Ghosts of boyfriends past.

(this little gem was left on my car years ago)

It's that time of the year again here in San Diego. You know, when the bathing suits come on and the relationships go off... This is a college/military town. Everyone is constantly surrounded by hot, young bodies. So it's only natural for minds to wander when these hot, young bodies become less clothed.

So, after a rocky-yet-wonderful three years, I find myself single again. Only this time, it's different. I've grown up. Yes, of course I miss him. Yes, of course I still cry a little - it really hasn't been that long since we called it quits. But inside I know that together, where he is in his life right now, we couldn't be happy. I couldn't be happy.

I still don't have complete closure. I still have to pick up a few important things and return a few important things. We're still friends on facebook although I've selected the "hide" button when it comes to his updates. It's hard to see him try and replace me with lesser versions of myself. One of them even shared my name. That had to have been weird. But that's not what this post is about. This post is about realization and empowerment. It's about learning from your mistakes and bettering life. So i'll start from the beginning.

EVERYTHING I'LL EVER NEED TO KNOW IN LIFE, I'VE LEARNED FROM MY EX-BOYFRIENDS.

1. Be honest with your parents. They're going to find out sooner or later - and honestly, seeing as they've most likely grown up in the 60's and 70's - they've probably done much, much worse.

2. Never, ever turn a person into your everything friend. Yeah, I know, they're great. But I'm pretty sure the saying goes: "don't put all your eggs in one basket." That saying has been around for ever. Trust me, old people know everything.

3. It's ok to have the same friends. But make sure you both have your own friends too, because if and when shit hits the fan, you'll need back up that doesn't have to think twice about who they're going to back up.

4. Doing everything with just one "special" person is lame. It's comfortable. It might feel fun. It might feel right. But it's not. It's boring.

5. Talking your dad up to sound scarier and meaner is a good thing.

6. Don't fall into a routine, but if you have to, spice it up every once and a while. It keeps life interesting.

7. Hobbies are important. They make solitude manageable for those that detest it and even more wonderful for those that enjoy it.

8. Competition should never be anything more than friendly.

9. People get comfortable with handouts. That means they don't appreciate it anymore and they've come to expect it.

10. Never become a sugar-daddy or sugar-momma under the age of 35 because you're working just as hard as they are.

11. Your place is never, ever too far to be picked up from if you're good friends and your car isn't working.

12. An able-bodied person does not "NEED" marijuana to deal with basic life. When my dad "needed" alcohol to deal with it, my mother left him.

13. You deserve to be spoiled now and again because you deserve it.

14. Nobody can love a person who kisses their ass.

15. Never do something just because somebody else wants you to. Do it because you want to.

16. Don't be too available. It makes you seem more interesting and it forces you to be more independent and live your life.

17. If someone doesn't respect perfect strangers they probably don't respect you.

18. Never put someone on a pedestal. Everyone has flaws and from that high up they can only let you down.

19. If you don't live together, don't get a pet together. That's just basic common sense.

20. If someone is abusive to you once - be it physically, verbally, or mentally - they can be abusive to you again.

That's it for now. But because it was so much fun to write, I'm sure I'll write a sequel. I had a long day of surfing and hiking so I'm hitting the hay. Miss you all and I love all of your blog posts, comments, and emails. G'nite.

I have way too many hobbies.

Let's see. Since I've last posted anything on this blog, I've left my not so great relationship, taken up the ukulele, started playing electric guitar with an old flame, become a bartender and a kayaking tour guide in the beautiful La Jolla of San Diego, bought a pretty decent Nikon with the intention of taking up photography and making my memories more beautiful, started surfing again, and met a whole lot of new people.

I'm going to go into more depth soon. I just haven't had the time to update this blog. I miss all my bloggers. I've been keeping up with all of your posts and I'm glad you're doing well. It's just that without an office job, I find it difficult to sit in one place long enough to write about me without wanting to pick up an instrument, learn a language, or enjoy the world some how.

P.S. I'm only going to use my own photos now :o) Unless I'm going to show off someone else's work.

New Love

I was recently enjoying dinner out with the family when a certain musician caught my eye.

Her name is Nena Anderson, and besides her amazing solos, she has two very talented bands: Brawley and the Neverout.

http://www.nenaanderson.com/

*EDIT*

After a few minutes of cyber stalking this talented and cute artist, I realized we worked together at a popular 50s diner in San Diego. She's actually the reason I was hired.

