hooters

Drunken Recollection… DrunkWonderings

Posted on by sgottahurt

While boozing with my fellow booze hounds not to long ago, a few wonderings popped in my head.  These are them (is that proper English or proper drunk-speak?):

1) As a child, I was a fan of the wrong film series.

"I've made a huge mistake."

For most of my life, it’s been Star Wars all the way for me, baby.  And as an (alleged) adult, I’ve paid for it dearly, both figuratively and literally.

  • Figuratively… in the sense that James Bond would have fostered my inner Lothario, as opposed to Luke Skywalker inspiring my inner whiny “hero.”  (Granted, I could have looked to Han Solo, but he didn’t have a lightsaber and couldn’t use the Force.)
  • Literally… in the sense that I spent way too much fucking money on toys in a bid to recapture my lost youth.

On the other hand, if I had idolized Agent 007, I might have lived a life of danger (both in and out of the bedroom), but definitely his love of gadgetry would one day complement mine.

2) I should have picked different friends.

"Will the real Slim Shady please stand up?"

Some of my friends I’ve known since I was four years old.  And at times I’m left to wonder, what does a kid know?  I already mentioned that I chose to make Luke Skywalker my hero and not James Bond when I was a young ‘un.  The incident that triggered this thought:

  • A friend-that-shall-go-unnamed-(though-he-knows-who-he-is) ran around Hooters getting the entire staff to sign the calendar he purchased for his toddler son.  Although one girl was clever (and inappropriate).  She wrote:

May your dreams be wet, and your diapers stay dry.  (Or something like that.)

  • To be honest, it was the gayest heterosexual thing I’ve ever witnessed.

3) Why does twelve seem like it’s a plural form of twelf, like how it is with pants and pant?

4) If going “number one” and “number two” means what they mean, what would going “number three” on up represent?

BONUS SOBER WONDERING, WHICH I GUESS SHOULD BE A JusWondering:

Why can’t I stop watching this video?

Here’s the shortened version for a maximized quick hit:

Drunken Recollection… Cogs And Truth Bombs (And A Hooters’ Barstool Trick?)

Posted on by sgottahurt

gearsThis may be surprising, but I can get talkative when I’m drunk.  I know, right! 

What this means is that I theorize and pontificate, and generally make an ass of myself.

But sometimes ideas occur to me that are worth remembering…

For example, one idea I had was how people are a lot like cogs.  Some people are big cogs and others are small cogs.  And they spin at different rates to keep up with each other or because of each other.  Some of them don’t touch but are rotating due to a shared gear.  Okay, there was a whole lot more that went into this, but you get the idea.  I rambled on and on for awhile (remember: druh-unk), and it seems to be happening again.  Moving on…

Another thought that entered my noggin was the notion of truth bombs, and how I wish you could drop them on anyone and everyone to let the other person know where you stand in your thoughts about them.

I was reminded of two movies that used truth bombs: For Love of the Game and Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. 

In For Love, Kelly Preston’s character tells Kevin Costner’s character that she wishes people could carry around chalkboards on which they could write what they were thinking.  He asks her what she would write, and she writes on a napkin, “Yes.”  Then they do it.  Well, it goes down something like that, but that example is not really what I’m hoping to convey.

In Eternal Sunshine, at its finale (SPOILER ALERT!), Jim Carrey and Kate Winslet confess all their faults to each other before trying to get back together after wiping their memories.  Yeah, that’s a little closer, but I digress.

I thought this concept was pretty original, but then I uncovered the definition for truth bomb in the Urban Dictionary:

(noun) A fact or piece of knowledge that, when told to a listener, is devastating to the listener’s argument or world view.
“Dude, I dropped a truth bomb on my priest at confession yesterday. I slipped him The DaVinci Code, which disproves his whole religion!”
Tupac dropped truth bombs on the American people, letting them know what it’s like to live in the ‘hood.

So… so much for all that. 

