Now For Something Totally Different: When the Sun Comes Out

I came across an old live recording of me singing a little bit of jazz. Figured I'd share it with you. As it's just a sound recording I just looped some random pictures of my travels on there. They're not important so feel free to ignore them.

"When the Sun Comes Out"

Being a Hooters Overachiever Pays Off

On Wednesday I was asked to be a part time manager at Hooters.  Apparently all that overachieving and generally being awesome got noticed after almost two years of hard work.  I start training next week with two days in the kitchen.  I'll officially be a Hooters Girl/bartender/trainer/manager.  I must be some kind of multitasking queen.  It will be interesting to see the restaurant from the other side of the uniform a couple days a week, but I'm not ready to leave the shorts behind quite yet.  It seems I've developed quite an attachment.

And corporate, if you're out there, I'm working my way up here!  Feel free to take about ten to twelve more looks at my resume if you have any openings in your marketing department because I'm pretty sure I'm turning into a Hooters lifer.  And I like it.

I'm a Hooters Overachiever

If my receipt art hasn't told you already, I like to go above and beyond at work.  Hooters makes a point of having us interact and deliver a unique experience to each and every customer.  Now, they don't really tell you how to do this.  Well they do, but they're not necessarily very specific.  At a minimum they want you to sit down with your customers, talk to them, seem generally interested.  But beyond that you can pretty much do whatever.  You can hula hoop with people or make them bibs or whatever.  You can even draw on receipts.  You get the idea.

I do a lot of little things that are my own way creating one-of-a-kind Hooters service.  One of these is how I deliver silverware to my table.  Yes, silverware seems quite unexciting.  That's because it is.  But I get more compliments on how I bring out silverware than you would even believe.  Yes, I said compliments.  On silverware.  Either I'm awesome or people are really easily impressed.

Here is how most Hooters Girls deliver their silverware to their tables.

They take a plate, fold a paper towel and set some silverware on it.  If there are more people, there is simply more silverware on said paper towel on said plate.  As you imagine this can get a little cluttered on that plate if you have more than two people at your table.  I don't believe in this method.  But that's probably because I have too much time on my hands.  If you don't believe me, look at how I do my silverware settings.

I bring a paper towel and silverware to the table.  One paper towel and set of silverware per guest.

I then fold over the bottom of the paper towel.

Then I flip the whole situation over and fold over the side just a smidge.  See it there on the left.  Yup, you see it.

I then continue to fold, pulling the left side over the right and creasing.  This - as you can see - makes a little pocket.  How cute.

Then I place the silverware into the little pocket I made.  I do this at the table for each and ever person.

And people love the effing shit out of it.  They eat it up and comment on my origami skills and say that I don't need to do so much for them.  Oh, but I do.  It's my thing.  It's my way as Hooters Girl.  I like going above and beyond.  It makes me standout, it makes me different AND it makes me more money.  Certainly not a thing to complain about.

So I'll keep folding my little napkin sleeping bags and putting a fork and knife to rest in each and every one of them.  I'll keep joking about showing off our fine flatware and linens.  I'll keep being an overachiever.  It's what I do.

A Reaction to Working at Hooters

Awhile back I wrote about how the Hooters blogosphere is seemingly disappearing one blogger at a time.  Where there used to be a handful of bloggers there now seems to be just one - me.  K.H. was the original blogging Hooters Girl.  As I started my blog I stumbled upon her writings and aspired to her seeming awesomeness; she was my Hooters blogging idol.

Then one day her entries simply stopped and months went by without so much as a peep from K.H.  She had seemingly vanished just as the other blogging Hooters Girls had done.  Suddenly blogging became very, very lonely.  But I blogged on because I love Hooters and I love blogging - blogging about Hooters was thus natural.

Then, as I was getting used to being the lonely blogging Hooters Girl, K.H. posted something.  A few days ago K.H. returned, but she didn't blog as she once did.  Rather than spreading Hooters witticisms and biting sarcastic humor, K.H. told about her departure from Hooters.  Here is an excerpt from what she wrote:

"It has been nearly six months since I last donned a pair of fluorescent orange hot pants and giggled over tired puns and clumsy double entendres from men twice my age, while simultaneously juggling greasy plates of wings and trying to make scrunch socks and nylons with sneakers appear sexy, all in an effort to generate income. The decision to depart from my position as one of the world famous Hooters Girls was not a difficult one to make, nor is it one that has left me with any regrets. A number of factors were involved in making the choice that I did, not the least of which was the dismal realization that my job was causing me to view roughly fifty percent of the world's population with disdain and a scornful wariness. You see, though the majority of the customers that I served during my time as a Hooters Girl, first as a waitress, then as a bartender, were basically good people, there was a small but impactful and seemingly always present group of regulars whose treatment of me, my coworkers, and women at large left a great deal to be desired, so much so that they, being the people whom I saw the most of at the time, were coloring my perspective of all men for the worse. I was avoiding going out in public alone, preferring the comfort of having my boyfriend present to deter the attentions of other men. I was no longer taking pride in my appearance, forgoing makeup and eschewing even the most mildly suggestive clothing in favor of loose sweatshirts and baggy jeans. I walked with my head down, avoiding eye contact and refraining from smiling. My formerly almost gregarious personality morphed in to one that was brusquely reticent. I simply wanted to go completely unnoticed by others, as at that point I associated any attention as being negative attention. Each of these alterations and the corresponding reasons behind them were made as a direct result of the treatment that I received while at work, and though the changes were not made consciously, they did not go unobserved, either. Of course, it was not long until I grew weary of scurrying through life in fear of being acknowledged, of the feelings of loathing derision each time my defenses failed and I heard the murmured words of appreciation as I hurried past yet another leering man. My new manner of living was only fostering the contempt that was growing inside of me, both for the male gender and for myself."

