Stop Trying to Make Owling Happen

Over on Facebook, my buddy Mitchell Melton brought up the topic of owling.

Wait, Owling is a real thing? Is that when you motorboat a Hooters waitress?" A friend of mine posted this, and was completely serious.

  
If I have you confused already allow me to show you what the hell I'm talking about.  This is owling courtesy of the one and only Hilary Duff, star of the once popular tween sitcom, Lizzie McGuire:

Nice form, Ms. Duff.  CREDIT.

Yup, that's owling.  Basically it's involves crouching and taking a photo which you quickly post to the Internet so your 1,024 Facebook "friends" think you're super wicked cool.  This is meant to make you look like an owl or - in my opinion - a person trying to take a dump in the woods for the first time.  Impressive, I hardly think so.  Unless you owl like this guy, in which case you are somewhat impressive:

I am giving extra points for the cosplay hair.  CREDIT.

Delving deeper into the history of owling, it is pretty apparent that it is a response to "planking."  Here I am using response to actually mean "totally copying."  If you are entirely uniformed, planking is basically laying stomach down, flat as a board, photographing it and also posting it Facebook for all those friends who care so much about your exploits.  It was really cool for awhile.

A fad is pretty much dead by the time it ends up on the TODAY show.  CREDIT.

So when we get down to, owling is really just trying to be the next planking.  And if there is one thing I know it's that trying to be the next big thing makes it nearly impossible to actually be the next thing.  Trying is so effing lame.

Mean Girls pretty much sums up exactly how I feel about owling:

So please stop trying to make owling happen, it's not going to happen.  Besides, the leisure dive is way cooler.  And by cooler I actually mean "get over it and take a nice photo that mom can put above the damn fireplace."

Being Nice is Cool Too

Well don't you just look fun!  CREDIT.

I have officially decided that some people go to restaurants just to complain.  They wake up in the morning, realize their life sucks more than they anticipated it would and throw on some pants so they can go out and ruin someone else’s day so theirs sucks just that much less.  I imagine them sitting in the car on the way formulating new ways to be totally awful human beings.  It’s like a game that I, as a server, am forced to be the center of with no prior consent.

I get it; life really sucks sometimes.  Trust me, there are days that being a total bitch would really make me feel better.  But we all know that isn’t nice.  So I pull up my tights and guess what?  I get the eff over it.  I don’t find my way to a restaurant where people are just trying to do their job and put them through forty-five minutes of torture.  I don’t complain that the beer is too cold.  I don’t get pissed because only light ranch is served.  I don’t say my burger was awful after devouring the whole thing in two minutes flat.

While I realize that sometimes it seems like shared misery is the answer, I can assure you it’s not.  I can almost guarantee you won’t walk through those doors, back into the big, bad world and feel better.  You might feel fuller, but you certainly won’t feel better.

What might make you actually feel a little better would be coming in, sitting down and trying to let yourself actually enjoy a meal.  Food tastes much better without a side of pissed-off.  Rather than using that forty-five minutes bringing someone else into your misery you could put it aside and enjoy those wings.  You never know, maybe afterwards you’ll feel better.  Or at the very least, you spent a little bit of time not thinking about whatever is bothering you.

You can have it back later if you want.  CREDIT.

A very wise corporate trainer once told me to “leave my shit at the door.”  And that’s what I do, if I’m in a bad mood I don’t bring it into work with me.  It’s my job to be happy even when I’m very far from it.  Even when my grandma died I had to go to work and pretend like it hadn’t happened.  That certainly wasn’t easy, but you know afterward I did feel better.  I’d gotten out of my own head and taken time to not dwell on things.

So while that advice has certainly helped me at a place where being peppy is expected no matter what, it’s also helped me in life.  Sometimes all you can do is take your shit and leave it for a bit.  You get some things done, you do what you need to do and then later if you want to pick up that shit and take it home with you, you are more than welcome to.  But maybe you’ll just decide to let that shit lie.  Or take less of it than you brought in the first place.

All I really know is, even if you don’t take my advice, please don’t bring your attitude into my place of employment and dump it in my lap.  You don’t want it and I REALLY don’t want it.  Sit back, eat your food and let me do my job.  Which is to make you have a better day in addition to keeping you fed.  I promise I’ll try not to let you down if you promise not to be an asshat.  That seems fair.

My Fake Name Commits Credit Card Fraud

I've made it known before that my name is, well, different.  It's not that it's a particularly difficult name, it's just that it's incredibly uncommon in this country.  Naturally, because Americans are averse to anything remotely different, this causes people to freak the eff out when I introduce myself or they need to write it down or something.  It's almost as if when hearing a name that isn't Sarah or Amanda or Jennifer people suddenly forget how letters work.  Sound it out, bitches, you'll do fine.