How about a Hooter’s waitress performing the infamous rodeo barstool trick to wipe the memories of this post (you hold up a napkin with the word “Yes” on it).  My cog just spun yours, and you’re welcome:

(SIDE NOTE: Why is everyone at the news station just going along with this?  And in the morning?  And as a reminder about something called “Wings for Kids”?  And did you see the guy in burgundy in the background trying to watch without getting caught watching?  And… just… why?)

I Am Thankful For… Beer

Posted on by sgottahurt

Me wantee

Me wantee

What color would my urine be?

What color would my urine be?

It is Thanksgiving and what better day to give thanks to the greatest gift of all… beer.  And not just any beer – all beers (which I guess technically is any beer… no, any is not all-inclusive… you almost got me, inner dialogue… but doesn’t dialogue suggests two… do I have two voices in my head?)

Anyhasenfefferincorporated, back to the beer.  I was thinking about my early days of drinking, and how my initial inclination toward “better tasting drinks” shifted toward “cheaper drinks.”

In the early Canada/Impress-Hooters-Waitresses phase, I was all about Labatt Blue.  As I immatured, the pocketbook gave way to Bud Light.  (“So you’re telling me Labatt’s a buck more because it’s imported?  From Canada?  Which is next door to Detroit?”)  Then as my friends’ digestive systems could no longer tolerate BL, we’ve since moved onto Miller Lite.  (I’m a stalwart trailblazer that bucks the trends and divines my own path!)

Truth is, my beer is whatever’s on special that night.  Corona, American Ale, PBR, Michelob, Coors – no pickiness here.  It’s probably the only thing I’m not picky about, and for that I’m the most thankful of all.

Me

I don't know these people, but I do know their passion... no, not for each other... ah, forget it

JusWondering… My Owl Irks

Posted on by sgottahurt

Hooters, The Restaurant, much like The Owl it’s “based” on, is here to stay.  (Well, I guess it depends on which owl species, but I digress.)

Also like The Owl, The Restaurant isn’t as cool as it used to be.  “Hey look!  That owl can turn his head all the way around, almost!”

Upon my recent visit, it occurred to me why I don’t go there as often as I had in my youth.  (Okay, it happened to be my second visit this week.  We went for a “change of pace” on Monday, and they informed us that Thursday was Buy One Boneless Wing Get One Free Day, and that Friday everyone was dressing up for Halloween…  I’ll let you know how it goes.)

Anywow, the reason Hooters has lost its luster, for me at least, is the gimmicky things that they still insist on doing.  My Pet Peeves AKA My Owl Irks are as follows:

1) Ladies, don’t write your name on the napkins.  Don’t sign it with a heart.  Don’t googily goo it up with your real name and your nickname.  You can do this on the receipt, though.  It doesn’t affect me the same.
 
2) Shit-can the birthday song.  Unless it’s for a twelve year old boy (“Hey look!  That owl tried to scoop up that wiener dog cuz he thought it was a squirrel!”), this routine simply puts a spotlight on the biggest douche-bag in the restaurant.  The only other exception – friends trying to embarrass a buddy.

3) I can open my own containers.  Be it A-1 Steak Sauce or a tub of ranch, I can handle unscrewing and ripping just fine.  I often unscrew by myself and rip ones at home – wait, that doesn’t sound right.

4) The ketchup faces must stop.  Stop.  Seriously.  Explaining that the face is “hungover” helps no one keep their dignity.

5) If I want merchandise, I will ask you.  Isn’t it enough you talked me into curly fries?  What am I made of – money?  The calendar’s on sale, you say… And there’s not a single house pet?

6) Hula hooping your boredom away makes me bored.  How about sword fighting?  Perchance arm-wrestling?  Maybe arm-wrestling with oil in a pool with full body contact?

7) We’re not buying that you like us if you sit with us.  I do buy that you like me if you feed me a french fry.  (This happened to me once… I had no follow up so nyeh.)

8) You charged me for a potato salad that’s your lunch?   Well, there goes $1 off your 30% tip.