"when the going gets tough the tough get.....", well more like it, they go to hooters by golly. yes siree, that fine establishment of big boobie waitresses with bleached blonde hair serving up some delicous spicy chicken wings in their tiny orange shorts and nude colored stockings; that place where the broosky never goes warm because those big boobie mamas put ziploc bags of ice in the pitchers; that place i never thought i'd go to unless i was with a group of dudes or a boyfriend who swore to me he only wanted to eat there because their chicken sandwhich is 'the BEST in TOWN'. but sure enough, i thought wrong. and i'm no longer afraid to admit it, i like eating at hooters from time to time; and yes, i ate there by myself one day when the craving for chicken wings and french fryes hit me like a brick house. but never, and when i mean never- i mean- nevereverever did i think that one day i would sucumb to the desperation of Needing/"wanting" a job there. that was until, one day, i did. sure, sure i like eating at hooters but anybody who knows me knows, i'm no hooters girl. i wear glasses that lorie would call "tina fay" frames. though sure-sure i have rather proportinate titties for my size, neverless i still like to keep them on the D.L as much and as best as possible. nor have i ever been into dating guys for their money, their tan, or their truck; in addition, i could care less for 90% of male attention, 95% of exhibitionists, and pretending to be nice to obnixious anyones 100% of the time. which is why, the idea of applying to be a hooters babe revolted me so much that it took four different trips to the BIG OWL before i could bring myself to walk in and ask for an application. and when i finally did, i bombed. not at first but as the questions went on, i finally cracked into laughter when asked if i was ok with singing and dancing if needed. still i was desperate, so through the chuckle i replied, "sureeee". needless to say, i never got the call back. but believe you me, I was more than perfectly OK with that; however, with the rejection i began to wonder, "am i not good enough for hooters? is it my hair? my eyes? my nose?. what do those other girls have that i don't?" then came monday. i went to hotel zaza to apply for a cocktail waitressing job and with extra time on my hands decided to apply at a few other bars in the area as well. two uptown bars later, i had a frenchman offer to me a cocktail job right there on a spot. not being good enough for hooters while being perfect for a posh upscale bar...,cool with me.