28 July 2010

Sauce Gets Receipt Arted

Yes, I realized "arted" isn't a word.  Whatever, this is my blog.  I do what I effing want.

After well over six months of creating receipt masterpieces someone finally decided to return the favor and make my day.  And you know, I really mean that.  Getting this little drawing truly did make my day.  I can now imagine the warm fuzzies my artworks must bring to the world.  You're welcome, Hooters guests, you're welcome.

Just look at the little bit of joy John Blankyblank left me.  Yes, he also left me a nice little thirty precent tip, but I promise as much I loved that I loved the picture even more.  There we are, John and I, holding our little love heart proudly between us.  I can only assume that sizable mansion is our country estate.  It's all very "Pride and Prejudice."  I mean the end part where everyone is happy and married to rich dudes out of their station.  That's what I call pure Elizabethan joy.

Thanks for making my day, John Blankyblank.  Our love rings on.  Lets get married on top of a mountain.

24 July 2010

Receipt Art: July 23, 2010

I made this for a dude reading an outdoor magazine.  It seemed apt.  I proud to say I found that I do indeed have the ability to draw a deer.  Go me!  Also, note that I decided to switch it up with some flat-bottomed clouds.  I have to say I think I like them.  You see I was driving along one day and as I looked into the distance I thought, hey clouds sort of have flat bottoms.  Yeah, that's the sort of shit I think about.

Texts from the Infamous H

I don't give my number out at Hooters.  Sure, I'm asked, but there is something about handing my number to a greasy-fingered dude ogling my hot shorts that doesn't say "Mr. Right" to me.  While other girls have - on rare occasions - handed out their numbers with various levels of success, I've just always chose not to.  Until Wednesday.  Yes, on Wednesday I broke down and gave out my number to a seemingly nice guy who'd sat with me all day.  It seemed like a fine idea at the time.  H was cute and tall and nice.  And after several hours of innocent pestering I wrote my number on the back of napkin.  It felt very cliche.

The first red flag came later that evening.  And the flag grew and grew and grew.  I now present you with a series of unedited text messages (names omitted) outlining why I will never give my number out at Hooters ever again.  Please enjoy my additional commentary.

H: O sweet sauce how can i hamdle waiting till tomorow :(
Wednesday, 6:26 PM

H: Alright alright fine dont txt me back lol
Wednesday, 6:39 PM

At this time, please note the thirteen minute time difference.  Pushy much?  What if I had been in the shower or running or at an all you can shove in your face buffet?  Lock it up, dude.

Sauce: Give a girl a minute! Haha
Wednesday, 6:40 PM

Observe how I'm playing this off like it's tolerable that I was just double texted.  Of course this is never tolerable to us normal folk.

Several "normal" texts are now exchanged.

H: What is sauce up to right now huh?
Wednesday,  8:42 PM

I am already annoyed.

H: And ur doing?
Wednesday, 9:51 PM

I now pretend I have fallen asleep to avoid texting him for the next twelve or so hours.

Sauce: Sorry, I passed out last night.  How was your night?
Thursday, 11:35 AM

H: O pretty good.  Had a little rave party at the house lol di u pass out drunk??
Thursday, 11:37 AM

Everything about that text message annoyed the hell out of me.

Sauce: No.  I didn't drink last night. Just went to sleep.
Thursday, 12:00 PM

H: Needless to say i got a little wasted lol. What time u comn to c me later?
Thursday, 12:10 PM

H: Lol u still thinkn about your answer or what? Lol
Thursday, 12:10 PM

No, I was just thinking about the fact that I never want to see you.  And that you are not twelve and need to kill the extreme overuse of "LOL."

Sauce: Seriously, you need to give a girl a minute to get back to you. I'm not sure.
Thursday, 12:14 PM

About now I should start ignoring him, but I decide to keep texting him for some freaking reason.  I am quite obviously a glutton for punishment or entirely desperate.

H: Lol sorry i can b kind of demanding especialy when i see sompn i want.
Thursday, 12:16 PM


H: jk lol
Thursday, 12:16 PM

Sauce: You're not joking.
Thursday, 12:17 PM

H: Ahahaha well im sure we hav that in common! I bet u can b a lil demanding girl
Thursday, 12:19 PM

Sauce: No. Not really.
Thursday, 12:27 PM

H: Its alright if u tell me what u want lol jk dont let me scare u off
Thursday, 12:27 PM

Seriously?!  You didn't scare me off, you did however creep me the eff out and turned me off.  I can see how you could get those things confused.