Just fresh out of high school, I had walked into what was then my absolute most favorite restaurant EVER, with a manilla folder containing my resume and my best friend by my side. We were seated at our table and a cute brunette waitress skipped over, throwing straws at us and introduced her persona. (We all had personas at that restaurant, complete with goofy names from the 50's or 60's to go with our poodle skirts, bowling shirts, and ridiculous wigs.) For some reason she liked my nerdy-nervous-overpreparedness and grabbed the manager as soon as she saw an application on the table. And that's pretty much how I got my first job in the restaurant business. And the rest is history.

Imagine my shock right now. I've been listening to her music all evening and my family found it difficult to leave the restaurant while she was playing because it was so haunting.

Destiny? I don't know. But I'm dragging my friends to see her at the next bar she's playing at on the 15th :o) Brawley will be playing and I can't wait to get my swing on.

Noiiiiice

Normally, every second of my day is filled up with some kind of job or school or extracurricular activity. So, it's only natural that I feel a little... lost and restless at the moment since I am currently jobless, in between school, and snowed in for days in Mammoth Mountain Ski Resort. Not that I'm complaining about the accommodations.... Huge condo tucked in the side of a Mammoth Mountain ski trail.... three bathrooms.... gorgeous rustic/modern feel (I know it's almost impossible to picture that, but I'll post a few pics on here later to give you an idea of it's awesomeness).... large communal hot top with a seating capacity of EIGHTEEN. Yeah, definitely not slumming it by any means.

Snowboarding has still been absolutely epic. But the 70-90 mph winds at the top of the mountain has kept quite a few of my favorite lifts closed and me stuck on our side of the slopes. So during the 24 hour day I get about 4 hours of snowboarding in, which is all the weather, my eyes, and sore muscles will permit. That leaves me with a lot of extra leisure time. So far I've watched Zombieland, Terminator Salvation, The Matrix, New Moon, and Whip It.

And I just want to say how awesome it was to see Landon Pigg in that movie, Whip It. His music is awesome to chill out to. And I'm pretty sure that statement was whole purpose of me pulling up CAUTION BLONDE THINKING and shooting out a new blog. I know most of you think "WHAT A SELL OUT!" when they see an artist become an actor or visa versa, but I really think it's cool. Yep.

I need to get out of this cabin.

I quit

Wow it feels good. Never again will I be forced to squeeze into coarse panty hose and tight little shorts. I haven't worn a push-up bra in a week and I don't plan to any time in the near future. Absolutely never again will I sit silently while management and Hooters girls judge and criticize hopeful applicants.

"OMG," whined the frumpy hostess, "the manager keeps hiring the ugliest girls!"

"Really?" replied the other girl in the break room.

"Yeah, and he hired a FAT girl yesterday."

"WHAT?? Are you serious?"

"Yeah, well I mean, she's not fat but, for a Hooters girl she's ENORMOUS."

Disgusting right?

How about this:

"Hey (name of manager)!"

The manager pauses for a second and without returning the salutation she replies with "You look awkward today."

The mortified Hooters girl ran, horrified, into the break room and spent half of her shift fussing over any 'imperfection' she may have had. She's gorgeous. And that was wrong.

My favorite hostess recently quit, in tears, because management felt she wasn't physically living up to the "Hooters Girl Image." I and the rest of the girls have no idea where this insult came from. This girl was a pageant winner; gorgeous inside and out.

Our location was the training point for Southern California. At least for most of the restaurants nearby. And we were something somewhere around the 4th largest grossing location in the world. Hopefully that paints a picture of how insane it can get during event nights. I always felt sorry for the new 'trainee' managers. Usually staying in a hotel or with friends if they're lucky enough, these managers in training have no allies nearby. Working 12 hour shifts to receive the same amount as the salary-paid managers, they are pushed to edge of their sanity. I seemed to always be there when the trainees had their mini break downs. Management and girls would talk down to them, criticize or humiliate them publicly, and use their naiveté to their advantage. I asked every one of them how their store ran and each replied solemnly with the same answer: "Not like this."

Hooters was in no way a terrible place to work. But everybody is human and everybody makes mistakes. 90% of the girls were awesome to work with, but there were that 10% that made me wonder who had so horribly screwed them over in their past/present that made them decide to take out their frustrations on anybody within a ten foot radius of them.

