Awkward

So I just thought that this would be a great topic since it is relevant to super hero Hooters girl life and my Clark Kent girl next door life.

My boyfriend dated a young girl a few years back. You know, the first puppy love type thing. Long story short, there was a ton of unnecessary drama which ended up trickling into the current relationship my boyfriend and I have. Very uncool. Despite this girl having had a boyfriend for AT LEAST six months before the boyfriend and I got together, we would get sobbing voicemails from her well into our two year relationship. It was like clockwork. Every two to three months. Either a call or she would show up somewhere on "our" turf. Be it stalking his truck club website he is a part of or driving by his work to offer him Jamba juice. She'd lurk on our myspaces and bitch about us to her best friend (also my friend). If that wasn't enough, she'd text and email my boyfriend, trying to rekindle their "friendship." Can you see the horror unfold? Basically, I tried to be cool with this chick, I put on my absolute best behavior (which rivals mother theresa by the way :p), we even got coffee together to make sure everything was peachy, but for some strange reason she had it out for me because her ex fell head over heels with yours truly. My boyfriend finally told her off, took her number out of his phone, deleted her myspace, etc etc. Good for him.

But wait. That girl is an ex hooters girl. The ex hooters girl of my hooters restaurant. The ex hooters girl that gave my boyfriend nightmares of ever dating another hooters girl. Flash forward three years. I am telling my boyfriend that I'm picking up my Hooters Uniform Monday. No answer. I think he was in shock. But being the amazing sweet heart he is, the next day he called and apologized saying that I can do what ever makes me happy.

But wait. That ex hooters girl didn't actually have to battle through the millions of other hooters girls that apply daily. Even though she was also underage, a general disadvantage when applying at hooters because you have to be at least 18 to waitress, she was able basically come right on in and pick up her Hooters Uniform. Why? Because her older sister is a store manager.

Gasp.

I know right? It just keeps getting better!!

No, it really does. In a good way. Her older sister now manages a Hooters in a different location, but her boyfriend is pretty good friends with my boyfriend (since they were dating the sisters at the same time), and we often go out together. Drama? No way. She the yin to her sister's yang. She's easy going, includes me in conversation, and basically emits no drama what so ever.

But there is that ever present pang in the back of my brain that knows, that at any moment, the evil sister could show up. And of course I'd be civil to her. While she paraded around shooting desperate glances at my boyfriend. Sigh.

Sometimes

life throws you a curveball.  a major, life-altering curveball.  

Fun Days

Fun double days are one in a million. By double days I mean the days where I get up around 7 or 8 to work my 9-5 job at the office and then frantically scramble to my 530-? job waiting tables. Today's second half of my double day started off with section picks. This is a term we hooters girls use for the whining and bitching over who gets what section in the restaurant. Today there were eleven of us not including the bartender, hostesses, busboys, cooks, or managers. Half of the girls threw in their section picks. "Section picks" are pieces of paper we earn after completing a number of preset tasks by the end of a shift, such as 3o table visits, a certain amount in sales, and a certain amount in merch. Going above and beyond can also earn you a free pair of coveted pantyhose. Earning a section pick is very self explanatory. It means that the next day you come into work, you can throw out a section pick to get a section if you see another girl eying it. When too many girls throw in section picks, the rest of us are left with games and other contests to determine who gets to pick next. Most of the time they're games of chance. But sometimes our managers like to test our brains. This is my favorite. Not because I like to show off, but because I LOVE to see what the other girls come up with. Last time we had to name the most dictators. (on our own pieces of paper secretly of course.) Our GM's name came up more often than Hitler's. See here.

Today was even better. We had to name north american mammals.

"What is a shark?"
"A fish."
"So, a whale is a fish too right?"
"No that's a mammal"
"But, wait what? They live underwater!"

"What's a mammal? Brittany, what's a mammal??"

"Rhinocerous."
"They don't live in North America."
"Yes they do! They live in the zoo!"

"Card?" asks my manager reading from one of the papers. "Do you mean cat?"

P.S. I won of course :p

I feel like a badass

When the computer asks me a question and I check that little box that says "do not ask me again." It just sounds so firm and final. My computer is my bitch.