H: So whats up?
Thursday, 3:13 PM

Let the ignoring commence!

H: Sauce my dear what r u doing??
Thursday, 3:46 PM

H: What r ur plans later?
Thursday, 5:06 PM

H: Sauce u r payiing no attentiin to me whatsoever wtf? Lol u gota talk to me babe!!
Thursday, 6:07 PM

No, actually, I don't have to talk to you because you clearly can't take a hint. But I take the opportunity to ATTEMPT to prove a point.

Sauce: You act as if I have no purpose but to text you...
Thursday, 6:16 PM

H: U have no purpose but to hang out with me lol jk
Thursday, 6:17 PM

Point clearly not understood.  Let the ignoring continue.

H: Ur destiny was to meet me and party with me lol
Thursday, 6:32 PM

H: Wana b my girfriend if I move back to montana? Lol jk
Thursday, 7:00 PM

H: Sauce im gona have to end our relationship ur just not talkn to me enough
Thursday, 8:20

And that was the last I heard from infamous H.  I mean really, dude?  Do think this is the sort of crap girls swoon over?  Just to let you know, we don't like this kind of shit.  You my friend are a stage five effing clinger.  Not attractive.  Ever.  And for the record we never had a relationship, but I'm damn glad it ended.

Note to self: NEVER give your number out at Hooters.

22 July 2010

Receipt Art: July 21, 2010

YAAAAARRGGG!  That's pretty much all I have to say.

And yes, I realize that my octopus has had a horrible accident in which he lost half his legs and mildly deformed another.  Whatever.  That's artistic license, bitches.  Plus he's still happy so there.

Barak Obama, Facebook & Miss Hooters International

On July 10th, Leangela Davis was crowned Miss Hooters International from 100 contestants around the world.  Basically, this means she's an uber babe.  Obviously, beauty is subjective but if you were to walk by Miss Davis on the street you'd probably think she was effing hot.  Of course even though this is readily apparent people have to complain.  She's too manly, too tall, too thin, too fat.  But of course the obvious thing people feel they need to comment on is that she's too black.  Yay, let's be lame and say stupid shit!

Rather than simply regale you with my feelings on racist fucks, I'm going to regale you with a number of little Facebook comment gems left on the Hooters fan page because every knows it's easy to be an idiot when you're hiding behind a computer screen in your mom's basement.

No Beter, she is in fact not white.  GASP!  How did you figure it out?!  I never would have noticed.  I feel so tricked by this little minx.  Seriously, who cares.  Yes, she happens to be African American, but last time I checked nowhere in my job description does it say I have to be white be employed by Hooters.  Shit, I must have missed that part.  Evidently I have to be white to be pretty.  Who knew?!

I totally agree, Keenan.  Of course by totally agree I mean you are clearly lame not only because you're a racist idiot, but because you are a typing cat.  Actually, it's pretty sweet that you figured out how to use a keyboard with those little paws, but might I suggest you let your mind evolve a little more before you log in.  Wouldn't want to sound stupid or anything.  Oh wait, you already did that.  I don't know if you heard, Keenan Kitty, but any woman is beautiful regardless of her skin color.

Now I'm not totally sure what Eric is trying to say - no offense, dude - but I like the he has the sense to realize her winning has nothing to do with skin color.  But of course, Sage brings us back.  It's all about skin color.  Really though, I posted this because Sage is an idiot.  The last two winners (2008 & 2009) were both blonde.

While Beter and Keenan are small minded, these next geniuses can talk politics.  This obviously makes them the smartest people in the history of thinking.

Hi, my names Michael and I know political buzzwords.  Title 9!  Roe v. Wade!  Prohibition!  Magna Carta!

Thanks for taking it step further and says our "presudent" had something to do with outcome of a Hooters bikini pageant, Alex.  This presudent guy probably singlehandedly created Justin Bieber and made Oprah go off the air.  One thing is certain though and it's that the presudent clearly didn't help you with your spelling.  Maybe "they" can help with that since according to you they get everything because of presudent.  Now, my buddy, Jim, thinks Obama (I'm assuming he's related to Alex's presudent) just decided the whole effing thing.

So you mean our President, Barack Obama, took time out of his schedule to pick the winner of the Hooters pageant?  Dear Lord, someone needs to tell CNN because this is fucking breaking news.  It's not like he has anything important to do like run a country or anything.  But really, how much time can being President really take up?  It can't be that hard, right?  Not according to Jim!  Hey, Jim, I really like the way your close mindedness brings out your eyes - and cowboy hat. 

