For Meghan

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.

My Very Worst Date

Apparently my dating life is tragically hysterical. In fact, it is so tragically hysterical it creates perfect material for the ever entertaining blog My Very Worst Date. I am not sure if I should be flattered or be utterly devastated that my love life is featured as the post today. Perhaps I will combine the two and be devastatingly flattered.

To read the story of M and the Sporting Mismatch, please visit My Very Worst Date. Condolences, advice, and all out laughter will graciously be accepted.

Hooters Understand

It seems that Hooters, much like every other unoriginal business in the country, has resorted to exploiting our trying economic times to sell shit to the masses. A poster declaring Hooters deep love for profit guests’ wallets has started appearing all over the restaurant - on the doors, the wait stations, the single wall not covered in random crap. Apparently, nothing says economic stimulus like cheap beer and overpriced appetizers.

It also seems the nothing says economic stimulus like glaring grammatical error. Let me take a moment to commend Hooters for so actively promoting the stereotype of a restaurant full of stupidity with a dash of ditsy for good measure. My college degree appreciates being cheapened by elementary grammar mistakes.

“Hooters understand the trying times of this economy and wish to help!”

Wait; let me get this straight, Hooters understand? Whose hooters exactly understand? Apparently, there is a girl out there somewhere with boobs that are not only capable of thinking, but have the ability to understand the complexities of an economic recession. I would like to make it my life’s mission to meet these genius, Albert Einstein tits.

Dear, dear Hooters, if you are doing any understanding as an entity perhaps “Hooters understands” would have been a little more appropriate. You see there is a little letter we call ‘s’ hanging out there at the end. It’s the squiggly looking one that looks like a snake. S is for snake! Good thing I passed the first grade under the superior tutelage of Mrs. Minner.

In my complete and utter disgust with this poster I decided to point out its obvious mistake to one of the girls at work, “Did you see that poster? So obviously wrong.”

Silence, ticking, crickets, awkward pause, “Oh I know, that girl is so like off. I mean just sorta weird looking.”

“Um no, the mistake I’m talking about is in the writing.”

“Oh wow, stimulus is spelled wrong. I totally see it now.”

*Ugh* “Actually that’s right, but there should be an s at the end of understand.”

Silence, ticking, crickets, awkward pause, “Oh.”

Sadly, she was not the only one to not realize this mistake. Mostly obviously, our managers who approved the poster didn’t notice this mistake either. And don’t even get me started on the so-called designer who put this together because not only do you have a horrible eye, you probably failed English several times. Don’t worry; my hooters understand that you’re a dumbass.

On a side note, the girl in the poster is wearing the new shorts that my hooters mostly definitely approve of.

The Hooters Pose Strikes Again

After posting yesterday about the dreaded Hooters pose and the corresponding affliction Hootersposeitis, I found myself on Facebook fueling my raging social networking addiction. Yes, my name is Sauce and I’ve been addicted to Facebook since 2006 (that’s right, bitches, I’m an old school Facebooker). Anyway, this isn’t about my love for perusing random photo albums and leaving witty wall posts. This is about how the Hooters pose has dominated my life and taken over my body to a point where I no longer have any control. Bring out a camera and my legs take over, wrenching me into position like I’m freaking Pinocchio before he becomes a real boy.

In my Facebook perusing, I ended up on my profile reading various wall posts. As I read a note from my dear friend Holly about setting up a lunch date I casually glanced to the left and my profile picture caught my eye. Changed a few days prior, the picture shows a friend and me standing on a street corner on an early summer evening. I may or may not be holding a sign that says “You Honk, We Drink!” just as I may or may not be slightly intoxicated (the afore mentioned theoretical sign might have been quite successful).


