Hooters: It’s Where You have a Hoot!

As my son and I walked through the  mall attempting to decide where to eat.  His eyes looked up at the bright orange sign and said, “Why don’t we give Hooters a try?”

I sighed, “Umm. Let’s go somewhere else that you might like to try!”

“Mom! Everybody says Hooters is the place where you have a hoot!”

“A hoot?”

“Yes! A hoot!

“Who says that?”

“I don’t know! I just heard it.”

His nine-year old eyes innocently looking up at me, “Can we go?”

“It’s not really a place to have a hoot. It’s just a restaurant. And I have heard the food is terrible.”

“But I want to try it!”

“How about you pick something else? And we can have ice cream afterwards?”

I know the great parental bribe! I have never pretended to be  above it. At the same time, it was my last attempt to change the subject. How did I explain to my son that I did not want to eat at Hooters because the woman were objectified in short shorts and low-cut tank tops. Was it really time for this conversation?

“Mom! Come on! Please! Please!”

If anyone was stubborn it was him and he wasn’t giving up!

“It looks fine. Can we go?”

And with that I diverted the subject, “Let’s have lunch later, and go check-out the skateboard shop.”

Crisis averted! But who knows for how long?

When is the right time to discuss the objectification of woman and sex? Can it be avoided? If so, for how long?


The Green Swamp Monster and Poolside Beauties

I couldn’t have been more thrilled when my husband proposed a Vegas getaway! I have a love for the Vegas poolside attractions and the endless people watching possibilities.  I packed my favorite poolside attire and was game for a fun trip!

The moment we arrived I slipped on my shiny green halter swimsuit and we headed straight for the pool.  I kicked up my feet and rested on a lounge chair ready to dive into my James Patterson Novel.  I looked up to take a sip of my passion punch,  and  that was when two gorgeous young Victoria Secret models plopped in the lounge chairs beside me.

I felt slightly envious of their itsy bitsy bikinis and more envious when they ordered deep-fried chicken fingers. It was too much to stand as I thought of my spinach salad and bottled water I had for lunch. If only I could eat like that...My cheeks turned green the envious sea monster began to lurk under my skin.

I looked over to Mr. MBA with his back to the sun, slowly beginning to snore, and burn in the sun. I took another sip of my passion punch. As another young beauty passed us glancing up and down first at Mr. MBA, then me with a guilty look.

You know the one where you realize you didn’t make the cheering squad.

She sauntered over to the models with her clipboard, “Would you like to be on our guest list at our club this evening?”

My neurotic brain went into overdrive - how come she didn’t ask me? Of course I never would have went! But it would have been nice to be asked…

It was at that moment my brain clicked to the scene from Knocked Up. It’s  when the doorman refuses to let the girls in the club and says “It’s not cause you’re not hot, I would love to tap that ass. I would tear that ass up. I can’t let you in cause you’re old as fuck. For this club, you know, not for the earth.”

Those three little words old as fuck passed through my head but in my mind Vegas is place of illusion, a mirage of beauty, and attempts to mask the ugly that is behind the glittery lights. I might be in my mid-thirties but I can still rock it!

Age is a state of mind and a symbol of beauty. Perhaps, I never will ever have my pre-baby body or perfect legs. But I still have my groove and I can do that in my kitchen any day of the week. No guest list required..

As I took another sip of my passion punch I looked over at Mr.MBA snoring in the sun, his fuzzy belly glistening with sweat, and his skin boiling to the point of lobster red. I thought to myself it couldn’t have possibly been me she passed-up. It must be the lovable company I keep and I wouldn’t trade that for any day of the week.

Have you ever had any poolside moments? Do you think the link between beauty and age will ever change in our society?

True Blood and Mom

Hurray! My mom is visiting us this week! But it also means my True Blood obsession would be interrupted or would it? I had to know what happened to Eric? Was he going to feed on Sookie? And where did my Alcide go? These questions rumbled through my brain.

It was 8:45  pm my palms were sweaty, my addiction needed to be fuelled…I looked over my Mother was quietly reading her Debbie Macomber novel. This was my moment to escape downstairs to my one favorite summer show and see what would happened next!

Mr. MBA saw the look in my eye, he knew the intensity was more than the need for one drop of V! He watched as I arose from the chair, and nonchalantly said, “Well! I’m going to go watch True Blood! You can come watch it mom. I mean, well… If you want? But that book you are reading looks good! So I can understand if you just want to read.”

Mr. MBA piped up “Oh! You know she needs to go to her cave on Sunday for an hour. She might eat you alive if you disturb her!”

I rolled my eyes and bolted down the stairs, “Well! I have to go now!”

I successfully escaped, the awkward conversation, plopped on the couch, and then heard my mothers footsteps come down the stairs.

“I think I will watch it too”

“Oh! Okay! Just to give you the heads up its gory, raunchy, and is about vampires.”

“One of those strange shows…”

“Well! It’s fun! And I’m not the only one that watches it you know! Your other daughters do too!”

It was with that I settled in for questions and commentary. Yet, it didn’t happen…

She giggled, she laughed, and at the end her only response, “How could you watch such a strange show?”

“It’s your fault! You raised me to be strange!”

She sighed, “I believe you get that from your father’s side.”

Who knew watching True Blood with my mom could be so much fun!  I even suspect she may have watched a few episodes on her own from time to time…

What was your most odd TV or Movie moment with your parents?

The Neglected Blog

In the morning it gives you the look, as you greet it, and head out the door. The look it gives you is unforgettable and reminds you – yes we need to spend more time together.  You promise your blog tonight will be the night I will write a post just for you.

It waits, patiently waits, like the neglected lover, waiting for the return of its first love. It never gives you grief only the passive-aggressive guilt you feel for neglecting it. It’s waiting for that image of flowers to appear or a kind word or two….

Instead it receives a barrage of excuses not tonight I’m sleepy, I have dishes to do, dogs to walk, legs to run, children’s scraped knees to tend too. You constantly put it off yet it waits, quietly, and silently for your return.

The moment you begin typing it knows you are back and you vow that you will post at least three times a week. A promise which you know will be broken. But all is fair in love and blogging.

Luckily, for me my blog is very forgiving….

Have you ever neglected your blog?  If so how did you get back on track?