Lucky for Jim I made found this picture on the Internet to totally back him up.

Shit, Obama told did rig the eff out this whole pageant.  That smile clearly says, "I'm in charge muthafuckas."  Anti Blonde Act?  That's so racist.  Guess blondes are gonna have a hard year.  Just look at Kristin Cavallari if you don't believe me.  And it's all Obama's fault; ruining the world one unimportant pageant at a time.

While none of this is true.  Obviously (don't tell Jim or Alex).  There is still the question of whether the pageant itself is rigged or predetermined.  Doug is pretty sure it is.

So is it rigged or not?  I may or may not have a pretty good idea if it may or may not predetermined, but I'm not going to say.  I will say that there is a fair amount of politics involved in the pageant, as there are in any pageant.  I will also note that Leangela didn't really look all the surprised when she won.  Lord knows when I win I anything I am really effing excited and everyone is going to know it.  I'll let you decide for yourself what that that may or may not mean.

I'll leave you by saying that I think Leangela Davis is a GREAT Miss Hooters.  Not only is she gorgeous, but I hear she has an amazing personality.  And really personality is number one at Hooters no matter what anyone says.  Tara, go ahead and wrap it up for me.

19 July 2010

You Know You Are A Hooters Girl When:

A new segment of random shit I think up about when you know you are a Hooters Girl...

You know you are a Hooters Girl when:
You go to at least one 21st birthday party a month at the age of 25

Lame but true.

16 July 2010

Ariel, Sauce and the Intruder

Yesterday, Ariel and I were our usual fabulous selves and spent the day being utterly amazing.  Usually this would consist of shopping soaked in the occasional alcoholic beverage.  It's not that we're lushes, it's that there is something magical about being slightly lucid when looking at overpriced jeans.  While this is most enjoyable, we decided to spend the day connecting with nature.  Yes, we actually went out in the woods and hiked up mountains and saw wildlife and shit.  While I work out regularly, Ariel was most proud of herself for actually, legitimately sweating from physical activity.  I even photographed the event as evidence of our general level of awesome activeness.  It was a good day.

Upon returning from our woodland frolicking, I proceeded to make a dent in Ariel's couch as she got ready for her 6:00 p.m. Hooters Girl shift.  While she blow-dried and make-upped and nyloned I watched "You, Me and Dupree."  I can only imagine her general level of jealousy as I did absolutely nothing.  Unfortunately, my movie watching took considerably more time than Ariel's getting ready.  Rather than miss the end of a movie I've never seen I decided to stay at Ariel's to finish the movie as she headed to work.  This is hardly weird.  We both have keys to each other's studio apartments - we call it "long distance roommates."  So Ariel left and I continued to increase my dent in the couch.

The next few minutes went like this:

5:45:  Ariel leaves for Hooters.

5:46:  I contemplating getting up from the couch.

5:47:  I decide against leaving couch.

5:47 - 5:54:  Movie watching.

5:55:  Ariel's front door is opened.  It is not Ariel.

Yes, at 5:55 someone opens Ariel's door.  As the handle turns my first thought is that Ariel was cut from work as soon as she arrived.  This thought is immediately erased when I realize the person entering is considerably bigger and more male than Ariel.  In the very few seconds it takes me to process that a man is entering Ariel's apartment he spots me on the couch.  I freeze.  I scream.  He runs.  By the time I work up the courage to go near enough to the door to close and lock it, the intruder is gone.  I am seriously freaked the eff out.

Naturally I decide to call Ariel but I am so flustered that I can't recall the number to Hooters or how to find it in my phone.  I am cool like that.  Luckily, Ariel decides to call me right at the moment.  I don't even give her a chance to say hello.

Sauce:  "Ok, so um we're you expecting someone."

Ariel:  "Wait. What?  No. Why?"

Sauce:  "Well then someone just tried to come in your house."

As I describe what just happened, Ariel - who was cut from work upon arrival as I had originally thought - made her way home.  We then decided to do some investigating because we are closet spies.  While our examination didn't turn up an uber creeper, it didn't turn up a few things that were just as freaky.  First is the fact that the timing of his intrusion corresponded so well with her leaving for work - too weird to be a coincidence.  Most noteworthy of our discoveries thought was that the screens of both her front windows have been both pushed in and pried up at the corners.  And perhaps more frightening, one of the windows is cracked from top to bottom.  No other apartment had any damage to their screens and certainly didn't have any cracked windows.  It was upon these findings that we decided it would be best to call the police.

