheating his was through the entire 13 year process of his public education. Does your diploma say, 'General Studies with Emphasis in Cheating' on it because it probably should. I feel bad for his poor underutilized brain.

The other thing I heard this week is actually hilarious while being depressing at the same time. Last night, before my boxing class (please insert word badass here), I made a quick stop at my favorite store, Barnes and Nobel (I think I get a high from the smell of new books...seriously). As I'm casually shopping I come across a young couple in the stacks. While the girl is looking at the books her boyfriend/fiance/husband starts looking at prices (a scary proposition).

In horror he says, "These are so expensive, why don't they have a place where you can just rent books?"

Dear Lord, you did not just say that. Once again he was totally, completely, disappointingly serious. I'm not sure if you've heard but they came out with this amazing invention a few years back called a library and it's pretty legit - I highly recommend it.

I mean I'd tell these people to go read a book and get a clue, but it's pretty apparent they wouldn't read it; more likely they'd just get the Cliff's Notes and still not really get it.

Girl Contemplates the Wonders of Twitter

I have to begin by admitting that I don't really get why Twitter is so exciting. Personally I just don't see the point of summing up my daily activities in blurbs of 140 characters or less (anyone who has read my blog knows I like to talk a lot more than that) that anyone and everyone can read if they want to or not.

And that's the thing, odds are people probably wouldn't read or care about any of the useless crap I'd probably end up tweeting (please excuse me if my twitter slang is incorrect). I can see it now...

Just got a run in my nylons...again

A creeper hit on me...again

I played some sick guitar riffs...again

I'm not famous for being awesome...yet

I guess I'm just really on the fence because while I'm sure it's addictive and wonderful in some really odd way that I can't quite understand, I just don't really see the point. Please feel free to enlighten me. Until I finally jump on the bandwagon I'll just continue to feed my raging Facebook addiction. And for the record I was on the Facebook bandwagon before it was even a wagon and it was more like a few people you didn't even want to be friends with aimlessly wandering around; I'm just cool like that. Not sure if I'm cool enough for Twitter though.

Aspiring to KH's Awesomeness

KH is a fellow blogging Hooters Girl and odds are if you're reading this you got here by reading her blog first.  However, if you stumbled here by accident or by Googling "Hooters 'my nylons" (that shit really happened) I would like to direct you to her amazing blog.  

Unlike me, KH has remained completely anonymous - rather than sorta, kinda anonymous - letting her be incredibly honest, candid, and uncensored.  She is also utterly hilarious speaking on any subject from annoying customers, to her relationship, to a phenomenon called the lady cup. Basically you should read her, not because I say so, just because you should.  You won't be disappointed. 

I also hope to one day be able to come close to her readership so please keep reading.  It'll only be getting better because summer in Montana is almost here and that is a synonym for "crazy shit will be going down" (true story that's, what it means) all of which you can read and lust about here of course!

The Boyfriend Story

So I was realizing I haven't posted in awhile.  Being that I live in Montana as soon as it gets above 50 degrees (heck sometimes even 45 if the sun is out) everyone gets out the shorts and flip flops and stays outside all day appreciating every moment because odds are it will be 20 degrees again and snowing in a week.  I have not wanted to miss out on this springtime right of passage, so I got a pedicure and bust out the wedgie heals leaving the computer all alone inside (hmmm, it's a laptop, maybe it could come with next time).  Anyway, the fact that I've been contemplating short shorts for everyday wear is not the point of my post.  The point is that I have to tell the story of taking back a guy who tried to dump me on (classy) Facebook.

First it must be known that my boyfriend and I are involved in a "distance" relationship; I place quotes around distance because we only live 120 miles away.  Now personally I do not find 120 miles a very long way, especially in a state where driving is measured in hours and it takes me 5 just to get from my front door to my parents.  My boyfriend on the other hand apparently thinks I might as well live in Egypt if I'm going to be any farther than 10 miles from his house.  

So basically to put a very long story short he attempted to dump me because though I'm "an amazing girl" and everything he "wants" and "perfect" and "fun" he just can't date someone he can't "see everyday."  Personally I found this to be crap and the stupidest excuse for a breakup I have probably ever heard (though I'll have to think on that, I've dated some real winners who were probably, sadly worse).  Last time I checked if someone is everything you want and amazing and blah, blah, blah you do whatever you can to make it work (especially if you're contemplating moving to be with that person in the next several months).

Yep, so he dumped me and I cried a lot and didn't eat and my friends did what good friends do and called him a total douche bag and said I could do so much better.  Then in a late night emotional conversation I told him that I was falling in love with him and suddenly it all stopped.

"You're falling in love with me?  That changes things."  

Excuse me, what?!  Perhaps I didn't hear that right, but no, I did hear that right and after a long talk about him moving and being more emotionally available and talking about crap rather than just dumping people we got back together - it had been 4 days.  So now we're dating again but he doesn't have a free pass, oh heck no!  He better walk on egg shells because if you make a girl cry, especially for days at a time (take note here guys) you owe her BIG time.  Consider him on probation - anyone know where I can get one of those ankle bracelets?

Oh and I also heard from his friend that he thought I was dumping him (dumbass) so he was just being proactive.  Conclusion: boys are dumb, why do I like them so much?

Yes, They're Real

Being that I work at Hooters there is always the real vs. fake debate.  Now generally this is applied to breasts as Hooters claim to fame is basically boobs (sorry to those of you who thought it was just the wings).  The other day however the real vs. fake debate went places it probably has never gone.  First allow me to give you a little background so all this will make sense.

As I stated earlier in my blogging history I am a fairly tall girl.  Being that I am tall there are certain truths about my body, the most obvious of which is that I have very long legs (I'm talking 37 inch inseam long here).  Any long legged girl will know that such stems will give you a certain amount of male attention both wanted and unwanted.  Now that we've got that all laid out I'll get back to my story.

So I was going about my business at work as usual when an older gentleman started commenting on my legs - nothing new, happens all the time.  Well as the beer continued to flow and the level of intoxication increased the comments became a little more raunchy - also fine, I'll try and ignore you. Then suddenly it went WAY too far.

As I'm standing at the bar about to pickup my drinks for a table I feel someone grab my legs from behind. Now when I say grab I mean GRAB right about that point where your legs suddenly become your ass.  So I whirl around and it's my leg loving friend...obviously.

"What are you doing?!" was my warranted response. 

I shit you not here he said, "Oh honey I'm sorry but I just had to see where the seams were.  There's no way those are real."

Oh well aren't you cute and original!  And I'm sure you're really sorry for feeling me up in the middle of Hooters.  So yes, they are real and I love them to death but please don't touch them...that's my boyfriend's job (that's right we got back together...long story).