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.

Birthday Princess

Tomorrow is my birthday, but as I have Wednesdays off I celebrated my Hooters birthday today.  Basically it was the same as any other day at work, but I got to wear a sash and a crown.  While that might seem like a pretty small thing, it turned out to be anything but.  That sash and crown were total money makers.  Not only did only two tables leave me under 20%, but I even got a few dollars here and there from other tables.  I ended up making a cool 34% (not counting the $20 Barnes and Noble giftcard one regular left me)

Now before you go and say that isn't fair, I think it's more than fine to have at least one day a year when you're guaranteed to have a good tip day.  And dammit that day should be your freaking birthday.  I suggest everyone leave their shame at home and whore themselves out on their special day with a crown and sash.

In addition to becoming rich, my manager made me the most beautiful cupcakes.  This girl seriously hasn't had a birthday cake in probably five years and today I got these; I was effing stoked.  Check out these beauties!

Yup, that's a guitar made out of fondant.  Did I also mention they were filled with Almond Joy frosting? Yes, such a thing actually exists.

Being old is fun!

The Girl and Her Birthday

So my birthday was on Tuesday.  I wasn't going to post anything regarding it because I'm not really the sort of person who is self involved enough to require every life form on Earth to know it's her birthday.  I mean, maybe when I was ten, but I'm totally over the phase now.  I will however be accepting gifts.

So why do a birthday post then?  Well because I find immense irony in the gifts I received.  There are as follows:

One Scott ski jacket
One pair tan BCBG wedge heals
One duvet cover
Two Cadbury Cream Eggs
Twenty-five dollar iTunes giftcard
One can Big Sexy Hair hairspray
One oversized, star-shaped Hannah Montana balloon
Boxed set of Harry Potter books
One bottle Patron
Three bottles Cooks Champagne
One box FiberOne bars

If you can't see the irony there allow me to enlighten you.  I mean really it's all pretty sweet, but then you get to the bottom half.  Obviously, because I'm twelve, I got the Harry Potter Books.  Because I am also an alcoholic twenty-one year old, I got booze.  And finally, because I am apparently eighty and need to be more regular, I got FiberOne bars.  This must be the sort of thing that happens when one turns twenty-five.  Suddenly, no one knows if you're young or old or dead.  This obviously complicates the gift giving process.  I can't wait until next year when I get my AARP card.

Oh and the Hannah Montana balloon is one of those jokes that won't die ever since I was Hannah Montana for Halloween.  This was probably my most epic Halloween costume ever based on overall response.  I even had a headset mic into which I sang the one line of Hannah Montana music I know.  "It's the best of both worlds!"

Happy Birthday

In the scorching August sun of an abnormally hot summer, Hooters of Missoula made its debut. Some people lined up at the door in reverent anticipation, others vehemently opposed Hooters with (oh dear Lord, no) letters to the editor and still more didn't care or didn't know. For the diehard fans clamoring to visit Montana's very first Hooters, there was a week of wing eating contests, discounts on fried goodness and of course hordes of sexy Hooters Girls.

A year later, during a markedly cold, wet summer, Montana's first Hooters turned one. Yes, our shiny new Hooters is no longer so shiny and certainly not as new. We are no longer the baby of the Hooters family, but now somewhere between newborn and forlorn teenager; we're new enough to maintain our excitement but old enough to be comfortable. It's a good place to be.

Here we are one year after our grand opening and once again we are drowning in wing eating contests, Hooters Girl obstacle courses, car washes and beer specials because Hooters wouldn't celebrate its first birthday any other way. Not only will I attempt to force ten 911 wings down your throat in under two minutes, but I will also wash your car and sell you a far larger beer than you probably want because I'm a Hooters Girl and I'm trying to celebrate a birthday, dammit. Some of you revel in my enthusiasm and some complain about the music being too loud. Newsflash, this is Hooters, the music is ALWAYS loud so naturally on our very first birthday we will up the volume to a deafening level because it's our birthday and we can. Remember we're one, we still get our way by stomping, crying and falling to the floor, refusing to move in embarrassing places like the supermarket. It's our birthday; we can do what we want. Happy Birthday to us.

If you want to send gifts I will gladly accept them. I am after all celebrating a first anniversary as well as a birthday. Yes, Hooters and I have been together one amazing year. There have been ups and downs but overall I am still madly in love. Luckily, my continued love for my dear Hooters means even more stories for you. Happy, happy birthday.

A Very Hooters Birthday

What better way to celebrate your birthday than at Hooters? It’s no Chucky Cheese, but I’d take hot, hula hooping chicks over a creepy, oversized rat-mouse thing any day. Obviously we’re going to sing to you and luckily we have a plethora of highly embarrassing options to regale you with (note: if you appear very shy, really good looking, annoying, or we just feel a smidge mean, your song and anything else we make you do will be extra embarrassing). So you’ve got chicks, fried foods, beer, songs and awkwardly placed balloons; what more could you need?

Well this is a birthday and in my opinion a birthday is not complete without a sugar-induced coma brought on by copious amounts of frosting. No, I’m not talking about licking frosting off a Hooters Girl – though I’m sure you’d thoroughly enjoy that. I’m talking about a cake baked in the most perfect form ever, the form of a Hooters Girl. That’s right, at our Hooters you can order a Hooters Girl cake, boobs and all, very much like the cake pictured here. Now this doesn’t come cheap, it’ll cost you anywhere from $80 to $200 dollars depending on flavor and size, but who can put a price on eating cake-filled breasts?

In all my time at Hooters, I have never seen anyone order the Hooters Girl cake – until last night. Walking into the cooler to grab extra lemons I saw it. There it was next to the creamer, tits perky, logo looking extra orange. This was one sexy freaking cake.

When the party came in at 7:30 they were already drunk. Piling around our most popular table – a large, wooden Montana-shaped table that easily seats twelve – the partygoers effectively took over the restaurant. The birthday boy could barely stay seated on his high stool as he jabbered and gawked and made everyone aware that he was 29 today. The wings came, the beer flowed and finally it was time for the grand unveiling.

“Holy shit, that cake has the biggest tits of any cake ever in the history of tit cakes!” Apparently this wasn’t our birthday boy’s first rodeo.

Now I’ve never seen a “tit cake” but apparently on a scale of 1 to 10 this one ranked an awesome as far as tit cakes go so I enthusiastically said, “Yeah, they used me as the model,” with a joking giggle and roll of my eyes.

“Guys, guys, it’s the tit cake model! This girl IS the tit cake!”

“Well actually, no, I was just…”

“I need a picture and it needs me and the tit cake and Sauce.”

And before I knew it, I was with birthday boy, tit cake in hand, while he proceeded to take a huge bight out of the cake’s C cups. It was probably the most epic moment caught on film (at Hooters at least).

Face covered in cake and frosting, birthday boy smiled, “I bet yours taste so much better! Just one little lick?”

I never even saw that one coming…