Reading this, I was frankly alarmed that working at Hooters would cause a person to have such a negative personal life experience.  In over two years of working at Hooters I have never seen such an adverse reaction to donning the orange shorts.  I have seen a number of woman dislike the shorts, but never become a seeming different person.  While I was worried about K.H., I was more worried that what she wrote made it appear as if this was a common occurrence at Hooters.  It makes it seem as if Hooters can kill a woman's self-esteem.  It makes Hooters seem like a bad guy.

I cannot disagree more with K.H.'s assertion that Hooters destroys one's self-esteem.  Personally, I think Hooters has made me more confident and more comfortable in my skin.  Hooters has not made me less gregarious, but made me less self-conscious of being goofily outgoing.  It has not negatively colored my perception of men, but rather made me realize most people are generally good, kind and polite.  Obviously there are exceptions to this but these few exceptions hardly cause me to judge men or people as a whole.  To do so would frankly be close-minded.

Now I'm not saying K.H.'s experience is invalid or untrue; I feel bad that she feels her job has done this to her.  What I am saying is that this experience is hardly the norm.  In the end each person reacts to situations differently due to a vast number of individualized traits and experiences.  This was just one reaction to the situation that is working at Hooters - it is hardly the normal reaction. 

So what is the normal reaction to working at Hooters?  From my own experience, and the experience of many of my coworkers, I would say Hooters makes you more confident.  Not so much confident in your looks or body (thought it certainly has that affect on many), but confident in yourself as a person.  It takes a certain personality to be a Hooters Girl and that personality thrives on confidence.  A confidence that grows at Hooters.

I wish K.H. the best in her future endeavors whatever they may be.  While it is obvious Hooters perhaps wasn't the perfect fit for her I still aspire to her awesomeness.  H.HHH

The 1,000 Follower Promise

Way back when I started this blog in the ancient times of 2009, no one really knew about it.  As time went on I told a few people - my mom, Ariel, a few close friends - but mostly my blog stayed a secret.  There were times when I thought that maybe I'd post it on Facebook for the world to see and let each and every one of 810 friends (and yes I ACTUALLY know them all somehow) in on my big blogging secret.  It was around the time I first contemplated posting my blog on my profile that I decided I would do so when I reached 1,000 followers.  Basically, a goal I thought was unattainable.

Then one day I became a Blog of Note and in a matter of days my thirty-five followers became 100, 100 became 500 and now here I am at nearly 900.  Suddenly that 1,000 follower deadline is very, very real.  I'm finally really faced with the idea of letting all sorts of people who actually know me into my blogging world.  And you know what, I kind of like the idea.  I'm ready to share with my friends what all of you have known so long - I'm not just a Hooters Girl, I'm a blogging Hooters Girl.

So when I get to that 1,000 follower threshold I'll be doing what I told myself I would oh so long ago.  Hopefully all my friends will appreciate my words just as much as you do. 

Receipt Art: June 22, 2010

Now that I've been doing my receipt art for awhile, my regulars are starting to expect something new every time.  You see, while each and every receipt I hand out gets a drawing, many are repeated.  Repeating drawings lets me get my checks out quickly when I'm busy while still personalizing them.  As such, I have a few go to drawings that I can pump out pretty much as quickly as the other girls are drawing hearts over the 'Is' in their names.  It's a talent.

I have two regulars in particular who expect a new, fresh, never before seen, original piece of receipt art every time they dine with me.  While it can be challenging, it also helps me come up with new ideas for everyone else.  The are my art guinea pigs.  Thanks for that!

So today for their original piece I came up with a little floating scene.  Floating the many rivers that flow in and around the valley is a Missoula pastime.  There is nothing better than sitting in a black tire tube with a beer (or the bag from a boxed wine if you prefer) in hand.  Floating is about relaxing, tanning, drinking, avoiding rocks, more relaxing and generally being awesome.  It's a sport I can truly endorse.

My favorite part of this receipt is the little fish peeking out of the water next to the total.  I adore him.  I also adore the little beer in the lower floater's hand.  That's my kind of man.

How Much Do YOU Want Me to Tip?

Working at Hooters we get lots of questions.  People ask about my personal life.  They want to know if I have a boyfriend/husband/fiancé.  They ask about my breast size.  They're curious what my family thinks of my job.  They will ask anything and everything and while most will be polite some people will ask things that should be totally off limits.  One of the many things I hate discussing with my customers is money - especially tips.

