Friday, March 30, 2007

Frozen Face Funk

I look like I have some type of strange chlamydial herpeleptic sores on my face.

I did this on purpose.

I thought it would make me look better.


I have been getting these - medical term - "things" on the upper right quadrant of my face over the last couple of years. They look like raised bumps, but Dr. Creepy has an actual medical name for them. Other people really don't notice them much, but one of them was near my eye and really bugging me. So I decided to have them removed.

They are not gone.

They are now very large, very noticable and extremely ugly.

My doctor decided to freeze them off after I had an extremely unpleasant reaction to Retin-A. No big deal, right? Unh-Unh. At first, after he had sprayed me with the portable agent orange, I looked like I had been stung a few times in the face. One genius coworker even asked me if I had Botox (not yet). The next morning I rolled out of bed, slipped in my eyes and screamed. What looked like large mosquito bites the day before, now resembled some kind of after-school-this is what happens to dirty girls and yes rubbing on it counts - special. I have five of these putrid welts on my forehead and around my right eye where once there were "bumps", how I miss them.

The moral of the story - I should have had these fuckers removed by a plastic surgeon.

Thursday, March 29, 2007

Blood Leaking Out of My Ears

I actually have a job. We could even call it a career. I am not wing slinging anymore, but sometimes I am not sure if this is a step up or a step down. My dilemma with my productive position in society is one with many facets, but to break it down... I now deal with the same fucktarded type of people as I did before, but now I can't tell the folks how crapfabtastic they are like I could in the past.

Por Ejemplo:

Today I had to sit in on a meeting that literally made blood seep out of my ears. I felt dumber for being a part of it. The best thing about the meeting was that I did not even need to be present. I went with another person for meeting #1 and was drug into meeting #2 which had got shitfuck to do with my bidnezz.

On top of that, I literally laughed out loud at the customer in the middle of the meeting. She was a sight to behold. This is what she looked like:

I hate Muppets - puppets of any kind freak me out - it is twisted that a grown ass man wants to shove his hand up the ass of an inanimate object and pretend it is real (If you do this is in public to a latex, life sized baby batter receptacle, 49 out of 50 states will have you arrested). In fact, when I was a child I refused to watch the Muppets because I couldn't fucking stand Miss Piggy. I wanted to rip that fat, mouthy snout off of her and shove it up her ass. It is because of Miss Piggy that obese women think they should walk around in mini skirts and half shirts while showing off what looks to be the rip cord for a parachute but is in fact a bellybutton ring.

Anyhoo, this person looked and sounded like the creature above, but was even more annoying. I guess she didn't realize how absurd the whole situation was, what with her asking questions about activities that are SOP for the project. She was not smarter than a fifth grader. I actually laughed out loud at the absurdity and got a dirty look from the person I was with. So I spent the next 20 minutes bleeding out of my ears because my brain was melting. I also imagined that the paper mache humanoid art projects (I swear it - they were propped up everywhere and each one looked like it had been cast over the creator's own body) that were decorating the room were turning into mummies and then they came alive and spit venom in this lady's face. Just as she turned into a puddle of puss and goo, I got a nudge from my buddy that the meeting was over. Two more minutes and I would have slipped into a coma.

....I get to do it all again tomorrow...

Wednesday, March 28, 2007

You are entitled to your own opinion

I am posting in response to this:

I love how some people take umbrage to any disparaging remarks about their particular group of people, but feel free to make their own statements about others. You stupid twat! Have you ever thought that maybe you should know a little bit more about a subject before you start making up shit?

For the record, Hooters was one of the best places I worked at when I was in the service industry. Period. Sure there was bullshit to put up with, but that comes with any job. You would lose your shit if I made a racist remark, but yet you feel free to call me sleazy when you don't know anything about me.

