House for Rent

I’ll be moving in the end of June and if my past issues with one of my roommates are any indication, it’s a very good thing. Here’s the thing, I am a very laid back person. In fact I’d go so far as to use the cliché, “I’m probably one of the most laid back people you’ll ever meet.” The thing is, that cliché describes me quite accurately. This is one of the reasons why I have decided to give up on living with girls and move into a house full of boys.

OK, flashback to exactly one year ago. What was I doing a year ago? Well, besides enjoying being very recently graduated, I was just moving out of a house full of big, burly, football playing boys. I loved living with these guys, they were my friends and my brothers and the type of guys that would stand arms crossed on the front steps when any guy came to pick me up from the house. So the obvious question is why did I ever move? Well one of these football-playing boys happened to be really, really good at being a football-playing boy and was signed to the Dolphins. Needless to say, that was the end of my wonderful living situation.

So then I moved in with girls – not just one or two, but four girls. Now, these were the type of girls that say they hate drama but really they need to be the center of it all times to keep functioning. Long story short, I missed my boys very dearly. Yes, the boys were a lot messier and I did more than my fair share of cleaning, but I’d take two hours scrubbing a filthy bathroom over stupid girls any day.

And that, my dear readers, is why as of June 30th I will be happily living with three guys again. The best part of all of this is that thus far my new roommates have gone above and beyond to make me feel welcome. I haven’t even moved in yet and already they have cooked me dinner twice with no expectation of reciprocation. Now part of me thinks these niceties may just be to get a girl that likes to clean and happens to have bakers for parents, who create delicious treats for a living, to move in, but I’ll still take free steak dinners while they last.

Talk to me in a month and we’ll see how much cleaning I’ve already done. Give me a dirty toilet over the mess of she said, she said drama and I’ll happily scrub away.

Hooters Newest Bartender

Apparently bar training is the thing to do at the moment, K.H. is doing it and now it seems I will be too! Unlike K.H.’s training though, our bar training is not open to all the Hooters Girls, but rather only certain girls are trained. Why would they only train certain girls? Well, that’s simple; our management wants a very certain type of personality behind the bar. Specifically, they’re looking for the sort of girl that is commanding enough to keep people sitting around for hours on end aimlessly drinking until they suddenly realize they’re been there fourteen and a half hours and the Mrs. is going to be beyond freaking pissed that your meatloaf is cold. It seems I have just this sort of personality.

Needless to say, at my Hooters it is very exciting to be asked to be a bartender. First, it’s a privilege and not a right, but perhaps most importantly our bartenders typically make more money than our Hooters Girls – and who doesn’t love a little more cash! Also, in a college town where every second door on the street leads to a bar (or at least a sleazy casino), bar training is a heavily prized asset. Basically, after my training I will be a commodity.

So I’m really looking forward to this new chapter in my Hooters life. I do have to say I’m a little nervous to leave my security blanket pouch behind, but I’m sure the extra money will make me forget the possibility of embarrassing front bits.

You and I

The following is an original song that I wrote for one of my my very good friends who will be getting married later this summer.  When someone asks you to write a song for their wedding it is quite possibly the most daunting thing in the world.  I've never been in love like that, hell I don't know if I've been in love at all when I really think about it, so how in the world am I supposed to write about it?  So I decided to have them each write a list about all the the little things they love about each other and found that what they wrote was strikingly similar.  Those two simple lists abstractly evolved (how in the world do you put "the time she puked on the paddle boat" into a song?) into this song.

The song is sort of a work in progress, but the basic form is all there.  I'm working on adding some overlapping guitar parts and harmony, as well as a cello part with the help of my sister.  I'm pretty happy with how it's turned out so far and hope you enjoy it!

And please excuse the tinish (yay new word!) quality of the recording.  It's originally recorded as a video on on my MacBook, but I gotta work with what I got!