As a server, there is no question I hate more than, "how much do you want me to/think I should tip you?"  Seriously, how do you want me to answer that?  Usually I end up saying something PC like, "Well most people tip between 15-20%, but tipping is totally up to your discretion."  And of course this answer is rarely good enough.  I'll answer that way and suddenly they're calling me out for "not being real" or "not answering honestly."  Or sometimes they'll say something really awesome like, "well I'm not going to tip you at all until you tell me what to do."  In that case I'd love you to tip me $100.  Or maybe $1,000,000.87.  Whatever you have on hand.

Eventually I'll end up getting tipped that usual 15-20% I told them about in the first place leaving me to wonder why the eff they even asked.  Maybe they just like to see my reaction or maybe they really are that socially inept.  Either way, I'm not sure why one would think this question is appropriate.  If you really were unsure how much to tip you'd ask me the way a guy asked me yesterday.  Being from out of state, he asked what the customary tip percentage is in the state of Montana.  That I can handle.  You have made it clear you really are curious about what is acceptable rather than making me think you just want to get me flustered.  You have officially not been a douche.

Please don't ask your Hooters Girl/server/bartender how much they want to be tipped.  It's awkward and uncomfortable and frankly a little rude.  Tip what you think is appropriate.  You can even use your phone; I'm cool with you rebelling against mental math.  Just don't make me do the math for you.

And if you're curious or unsure on how to tip at Hooters (I get that question emailed me to a lot) HERE is guide I put together.  Note it doesn't include asking your Hooters Girl at any point.

After the Storm

As noted yesterday, a tornado hit my hometown of Billings, Montana Sunday evening.  A truly rare occurrence, it was the first tornado to touch down inside the city since 1958.

Classified as an F-2, the tornado had winds around 135 miles per hour.  

Touching down at MetraPark - our local sports/entertainment complex - the storm ripped through Montana's largest event center.  The venue holds 12,000 people and was luckily empty at the time of the storm.  

After hitting the Metra, the storm crossed a creek and damaged several businesses.  At McDonald's twenty employees and customers sought refuge in the walk-in cooler after watching the cloud come toward them.  It narrowly avoided the fast food restaurant, ironically moving down the drive thru, before flattening several buildings across the street.

After the storm, the sun was out within twenty minutes as if it had never happened.  The sun couldn't compete with the damage.  Once were buildings stood only rubble remained.

But the MetraPark Rimrock Auto Arena was hit the hardest.  Just the night before nearly 4,000 people attended an arena football game under a roof that no longer exists.  I saw Disney on ice there when I was four and Christina Aguilera when I was twelve.  I saw my first circus there and amazed people by knowing the difference between a dromedary and a camel as a toddler.

This is where I graduated high school.  Our class song was "I Hope You Dance."  I grew up in this arena.  I saw state championships won and world class bull rides.  I watched my grandpa buy cattle and won blue ribbons for my art.  It's weird how fast things can change.  And then the sun comes out.

I Guess We're Not in Kansas Anymore

This is happening in my hometown RIGHT NOW.  Billings, Montana never has tornados.  Ever.  Hoping everyone is alright.

Receipt Art: June 19, 2010

Wings are probably one of the top things one would relate with Hooters.  Well that and boobs.  And this receipt art certainly isn't about boobs.  That'd just be weird and very un-family-restaurant of me.

I really, really love wings.  Even working at Hooters cannot kill my wing addiction.  As such I really like this receipt.  Yeah, it's simple, but for some reason I think it's really cute.  Weird to describe wings as cute?  Probably.  I don't effing care.

To the Girl at Table 22

Every once and awhile I'll have a table with a sullen teenage girl.  She'll be the type of girl who looks generally unhappy to be sitting in a booth at Hooters.  Looking at her you realize how very uncomfortable she seems in her own skin.  She's probably not the popular one at school.  She gets by; covering her face in makeup she doesn't know how to wear because every one else is doing it.  She tries to fit in, but never quite feels comfortable in the mold she's told is normal.  Hooters is the last place she wants to be.  Here she is at Hooters surrounded by beautiful, confident women that she thinks she'll never compare to.  She feels unsure of herself and Hooters only amplifies her insecurities.

Saturday, one of these teenage girls sat with her parents in my section.  She hardly spoke, speaking up only to refuse to order anything.  I knew she was uncomfortable as she fidgeted in the booth and picked at the chicken strips her mom ordered for her.  She appeared to have a general disdain for me, for Hooters and for everything both me and Hooters stood for.  She probably wanted to be anywhere but here.

I tried so hard to be nice to her.  I tried to carter to her and make her feel comfortable.  It wasn't so much that I just wanted to make her feel more comfortable, but that I saw myself in that girl.  I too was a super shy, awkward teenager.  I was never popular.  I never fit in.  I was too skinny and too tall.  I didn't have boobs or hips or any of the things I thought pretty girls where supposed to have.  I felt anything but pretty because I was told so often that I wasn't.  Not that I was told this overtly, I just assumed it because of what I read in magazines and saw on TV.  And all I did was try to fit into those images that bombarded me constantly.  Try as I might it never seemed to happen.