It was a good run. I saw a lot of good and bad come and go. I'm glad I was given the opportunity to be a world famous Hooters girl for fifteen months. The money was good, but waitressing really isn't for me. And neither was the constant blending of waitress/entertainer. I think it was the new uniform tops that really helped me finalize this decision. I always try and ask myself, "what would my parents/little sisters/bf think?" For the most part, they thought it was hilarious. But I knew I could never face them baring my chest, ass, AND midriff. And I didn't even want to think about the extra unwanted attention I would be receiving.

Most of all, Hooters gave me confidence. People called me beautiful. Management complimented my hair and attitude. The other girls made me feel smart. It was wonderful when things were good. But it's time for me to grow up now. I gained what I needed and I did the best that I could. Next week, after I get home from Mammoth Mountain Ski Resort, I begin my job hunt at my local hospitals as a Certified Nurse Assistant. It's not the most glamorous job by any means, but it comes with dignity and the hands on experience needed for Nursing school that starts this fall. :o)

I will never forget you Hooters.

love forever,

brit

A Letter To My Dead Girlfriend

It has been a rough year darling. The ethereal power of Craig's List will get this message to you I am sure, like in some sort of cheesy 80s movie.

Well back to the last year, you of course died at the beginning of it which put things to a sour start. I spent last night with your mum and dad, we went to that Italian place in Wicker Park, who on the surface seem to be coping. I had everyone get together for my 25th which went well, your ladies are on top form and I think some engagements are brewing. Ellen is turning up the heat on Steve who will soon be forced down to one knee as you predicted.

Last weekend I finally took the step of cleaning out your clothes from the closet, which is very barren now. I invited your friends over to take your what they liked, it was an awkward session. I think they took them more as a favor to me than anything else. Liz cried when we pulled out all of your shoes, Miranda joined in and then Catherine broke down. It was strange to stand in our bedroom surrounded by three crying girls. I made a joke about them crying for joy at the prospect of some free Manolo Balhniks which they didn't seem to find very funny.

A few girls have put the moves on and as you know picking up women is not a forte of mine. It seems the grieving boyfriend seems to be a good angle. Who knew! I went on one date and spent it talking about you, the poor girl. You would have found it quite witty I think. No other dates to report, I am going against your orders to move on for now.

I found one of those hair tie things that somehow managed to squeeze into every crevice in the apartment. It was under the bed. I sat on the floor holding it and cried. Until then I had held everything together but it just all came flooding out.

Every morning when I wake up I forget for a fraction of a second that you are gone and I reach for you. All I ever find is the cold side of the bed. My eyes settle on the picture of us in Paris, on the bedside table, and I am overjoyed that even though the time was brief I loved you and you loved me.

Love,

P.

El cochino

The teenager exits the pool finally, when she realizes the heat of the day is gone and a soft breeze floats in from the mediterranean. It feels good against her wet skin. The solitude feels good. It's twilight now and everything is so still. The harsh daylight is replaces by a gentler glow of a full moon, changing the white washed plaster walls to a cool blue. She walks, lazily from the pool steps to the open shower and turns it on, letting a spray of fresh water hit her shoulders and flow down through her hair. Her hand rests on the handle while she hesitates and let's the day wash away from her sun-kissed skin. Even with the water rushing over her ears, the surf is still audible, relaxing. She stretches down and slowly rubs the sand from her feet. Somewhere she hears a bird call. Strange for sundown, she thinks, slightly started from her trance.

"Brittany!" Her mother calls from the doorway. "Get in here please!" She steps out and towards her daughter, wrapping her in a fresh towel. As they walk back through the garden, she shoots a warning glance at the large man next door, and he smiles and continues his phone conversation in relaxed spanish, slipping the video camera back into his pocket.

Undercover Boss

http://www.cbs.com/primetime/undercover_boss/

Monday

I forgot my pouch in my car. You know, the "pouch." It's that brown thing (or black if it's friday) we tie around our waist to hide our camel-toe.

Because I was one of the three opening girls on this rainy monday, I was allowed to go back out to my car to get it, as opposed to buying a new one.

After my 5 minute sprint, I came back only slightly damp and out of breath.

"Like, how are you NOT cold? It's freezing in here." Complained the blonde while we sat at jumpstart, pulling her sweater even tighter around her bronzed shoulders.

"I just spent the last five minutes running." I replied, assuming that statement would be enough.

"So." She accused.

"So I was wearing sweats and a sweater. And NOW I'm wearing panty hose and lycra."

"..."

