Seriously? You work at Hooters. What did you expect?

This chick employed by Hooters was told by management in her yearly review that she needed to lose weight. Her story has made national headlines.

First of all, she works for Hooters. Did she think a business called, “Hooters”, aka Big Titties, would evaluate its employees based on non-aesthetic work standards? Similarly, actors are asked all the time to lose weight or gain weight for roles. So do dancers, boxers, wrestlers, professional cheerleaders, porn stars, etc. Is it fair? I don’t know. But, in this case, this chick works for HOOTERS (aka: Big Titties Restaurant.)

I understand the pressures of being a woman and society’s need to dictate to us what our bodies should look like, even in the workplace. I’m a nurse. In the hospital, I prefer to wear baggy scrubs. I’ve been told by co-workers (male and female) that I should wear more form fitting scrubs. When I’ve been seen outside the hospital, I’ve been told (by male and female co-workers), “Wow. I didn’t know you had a rack!” True story. Every time. Very annoying. Every time.

But, here’s the thing: I’m at work. I don’t want to appear sexual, sensual, or attractive. I’m a nurse. I clean up shit and bodily fluids. The hospital really isn’t the time to think about what I look like. That’s just me. If I wanted to be judged and valued for what I look like in the workplace, then I’d be a stripper or a housewife. (Kidding. Housewives, relax!)

In this Hooters chick situation, she works at Hooters. HOOOOOTEEEERS! When you are a patient in the hospital, you could give two fucks what I look like as long as I save your life. And when you go to Hooters, you could give two fucks what the food tastes like (Seriously. It isn’t fine dining.), just as long as it is served up by a good looking chick with a nice set of hooters on a trim body.

Some of you may attack my claim of being a feminist. Go ahead and waste your time. The chick works at Big Titties Restaurant. Think about this before you start writing me e-mails about what a bitch I am.

Big. Titties. Restaurant.

Now, if I were to open a restaurant called "Hawt Dawg!", my employees would need to have huge bulges dangling from a rock hard body. I mean: I'm naming the place Hawt Dawg! (You entrepreneurs out there, don't you dare take my restaurant idea.) Would I have great food? Fuck no! Would I have hot dogs with hawt dawgs! You bet your hooters I would!

So, once again remember: if you work for Big Titties Restaurant and have profited off your big ol' titties in the past, don't be shocked if your job is on the line because you're starting to look a little chunk by some arbitrary standard.

Never forget that you chose to work for Big Titties Restaurant to begin with. This isn't Thailand. You weren't forced into a sexually objectifying job. Deal with it.

Thanks.

You don't like Jack White? Really?

I confessed to my friend of my borderline unhealthy obsession with Jack White. (It’s not really a confession since I’ve written about it in newspaper articles, my blog, status updates, etc.) But she was shocked. She said, “Why would anyone be obsessed with him? That’s a weird person to be obsessed with.”

It hit me that not everyone has to hear his voice at least once a day, in order for the day to feel complete. (True story.)

So, for you, my dear friends, I have compiled the top five Jack White performances/videos that, if you aren’t already, worshipping him as a musician and overall eccentric quirky talented person, you will by the end of the fifth video.

Enjoy.

1. Jack White in It Might Get Loud making a guitar


2. Live performance of Ball and Biscuit


3. Live performance of Jolene


4. Video of Treat Me Like Your Mother


5. Live Performance of Bang, Bang

CNN Doll Studies: Asians, Latinos, Indians, etc. not included... Again.

CNN did a pilot study to determine the status of children’s “racial beliefs, attitudes, and preferences.” This study is similar to the doll studies done by Kenneth and Mamie Clark in the late 1930’s and early 1940’s. CNN has found that white children have a bias toward lighter skin dolls and black children do as well, but not to the extent as white children do. In the Clarks’ study, they found similar results in that both white and black children associated “good and pretty” with white and “bad and ugly” with black.

The Clarks’ study was done in the 1930’s and 1940’s. It’s 2010. I would have hoped that CNN would make their study more timely and a reflection of what race relations are like today. 133 children were chosen from Northeastern and Southeastern regions of the United States: 75 African American and 58 white children. Asian, Indian, Arab, Latino, etc. children were left out of the study.

Once again, racial issues are only limited to white and black. The rest of us? Who cares?! We don’t matter.

CNN made a good half-ass effort in bringing us some groundbreaking news, but in 2006, filmmaker, Kiri Davis, did an award winning documentary, A Girl Like Me, replicating the Clarks’ Doll Studies. She also found similar results.

I would be curious to know the racial beliefs, attitudes and preferences of children of other ethnicities. We’re here in America, too.

I want to know what would happen if we included other races and ethnicities in the study. Like, if I were a kid (By the way, I'm Filipino.) and asked “Which one is good at math?” Well, I would try to pick the doll that most resembled an Asian kid. Or, “Which one will most likely grow up to be a doctor?” I’d try to pick the doll that most resembled an Indian kid. And after the recent crowning of the smoking hot Miss USA, if I were asked, “Which one is most likely to be smoking hot?” I’d try to pick the doll that most resembled a Lebanese chick.

Of course, I would not be invited into the study, nor would my children (that I don’t have.)

CNN is advertising their report as a “landmark” study. Um. I don’t think so. They're just repeating something that most people didn’t know was already done over and over again.

Sex and the City 2? Everybody loves a train wreck.

I'm probably going to catch a lot of heat for saying this from female tv/movie watchers, but I am not a Sex and the City fan. I don't hate the franchise, but I didn't run out to see the first movie and I won't see the second (unless there will be alcohol beverages on hand). SATC feigns to be a show about female empowerment and individuality when in close inspection the show purports 1950's values dressed up in designer clothes. Fancy Ferragamos don't fool me into thinking that the characters on this show are strong independent women. Nice try.