As I brought her a water she never asked for, all I wanted to do was tell that girl that I understood.  I wanted to tell her that believe it or not one day she might be me because there was a day when I was she.  Now I'm not saying that every awkward teenage girl will become a Hooters girl.  I'm just saying that confidence can grow and bodies change.  I'm saying even the most uncomfortable girl can learn to be comfortable in her own skin.  It's not always an easy process, but it's an important one.

So to the girl at table 22, I understand.  Believe it or not I was such an awkward, clumsy teenager that my coworkers - who I've known for nearly two years - couldn't even pick me out in old picture of me and my friends.  Seriously.  They had no clue.  I didn't always have boobs and curves.  Eventually my body changed.  It just happened later than all those popular girls.  But most importantly I learned how to be confident in myself and while the boobs certainly helped that process, time and knowledge had a lot more to do with it.  So don't worry, things will be fine.  You might never be asked to a high school dance (me) or not me kissed until you're seventeen (me) or be the shyest girl in the word (also me).  But guess what, one day none of that will matter.  One day you'll realize that all of those things that seemed so very important aren't so very important after all.  And maybe you'll work at Hooters and maybe you won't, but you'll certainly have the confidence to do so.

Receipt Art: June 17, 2010

Sometimes people come in and you know EXACTLY what they'll order.  This is because they always order the same thing.  No matter what.  There are two older gentlemen who come in several times a week that always order onion rings for example.  They might switch up the meal, but there are always onion rings.  If they order a burger, onions rings.  A salad, onion rings.  You get the idea.

As such, my receipt are for these fellows included onion rings.  This is a requirement.  How could I not cater to such a devotion to a fried vegetable?

Luckily, they also ordered burgers this time allowing the cutest little burger on a perfect fluffy bun to surround my name.  How yummy of me.  Then there is the ketchup - or mustard if you prefer.  Clearly it's a precision squeeze bottle.  

I'm clearly loving all that extra space already.

Hans Travels the World

Hans has a way of turning up right when you start to wonder where he's been.  It never fails, as soon as you question why he hasn't been in he appears as if he knows he entered your mind.  It must be a magical German thing.  This happened recently.  I got to work and I wondered about Hans.  Honestly, since his heart attack and collapsed lung I actually get nervous when he hasn't been in in awhile.  After all, Hans lives alone.  How could I not be concerned?

So there I was wondering about Hans when I came to jump start one morning and was handed a postcard.  It was from Hans.  He'd preformed his German magic again.  Only this time it was international.  He's that good.  Apparently, Hans has been in Germany.  He was kind enough to drop my a line while he's there.

It seems his journeys brought him to Aschau Im Chiemgau.  Now I'm not exactly sure where Aschau is, but apparently it's in Chiemgau.  Thank goodness those two years of German in high school taught me what 'im' means.  Go, public education!

Now, what did Hans have to say?  Well, this is what Hans had to say:

In case you can't read it, it says:  All the best from the old grumpie German.  Thank Good I m still alive.  Munich and the Alps were great.  See you later.  Still not a beer.

Yes, Hans is alive and loving life in the Motherland.  I love the postcard.  What I love the most though is that it says "To the 'Hot Sauce Crew.'"  I mean it had my actual name on there too, but it was addressed as if Hooters of Missoula is MY Hooters.  Yes, according to Hans this crew is mine.  Epic.  I also love that there was no address on the card.  It said the cross street (not the actually street name Hooters is on even) but had no actual address.  And it has the wrong zip code.  But it still got here because everyone knows Hooters.  Hooters doesn't need no stinking address.  It's that cool.

It seems Hans may return soon.  Sill not a beer.  Until then I'll have his postcard on my fridge.  I'm just so international.

Hooters Saves the World - With Nylons

If you think about Hooters a few things come to mind.  Boobs are up there I'm sure.  And wings, probably that too.  And perhaps one of the things you'd think about are nylons.  Shinny, tan nylons.  While Hooters may remind you of nylons and vice versa, nylons probably won't make you think about saving the environment.  I certainly never thought of them that way.  Well not until recently.

In the beginning of June we were told to start keeping our used, ripped, torn and otherwise well-loved nylons.  This probably sounds weird.  Or like the idea of some nylon fetishist.  In reality, Hooters is using all those nylons to do their part to clean up that big, oily mess in the Gulf.  You know, the one caused by all that oil? 

Jokes aside, Hooters really is collecting the nylons from 380 domestic restaurants through the organization Matter of Trust.  Being collected for the entire month of June, the used nylons will be filled with hair, fur, feathers and other materials creating booms that will soak up the oil.  Hooters goal is to collect 100,000 pairs of nylons that would be used to create 15 miles of booms with the potential to soak up one million gallons of oil.

It seems to me like a pretty natural progression.  If you need a lot of nylons Hooters seems like a pretty good place to get them.  And while it won't stop the oil, it certainly will aid in cleaning up some of it.  Which at this point is really all that can be done.  Besides watching it continue to leak.

