Hoot

I've hung up my hot pants, changed majors, and become a housewife-slash-cat-lady, minus the wife bit. My life is no longer so blatantly sexy as it once was, but there are far fewer yeast infections to be had. If my present itch-free existence intrigues (you poor lifeless soul), check out Hoot. To the rest, thank you for reading, and please stop emailing me with requests for my used pantyhose.

Just Curious...

If I began a new blog, one that has absolutely nothing to do with Hooters (excepting the occasional trip to Hooters as a customer, perhaps...), would anyone be interested in reading it? What if I promised that I wouldn't allow any more than six months to pass between posts? My life is admittedly quite boring these days, and the bulk of my time is spent either pouring over textbooks until my eyes glaze over and I become a shell of my former self, able to do no more than listlessly explain the processes of endocytosis, or pretending to be a grown up while feebly attempting to be a housewife. I can't promise anything revolutionary, or even somewhat interesting, but I know there have got to be at least a few blog nerds out there who would seize the opportunity to delay living their lives in order to live vicariously through yet another sub-par writer's infrequently updated account of their life, right? I mean, I could tell you a lot about endocytosis....Anyone?

Update: It's happening, but without the endocytosis. This coming week I should have ample free time to get something set up and I will link to it when I do. Thanks for the feedback.

Update II: It's still happening, though not as quickly as expected. Having had little opportunity to write freely over the last several months, I am finding that words do not come as easily as they did when I was writing on a daily basis. A blog has been established, however, and as soon as I have finished composing the first post I will link to it from here.

Update III: Yes, it's still happening! However, school is kicking my ass and making it impossible for me to do anything even remotely intellectual in my free time. There are only a few weeks left in the quarter, though, and I will have a few weeks off before the following quarter begins. I should be able to get the blog moving during that time and a significantly lighter course load over the summer will hopefully allow me more time to get in to the habit of writing regularly again. In the meantime, thanks for your patience.

A Quick Clarification

 For those of you visiting from, Girl & Guitar, most likely having just finished reading Sauce's latest post regarding me, or for those of you who perhaps also misinterpreted my own previous posting about one of the many factors that contributed to my decision to discontinue working as a Hooters Girl, I would like to make one point perfectly clear: My departure from Hooters has absolutely nothing to do with any alteration in my perception of myself, nor any decrease in my level of self-confidence. Never once did I feel as though my self-esteem were deteriorating as a result of working at Hooters, nor have I ever made any such assertion. Sauce's interpretation of my postings and the conclusions that she made based upon that interpretation is, for whatever reason, entirely erroneous.

"You see, though the majority of the customers that I served during my time as a Hooters Girl, first as a waitress, then as a bartender, were basically good people, there was a small but impactful and seemingly always present group of regulars whose treatment of me, my coworkers, and women at large left a great deal to be desired, so much so that they, being the people whom I saw the most of at the time, were coloring my perspective of all men for the worse."

As I believe the above statement, taken directly from my post on the matter, makes clear, one of the numerous reasons that I did not return to my job as a bartender at Hooters was the realization that my opinion of an entire gender was changing for the worse, due solely to the behaviors of a small group of regulars whom I served on an almost daily basis. This group, comprised mostly of men in their mid-forties through mid-sixties, the majority of whom were friends with one another outside of Hooters, were rather detestable in that they continually strove to make me, as well as several coworkers, uncomfortable. The delighted in making statements about the perceived superiority of men, in making "jokes" about women's worth being based only upon their appearance and cooking skill, and they intentionally tried to, as one of them put it, "knock me down a peg or two." These men were a rather despicable lot who seemingly enjoyed making a sport out of trying to get beneath the skin of the pretty young women who waited upon them, particularly those of us whom they deemed to be somehow too prideful. Those Hooter Girls who simply giggled along as they cracked sexist jokes and discussed how in a perfect world all women would have breast implants they did not seek to insult, but the Hooters Girl who shook her head in disgust, perhaps after being told that she is, "a moron," for not opting to date a wealthy man, becomes almost targeted. Suddenly, every time that she is near the members of this informal little group she is the recipient of increasingly misogynistic comments, assessments and critiques of her body, and so on. Of course, when called on any of their statements, these men simply laughed and admonished us not to take things so seriously. It was quite trying, to say the least, however, my self-esteem was never impacted by these men. I am not one who takes such things to heart and I can see these men and their words for what they are. What I did not see, though, was that my opinion of these men and others of their ilk were being internalized somehow, that their behavior was skewing my perception of everyone who belonged to their gender. It is for this reason, among others, that I decided it would not be in my best interests to continue working as a Hooters Girl.

