I always feel a little uncomfortable, walking into Hooters. I can't get two feet inside the door before some young hottie smiles at me and checks me out and welcomes me. So yeah, it's just like every other place I ever go in my life - except for those orange shorts.
Those orange shorts really make me feel funny in my special place. They need to come off, I say.
The other reason I don't feel comfortable at Hooters is that I like to consider myself a gentleman, and I know that I'll find myself staring. Staring is rude, but I know I'll do it anyway. I'll try to be discreet about it, but I'll still know even if none of the girls know. At Hooters I'm a dirty old man.
Speaking of dirty old men, I hadn't seen my cousin Jeff in a while, so I left my house extra early (like 5:30) so I could swing by Hooters and grab some dinner and catch up with him for a bit.
Everybody - all of you reading this - should get to know Jeff. Everybody loves Jeff. He is one of the world's truly great people.
And, last night, he was one of the world's truly drunk people.
So I had my dinner of a fantastic mushroom and cheese burger and inedible cold and stale french fries, and Jeff and I bullshitted for a couple of hours. The waitress was unfortunately named. There's a lot of that going around lately, but she understood my desire for an unchilled glass, so I decided to forgive her parents for choosing that name. Also, they probably didn't do it to spite me and make me feel sad twenty years later. Probably.
One of the nice things about Hooters, besides Jeff being there and having the opportunity to imagine the girls without their shorts, is that they carry Newcastle on tap.
I had four of the things (1824). In two hours. That's a lot of beer for me, but Newcastle is a fairly safe beer, and it really is quite yummy. No matter what certain owners of certain bars like to think. Hey, I should have put Newcastle on my list for DaveFest!
Jeff, of course, kept up with me easily. Plus he'd already been there for probably several hours. I don't know how he does it. It's like we average each other out. I get to be the lightweight and he gets to drink all he wants and never get sick. He gets to have Hooters girls fawn all over him and I get - well, I think we know what I get.
There was no way I was staying there all night long. UnfortunatelyNamedHootersGirl's top had developed this annoying habit of rising up and exposing her belly, and I'd developed an annoying habit of looking at her belly. So she kept catching me, then looking me right in the eyes and making a big show out of pulling her shirt back down. Like nobody had ever looked at her before I came in with my evilness and my lecherous thoughts.
Oh yeah, at one point I tried to call SassyGirl to ask her if she was going to be pissed at me forever and ever. But SassyBoy answered the phone. He was drunk as shit. I guess they're in West Virginia for some reason (not the wedding that we'd talked about a while back) and that was probably why SassyGirl hadn't been returning any of my calls. Spotty cell phone coverage in West Virginia.
After I got off the phone I told Jeff that I been *gasp* talking with an actual gay guy, and wasn't he worried that the gay cooties would travel through my phone and land on him and make him gay?
He didn't think it was very funny. Homophobia is really Jeff's only problem as a human being. He thinks they're all going to rape him and give him the gay.
I left Hooters at about 8:00. Jeff stayed, as I'd known he would. The girls probably fed him grapes all night or something. Everybody loves Jeff.
Hey! Guess where I went next! Guess guess guess!
Okay, I'll tell you. I went to Rich O's.
The place was about half full. All strangers of course. I ordered a Bell's Kalamazoo Stout and stood at the end of the bar and thought about how much prettier the staff at Hooters was.
After a while, the dude that looks like my grandfather left the end of the bar so I went over there and sat. I took some notes.
No points, I think. Maybe just half a point.
Who are all these people and what are they doing in my bar?
I think that my theory was correct, and that my experiment has been successful. I think.
It's funny how people change, and when they do, it's usually for the worse. Except me of course. I got better.
This chick to my left used to be a brewmaster over in Louisville. Her beers sucked, I thought.
Should I be happy about that? I think so. It's like going back to your old neighborhood. There's all this new construction and everything's different. You decide that it sucks, but then you see that one store that's still there, and it suddenly feels like home again.
ActualGeorge is here!
I got a Diet Coke. I have to pace myself a little because some friends are coming.
Wow, that girl just eye-fucked me. I feel violated. In a good way.
After that, HatGirl and LuckyFucker came in, so I quit writing in my little book. DooRagGirl came in and we all moved over to the island. HatGirl has cute new glasses and a cute new hat. A tough test for my theory, but it withstood that test, I'm happy to say.
Let's see. Eventually the strangers left the living room area so we all went over there. I ordered myself a Guinness (1082).
I'm sure that we all talked about stuff, but I don't remember a lot of it. Just normal stuff I guess. I remember thanking HatGirl for coming in even though I'd been such a moody jerk the last time she'd seen me.
My last beer was a Smithwick's (686).
So, it was a long night, starting at around 6:00, and ending at maybe 12:00. A long night, but a good one.
Nice and relaxing.