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The End of an Era

It's been a long time.  In fact, that could perhaps be a glaring understatement.  Months have past, stories worth telling have come and gone and still this blog has remained devastatingly stagnant.  It is not something I'm proud of, but more something that seems best.

Before I get ahead of myself, I'll start by saying that since its inception this blog has been a labor of love.  Sharing my writing was not so much for all of you as it was for me.  While it's nice to have a following, my goal began and continued to be a personal one at its core.  I wrote not for the result, but rather for the act itself; writing was therapeutic, enjoyable and relaxing all at the same time.  I wrote because I simply wanted to write and took joy from doing so.

Of course over time, my writing captured readers.  And when that happened I couldn't keep the writing for myself anymore.  I catered to my audience and I found continued enjoyment in doing so.  But with that I drew even more eyes.  Eventually, this even reached Hooters of America.

At some point, someone in Atlanta found my blog.  They read what I had to say.  They agreed.  They shared with their coworkers.  And that - as many of you know - lead to an amazing opportunity to write for Hooters Magazine which I appreciated greatly.

That one opportunity grew into many more.  Not only was I writing here, but for a real publication.  I was invited to special events and even thought I'd found a permanent position with the company.  But times change.  Hooters was sold and just a year after I started contributing to the magazine my world came crashing down.  I lost the magazine, I lost what I'd hoped would be my career and I nearly lost this blog.

That last part I owe to you.  Your reaction, sent to Hooters in emails and phone calls, saved this blog.  I felt appreciated in a way I never had before.  Yet, it never really was the same.  I censored myself more and writing became less enjoyable because I felt stifled.  I felt less creative.  I didn't feel like writing because it wasn't just me anymore.  Hooters was watching.

But then, I always knew Hooters was watching.  I'd, as a woman with a marketing degree, always been very conscious of what I should and shouldn't say.  I never wrote anything that I would consider defamatory or shared proprietary information.  As many of you know, my purpose was only to show the human side of a Hooters Girl and in doing so show that Hooters was and is so much more than its sometimes popular image.  Of course new management never really seemed to get it.  That's why they tried to shut me down in the first place.

And that is what leads me to this.  Hooters is experiencing a multitude of changes as a company.  Now for the record, most of what I have seen thus far I agree with - it was time for an update.  But while so many of the changes are good, they are also changes that make me realize this blog may be viewed poorly by the corporate office.  That has brought me here.  To the end of this blog.  In the end I love my job far too much to jeopardize it with a bit of satyrical internet humor.

Sharing this with you in such a concrete way is extremely painful for me.  It was a decision not easily made, which was precisely why it took me so long to write this.  Ending this blog is like a breakup I don't want to be a part of.  Sometimes even seemingly good relationships have to end.

Don't worry, I'll keep writing.  I'm just not sure when or where it will show up.  Maybe I'll start a new blog or maybe I'll revisit this one in a new direction.  For now I just need to take some time to truly close this chapter and accept that this is not an opportunity lost, but rather simply one part of my journey.  It's been a pleasure being on this ride with you.  Thanks for being there.

With love,
Sauce

The Swimsuit Contest...Finally

You're probably wondering why I took the time to tell you I got second in the contest and then be a totally buttfacehead and not tell you anything more.  You're probably wondering when I got so effing mean.  I swear I'm still nice.  Allow me to explain with a wordy description of the contest and its aftermath.

I went into this contest not expecting anything.  In fact, at the time I decided to compete not because I was looking to win, but because I have been kicking my own ass for my NPC fitness contest – which is Saturday by the way – and I look damn good.  I also spent a lot of money on a most adorable bikini that I then spent more money on by painstakingly gluing Swarovski crystals to.  I figured why not show off my hard work and my most adorable bikini?  So I signed up and expected nothing.

On the day of the contest I came in feeling like a million dollars.  The night before a friend had given me a gorgeous set of extensions (meant to give me in edge afore mentioned NPC contest this weekend) that took me from a short A-line to long curls.  I also had my amazing gold bikini all ready to go.  Plus I did a really good job on my eye makeup.  Basically you can wrap all that up in a neat little bow called “I was feeling hot.”