A Quick Note

Since a few of you have asked...

No, the previous posting was not my last. I have at least a few more points to make before I say goodbye to this blog and I have links to more current projects that I am working on as well. Rather than overwhelm readers with a gigantic, unending wall of text, however, I thought it be best to break things up a bit. Anyhow, there is more to come shortly!

On an unrelated topic, once this blog is concluded I will be leaving it up and open. I will not, however, be doing much updating at that point. This means that if you want your links listed here you need to notify me soon. Note that only links pertaining to Hooters, working at Hooters, and so on will be accepted. Simply leave a comment and I'll get things update over the next few days.

Reason Number One

It has been nearly six months since I last donned a pair of fluorescent orange hot pants and giggled over tired puns and clumsy double entendres from men twice my age, while simultaneously juggling greasy plates of wings and trying to make scrunch socks and nylons with sneakers appear sexy, all in an effort to generate income. The decision to depart from my position as one of the world famous Hooters Girls was not a difficult one to make, nor is it one that has left me with any regrets. A number of factors were involved in making the choice that I did, not the least of which was the dismal realization that my job was causing me to view roughly fifty percent of the world's population with disdain and a scornful wariness. You see, though the majority of the customers that I served during my time as a Hooters Girl, first as a waitress, then as a bartender, were basically good people, there was a small but impactful and seemingly always present group of regulars whose treatment of me, my coworkers, and women at large left a great deal to be desired, so much so that they, being the people whom I saw the most of at the time, were coloring my perspective of all men for the worse. I was avoiding going out in public alone, preferring the comfort of having my boyfriend present to deter the attentions of other men. I was no longer taking pride in my appearance, forgoing makeup and eschewing even the most mildly suggestive clothing in favor of loose sweatshirts and baggy jeans. I walked with my head down, avoiding eye contact and refraining from smiling. My formerly almost gregarious personality morphed in to one that was brusquely reticent. I simply wanted to go completely unnoticed by others, as at that point I associated any attention as being negative attention. Each of these alterations and the corresponding reasons behind them were made as a direct result of the treatment that I received while at work, and though the changes were not made consciously, they did not go unobserved, either. Of course, it was not long until I grew weary of scurrying through life in fear of being acknowledged, of the feelings of loathing derision each time my defenses failed and I heard the murmured words of appreciation as I hurried past yet another leering man. My new manner of living was only fostering the contempt that was growing inside of me, both for the male gender and for myself.

The Boyfriend and I purchased our first house in late November of last year. Overwhelmed by the amount of work that was necessary before we could even think about moving in, I took a few weeks off of work. Then, just as I was beginning to consider getting back to work, the floods came. For more than five months straight my uterus coughed out blood, tissue, and clots the size of my pinky fingernail on a daily basis. The bleeding was, of course, accompanied by drastic hormonal fluctuations and debilitating cramps. I was a shrieking, weeping, celibate mess. There was absolutely no way that I was going to squeeze my ass in to a Hooters uniform and prance around pretending as though there was nowhere that I'd rather be than running back and forth between the bar and the bathroom to change yet another soaked pad or to down third handful of Advil. By the time the floods eventually subsided, I realized that they, at the risk of sounding utterly cliched, had been a blessing of sorts. I also realized that I was better off not going back.