"You know, like when you go to the gym and it's cold out, but when you leave it doesn't feel cold anymore..."

"Yeah..."

"It's like that."

"Wait, running makes you not cold?"

It's good to be back.

I'm BACK. AGAIN!

Let's see, since we've last spoken...

I've purchased my very own taylor guitar, co-picked out by Mr. Bob Taylor himself. (Happy Dance.)

I was rescued from a bunch of weirdos by a member of a band I hear on the radio regularly at a high profile show in my home town. Although, upon googling him, I discovered he had dated a "singer" I don't particularly respect who had her own show for a while, he was actually quite the gentleman, letting me hang out with the rest of his band in their tour bus and getting me back to my best friend, unscathed, in the restricted zone. Pretty cool evening. He still regularly texts me.

I've been brushing up on my French, Spanish, and Japanese for my Eurotrip that's coming up in June. Well, the Japanese is just for fun.

I sprained my wrist going off a "sweet jump" on the slopes and was unable to wait tables for nearly three weeks.

I completely re-vamped my bedroom. Before and after pictures will be going up soon.

And I'm sure I'm forgetting something, but I've begun my nursing classes. Well, my real nursing school begins this September, but in order to obtain my 6 months of hands on work I'm taking a 2 month, expedited course that will allow me to work as a certified nurses assistant (yuck) and only need 4 more months of actual paid hands on work before September. Nursing school is 'hella' expensive (I would never actually say that out loud, but it's the actual wording that came to my head... and that's what i get for chillin' with the nor cal girls at work.) so I'm going to have to work my butt off to foot the 50K tuition. But hey... you're looking at an RN in less than two years. So I'll do anything to get closer of my adult/realistic dream of being a traveling nurse and eventually a nurse practitioner.

Yep. That's the past couple of months in a nutshell :o)

I miss my Hooters Girl Bloggers.

Douche bag of the Week

I stumbled upon this gem in a completely irrelevant Google search:

"In my now famous rant, Hooters sucks, I explain why the Hooters restaurant here in New York City blows ass. A Hooters Girl saw my rant and took the time to email me the scattered words in her head that she calls thoughts.

Here is her (cleaned up) email to me... (It was littered with punctuation and spelling errors and rambling "sentences.")

"Dr. HogWild",

I have been a Hooters girl for 4 years... and counting. I work at one of the original 3 in Orlando and LOVE every minute of it. I came across your article and I would like to comment back... I understand, yes, guys EXPECT to get a girl with big boobs. It's Hooters, I get it... But they do not only hire on boobs...

It's nice when we actually find girls with personalities also. I mean considering most guys that come in are coming in for entertainment and someone to talk to... lonely guys that most likely have no social skills. So I sincerely think that most of the guys coming are not looking for a huge rack but some attention that they will lack anywhere else.

And WHY do we do it? Because we get paid to be nice... We get paid to act fake... We get paid to come across interested in your pathetic life.

To critique all of Hooters saying the "talent" was awful... is going a little too far. At the many Hooters restaurants I have worked at I never have seen horrible talent. We sing, dance, hula hoop, even barstool rodeo.

You say that the food sucks... No sh!t we are not a 5 star restaurant and never has Hooters tried to be... if you're looking for amazing food with a robot as a server then go to somewhere else. We serve wings, burgers and salads. Do you honestly think we can f*** that up? Maybe you just have become too picky in your time and your expectations are beyond what we serve. Besides that you want to see big t!ts... you really have no clue on what Hooters is about.

- your fellow Hooters Girl

I wrote her back:

Hey Hooters Girl!

First of all, I appreciate you taking the time to write me! Who said Hooters Girls can’t write!

HA HA HA!

All I can say is this... Come to the NYC Hooters and you will see what I mean. The girls on a Monday night were ugly and out of shape. Now, I had been to this Hooters before on a Friday night and I went out with some of the girls after they got off their shift. Those particular girls were very pretty, in great shape, very friendly, and they even bought me drinks at the bar.

But management must have let those girls go because they were replaced with ugly girls and a g@y dude.

AND... I went on a date with a girl who used to work at Hooters. She worked there to make money WHILE IN COLLEGE.

HINT: College is where you go to get an education. It’s like Wikipedia but with professors.

And... Guess what? That former Hooters girl... She had big Hooters!

I don’t care what YOU think Hooters is about. Hooters is about what the CUSTOMER thinks it’s about. Hooters is supposed to be a relaxed atmosphere restaurant where you get good chicken wings, sports on the TV, and waitresses with big boobies.