So if you chance by Hooters before the end of June, realize those nylons on your Hooters Girl could very well be soaking up lots of oil in the very near future.  And you thought they just made our legs shinny.

Receipt Art: June 16, 2010

Today was my first day back on the job after nearly a week.  Gotta say, I missed the place a little.  But seeing as I really do love my job this is hardly surprising.  I suppose I should appreciate it while it lasts because I'm sure one day I'll be sitting behind a desk hating my life.  Ugh.  That sounds awful.  For now I'll enjoy my time serving wings and making epic receipt masterpieces.

During my extended weekend on the Highline, I golfed for the first time ever.  Of course by golfed I mean that I lounged around in the cart and drove the ball a few times.  Mostly I enjoyed many a libation.  Surprisingly though, I didn't suck.  I obviously wasn't good, but I smacked that ball out there pretty well my first try.  I was surprised.  The guys I was with were even more surprised.  I have actually been inspired to pursue golf.  A game that involves driving around in little carts while drinking and generally enjoying yummy summer weather?  Sign me up!

My new found appreciation for golf inspired my receipt art today.  Guess I was in a sporting mood.  

So there you have it, a nice little green and a ball and a flag.  Looks pretty solid.  What I notice most however is that I leave for a few days and suddenly shit changes on me.  You see they added the line "Sorry We do not Accept Checks" (awkward capitalization and all) to the bottom of the receipts.  This I appreciate.  It's certainly a lot more official than me saying it.  People don't listen to a word I say; they'll write me a check anyway.  Now the receipt can back me up.  Thank you, receipt.  In addition, our receipts now print out with nearly an inch of extra space at the bottom.  So much more room for artworks now!

I hardly even know what to do with all this extra, fabulous, artwork needing room.  Here I just used it for a very thankful thank you.  Seriously, it's in all caps.  And in bubble letters.  That is some intense gratitude right there.  Thank you.  No, Thank YOU.

Girl and Guitar 4 Life

The name stays.  I love it and this love was only solidified by additional love from my readers.  You're obviously smart people.  I knew there was a reason we liked each other.

Name Change?

Way back in the ancient times of 2009, I started this blog.  Originally, the whole idea was just to basically get my thoughts out.  And the whole free part of a blog seemed a lot better than spend $9.99 a journal.  I'm cheap, it's fine.  So I started writing with no direction in particular and named what I was doing "Girl and Guitar" because I was a girl with a guitar - which I adore.  It seemed fairly logical.

Then I started to focus on the whole Hooters portion of my life.  It wasn't that I did so intentionally, it just slowly took over until it had consumed my blog.  Suddenly my little journaling project had morphed into some crazy Hooters exposé.  And I like that.  It works for me.

But I've come to realize - and not just lately - that Girl and Guitar really doesn't reflect what the blog is about anymore.  I love the name, but more than once I've contemplated changing it to something more related to the content.  So do I stick with the old or embrace something new?

So far I've come up with "Girl and Guitar Does Hooters" as a sort of way to merge the title with all the text underneath it.  Still not sure though.  I'm just not so good at this decision making crap.

So here I am asking what you think!  I'm open to suggestions.  Lots of suggestions.  Seriously.  Help a girl out.

Not So Smart Girl and the Wedgie

When I began my journey at Hooters I figured I'd spend a fair amount of my time defending my job.  Perhaps not even so much as defending my job, but rather defending my own intelligence and substance.  Defending myself as an individual.  And it turns out that yes; I have had to do my fair share of proving myself in a way.  I've had to show people that I am not some stereotype and that - perhaps more importantly - that stereotype doesn't really exist.  But you know all this. 

What I wasn't really prepared for when I began at Hooters was the fact that my family would also have to defend my job.  This leap is understandable, but it's not something that really crossed my mind until the first time I watched my Mom defend me in front of a particularly nosey and outspoken neighbor.  You know the type; we all have one in neighborhood.  It was then that I realized my family had to escape the Hooters stigma too. 

My sister has perhaps done the most in defending my job.  When at a party, she encountered a girl speaking about one of her classmates.  I'm not sure of the full content of the conversation, but I know it was punctuated by "and get this, she freaking works at Hooters" and other such negative things.  The girl she happened to be talking about was Ariel and my sister just so happens to adore her.

Sister:  "Oh you know Ariel?  She is so perfect and gorgeous and smart.  Did you know she's a philosophy major?  And on top of being pretty and smart she's generally awesome too."

Score, sister, score.  But that altercation is not the most heinous thing my dear sister has encountered.  The most awful thing happened in class.  In a university meant to be a bastion of higher learning.  You know, a place where people are supposed to smart.  Apparently admission standards have really gone downhill.  Anyway, there she was one day in class discussing something or other that was generally educationally when this happened.

Not So Smart Girl:  "Well Hooters has the highest fecal matter of any restaurant because the girls there are always having to pick their wedgies.  That's why I'd never eat there."

Naturally, my outspoken, opinionated, awesome sister went on to shut this girl down because she is - as I mentioned - awesome.  And actually has a brain.  That's important to note as well.  I love you, dear sister, thanks for further illustrating the splendid thing that is our gene pool. 