Apology accepted, slore!

Because of the difficulties with my name, I sometimes use a fake one in certain situations.  Mostly these situations involve ordering sandwiches or excessive amounts of caffeine from people in green aprons.  It's just way easier to give the dude behind the counter something I don't have to spell out while he stares at me like my head just opened up and showed him the true meaning of life or the real contents of Lindsay Lohan's vagina.  Unless I'm feeling like an evil bitch.  Then I just give them my real name and take pleasure as I watch them squirm as they attempt to type into their computer.

Anyhooters Anyway, the other day I was ordering some very exciting plain chicken (another fiasco entirely) at a local stir-fry joint and was of course asked for a name.  Feeling particularly nice that day, I left my fake name - Cara.  Cara was my neighbor growing up.  She was Jewish and that meant I always got a Hanukah gift; seven-year-old Sauce loved that she got double holidays in December.  So I gave the name Cara and handed over my credit card to pay.  I was so ready for yet another meal of freaking chicken.

Suddenly the world stops turning and I realize something that for some reason hadn't crossed my mind before, while I often use the name Cara, not once has anyone questioned why the name on my card says something else entirely.  Not one time.  Now I realize I was spending less than ten dollars, but that's not the point.  The point is that credit card fraud is easy as shit because people are inattentive or - more probably - don't give a damn.  My fake name is entirely offended.

In my experience at the "Restaurant Which Shall Not Be Named,"  I ALWAYS ask for ID with a card.  I don't care if you spend two bucks or two-hundred, it's still illegal if you're using a card that doesn't belong to you.  It's part of my job to check these things.  Yes, it's a pain in the ass sometimes, but you'd be surprised how many people appreciate that bit of extra thought.  It makes you look like a good server to ask simple questions like that, people.  Hell, it makes you look like a good person.  And good people get tipped more.  Hopefully.

So next time you run into a Cara, ask for some ID because she could actually be some crazy, bloggin, Dutch chick out to catch you sucking at life.  You've been warned.

Sauce has a new, improved and 100% awesome fan page on Facebook!  I'm hoping this time around we'll not only have super cool pepper racing (see photo at left), but lots of involvement, contests and miscellaneous good times.

You are cordially invited to help me regrow my presence on Facebook.  I apologize in advance for the lack of cake.  Check it out, tell your firends and of course LIKE "According to Sauce."

Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes

As most of you probably noticed, yesterday I changed the design of my blog.  Changed for reasons beyond me, I can't say that I didn't do so a little (or a lot) grudgingly.  The previous layout was something I spent many hours on.  I took the time to design every element of my background and tinker with the HTML so it looked just so.  Let's just be honest, the blog itself has never been a money maker.  It's not like my design was going to make me millions of dollars.  That was never the point.  I'm simply a perfectionist and it was a true labor of love.  If I'm going to have a blog you better damn well believe it's going to look good.

Then things changed so very suddenly and I found myself needing to make changes and make them quickly.  There was no passion or drive behind the change, only necessity.  And honestly that made me not give two shits or even one actually.  First I went to one of Blogger's simple templates and later I searched and found a pre-made template somewhere out on the Internet.  I then spent all of an hour playing with things to make a few personal changes and that was it.  I was lazy.  Here we are because I couldn't really bring myself to care.

Maybe eventually I'll get around to creating a style for this blog that I love again, but for now I just don't have the energy.  I'm hoping the template I did finally decide on at the very least doesn't frighten my readers away.  Hopefully the content will keep you around regardless of how blah the shit framing it is.

Now if one of you out there is a fabulous designer of fabulous fabulousities and wants to take me on as a charity case I'm most totally cool with that.  Keep in mind that I enjoy the color light blue and white (yes, I know that's not technically a color) and swirls and shit.  Thank you in advance.

At the very least, this whole situation will give me a very awesome project for my first weekend MBA class entitled "Tools to Understanding the Digital Economy".  I hear you have to do a project on social media in business and how it's affected your life or how you've used it.  Man did this shit have perfect timing or what?  And since I'm on the theme of showing videos showing how awesome my school is, please meet the professor of my class, Dr. David Firth.  My project is going to rock his English face off.

My Alma Mater Rocks My Face Off

Welcome to where I spend the vast majority of my time, the University of Montana.  I'm probably a horribly biased person, but I think it's pretty damn awesome.  You should totally visit.  Or start a college fund for your kids so you can start saving for horribly overpriced out of state tuition.  Don't worry though, they'll save you tons of money by subsiding on Ramen and PBR (unofficial-offical beer of hipster, Montana cool kids).