At least this Hooters had the sports on the TV.

Calling a restaurant Hooters and then not supplying Hooters is false advertising. The only false thing in Hooters should be the fake boobies in the girls' shirts.

The food is incredibly overpriced in the NYC location and it sucks.

I don’t expect 5 star dining at Hooters. I expect good food and hot girls. Not bad food and waitresses who look like they’ve been taking too much advantage of the employee discount.

As for you being “a Hooters girl for 4 years and counting...” Is this your proud achievement? If you aimed any lower, you’d shoot yourself in your aging, sagging breasts.

Look, I’m not saying I’m hot but I don’t work in a restaurant called Studs. If a girl works at Hooters she should have nice Hooters.

It’s sad that most of your customers are “lonely guys with no social skills.” I’m sure Hooters would love to have that as their slogan, “Welcome to Hooters! Safe Haven for Losers!” Maybe this is why my local Hooters has employed sub-par women, because they know their most loyal customers can’t do any better.

When I used to go to Hooters it was with a fun-loving group of guys to watch a sporting event while enjoying beer and wings. But apparently “our type” is not welcome at Hooters any more since you only cater to dorks who want to “get to know” the waitresses.

I said, “the food sucks” you said, “No sh!t...” Well, that sums it up. No, I don’t expect amazing food. I expect good food. After all, you may not realize this, but you work at a RESTAURANT.

HOOTERS NEW SLOGAN: “Our Food Sucks, Our Waitresses are Ugly, and the Customers are Losers!”

You also misunderstood something I wrote in the article. When I said there was no “talent” amongst the waitresses, “talent” is slang for hot girls. No guy cares that you sing, dance, and can use a hula hoop. (Although the girls I saw that night would have got stuck inside the hula hoop.) If you are a Hooters Waitress, your talent is your looks. The end.

I have friends who are hot girls and they are waitresses and bartenders. But they have a big enough brain to know that they were hired for their looks. And they are working hard, making money, and saving up to go to school or to pursue their dreams.

Apparently, you have no dreams.

You said, “We serve wings, burgers and salads, do you honestly think we can f*** that up?” Surprisingly, yes. My favorite part of your poorly written rant is this...

“We get paid to be come across interested in your pathetic life.”

HA HA HA! A girl whose highest ambition is to successfully deliver a plate of food without dropping it is calling OTHER people’s lives pathetic! HA HA HA!

Here is what I suggest for you: Accept that you are doing the best you can for a girl whose IQ is lower than a parking lot speed limit.

I respect people who work hard and are doing the best they can. But you strike me as a girl who is underachieving and lazy.

Because you actually probably DO have a brain in your head. And you probably COULD do better for yourself but you have limited yourself to working a crappy restaurant for the rest of your life. After 4 years of cleaning up barbecue chicken parts and waddling around in bright orange shorts you have probably risen up in the ranks to become Assistant Manager in charge of Wonderbras. And that’s great. But ask yourself...

“Can I do better? Do I want to be a Hooters girl living in Orlando when I am 42?” If not for yourself, do it for your 6 or 7 children who are on food stam

ps.

- Your fellow Hogsta who loves intelligent, hard working women"

My thoughts and hopefully yours as well:

Not only is this guy a completely douche, but he's a complete douche who thinks he's intelligent. The reality for this poor sucker is that he's at the exact same caliber as the waitress he's squabbling with. The post entitled "I pissed off a hooters waitress" screams for praise like a kid managing to take a shit in the big kid toilet for the first time. While his first post [http://www.hogwild.net/Rants/hooters-sucks.htm] was slightly more coherent than his unfortunately un-witty response, his actual reasoning that Hooters must have been "much better" back in the day is solely resting on his dad possessing a Hooters V.I.P. card "back in the day".

(V.I.P. cards are given out free of charge regularly. Contrary to popular belief, Hooters is a restaurant, NOT a strip club, and these V.I.P. cards do nothing more than save you a couple bucks here or get you a free appetizer there if you make Hooters your regular go to joint. Anyone can obtain one. Most people just lose them.)