Naturally, the police couldn't do much.  The man was long gone and I hadn't gotten a good enough look at him to give a useful description.  I know he was in his early twenties and he had on a white t-shirt.  That really narrows it down doesn't it?

So the police will be patrolling the neighborhood, but likely nothing will come of it.  Unless you count the sleepovers that now take place in my bed because Ariel is too afraid to go home.  And I don't blame her.

Oh and I totally missed the end of "You, Me and Dupree."  Damn you, creeper man.

Receipt Art: July 16, 2010

Don't worry, I'm still drawing epic receipt masterpieces.  This one features a cow jumping over the moon.  How Mother Goose of me!   

I also drew one today for a kid on his way to the national high school rodeo finals.  He's a bull rider and I drew a most stunning portrait of him.  Clearly it involved him riding a bull and getting a score of 1,000,000.  He took the receipt for good luck after I showed him my epic skill at bar stool riding.  He's clearly going to channel me at the championship.  

13 July 2010

A Twin Tower Tale: Weedalicious

Recently, Twin Tower had a nice little section of booths in the front of the restaurant.  Now by nice little section of booths I really mean the annoying section that is hidden behind an effing half-wall so you can never be totally sure if anyone has actually sat themselves there.  Luckily she - like myself - is tall and noticed two earthy gentlemen pick the middle booth of her section.

Approaching the table, Twin Tower noticed several things.  First, she noticed just how "earthy" they were in the visual sense.  Chacos, dreads, threadbare t-shirts, scruff neards (neard = neck beard).  I'm sure you can picture exactly what I mean.  Getting closer, the next thing Twin Tower noticed was the earthy smell - a combination of ganga and B.O. that screams "I fight the system and tell my friends I only eat organic."

Twin Tower:  "Hi, guys!  Welcome to Hooters!"

*BLAH, BLAH.  Usual niceties.  "We have coke products."  Coors Light.  Name on a napkin. BLAH*

Twin Tower:  "So what have you guys been up to lately?"

Dude 1:  "Oh you know, just growin' lots of weed."

Dude 2:  "Yeah, tons of weed."

After processing and realizing both Dude 1 and Dude 2 were totally serious and shaking off what I imagine to be the blankest of blank looks of her face, Twin Tower took it all in stride.

Twin Tower:  "Thats...nice.  Good for you?  I mean, drugs personally scare me but I'm sure that's...lucrative for you."

They both nodded in approval as Twin Tower excused herself from the table.  Coming up to me, Twin Tower recounted her discourse with the table.  Ah, the beauty of Missoula, Montana and the legalization of medical marijuana.  I explained as much as I could.

Twin Tower:  "All this makes me miss Northern Idaho."

Sauce:  "Why?  So you can buy Meth out of the back of trailer?"

Twin Tower:  "Good point."

How To Trick People into Thinking You're Good Looking

A guide to working at Hooters? No, not really, but still funny.

12 July 2010

For Meghan: A Year Later

I posted this a year ago after the loss of a very dear, lifelong friend.  A year ago today, I was running my first half-marathon as she laid dying in the ICU.  Hearing the news after my run is a feeling I will never forget - a juxtaposition of doing something so full of life as life ends.  I miss Meghan everyday - especially today.  I had to repost this as thoughts of her were on my mind.  This is for you, friend.

One of my childhood friends passed away on Sunday. She made a bad decision, driving when she shouldn't. Leaving a party, she was driving too quickly when she came to a corner her car couldn't navigate. Her vehicle rolled several times before coming to a stop in a grassy field. At nineteen years old, my dear friend Meghan passed away in the ICU surrounded by her family. Her B.A.C. was just at the legal limit and she was wearing a seat belt.

The following is something I wrote for Meghan. I will always consider her my sister and I hope that she knew that. I love you Meghan and I'll always miss you.

10/7/1989 - 7/12/2009

Growing up in my neighborhood was every little girl's dream. There was a raspberry patch, a park down the road, an apple tree to climbing and a neighbor with an above ground pool perfect for hot summer days. Mostly though my neighborhood was perfect because it was full of other little girls with imaginations as big as mine. We could be princess or pirates or spies; it all depended on the day. The games may have changed, but one thing never did – the fact that everything we did, we did together.

C, A, Z, G, me and Meghan. C was the tomboy, A the ever opinionated smart one, Z and G the ever present, occasionally annoying (to us big girls at least) younger sisters, and I was the protective older sister to everyone. Then there was Meghan. Meghan wasn’t just one thing; she wasn’t the girly-girl or the shy one or the leader. Meghan was the type of girl that got along with everyone in a way that was all her own. In a way, it was Meghan that held us all together with our differing personalities. She ended disputes over what game we were going to play and meticulously divided the earnings from our lemonade stands. When we diversified into snow cones, Meghan worked the hand-cranked snow cone machine and never complained.