Running From Camera

I chanced upon an incredibly legitimate (that's right, so good that 'legit' wasn't even enough to handle this shit) blog today. It's called Running From Camera and that's it, just running and cameras. The man behind this ingenious blog does nothing more than puts his camera self-timer on for 2 seconds and then turns and attempts to get his ass as far from the camera as he can.I also enjoy the fact that my faceless, running friend does all his running in the Netherlands. Besides the fact that the Dutch are crazy fun, I am in fact Dutch - I have the passport and wooden shoes to prove it - so I like this blog all the more. You can always count the Dutch to do something so random that it is purely amazing (if you don't believe me you should meet my dad and then proceed to make him say words like 'marijuana' and 'vodka').

Maybe I'll try this sometime...in front of the vuck...

What The...?!

Behold the most amazing piece of automotive beauty that has even been created by the hands of American autoworkers. It is not van, not truck, but rather some amazing combination of the two that I had once only dreamed of. Driving past this vehicle everyday I can't help but be inspired by its white trash wonder. I imagine its driver to sport a mullet of the most epic proportions because a man that's truly business up front and party in the rear would probably revel in the ability to bring this motto - nay lifestyle - to his daily driver.

Behold that which before could be captured by no name, for it is two things, not one. It is van, it is truck, it is...

THE VUCK

No vehicle has ever captured the imagination of a household as the vuck has captured the awe and reverence of me and my roommates. To the man, woman, or amazing otherworldly being that designed this vehicle, we thank you. Not only have you created a deep love for the vuck, but inspired the most epic house Christmas card every produced at a Wal-Mart photodesk. That's right, the vuck was in our Christmas card and now it's in my blog. The world is good.

A First Date: The Morning After

It’s the morning after my date with Little Bro and I can safely say that this relationship will be going nowhere but the “friend zone.” I can also safely say that the fact that there was no romantic chemistry is probably the best thing in this particular dating scenario. As my dear blogging friend, K.H., put it in a helpful middle of date tweet to my phone, “Go, have fun, don’t get too attached, and refuse any future dates. This could be serious career suicide!”

Reading that tweet as I snuck away to the bathroom, I realized K.H. was right. Well it wasn’t so much that I realized she was right as I realized that she had perfectly captured what I already knew in 140 characters or less. After all this wasn’t some guy I’d just randomly met or a mutual friend that came highly recommended, this was my boss’s little brother and even if he was the one and only Prince Charming nothing could change that.

Honestly though, I think more than anything the idea of going on an actual date was the exciting part of the whole thing. Maybe that sounds shallow, but I haven’t been asked on many dates and as such a girl is going to get a little excited when one shows up on her schedule. The thing is, Missoula is a college town, it’s a hookup town, it’s a grinding drunk, at the nastiest bar ever at 2:00 a.m. town – it is certainly not a dating town. That can be hard for a girl that isn’t the hookup, grinding type. So I got excited, I saw possibility and I tried to forget the obvious.

So I enjoyed the date. I enjoyed my delicious grilled chicken with green chilies. I enjoyed the deck of a nice restaurant on a warm summer night. The conversation was fairly enjoyable, but often lulled to awkward pauses and silences that made it readily apparent that there was no spark. And really, that lack of spark was for the best.

And that’s it; Little Bro took me on one and only one date. While he’s a nice guy, he just wasn’t for me on many levels. I mean yes he is my boss’s sibling, but more importantly he just didn’t have that something that gives me butterflies. I’m sure Little Bro and I will remain friends, but as far as romance the road ends here and I have to say I’m happy about that. My job is safe, my love life is boring, and the world keeps turning. I couldn’t be happier.

A First Date

I’ve been asked on my first real date since the breakup with my not-so-long-distance boyfriend.  The guy is really nice, fun, and though not my usual type, pretty darn cute – we’ll be calling him Little Bro.  Why would I call any guy that I am considering dating Little Bro?  Rest assured, I promise that choice of name will make more than perfect sense by the end of this post, so be patient darn you!

Little Bro and I met at Hooters.  Now to make it perfectly clear, I was not on shift when I met Little Bro and he had never seen me working there before – he was oblivious to my Hooters Girl status.  I was sitting at the bar, waiting for my best friend Ariel (not her real name obviously) to be done with work, enjoying a most delicious plate of boneless wings, hot, extra wet, when I met Little Bro.  Sitting just one stool down, Little Bro was also enjoying some boneless wings in his sauce of choice, Daytona. 