So I went up on stage and strutted my stuff.  Uniform, dress, bikini – I rocked them all.  I waved.  I blew kisses.  I popped my hip.  I disgusted myself with how bubbly I became with so little effort.  Essentially, I was a nearly perfect example of a Hooters Girl.

First runner up, second runner up, winner

When it finally came town to announce the winner, I still expected nothing.  Sure, it would be nice to win and spend nine glorious days in Miami, but I certainly wasn’t going to be upset if that didn’t happen.  So when the crowning began and I suddenly found myself with a pink runner-up sash around my neck I was totally content.  I got second and that, my friends, was awesome.

Then they announced the winner.  And that surprised everyone.  A wonderful girl who has been with Hooters Missoula since we opened, was also surprised to win.  It wasn’t that she shouldn’t have, it was that this girl was pregnant.  Not very pregnant, but pregnant none the less.

In that moment, she looked at me and I looked at her and had the sudden realization that I very well could be going to Miami to represent our store.  And the next day that is exactly what I was told.  Well sort of anyway.

My owner called me the next day to say that though I had placed second, the odds were very good that I would be the one going.  In fact my odds were so good that he said, “ok, you’re going.”  While there was obviously still I chance that things would change, I was left to believe that through a crazy set of circumstances I had found myself as Miss Hooters Missoula.

For a week I wrapped my head around the idea that I would be going to Miami.  I thought about all the things I would need to prepare.  I thought about what my costume would be for the vendor show.  I thought about how small my “fit girl” boobs would look.

And exactly a week later my owner called me again.  He told me that circumstances had changed and that the winner would indeed be our representative.  Now before you jump to horrid conclusions, I’ll be the first to say that I think this girl is not the type that would ever do anything drastic for a bikini contest.  Of course rumors have flown, but I don’t believe a one of them.

Initially I was disappointed.  In fact, I was surprised by my disappointment.  While I’d prepared myself for not going, I’d also become excited for the idea that I very well might; I had been looking forward to it without even really realizing it.  I couldn’t help but be a little bummed.

So all this is why I didn’t go into detail about the contest.  To be honest, I was waiting until I could tell you that I was going to Miami.  The story wouldn’t have been complete without that bit of information.  Instead, I come to you finishing second and not being upset about it.

I love my Hooters family and couldn’t be happier for the dear friend who will be representing us in Miami; I know she’ll do a good job.  Would I have liked to go?  Sure, but it certainly wasn’t my desire or my expectation.  My desire was only to be confident and proud of the hard work I’ve put in changing my body composition.  My desire was to represent myself as the strong, fit, happy woman that I am.  And that I certainly accomplished.

Miss You

Never before have I left this poor blog so neglected.  Yes, life has been hectic, but that's no excuse for leaving something that has been a true labor of love abandoned.  I know I need to do better.  Guess that's all I can say...

BUT...

I have news...

BIG news...

This weekend was our store bikini contest.  I competed and managed to get 1st Runner Up!  Needless to say I was very surprised.  I even got a pink sash.  It makes me feel marginally famous in a local sort of way.  Feel free to send flowers.

Stay tuned for more on the ol' bikini contest.  Figure I owe you all a bit of filling in!

Secret Pants

Those Hooters Girls' smiles actually mean, "check out that effin'
mess we have to clean up later."  CREDIT.

I’ve always had a soft spot for kids.  In fact, when I originally started college I was pretty sure I wanted to be a geography teacher.  While that may have changed, my adoration for little ones hasn’t.  Except for when they’re coloring all over the seats of my booths of course.

One of the things that I’ve come to appreciate about children is their total lack of censorship.  I love that kids will think a thought and then just let that thought come stumbling out of their mouths with reckless abandon.  Frankly that shit is amusing.

Take, for example, a gentleman of probably no more than five sitting with the rest of his family for dinner.  Handing out crayons and coloring sheets as I introduced myself, the boy stared at me intently rather than ripping excitedly into the crayon box like his siblings.  As I moved from introductions to drink orders, the boy finally broke his silence.

“So what are we gonna have for dri…”

“You’re not wearing any pants.”