And that was the thing about Meghan, she never really complained. She was just happy being there with all of us whether we were riding bikes or playing house or pretending to go on road tripping adventures in her parents’ caravan. Meghan was content no matter the situation and we all loved her for it.

As the years moved on, I began to see Meghan less as life’s priorities moved from Barbies and mud bakeries to boys and gossip. Suddenly, the age difference that means nothing when you’re eight seems to mean everything when you’re fourteen or eighteen or twenty-one. All of us, once so inseparable, drifted apart to focus on those differences between us that before never seemed to matter. A part of me regrets this, but there is also a part of me that is happy it happened this way.

For me, I will always retain that childhood innocence when it comes to remembering Meghan. I will remember selling bookmarks at garage sales and eating sandwiches with butter. I will remember her losing baby teeth and that originally she had an English accent that sounded ever so cute when she said the word ‘bum’. While I will constantly wish I had seen her lately or told her that I still loved her like a sister, I will always cherish those childhood days we spent together and count them among my fondest memories.

We’ll miss you Meghan, all of us little girls from Harvard Avenue. We’ll think back and wish we’d had another day or another hour or another minute. We’ll be happy we had the innumerable moments we did. Once inseparable, always inseparable, the Harvard Avenue girls will always remember.

Home Sweet Home

I took this just outside of where I was born.

I love Montana.

Call Me Crafty

Hello there, world.  No, I'm not dead.  Obviously.  Now I could use this next sentence to begin a post listing a multitude of excuses that caused me to neglect my little blog, but that collection of rambling paragraphs would fiercely boring.  Let's just simplify, make a little list and get the eff over it.

1.   Summer finally came to Montana complete with sun and heat and riding on boats.
2.   I made the state final of a big music competition that I'd rather not discuss because blogging jinxes my life.  Seriously.
3.   I lost my creative mojo and had no drive to find it.
4.   I was majorly turned off by the whole K.H. suckfest in which my comments were taken out of context regarding her comments taken out of context.  Fuck context.

With that out of the way, lets just jump into a real post and get over it.

Yesterday, my motherland was in the World Cup Final.  Yes, I realize you're all sick of soccer and sick of hearing people pretend they like soccer and sick of those horn things that get blown at soccer.  But some of us actually like soccer.  I mean the U.S. liking soccer and its sudden popularity is clearly a lie - no offense ESPN - but the rest of the world actually, legitimately, wholeheartedly loves soccer.  And the Dutch half of me represents that international love for soccer.

If you're behind the times a smidge, I am a Dutch citizen as well as an American citizen due to my Dad.  That's right, he's not American.  He has a Green Card.  And an accent.  It's awesome.  Anyhooters, this year The Netherlands actually made the final of the World Cup for the first time since 1978.  This is a big deal.  I mean my Dad even bought a Heineken Mini Keg for the event and he's usually a beer-on-sale kind of shopper; he takes the whole frugal Dutch stereotype to heart.

To celebrate this epic event I dressed up my uniform a little at work.  And by dressed up I mean I looked like a total freak (with preapproval from my manager of course).  This was very Dutch of me because Dutch people are quite possibly the most insane soccer fans in manor of dress.  Luckily, the Dutch royal color is orange.  Hooters is orange.  Match made in heaven.  So naturally I had on as much orange as possible: leis, bobble headband, socks, beads.  Basically it was awesome.

Please enjoy selections of my outfit:

In addition to these items, I sported some soccerlicious pins that I made just for the event.  Yes, I made them and they were an insane hit.  I would now like to note that even at age twenty-five Shrinky Dinks are still epically fun.  There is just something about sitting in front of an oven and watching the plastic curl all up and come out little.  It's the simple things in life I suppose.  Here are the pins I made.  What's the blue you say?  I wore blue suspenders too.  Yes, I'm that cool.

After making the pins, everyone wanted one.  I've always been the craft girl at Hooters, but suddenly I was the craft girl in demand.  So here is the first pin I had commissioned before and after shrinking.

Yes, a Hooters Girl on a hot dog for one of our cooks.  He didn't actually request the hot dog.  That was all me.  I tried her on a wing, but that looked weird.  Luckily, there is something hilarious about a hottie riding a cased meat product.  I love subtle innuendo.

Oh and the Dutch lost.  Effing Spain.


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