It really is a fabulous picture that accurately depicts the blissful debauchery of summer in Montana. What is not so fabulous is the fact that I am, obviously, standing in the cliché Hooters pose (please note the legs included for your consideration). Also not so fabulous is the fact that this picture has graced my profile for a number of days without me even realizing that my Hootersposeitis is on such glaring display. Hooters is so engrained into my body that I am oblivious to its devastatingly overbearing reach. It seems that Hooters truly has taken over my life and I will forever and always be a Hooters Girl.

P.S. If you didn’t make my legs look so good I’d be a lot angrier with you, Hooters pose. This must be a side effect of the disease.

Defeating the Hooters Pose

Every Hooters Girl knows how to take a picture. Photographed on a daily basis, Hooters Girls and cameras go together like mac-n-cheese, cookies and milk, wings and ranch, Bert and Ernie (please insert cliché pairing here). Just as every Hooters Girl knows how to take a picture, she knows exactly how to stand in every picture. In fact, Hooters Girls are told how to stand.

1. Stand a bit sideways, approximately 45° from front facing.
2. Bend the knee closest to front so your foot is pointed with toe on the ground, heal up.
3. Place hands on hips (please note that my example has her arms all wrong. Bad, Hooters Girl, bad!).
4. Turn your torso back towards the camera, while leaving legs at 45°.
5. Now make it sexy! Most girls will pop their hip furthest from the camera up a little and really hold the shoulders back to show off the girls.
6. Congratulations, you have nailed the signature Hooters pose.
7. Repeat…87 times a day.

So why does Hooters want every girl to stand like this? Well first off it promotes uniformity across restaurants, but mostly it makes you look pretty damn good. Of course by pretty damn good I mean skinny, which is a plus when wearing an outfit composed of the wonder fabrics Lycra and spandex. Seriously, go find a mirror and try it, I assure you that you will look thinner. Observe the magic of the Hooters Girl optical illusion!

Now that you’ve tried that out, sit back and enjoy the rest of this because if you keep doing it you will never be able to escape it. It’s like the twilight zone. Basically, the move will be so ingrained into your body that every time you see a camera your body will unknowingly force you into this pose. After reviewing your photos, you will stare in horror as you see how Hooters has invaded the privacy of your normal, non-nylon-wearing life. Damn you, Hooters pose!

What is a girl to do to combat Hootersposeitis? At our restaurant we have found the cure is to replace one dreaded photo cliché with another. We have found the prescription for this horrific disease is the most cliché photo pose of all time, the prom pose. You know, guy behind girl, awkwardly tilted heads, interlocked arms, done since the dawn of time. Yes that’s right, we have taken to imitating the awkward mannerisms of 17-year-olds in formal attire as a way to breath life back into poor, over posed bodies. Now rather than simply standing with chests held high and hands assertively placed on our hips around a guest, we force them to relieve their dreaded teenage years Hooters style.

Implemented by my closest Hooters sister, Ariel, the prom pose has taken Hooters by storm. An apparent hit with diners, the prom pose has begun appearing in countless photos. We find it’s most successful application is with acne prone, teenage boys who blush shades of red never before seen on the face of man. While it’s not for everyone, it is certainly refreshing to break the photo monotony with prom power.

So if you find yourself in a photo slump I urge you to bring the prom pose to your photo repertoire and rediscover the awesome power of forced photo poses. Perhaps next we will tackle the dreaded senior portrait.

See, told you it's been around since the dawn of time. Thank you prom pose, Hooters loves you.

To a Closing Hooters

Ok, so I’m gonna get serious on your ass for this post, bear with me!

Reading the Mayor of Wingville’s blog lately, I couldn’t help but notice the increasing amount of news regarding Hooters restaurants closing

around the nation. This led me to begin thinking about what makes a Hooters successful and why some restaurants flounder while others flourish; what separates a success from a failure?

Now I realize that our currently economic climate leaves a lot to be desired. As a college graduate of the class of 2008, I – along with many of my friends – will be the first to tell you that our economy is in the shitter. After searching endlessly for a job within my major, I ended up at Hooters with an eye toward seeking a law degree. Basically, I decided, after unsuccessfully job seeking with a resume filled with all the right internships, G.P.As and references, that I had to do something above and beyond to distinguish myself. Enter law school.