So, Not So Smart Girl, lets break this down shall we.  First off, I don't pick my wedgies at work.  Believe it or not, nylons are rather taut and as such I don't get many wedgies.  I have to say, the whole not having wedgies thing is a pretty nice feeling.  Second, if I did pick a wedgie at work I'd likely follow said wedgie picking with hand washing.  Mainly this is because I'd probably be picking my wedgie in the privacy of a bathroom.  As hot as picking nylons and shorts out of my crack on the floor would be I don't think my customers would really appreciate it.  Finally, why on earth would there be fecal matter involved at all.  I'm pretty sure the best way to pick a wedgie is from the outside, not the inside, of the situation.  Why on earth would I randomly have my hand down the inside of my nylons in my butt crack?  That's right, I wouldn't.  So this leaves me with the idea that you somehow think that I have poop all over the outside of my shorts.  How the hell did that get there?!  That's just awkward.

Don't worry, Not So Smart Girl, my hand did not go from my crack to your Daytona wings.  I'm pretty sure I know about basic hygiene.  Or at least I know a lot more about it than you know about basic logic.   

Seriously (Once) Future Roommates?!

I just got back from a movie with Asian Marine and a few friends.  I made sure to skip dinner so I could enjoy my usual whole bag of popcorn.  Seriously, I have a sick addiction.  If you take me to a movie and don't get me popcorn I will probably have a temper tantrum or - more likely - vault myself over the counter to swim in that giant bin of salty, buttery, popcorny goodness.  Luckily, I was allowed my popcorn and even splurged on a Diet Coke.  As a single girl who doesn't see to many movies in the theater, I was in popcorn laden, cinematic heaven. 

Then of course the movie started and ended up being a mild suckfest.  We decided to see "Get Him to The Greek" and I have to say it was one of those movies that looked awesome in the preview but was totally disappointing as a full-length feature.  So lame.  Don't get me wrong it was funny.  I laughed.  I generally enjoyed myself.  But it seemed to me that it totally failed to live up to its comedic potential.  There's $8.50 + $11.75 for buttery bliss and bubble drink well spent.

Moral:  Save this one for the RedBox

So first two paragraphs aside, the real point of my story is that dear Asian Marine is in fact not going to be my roommate.  Ariel is also not going to be my roommate.  This disappointing turn of events was due to lots of things that I don't care to type about and you probably don't care to read.  Basically, all we need to know is that I am currently roommateless with a mere fifteen days until my impending homelessness.  Yeah, I got some things lined up on the roommate/home front, but it seems blogging has in the past been the kiss of death for my living situations.  As such I am keeping this sensitive information confidential so I don't anger the blogging gods.  Please don't smite me mighty rulers of the blogosphere.

Oh and because everyone is pretending to like soccer (and some of us ACTUALLY DO), Holland won their game against Denmark.  I'm sure my dad was watching it with beer in hand in the wee hours of the morning.  Seriously, he's Dutch, that's practically required.  And thanks for that self-goal Denmark.  I mean we didn't need it to win, but it made you look silly so that's nice.

I Remember My First Debit Card

While I was out on my epic Montana adventure, this happened back at Hooters:

If you are unsure what is going on here, let me enlighten you.  This is a "Merchant Copy" credit card slip.  You know, that thing you're meant to sign and leave for your server.  That thing that is really effing easy to figure out.  It has a couple of pretty clearly marked lines that you're meant to fill out.  It's simple.  Very, very simple.  For most.

Backstory.  Twin Tower was serving a table of six high school boys.  You know how I feel about high school diners at Hooters.  I'm sure they ordered water.  After asking how much it costs.  Anyway, at the end of the meal, Twin Tower split and delivered the tickets to the table.  One, Mr. Johnston, opted to pay by debit.

Twin Tower:  "Go ahead and sign that top copy and keep the bottom copy for yourself!"

This is pretty typical.  We've all heard it.  We know what to do.  Mr. Johnston it seems did not.  Let us ignore for a moment the fact that he left no tip.  Let's instead focus on the fact that he ignored the obvious "Signature" line and instead felt compelled to sign the very top of the credit receipt.  What the?!

Mr Johnston, let me give you the benefit of the doubt and assume this is your first debit card.  Let me further postulate that this is the first time you have used said first debit card.  I am giving you every possible out here and yet I can still not fathom what led you to sign your receipt in that way.  You make no sense.  You make negative sense.  Yes, I said negative sense.  

Fine, I'll assume Twin Tower's long legs and general hotness got in the way of you doing a simple everyday task.  That's the only explanation.

Welcome Back

After a few days of traveling the roads of northern Montana I find myself back at home in my little studio apartment.  I have been back in town all of two hours and I've already managed to stop by Hooters.  It seems I can't stay away.  Well really I had to stop to put in a schedule request, but whatever.  I still went there.  Back to the real world it seems.