I am extremely proud to say that I worked for the RMD branch of Hooters (Ohio, Indiana, Kentucky and Tennessee) for three years as both a Hooters Girl and a corporate trainer. In that time, I was able to earn enough money to support three people (one was my elderly grandmother) and put myself through college. Hooters did not use me, I used Hooters. If guys came in to drink beer and look at cute girls, so be it. But, we also had families, bachelorette parties, class trips and many other groups of people who enjoyed our establishment from all cultures and walks of life.

I feel privileged to have made friends with such an intelligent group of women which is made up of the following:
1. Caucasians
2. African Americans
3. Asians
4. Democrats
5. Republicans
6. Atheists
7. Christians
8. Buddhists
9. Jews
10. Conservatives
11. Liberals
12. Associate's Degrees
13. Bachelor's Degrees
14. Master's Degrees
15. Medical School Students
16. Artists
17. etc. etc. etc.

As anyone can see we are a regular fucking United Nations of hotness. Just because you are a cute girl who wears a tank top with an owl on it does not mean you are a stupid slut (There were some of those too - as in any industry and situation).

And by the way you dumb fucktard - the Hooters uniform does not consist of a bikini, it is made up of this.

Now you are 100% allowed to have your own opinion on anything under the sun because of the country that we live in. But I am also allowed to have an opinion and I think you are a self-indulged know it all who may know a lot about terrorists, but has no clue about people. I have actually heard you speak on your subject in the past and while I find your viewpoints on Jihad and Islam well informed, you don't know shit about me, who I am or what I am about. My recommendation to you is go to a Hooters. Have a nice glass of Sangria and enjoy the company. Who knows, you could be talking to a future proctologist who will later be able to remove your head from your ass.

Tuesday, March 27, 2007

Psycho Bikes

OK so I have had a completely fucked up day and I am venting. First of all, I almost got T-boned twice in 45 seconds today and then I came within inches of turning a guy on a bicycle into a speed bump. Have I mentioned yet that I completely fucking hate driving anywhere in Cleveland during rush hour? These people are complete assholes and have no redeeming qualities whatsoever when it comes to driving. I am not even going to qualify this statement and pussy out and be PC. I honestly wanted to kill someone when I finally got off of the freeway and then I almost did.

After motherfucking every driver within screaming distance and then having a complete psychotic breakdown I procede to my destination already in a pisser, but NOOO it could not end there. Apparently unkown to me there is a new law on the books that says middle aged, drunken motherfucking white trash losers in flannel riding 30 year old Schwinns do not - I REPEAT DO NOT - have to stop for any red lights in the city of Parma. (You all remember Parma from The Drew Carey Show - take a vacation there sometime - me, I'd prefer Guantanamo Bay) I am turning left and this douchebag shitstain comes barrelling down the hill, flannels a flyin', and procedes to shoot straight across oncoming traffic with zero attempt to brake. Then this useless piece of mixed up DNA starts screaming at me - I missed him by fucking inches people. Are you freaking kidding me? This is when I do the visualization techniques so often prescribed by the shrinks. Instead of seeing a bunny frolicking in a field of clover, I imagined getting out of my car, walking up to the aforementioned piece of shit, pulling down his trousers, taking out a nut in each hand and wrapping them around his throat until he turns that violent shade of purpleredbluegreen that I love so much. Then when his O2 supply is at its most critical level, I let go and tell him to FUCKING STOP NEXT TIME.

I may need help, but according to most psych studies more than half of us do, so in actuality, I am more normal than a lot of you. HAHAHAHA

Sunday, March 25, 2007

Hello, My Name is Key Lime Pie...

I am a liar. At least that is what a large percentage of my old tables use to think. Over the course of my career as a Hooters Girl, I lost track of the times every day when my customers would ask me if the name on my name tag was my real name. Now I do not have an unheard of name - unusual maybe - but not unheard of. Plus this was not an establishment that (1) allowed the employees to use fake names and (2) it was not a gentleman's club where the use of said fake names was done to protect the identities of the girls from sleezbag stalker guys.