But Home is Nowhere

"You know that point in your life when you realize that the house that you grew up in isn't really your home anymore? All of the sudden even though you have some place where you can put your stuff that idea of home is gone."
"I still feel at home in my house."
"You'll see when you move out it just sort of happens one day one day and it's just gone. And you can never get it back. It's like you get homesick for a place that doesn't exist. I mean it's like this rite of passage, you know. You won't have this feeling again until you create a new idea of home for yourself, you know, for your kids, for the family you start, it's like a cycle or something. I miss the idea of it. Maybe that's all family really is. A group of people who miss the same imaginary place"

New Theme.

It's so much better than our old theme and I'm very excited. Sunday, as you know, is Easter. And at Hooters we're encouraged to wear bunny ears and tails :D AAAND there will be an Easter egg hunt at 2 for the kiddies! I'm so excited. Oh and P.s. kids eat free Sundays... And we love adorable, well behaved children.


<3

I'm still sore from snowboarding and I still need to edit the pictures from my Mammoth Snowboarding Vacation. That's what the next post will be about.

But he knows...

how to make everything better. And I realize all of the stupid little things don't really matter.

Wishful Thinking...

In a way, I wish I remained anonymous. Then I'd be able to really write. There are things I can't just talk about on here. I can't really vent about my jobs or I could possibly be fired. I can't release frustrations I get from my boyfriend, his exs, or even my closest friends. I'm not perfect and neither are my relationships and although I love those near and dear to me I hate feeling like... I'm trapped in a way. I don't want to hurt your feelings. I don't want to give an ex of mine or my boyfriend's the satisfaction of knowing that they've hurt or frustrated me in some way. I'm sick of creating this "perfect" me so I can conform to the social norms. I'm tired of spending almost an HOUR of MY day getting pretty for YOU. I'm tired of "trying" to get into the colleges YOU want me to get into. So I can fall into some profession YOU can brag about. I love you. Everything you've done for me. But can you stop making me feel so worthless when I CANT reach that bar you've set for me?? I don't want to lie to myself anymore. I can't tell you of my frustrations with certain women... girls I have to remain on good terms with, for everyone's sake. It all builds up inside. And I can't say anything about it. I can't lower myself to their level. I'm tired of knowing that although I can have the most amazing conversations with you... any of you... that because of your anatomy... and when everything boils down to it... I'm still just an object. I'm tired of being afraid that If I open up and say what's really wrong, that it's going to change things for the worse. I'm tired of caring so damn much about everyone else's feelings. I'm tired of being happy brit. nice brit. Full of smiles and ears and hugs for all YOUR problems. I wish I could say: DON'T FUCKING TALKING TO ME YOU DISGUSTING EXCUSE FOR A HUMAN. I wish I could just be me. "Weird" normal me. I've almost reached my limit here. You know it does hurt when you make fun of me and tell me i'm strange because you can't understand why I don't want to be just like you. I can't be so nice forever. I can't keep going up... there's got to be some ceiling I'll eventually reach. And I'm afraid of what might happen when I do...

I'm tired of knowing everyone's weakness. Of being trusted never to approach it. Never to push their buttons... while they'll carelessly brush over mine. Bumping into me. Pushing me.

And the funny part is... anyone I really WANT to read this...well... they all have better things to do.

I Am Extraordinarily Clumsy

Yes, unfortunately grace is not one of my redeeming qualities. I can dance. I've taken ballet, salsa, swing dancing, "hip hop", and Irish riverdance(hush I was 8 and didn't know any better). I can be graceful when I'm supposed to be. But when it comes to naturally moving around, it can be disastrous. The other day, after finally convincing my boyfriend to go on a 5 or so mile mountain hike with me, I twisted my ankle. Not 50 yards from my car. Comparatively, the hike UP the mountain is much more strenuous than the hike down, so, to compensate, my boyfriend and I decided to run down. Of course I fell. But it was conveniently near my car and an adorable shaded stream where the best boyfriend in the world held me until I, or should I say my pride, felt better.

I will be headed North to the Mammoth Mountain Resorts with my family and friends this Saturday with a sprained ankle for some long awaited snowboarding. FML.

Signed up

For the bikini contest that is. I felt I needed a better incentive to get in shape for summer. I'm really not planning on winning, seeing as I'm probably one of the few with natural boobs entering the contest. I won't tell you the theme until afterward, but I've got a few good ideas thanks to the boyfriend. But I'm a little nervous now after talking to a good friend who had done it a few years ago. Apparently it's done pageant style. At least my boyfriend gets to sit at a table with all of the other boyfriends. Wish me luck!

P.s. this is NOT an April fools joke. Jerks.