So lets see, what happened on my journey?  Well I played some sweet tunes and I rode on motorcycles and shot guns and did other northern Montana type of things.  You know, redneck stuff.  Now I'm sure most of you have never been to northern Montana.  We call it the Highline and basically the Highline is a fancy name for "there is not an effing thing out here."  Ok, think about Montana.  GO!  Mountains, right?  You thought mountains.  That's all good and great and epic, but that's not most of Montana and that's certainly not the Highline.  The Highline is rolling plains and what not.  Lots of small towns, lots of cows, lots of farmers, very little civilization.  But you know, that's cool with me.  My mom comes from a ranching family.  I know how to be redneck if I have to be.  It's a gift.

Now while I've probably made the Highline sound super exciting, it really is a pretty amazing place.  While I love the mountains of western Montana, there is something to be said for the vast plains and gentle hills of northeastern Montana.  It's the sort of area where you really grasp the whole "Big Sky Country" nickname thing; the sky really does go forever.  I also count the smell of sagebrush among my most favorite scents so it all gets along with me just fine.  I highly suggest it, even if it is on the way to see all those fabled mountains.

Yup, so I'm back.  Back to work on Wednesday.  Back to blogging now.  More to come momentarily.

P.S.  Dierks Bentley's new CD, "Up On The Ridge" is the perfect roadtrip CD.  It's a marriage of contemporary country and bluegrass that is both innovative and deliciously intoxicating.  I most highly suggest it.  Go.  Buy it.  Now.

Hello From Small Town, USA

Guitar, MacBook Pro, Romey and Michelle's High School Reunion and a classic Hotel bedspread.  They even have REAL KEYS here.

Ah, the life of a wannabe country star.

Please Pardon the Interruption

My guitar and I are hitting the road for a few days to play a bit here and there.  Just a little extended weekend away thanks to music.  I hope you'll pardon the small absence; I should be back on Monday.  Maybe I'll even get some mobile blogging a try since I have a fancy, new, "lets charge her thirty extra bucks just to look cool" Verizon phone.  I said maybe.  Don't be mad if it doesn't work out.

So have some fun, explore some old posts, make friends with my little blog.  I'll be back.

And yeah, that's me and my favorite riding boots.  I love you, Frye boots.

On Being the Blogging Hooters Girl

This recent increase in traffic to Girl and Guitar has caused me to reflect on why I'm a Hooters Girl and perhaps more specifically why I write this blog.  It has become obvious through comments and emails that the Hooters stigma is far more prevalent than I perhaps realized.  It seems that in many ways Hooters is some mysterious curiosity centered on the Hooters Girl.  While many people love and adore Hooters, there are some that view it harshly.  Often this negative view is not so much that people dislike Hooters, but they really don't understand it often because they haven't experienced it.  People listen to rumors and hearsay - as is human nature - and develop an opinion that is often totally unfounded.

In a way, this is why I started this blog and began detailing my life as Hooters Girl.  While initially based as a way for me to journal for personal reasons, it rather quickly grew into a memoir into the life of a Hooters Girl as I become more cognizant of the Hooters Girl mystique.  In going to work and explaining my job and writing this blog it became apparent that my job stereotyped me.  My job placed me into a certain mold that really didn't reflect the dynamic person I am.  My job sometimes made me look like someone I'm not.  This is not so much because a Hooters Girl is a certain thing or a certain type of woman, but rather because people have the wrong understanding of what a Hooters Girl is.  For some reason the Hooters Girl is often viewed as vapid, shallow and vain.  She is viewed as unintelligent.  She is viewed incorrectly.  I suppose to simplify, I saw the blog as a way to show the real girl behind the Hooters Girl. 

So what I am behind the Hooters Girl?  I am a college graduate with a B.S. in Marketing.  I am a former collegiate athlete who nearly high jumped her height.  I want to go to law school.  I am waitlisted to get into the law school of my choice and worried about it.  I love buying shoes.  I use running as my emotional outlet.  I love to read classics, but secretly indulge in chick-lit.  I consider my guitar my most prized possession.  I have to sleep on my left side.  I love sports of all kinds.  I got stood up on my first date in months last Thursday.  I love writing papers, especially those that analyze literary symbolism.  I love ESPN.  I still have a teddy bear.  I eat string cheese every day.  I love hiking.  I love Montana.  I am a Dutch citizen and an American citizen.  Chili is my favorite thing to cook.  I like to draw portraits.  And a million other things that don't involve orange shorts and chicken wings.

When I tell people what I do, most don't believe me.  Honestly, if you had told me three years ago I wouldn't have believed it either.  I too had a misconception of what a Hooters Girl was.  I thought that girl wasn't the girl I am.  For some reason I judged a Hooters Girl as a girl without substance.  But when the job fell in lap, I realized very quickly that while a Hooters Girl is an American icon it is still just a job.  Being a Hooters Girl is not a definition.  It might be part of a definition, but it is certainly not a whole.

I work with forty beautiful, fun, amazing woman.  Most are in college, some of us have even graduated.  We have cheerleaders and athletes and nerds.  We are different, but share the commonality of being Hooters Girls.  For some reason however, the fact that we wear the same uniform seems to create the idea that we are the same person.  That's the thing about Hooters Girls, while we all wear the same orange shorts and scrunched socks we are hardly the same.  We are all gorgeous individuals with varying interests and personalities who happen to have the same job.