That said, I did end up using a fake name. I got so fed up of people asking me if my name was my real name, plus I lost my name tag, so I became the infamous Key Lime Pie Hooters Girl. We had a pretty high turnover at Hooters, what with the difficulties arising from knowing the 6 wing sauces and 7 beers we carried, so there was a basket full of old name tags in our office. I came in to start shift and realized that I had "lost" my name tag (or I sold it for $100.00 the night before - don't ask... I didn't). So I grabbed the basket of lost souls and started looking through it and realized that I did not want to be a Bevin or Sammy or Buffy, plus people would still ask me if the name I was sporting over my heart was in fact the one I was dubbed at birth. So I decided to have a little fun with it. In our dry goods area and our walk in, we used the same plastic pieces of identification for the food as we did for the girls' name tags. I am not sure what this says about how management felt about us, but I am not that deep, so it is for a brain more analytical than mine to figure out. Now I could have selected Chili or Pasta Salad, but I decided that from this point in time, I would be known as Key Lime Pie.

Now some of you might ask (most of you probably already know) if this was allowed. Indeed fake names did not conform to the HOA (Hooters of America) rules that were written in stone but I was a veteran employee and could pretty much get away with whatever I wanted as long as it wasn't too over board, so I became Key Lime Pie and loved every minute of it. I will never forget my first customer of the day:

"Hey, is that your real name?"

"Yes sir it is, my folks are from Key West and I grew up in a commune."

"That is pretty unusual."

"Well I have been tempted to change it, but I'm kind of use to it now."

"I like it. Get me a Corona and a slice of you."

Seriously.... At least he knows the proper beer to pair with a tart little slice of Key Lime Pie.


Friday, March 23, 2007

Short Shorts cause infections

To this day, I cannot see a woman (or man for that matter) in a pair of teeny tiny short shorts and not get an involuntary twinge of pain in my secret place. I can only say that I do not miss wearing a uniform that is slightly larger than the clothing little girls use to dress their Barbie Dolls in. Over the years I have worn some ridiculous uniforms as a server/bartender, but the little orange Dolphins put all else to shame.

In case you don't know, the following is (from memory) what the "official" Hooters uniform consists of:

.....We will go top to bottom
1. Hair nicely styled and worn down (BFOQ)
2. Makeup neatly applied - can't look too trashy though
3. A Smile - are you freakin' kidding me
4. A standard Hooters tank top
- the tank top normally will have the name of your store on the front and the back reads "Tastefully Simple Yet Unrefined"
5. A nametag
6. A pair of Orange Dolphin shorts.
- they start at XXS and only go up to M
7. A Pouch
- This is a small brown wait pouch that you use to carry your bank and doubles as cover up for the camel toe the shorts provide.
8. Extra Thick Sheer to the Waist Nylons
- They usually run about $5 a pair and you cut the feet out to make them last longer
9. White Slouch Socks
- I think the only reason they are still around is for this purpose.
10. All White Tennis Shoes
- Some stores still make their girls buy the old Reebok high top versions

Number 6 listed above made my OBGYN A LOT of money over my Hooters career. I cannot stress enough how bad it is for you to encase the entire lower half of your body in tight ass nylons and then cover them with shorts so tight they have to be pried off by the end of shift.

If I have forgotten anything, chalk it up to PSST and let me know. But I will NEVER EVER forget the dreaded "Dolphins Camel Toe" and ensuing requests for Diflucan once a week. I think that I am now immune to seven different kinds of lower region antibiotic. Hmmm maybe one day the shorts will be outlawed.

Now supposedly, the uniform of the Hooters Girl originated because one of the founders had a secretary who went jogging at lunch. This lovely lady wore - you guessed it - tiny Dolphin shorts, a white tank top, slouch socks and high top tennies. Now almost 25 years later, thousands of girls trying to get through college (or whatever) have to put up with raging yeast infections because of someone's awful fashion sense. Oh well, at least I don't have to wear them anymore!!!