That brings me back to Hooters. What makes a successful Hooters with staying power? Just as I need to differentiate myself as a job seeker, Hooters needs to differentiate as a restaurant. And this is the very basis of Hooters, differentiation. Everyone knows that Hooters is not Hooters because of the food; I mean lets be honest here, the food at Hooters is certainly not stellar. Hooters is Hooters because of its distinct environment and wait staff. These very distinctions allow Hooters to have continued success as a chain. Simply put, Hooters has found what’s it good at and stuck to it.

So why the sporadic closing of Hooters restaurants around the nation? Yes, there are certain environmental and economical factors that vary from place to place but for a minute lets ignore that. This Hooters Girl is of the opinion that these restaurants have forgotten what they’re good at. Think for a moment about the Hooters you’ve visited and what they were like. There was lots of fried food and pretty girls, but there was so much more. That so much more was personality. It was the snarky yet flirty attitude of your server as she sat at your high top table. It was the dancing and singing that erupted spontaneously. It was the fun you had.

Now imagine a Hooters where it’s just the food. Yeah the girls are pretty but they’re boring and offer the same service as the Applebee’s across the street. There is no dancing and most certainly no singing. So my question is, in a Hooters like that, what makes it Hooters? I’ve been to a few Hooters and my first experience with the place was in a restaurant like I just described. It was late March and the restaurant was just as cold and uninviting as the weather. My reaction was to never go back.

My whole point returns to the fact that Hooters has recognized the importance of differentiation. Unfortunately, some restaurants in the Hooters chain simply fail to deliver on what makes Hooters special. Maybe they can’t find staff with the right combination of looks and personality. Maybe the managers are too busy looking at the bottom line. Maybe they’ve been open too long and simply got lazy. Whatever the case it very well could be that these restaurants failed because they are no longer Hooters, but rather just another greasy spoon with crappy food. So here’s to keeping Hooters, Hooters and realizing that you don’t really go for the wings, but rather the experience.

The Hooters Truths: Volume III

For you returning readers, you are probably familiar with the Hooters Truths. The Hooters Truths is a continually growing list of things that are ever present in the life of a Hooters Girl. The truths can be funny or disturbing or mundane, but all hold unavoidable truth in common.

As a Hooters Girl you WILL:
1. Increase your flexibility through the game of limbo. Unless you are tall, then they will just make you hold the bar.
2. Hate chicken.
3. Find that good posture makes you appear skinnier.
4. Be asked if you are on the menu and available for order.
5. 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.
6. Either love or hate fried pickles. There will be no in between.
7. Hear the words “naked” and “wet” together far too often.
8. Love Fridays and special occasions because it means you can wear black.
9. Babysit.
10. Never walk to your car alone.
11. Upsell like it’s your job because according to management, it is your job.
12. Be asked by friends if they can try on your shorts, usually by friends with penises.
13. Eat TONS of salad.
14. Have an imaginary boyfriend/fiancé/husband or seamlessly mention your real one in conversation to handle creeps.
15. Know just to how to wear your shorts to best combat muffin top.

Moving

I hate moving. I especially hate moving when I've been made a mute by some hellish illness that has been utterly dominating the shit out of me. Lugging mattresses and swallowing fire is not a happy combination and has resulted in causing me to be quite cranky. Add the loss of my voice - and with it the ability to complain - and quite cranky quickly evolves into PMS worthy bitchiness. Needless to say, I am eagerly anticipating a three day weekend. God Bless America.

So please forgive the lack of posting. My posts would probably be so incredibly dripping with my usual sarcasm that you'd have to carry a weed whacker or machete just to get through them. You can thank me for my consideration if you like.

On a lighter note I did meet a guy who's favorite word is plethora. I have been in word love with plethora since junior high. Perhaps this is a match made in vocabulary heaven.