And honestly, it's a job that I totally love.  When I started did I think I'd love it?  No, I thought I would feel objectified and underappreciated and unchallenged.  There are certainly times I feel that way, but this is not most of the time.  Most of the time I love going to work.  I get to be goofy and show my personality and talk sports and play my guitar at work and even have intellectual conversations now and again.  I get to be myself.  It just so happens that this involves lots of spandex and Lycra.  And you know what, I'm ok with that.

I know that one little blog in the vast expanse that is the Internet is not going to singlehandedly change opinions, but I don't expect it to.  I suppose what I do expect is that a few people may chance by it and see a different side of something.  Perhaps this will enlighten them in someway.  Perhaps it will shed some light.  Perhaps it will change an opinion here or there.  But that is not up to me.  All I can do is continue to write.  I'm just one Hooters Girl writing one blog.  I couldn't be happier.

Receipt Art: June 4, 2010

Apparently, my receipt art is not too shabby of an idea.  With the feedback I've received both in store and here on the blog I can say it really is one of my better skills as a Hooters Girl.  Of course that's if you don't count impeccable service and the ability to suggest the perfect wing sauce.

Last Friday, I had one of those tables that is just down to have a really freaking good time.  I mean it was a rainy afternoon, what better way to spend it than enjoying beer and shots of Jack Daniel's?  Yeah, I agree, solid way to spend a less than gorgeous Friday.  Naturally, my receipt was also down to party.

Yup, my receipt is pretty excited it's Friday.  And since the weather won't make it a T.G.I.F. sort of day why not a delicious pitcher of beer splashing its way into a frosty glass.  Yeah, that's a solid little Friday afternoon.

Uncovering the Hooters Truths

Here we are, a shift at Hooters later.  It was a good day.  I judge this not in tips, but by the fact that the sun was actually out.  I honestly feel like it has been raining forever.  And by forever I mean since it stopped snowing.  And by since it stopped snowing I mean May.  See why sun equals good day?  Sun = patio seating = free tanning + making tips = good effing day.  It's a rather simple equation really.

So all during said good day, I've been thinking about what I was going to post upon returning home.  This weighed heavily upon me.  Well that or that fifty-plate of wings I had to carry.  Either way.  Any I came to the conclusion that the first thing I should do is recap a few past posts.  Then I had to figure out which previous posts were worth reposting and suddenly I came to the conclusion that the Hooters Truths were a darn good place to start.

Being a Hooters Girl there are certain things that become an everyday part of life. These things, that I call the Hooters Truths, can be annoying, exasperating and utterly hilarious in addition to being glaringly unavoidable.  Originally, the Truths were posted in Volumes I, II and III.  I now present them as a complete set for your enjoyment.

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 and 70s song and 60s and 50s 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.
16.   Find any and every way to incorporate hearts into your name.

17.   Realize that bleach pens and Tide-to-Go are quite possibly the best inventions ever.

18.   Become wildly overprotective of your pens.

19.   Develop the perfect “Hooters voice” for saying, “Hi! Welcome to Hooters!” This will sound nothing like your actual voice.

20.   Become an expert, though often reluctant, wing deboner.

21.   Come to find that guys are horribly unoriginal when it comes to pickup lines.

22.   Make teenage boys uncomfortable on a daily basis.

23.   Learn all sorts of stupid things to write on T-shirts such as “Hugs & Jugs”, “Hoots & Kisses”, “Breast Wishes” or "Hoot, Hoot, You're Cute."

24.   Know that clear nail polish or hair spray are essential tools in preventing little nylon runs from becoming big ones.

25.   Put off using the bathroom as long as possible so you can avoid the annoyance of removing your pouch and pulling down your nylons and shorts just to spend five minutes getting them all in the “just right” spot again.
26.   Increase your flexibility through the game of limbo. Unless you are tall, then they will just make you hold the bar.

27.   Hate chicken.

28.   Find that good posture makes you appear skinnier.

29.   Be asked if you are on the menu and available for order.

30.   Realize that everyone really does have a “good side” and a “bad side” when it comes to taking pictures. It will be your goal to be on this side always.

31.   Either love or hate fried pickles. There will be no in between.

32.   Hear the words “naked” and “wet” together far too often.

33.   Love Fridays and special occasions because it means you can wear black.

34.   Babysit.

35.   Never walk to your car alone.

36.   Upsell like it’s your job because according to management, it is your job.

37.   Be asked by friends if they can try on your shorts, usually by friends with penises.

38.   Eat TONS of salad.

39.   Have an imaginary boyfriend/fiancé/husband or seamlessly mention your real one in conversation to handle creeps.

40.   Know just to how to wear your shorts to best combat muffin top.

ADDITIONAL POSTS OF INTEREST:

A Little Bit About Sauce:  Get to know a little bit about this blogging Hooters Girl

Uniform of a Hooters Girl:  Explore the intricacies of the Hooters Uniform from top to bottom.

You & I:  For those interested in checking out some of my music