He also suggested that, because on a previous Friday evening the women were much more attractive than on a more recent Monday visit, management must have "let those girls go and were replaced with ugly girls." Hooters doesn't hire "ugly girls." They hire all different kinds of girls because, well shucks, different guys are attracted to different things. However, some girls are obviously more conventionally attractive than others, so it makes sense that management would schedule the "prettier" waitresses on a busier evening as opposed to a slower one. I also found it slightly entertaining that the d-bag felt it was necessary to explain that he went out with the "hot" waitresses after their shift. Along with later mentioning that he personally knows other hot Hooters waitresses. I can only assume this is another pathetic attempt to add to his credibility and make him feel more superior than the Hooters Girl he's addressing, but fellas, that kind of talk only raises suspicions . Unfortunately, some of the girls will go to GREAT lengths to get a good tip, and it's relatively easy to get a table free drinks.

(although a good Hooters waitress shouldn't, especially when she knows corporate cameras are on her at all times.)

I also find it remorseful that experience has led me to believe that he is most likely fabricating a large portion of his story. It would be much more plausible that he waited until the ladies he fancied were off the clock, and followed

(stalked)

them to their after-work-chill-out bar of choice. Hey, it's happened.

(and will continue to happen.)

Because I too am a Hooters girl, I feel it is my duty to stand up for the poor girl he's chosen to make himself look like a complete idiot in reply to. Look man. Most Universities take about four years to graduate from. Hence the FOUR years she's been employed at Hooters. Don't begin assuming that she actually enjoys serving neanderthals like you for a living, with no plans of self-improvement.

(that's a real trip huh)

Finally, to address the apparent confusion of our brand name, I feel that I must point out that there is no fine print located anywhere around the sign. Nowhere does it say "BIG Hooters" anywhere on our store front. It's just plain Hooters, and all chicks have them. Calm down. Get a hobby. And yes, please PLEASE go/stay at Hawaiin Tropic.

Anything. Just don't come back.

That is all.

Where the Wild Roses Grow

Things have been... difficult lately. I feel like I'm standing in the eye of a storm, watching my thoughts and dreams lifted by the ferocious wind to encircle me. I almost have no time to think before I can reach out and grab just one. And I'm not sure if even that is good enough. Not anymore. I've never really found my place in Southern California. I mean, I love it and it's beautiful and everything. There is just something missing. It's when I'm on the road that I'm the most alive. Europe is just six months away, but I know that isn't permanent. The memories will be, but is that enough?

I open my eyes suddenly and experience a fleeting moment of confusion that sometimes accompanies an awakening. I roll over on my side and my face presses comfortably into my pillow.

Why am I awake? What woke me up so suddenly?

As I reach for my phone, it vibrates again. A text message? What time is it even? I unlock it and squint down into the bright screen. 4 A.M. Becoming more irritated by the second, I open my text messages to see that my disturbance is an unknown number.

"What the hell..." I start.

"Do you have 10k or more in credit card debit?" It began. "Our debt relief program CUTS your payment and total debt by over HALF. No upfront fees. May we contact you?"

Unbelievable.

It's love

"I need to feed my hubby so I'm bringing some wings home." I joked with a manager.

"What did you call him?" He had stopped what he was doing just to be able to look at me while he asked this question.

"...Hubby?" I responded. I'll admit, I was a little worried I had said something wrong.

"Does he know you call him that?" He asked.

"Um, I don't think so. I've only really called him that a few times, and usually just when I'm talking to my girlfriends. Why?" I still didn't understand where he was going.

"Good." He said as he turned back to the computer.

"What do you mean; 'good?'"

"I just wouldn't say that around him if I were you."

"He's actually not that kind of guy."

"Well, for his sake, don't say it in front of his friends."

I love my managers, and I love that we're all involved in each other's lives, but sometimes I hate how narrow minded everyone can sometimes be. Most of the people I work with at Hooters are jaded, and with good reason. The male managers are constantly surrounded by whiney, self-absorbed girls; watching them run though boyfriends like they run through pantyhose. Gender stereotyping runs wild in this environment, which is why I sometimes feel like I stick out like a sore thumb.

"Hey, the computer didn't print out my meal time start check." I once said to my manager after they revamped our system.

"It doesn't do that anymore. We're saving paper. I thought you of all people would appreciate that."

"What's that supposed to mean."

"Well... er... you know... you're all.... natural."

"... Thanks."

Or my favorite... after a little chat with one of my mangers:

"I know what you are. You're... eclectic." He said, looking very pleased with his vocabulary word. Which was the first word somebody had ever used in the place of the more common adjective that is associated with me... 'weird'. Well, once in high school, a guy I had a crush on said "You're totally different from the way you look like you'd be."