And that’s how it all began, over boneless wings and Big Daddy beers.  We talked effortlessly about anything and everything.  He made me laugh and he made me smile.  Little Bro had things I haven’t found in a guy in awhile – most notably a personality.  Then it happened, up walks my manager.  Prepared for her to tell me I couldn’t sit at the bar and to kindly move my ass, I had already grabbed my Big Daddy in anticipation, but that didn’t happen.

“How’s my little bro,” she said throwing her arms around my newly acquainted friend.

“Seriously, you know I hate that.  Do you really have to call me that?!” he answered back.

OMG, this guy was my managers little brother.  This just wasn’t some guy; this some guy was closely related to one of my bosses.  I stared at them as they talked and realized that this could become very interesting, very fast.  And now that Little Bro has asked me out to one of the nicer restaurants in town it has certainly become even more interesting.

“You better not break his heart or piss him off or anything.  I mean he’s our managers little brother, you gotta watch yourself,” Ariel offered.  Thanks for the words of wisdom, dear friend.

But I know she’s right.  What if it does get more complicated?  What if the shit hits the metaphorical fan?  I’m not a pessimistic person, but I could easily end up in one hell of a predicament.   So what’s a girl to do?  A girl goes on a damn date that’s what she does, but she treads lightly.  So Little Bro and I are hitting the town, he'll be here in half an hour.  Wish me luck and stay tuned.

The Strangest Tip Ever

Yesterday seemed unoriginal, another depressingly slow Monday night at Hooters. When nights are slow and Hooters Girls have ample time it is not uncommon to see girls sitting and conversing with their guests for long periods of time. Really it presents an interesting paradox: you’re making less money and thus unhappy yet you’re talking and enjoying your time with your guests more, thus happy. Luckily, I received what is easily my most creative tip in my Hooters history, which easily made my night.

Mid-shift, a group of 20something guys pull up stools at one of my high-tops. Normal enough, the guys sport athletic shorts, flip flops, and of course the young American male staple the backwards, well worn baseball cap. After ordering beers and plenty of hot wings, I sat down with the guys and talked for a while – nothing spectacular, just normal conversation.

The meal came to an end and I dropped off their ticket as they all threw cash down on the center of the table. I couldn’t help but notice as they gathered their cash that I was looking at a pretty hefty tip. Score!

Filing out one by one as I hold open the door, the last guy grabs my arm, “Just so you know I left something extra for you in that napkin,” he says gesturing toward the table.

“Thanks! I’ll totally check it out,” I hear myself saying as I’m simultaneously thinking, ugh, another number I’m sure. I’ll call you back never.

Busing the table I’ve pretty much forgotten about the number I expected to find tucked into the folds of a bevnap. I grab my cash and start organizing it neatly by denomination when I see the napkin. As I pick it up I realize that it’s not just a number, but there is actually something in the napkin. Unfolding it, a familiar scent wafts gently and before I even see what it is I know it’s weed. Now I have never smoked weed before (it’s not that I’m against it it’s just that I’ve never really cared to try it) but living in a liberal college town populated with hippies and spoiled rich kids pretending to be hippies I have certainly seen my share of the stuff. I can smell weed a mile away and I certainly know a nug when I see one.

I was rather surprised and looking at the drug there on the napkin I remember thinking that it was rather presumptuous. I mean what if I was one of those goody-goody tattletale types or a sexy cop involved in an undercover investigation (stretching it, I know) and turned his ass in? Of course I’m not like that, I’m just a Hooters Girl and I could care less if John Doe likes to toke now and again so I just got a good laugh out of the whole thing. If I knew more about weed I could have calculated it’s worth into my tip, but instead I just threw it away because even if I did smoke I certainly wouldn’t smoke some random, possibly PCP laced, stuff left on my table – I’d smoke the good shit.

Thank you cliché college boys for more than making my night. I won’t be lighting up anytime soon but I will smile knowing you left me the best tip ever.