I'm sure they are currently reediting this video to include the fact that they gave an undergrad degree to one totally cool blogger.  I'm hoping my turn comes right after Jeannette Rankin.  Or the professor with the fireball.  Everyone loves freaking fire.

And Rolling Stone is totally a leading publication on higher education.  Totally.

An Explanation and A New Beginning

Yesterday was one of those long days that just start out that way.  Having put off my dreaded accounting homework far longer than was prudent, I didn’t get to bed until 1:00 a.m. on Monday night; far too late for a girl who had a 5:00 a.m. alarm ready to call her to the gym.  Somehow I still managed to drag myself from the comfort of my sheets and put in my first workout of the day before class.  I was understandably tired, but surprisingly upbeat, as I sat through my first lecture.  It probably had an awful lot to do with the short nap I had planned after class.  Naps can be incredibly motivating when drudging through accounting on less than four hours of sleep.

I hopped on my vintage cruiser and made my way home through a crisp morning.  I leisurely pedaled across the footbridge noting how clear the water appeared as it tumbled over the glistening stones below.  An expert fly fisherman further downstream caught my eye as his line delicately yet purposefully flicked the water.  I’d like to try that, I thought as I turned from the bank and hopped off my bike at home.  I was in a good mood as I hiked the steep stairs of a 1920s row house to my apartment.

For some reason, I decided to postpone my nap and opened my computer to check my email.  I signed in and found myself looking at an email from a contact at Hooters.  Occasionally such emails will pop up to discuss upcoming articles and deadlines I have to meet.  I assumed this would be no different, but rather than seeing the typical dates and magazine themes I was greeted by a simple, direct message:

 Hey there, Sauce.  Could you give me a call?  Thanks.

And that was all it said.  Almost immediately my blinding optimism took over.  I imagined interviews and job offers.  I imagined travelling to Atlanta.  I imagined many things that didn’t begin to prepare me for what I was about to hear.  Niceties and small talk were exchanged and with little to now warning “what are you up to” morphed into “we need you to take your site down.”

Nonchalantly those very words were uttered and my heart immediately sank.  I wanted to cry and scream and be angry, but instead I moved to the pantry – so as not to alarm Dreamy – and acted as professionally as possible as I was told that Hooters didn’t feel the connection to my blog and its somewhat official and affiliated appearance had been deemed inappropriate by new management.  It was all explained as stood amongst the quick oats and cans of green beans, but all that really stuck with me was “we need you to take your site down.”

As soon as the call ended I casually walked to my bed, sunk into its bright yellow comforter and cried.  Quietly at first, my sobs increased as the shock gave way to reality.  I couldn’t have held it in if I wanted to. 

“The blog is over,” I finally managed to utter after much instance from Dreamy.  I let it sink in as the words left me.  After two and half years of work it was gone in one corporate decision from thousands of miles away.

And that is when I managed to compose myself and write the entry posted below.  After hitting “publish” I began backing things up and attempting to figure out what to do next.  For a moment I considered quitting all together and just ending my blogging journey.  I thought about just moving on to totally new things.  But way back when I began this blog, the point wasn’t Hooters.  I began blogging because I love to write.  I began blogging because my creativity needed an outlet – an outlet that was necessary regardless of Hooters.

I had made up my mind to keep the blog in some form as the positive comments began pouring in both here, in my email and on Facebook.  While I knew I had some loyal readers, I was in no way prepared for the response that followed my announcement.  To say that I was flattered would be a vast understatement.  The comments made me feel relevant and appreciated, but mostly they made me smile on a day that felt void of happiness.  I will be eternally grateful for the kind words I received in a moment when I so needed them.

It is my belief that those very words that meant – and still mean – so much to me had some effect on the next email I received from Hooters a few hours later.  The tone changed and instead of removing the site, I was asked to remove logos and branded images.  They loved the blog and it could stay, it just couldn’t look affiliated.  They said I had simply misunderstood what they wanted.  I am still unsure how one can misconstrue “we need you to take the blog down.”  It’s seems pretty clear to me they were backtracking and I have a good feeling that your comments might have had something to do with that.

So here I am, with a horribly naked blog just begging for a redesign ready to continue writing.  While Hooters has given me permission to continue on my current trajectory for now, I’m not sure that doing so would feel right.  Yes, Hooters is a huge part of my life and makes for pretty amazing blog content, but it isn’t worth jeopardizing the valuable connections I’ve developed.  Hooters is only one part of the very diverse life I lead.  And while it may come up eventually, I think for the most part I’ll avoid including it in my posts for now.  It’s time to use this situation to move on to other things.