He said it loud and without hesitation.  His mother instantly turned red as his dad shot him an I-can’t-believe-that-came-out-of-your-mouth look.  Meanwhile I was quickly formulating a response.  That’s the thing with kids; you have to be able fire back just as swiftly as they do.

“Well actually I’m just wearing really short pants.  See I think my dryer might be broken because when I put them in they were really much longer.  But I had to wear something!”

And while he seemed totally satisfied with this response I continued, “So to make up for it I did this instead.  Check it out!”

With that I reached down, pulled on my nylons and stretched them a little from my leg.

“See?  I decided to wear secret pants today!”

His eyes lit up like I had just told him that he’d won a free year of candy.  And a pony.  A pony made of candy.

So next time you’re at Hooters, don’t think of those horrible tan things as Nylons.  Think of them as secret pants.  They’re WAY more fun that way.

Contact is Made

Oh hey.  Remember me.  Yes, there is an author to this blog and – contrary to what you may have heard, believe, or totally made up in your own mind – she does still exist.  I realize that at this point it might be somewhat unbelievable.  But here I am nonetheless.

Life has been busy to put it mildly.  There was the usual.  Work.  School.  Gym.  More work, school, gym.  Then there were several weekend classes.   There was even a middle of the night stay in the emergency room for an ailment that is still a mystery.  I’m still waiting on the bill from that adventure.

Don’t worry, friends.  I’m fine.  Fine enough to find time to blog amidst two of the most horrible weeks of the semester.  Spring break is looming a week and half away.  Its distant presence is the only thing keeping me sane.

So here I am proclaiming my existence and promising to write a REAL post tomorrow.  It’s in writing.  It shall be.

In the meantime, check out a blog I am doing for a semester project.  It’s pretty new as of yet, but if you’ve ever had any interest in my life as a fitness nut you should check it out.  Just remember, a professor reads that shit so it’s more…civilized.  For example, that blog would not have included shit in the last sentence.  It’s a lot less fun.

SAUCE’S OTHER BLOG

Receipt Art: February 25, 2012

This is Montana and Montana can be cold as shit - though this winter has actually been unseasonably warm for the most part.  Even the owls need to bundle up and get out the scarves and earmuffs.  Ok, so I'm actually full of shit.  Owls are animals and animals suck it up and deal with things like weather.  Luckily, receipt art owls do whatever I want them to do.  That's how all this happened.

Yup, I think he's pretty adorable.  The only part I don't find so adorable is the fact that his scarf is blowing the opposite direction of my cute wind swirlies.  Must be one of those fake wire situations like they did with the flag that's on the moon.  Whatever.

  

Twenty-Seven

I'm on highway 27, bitches.  CREDIT.

Tomorrow is February 23^rd.  Or depending on when you’re reading this, today is February 23^rd.  Either way, this means I am turning a year older.  Like women tend to do, I already had my breakdown.  Driving around with Dreamy unsuccessfully searching for an outfit to “make me feel pretty,” I broke into tears as I navigated from the mall to my favorite local boutique.  It was classic “women turning twenty-seven.”  It was inevitably horrible it seemed.

I went through all the usual feelings amidst my sobs.  I wasn’t going anywhere.  I had no direction.  I was the oldest Hooters Girl trying to keep up with girls who couldn’t even legally have a drink yet.  My high school friends were all married and having babies and decorating fabulous little starter homes.  I was just an old, unmarried waitress well on my way to being a cat lady.

Now the point of all this isn’t to show you how sorry I’m feeling for myself.  What’s it’s really about is that I had my moment and proceeded to get over it.  Yup, I cried.  Actually, I bawled in a way that was anything but attractive.  But I also realized how ridiculous I was being.  I realized that though I’ll be older, I will not be old.

Yes, I’ll be turning twenty-seven, but at twenty-eight I’ll have an MBA.  I’m also in the best shape of my life, not because I’m eighteen and have a metabolism that is on fire, but because I work my ass off and take great care of myself.  Yes, I’m almost twenty-seven, but I am dedicated, motivated and going places.  I just don’t know where those places are yet.

But you know what?  I’m pretty excited to find out.