But either way, I've learned to take these as compliments.

Getting back to my main point... the managers are usually jaded, and the girls are usually about as deep as a paper plate. As I left the restaurant, lugging the 20 wings... naked... daytona of course... I dialed my boyfriend's number.

"Hey babe!" Said the cheerful voice on the other line.

"Hi hunni!" and the normal pleasantries ensued.

"Something kind of funny happened today." I began.

"Like what?"

"Well, I called you my hubby when I was talking to my manager and he told me never to tell you that I used that word to describe you."

"Awwwww you called me your hubby!"

That was his reaction. And it was pure glee.

When I arrived at his place of work, wings in hand, his coworker called out, "Hey Kevin! Your wifey is here!"

Ha.

urban

Los ángeles. The city of Angels.

A stale, yellow smog oozes up from the filth, shrouding the once picturesque mountains. The boulevard of broken dreams drowns in it's broken stars while the derelict crawl to you on their broken knees, begging for the change that feeds their demons. I think about this as I sweat on the hot leather seats. The tint isn't enough to shield my skin from the burn and there is no escaping the sun in this traffic. I can only hope we creep along faster than the semi just ahead, and I can doze in its shade.

Memory Lane

Do you ever have those moments, where something in your environment sets off this chain reaction, throwing you into this mental course that brings you to a screeching halt somewhere down memory lane? And where ever it takes you, you become filled with some vaguely familiar emotion that has such an effect on you, your mind is consumed. Information is so readily available in this present world. I almost wanted to open up my lap top and google this feeling, so I could surround myself with it. Pictures, articles, music, anything. But you can't. Not with memories. You'll have to find everything out the old fashioned way.

Gooooo TEAM!

I have never felt like I belonged to such a tight knit group before. I can now honestly say that Hooters has changed my life. Are you shy? Do you have a hard time making friends? Do you need motivation to stay in shape and take care of yourself? If you answered yes to any of those questions, apply at Hooters. I'm sure each location is different. While reading fellow Hooters Bloggers (see side bar under "coworkers") I've learned that some locations have car washes while we don't. I've learned that it is easy to become a bartender, while at my location there is a waiting list. But every Hooters seems to have that same spirit.

I've never really been a "girl's" girl. I've never had that baby-sitter club group. Girl scouts was on and off for me. Instead of playing a sport for school or cheerleading, I grabbed a surf board, wake board, or snowboard and spend time with nature. My dad was very strict and I had an 8:00pm curfew on school nights and a 9:00pm curfew on weekends until I graduated high school. So I spent a lot of time drawing, reading, or playing musical instruments. While I always had friends, a best friend, and a boyfriend, I didn't have that "circle" everybody seems to have on tv. Hooters changed this. While I'm not "bff status" with any of the girls, I feel like I belong. We put up invites in the break room for parties; everyone is invited. We'll go out for breakfast before putting up with the football rush. Closers go out for drinks after work. Sunday day girls go out for happy hour down the street. Last Sunday was a baby shower and "we" have another one coming up next month. Friday I'm taking two girls surfing in the morning, and then in the afternoon, we're heading over to another girl's pad for a pumpkin carving party. BYOP. Girliness has never been so much fun before :o)

How serving ruined my dining experience

Occasionally I read a post that feels like it was pulled straight from my own head. You probably know what I'm talking about. It's that little moment you have where you feel like somebody can finally understand your pain and torment. So here's a little tasty treat from one of my favorite bloggers... Take it away, Bitchy Waiter!

"Occasionally, The Bitchy Waiter gets to go to a restaurant and have someone fuck up his order for a change. After nearly a score of waiting tables, (as in four score and seven years ago...), the dining experience for me is almost always uncomfortable. I want to help the server; I stack my plates, I never complain, I over tip and God forbid I go out with a large group of people who want to push tables together and all be on separate checks. When I eat out, I spend the whole time overcompensating. Waiting tables has ruined the experience for me. But I went out to dinner a few nights ago.