Welcome to “According to Sauce” were all things are open to discussion.  I will write what I want to write and say what I want to say.  Where exactly I’ll take this project isn’t totally clear; a blank canvas is full of opportunity.

All I do know is that I appreciate the support of my readers.  It’s reassuring to know that somewhere out there on the big bad Internet there are a few people who really do give a damn.  Feel free to keep reading and stay in touch.  I am open and excited to hear your comments and suggestions.  Lets see where we end up.



And on a side note, please keep in mind that I still very much adore Hooters and that at this point they are very open to me continuing to express myself as an individual whether I'm discussing Hooters or not.  The last thing I want is for people to avoid or think negatively of Hooters because of this situation; that would defeat the purpose of everything I have stood for since my employment began.  After all, my purpose as a blogger has always been to show Hooters for what it is behind the orange shorts and implants - I still maintain those desires whether it's the center of my writing or not.  Please keep in mind that the decision to expand my blogging topics is my own and not one Hooters forced me to make.

It's Been a Good Run

I've been asked to take down the blog.  I am devastated and am forcing myself to figure out where I'm going from here.  I thought about simply taking it down immediately - being as it probably would have significant effect on where I hope to eventually find myself - but realized how unfair that would be to all the people who have so loyally followed my many posts these two and a half years.  I hope you understand how much all that loyalty has meant to me; I wouldn't have made it this long without all of you reading and commenting and just being there.

Perhaps I'll continue writing here and simply take down all the Hooters content, but as for now I'm not really sure.  I'm just not sure that I have much to say that would be worth reading otherwise.  I'm just not really sure of anything at the moment.  I am however sure of how much this blog has meant to me.  I've never cried while typing a post.  There have been smiles and anger and frustration, but never tears.  Until now.

Now what?

You've Got Mail

There is saying that Montana is the biggest small town in the world.  Basically, everyone you meet you already know, are somehow related to, or they know someone you know.  If you do something wildly inappropriate hundreds of miles away the odds that your mom will know about it before your hangover is warn off are pretty damn good.  News here travels fast.

Montana is just the sort of place where everything can sort of feel small town.  Even things like mail.  For example, you can send a letter and accidentally omit things from the address and the odds that it will get to where it's going are nearly 100%.  Forgot the zip code?  No sweat.

And then this letter arrived at Hooters and - in case I'd forgotten - I was quickly reminded that things are a just a little different in Montana.

This circulated mail was actually delivered without any relevant postal information and it still got to it's destination a day after it was dropped in the mail.  Not only was the zip code left off, but there is no address and the city is casually abbreviated.  Hell, the delivery "address" isn't an address at all.  It's a freaking sentence.  Hooters in Msla, Mont.  And that shit got to where it was going with no apparent hardship.

Yes, I realize Hooters in Missoula probably isn't that hard to find, but it's still somewhat impressive.  I'm glad my taxes are going toward a postal service that is fantastically in debt because they certainly know how to deliver a totally improperly addressed letter.  Come rain or shine or illiteracy.

P.S:  You stamp is sideways.

P.P.S:  They make the Internet for looking up addresses.


Have you entered Sauce's first ever giveaway?  Hop on over to FACEBOOK to enter!

First Ever Giveaway!

Did you know that right now we're halfway through our first ever Hooters According to Sauce giveaway?!  What?  You say you had no clue that there were prizes on the line?  Well there are.  Sorry to keep so many of you in the dark.  I just decided to give some readers a bit of a head start because life just really isn't fair.  Put on your big kid pants and deal with it.

This is a Facebook contest.  All it takes is a little LIKE and a bit of thought and boom, you're entered.  If you we are already a Facebook fan, you may or may not have seen this contest on Thursday.  You're welcome, thanks for liking me and thinking I'm totally legit.  Now I'll open the contest to everyone.

On the line is a sweet, handwritten, personalized postcard from Hooters of Missoula.  Who knows, I might throw in more awesome gifts yet to be determined, but that will all depend on how many people enter.  Better start entering by doing the following:

1.  LIKE Hooters According to Sauce on Facebook.
2.  Reply to my status or post on the wall your favorite blog post and why.
3.  Wait.

Yup, that's all you have to do.  Once you've submitted a favorite post, you're entered to win.  The winer will be randomly selected from all entries.

Ready?  Go!

You have until Friday.