There was a craving for Chinese food in the homestead so I Googled, Zagated, and CitySearched until I found a place that was highly recommended. The reviews for Hunan Park were good and the price was right, read cheap. It was little bit out of the way but I was feeling adventurous. Why not? Off to the Upper West Side I shall go! With address in hand and salivating for some good orange chicken, my dining partner (none of your beeswax, busy bodies) head to Columbus Avenue and 70th Street. When we get there, we go back and forth on the supposed block and see nothing that serves egg rolls. Every other ethnic restaurant is on that block but not one fucking Chinese place. We look up the address and realize we are standing in front of it, but it is now some lame ass deli that I applied for a job at about three weeks ago. What the fuck? Did Hunan Park up and leave? Never fear, there is another location on 91st Street, only twenty blocks up. We trudged ahead. At 91st street, nuthin'. A grocery store, a post office and a homeless lady who may or may not have been Chinese. We call the mysterious Hunan Park and they say "No! No! Ninety-fifth Street. Five Five!" Four more blocks and we finally behold the wonder that is Hunan Park; the magical mystical Far East heaven that has made me travel all the way from Queens to a neighborhood I didn't even know the name of. Hunan Park was a dump.

"Well, Zagat gave it a 9 for decor but a 19 for food. It must be good. There's no one here though, that's weird." As we ignored every red flag that was waving before us, we stepped into a place that may as well have been next door to me in Queens. Zagat can not lead us astray, could they? There was an old man sitting at a table with headphones on and a pile of food in front of him. He looked like he could be a close personal friend to the homeless lady at 91st Street. The only other people eating were employees on this fine Friday night. We sat "anywhere" and a waitress threw some water glasses and some chips with duck sauce at us. She looked like she was in a real hurry, like she must have been in the middle of giving a manicure to someone else at the same time. She came back about ten seconds later and said "you ready?" We politely asked for more time so she moved about two feet away from us and stood there staring at us. No pressure or anything, Fawn Lawn Young. It was only 9:30 and they didn't close until 11:00 so I don't know what her fucking hurry was. Maybe it was Chinese New Year or something and she needed to go build a dragon mask. We ordered an egg roll (greasy and possibly frozen) and vegetable dumplings (I didn't try them because they were green and I don't like green food) for our appetizers. I then ordered pineapple chicken because they didn't have orange chicken. It came out as some doughy fried chicken with about six cubes of canned pineapple next to it. And a huge bowl of sauce that may as well have been called High Fructose Corn Syrup with MSG. Across from me, my dining companion had a plate of Moo Shoo Chicken that was said to taste like dish soap. Again, I didn't taste it because I don't like food that tastes like dish soap. The only decent thing we had were the two bottles of Tsing Tao beer. Perfectly prepared, they were.

The check came along with an orange slice (fancy!) and fortune cookies. I wrapped up my chicken because even though it was horrible, gummy, disgusting and I thought it tasted like shit, a homeless person might want it. We put down $43 dollars and left. No one else came in the whole time we were there except for a group of three who walked in, looked around and left. And another couple who picked up some food to go. Zagat was wrong. They lied to me and owe me $43. How long will it be before I am ready to again venture to the other side of the menu? Days? Weeks? Hunan Park and Zagat just made this bitchy waiter a little bit bitchier."

Merch Queen

With the economy continuing to sag and business dropping, the fearless leaders (managers and possibly corporate) have decided to step in and boost sales with merch.. i mean "souvenirs." Unfortunately, I suck at it. I can't even sell a Hooters brand lighter for peat's sake. I'm just not a sales person. I feel bad trying to get families that can barely tip me to splurge on shirts for the whole crew. I can't help it. I just feel silly doing it. So now, to motivate us, management has decided that our schedules will reflect our merch... i mean "souvenir" sales. One of my buddies who happens to be one of the "merch queens" told me she actually brings the shirts up to the table during her pitch. Evil, but genius. Does anybody have any advice for me? I like my sweet set of hours that coincides perfectly with school, and I don't want to lose them.

words can't bring me down

I wash my hands and clean my nails, pulling any dirt out from under them.

Clean.

The oily make up remover melts off the mascara and the cleanser polishes. A little stream of blue toner disappears into the cotton ball and I can feel my skin tighten just slightly. Next comes the anti-aging moisturizer and the night-time eye cream.

Because you’re never too young to start.

My skin is soft and pretty. The freckles are barely visible but they’re there. My naked lips are the perfect pink and my cheeks are bronzed from the sun. My hair is pulled back into a tight pony tail and the baby hairs framing my face are pale and delicate. My green eyes smile back at me. The aqua and yellow flecks are brought out by the deep blue ringing my irises. I smile back and the creases in my cheeks look happy.

I’m happy.

And I love myself. And I think I’m beautiful, just the way I am in my naked skin.

For the first time in my life.