Each character's main focus throughout the run of the series was catching a man, maintaining a man, keeping a man, putting up with a man, etc, etc, etc. Tiresome. Banal. Trite. The series tried to pull out story lines of the characters exhibiting sexual independence, but each foray into sexual empowerment ended with the character, in truth, wanting a man or wanting something from a man. Sexual fulfillment really had nothing to do with it at all. Tiresome. Banal. Trite.

From Carrie to even Samantha, these characters would toss away career opportunities, meaningful experiences to fulfill themselves, and anything else that would contribute to their personal enrichment for a man. In Carrie's case, she is more than willing to endure the trials and tribulations of a dude that pretty much treated her like an insignificant piece of furniture since their introduction. But, in the end, Carrie won over this sack of shit who, in real life circumstances (not in pretend tv/movie land), would probably only have stayed with her simply because any other woman who cared and respected herself wouldn't. Mr. Big is really not a prize unless you like unreliable and selfish men. (Some of you do. Yes. You do.)

And I won't get into the show’s blatant display of neoliberalism. As a feminist, a Marxist, an anti-capitalist, and an anarchist, SATC can kiss my ass. I’ve watched episodes of the franchise. I have to admit it is good fun to dismantle and uncover the “feminist” ideals of the show.

So, don't let me stop you from watching SATC 2. Everybody loves a train wreck. The women of the City are back to have "sex" just as long as there is male validation involved.

Yawn. Yawn.

Straight? Gay? Bi? Undecided? None of your business?

Obama’s nomination of Elena Kagan to the Supreme Court has brought on, for whatever reason, speculation of Kagan’s sexual orientation. Some have reasoned Kagan is gay because she played softball. (So, playing softball undoubtedly means you’re gay? Right. Sure. That makes sense.)

The problem with all of this is: What does that have to do with Kagan’s ability to function as a Supreme Court Justice? Nothing. This is an obvious answer.

The next question that comes to mind is: What is sexual orientation and sexual identity?

It’s a personal matter. A friend of mine once said, “There’s nothing you can do about it, if someone thinks you’re gay.” This is true. There are situations where a “gay” guy sleeps with women or a “straight” guy sleeps with dudes. This does not necessarily signify that each individual is gay or straight.

People have sex for various reasons: lust, love, companionship, boredom, curiosity, money, security, conformity, loneliness, comfort, drugs, bus tickets, moon pies, etc. The act means less than the intent and the true meaning of the intent is determined by the individual.

Does all of this matter? No. It’s semantics.

Sexual preference/orientation/identity is a subjective experience. For outsiders to conjecture about what a person is and isn’t, is time wasted. It’s a meaningless exercise.

In the end, labels mean nothing.

As in the case with anti-gay activist, George Rekers, who hires male prostitutes, he may honestly think he's not gay even though he may have sex with men. Who knows? However, in Rekers case, his acts and intents are hypocritical, convoluted, manipulative, and indicative of malevolence.

Once again, labels mean nothing.

Is Hillary Pimping Out Bill?

It’s no secret that I have a mad crazy crush on Bill Clinton. I get this e-mail this morning from “him” with the e-mail subject: “Join me in New York.” I hurriedly clicked open the e-mail just in case it was actually Bill answering my fan mail/love letters. (Just kidding. I don’t really send him love letters...... Or do I?)

It was, of course, not an e-mail directly sent to me, but a mass e-mail sent out to past Hillary supporters asking for donations to help pay off her campaign debt. If you donate $5 or more, you are eligible to be chosen to spend a day (night?) with Bill Clinton.

I did what any chick with an insane crush on the former president would do, I sent him five bucks, a head shot, a body shot, and some other tasteful photos.

With the prospects of meeting my number one crush over sixty on the near and hopeful horizon, I have to ask: Is Hillary finally pimping out Bill? -For only five dollars? -And for the second time?

Who cares?

I’m in.

The Freeze Out

Sorry is just a four letter word... with y on the end. -Eric Cartman

I've done some pretty fucked up things at the end of some of my relationships, but nothing takes the cake like the freeze out. I've never actually done the freeze out to anyone. I'm more of a fade out kind of chick. The fade out is where you gradually decrease the amount of time and attention you give to your significant other and before he/she realizes it, the relationship is over. The freeze out is more abrupt. Like a punch in the face, if you will. One minute the two of you are together, making plans for the next day or whatever, but then BAM! He/she just doesn't ever talk to you again. He doesn't return calls and texts. He vanishes. Disappears. Without an explanation. Without a good-bye. Or even a fuck you.

Nope. Not even a fuck you.

What is most humiliating about the freeze out is that your ass doesn't even know you're being frozen out. So, you carry on with normal everyday activities as if you two were still together. You text. You call. You expect that plans you made two days ago are actually going to happen. Since you had no idea that your significant other broke up with you without you knowing it, you give him the benefit of the doubt that he is just busy or his phone is on the fritz or even that he got hit by a car. What other reason would there be that this relationship that you thought was going splendidly was, in fact, over.

It's not until day 3, you start to worry. You call your friends. You ask around. Have you seen him/her? Maybe he/she is really dead? Maybe he/she is lying in an ICU as John or Jane Doe and no one knows he/she is incapacitated. You think that there is no way that your dude/chick is just not calling you back. Impossible!

But then, a friend of a friend of a friend will inform you that your boyfriend was spotted out on the town last night alive and well.

“Did he have any scratches, lacerations or bruises that would indicate he was in some sort of traumatic accident?” you ask.

“No,” your friend of a friend of a friend replies.

“Did he look like he was suffering from amnesia from an accident that possibly did not leave any visible marks?”

“No.”

Oh... Well. Fuck.

So, you commence to have conversations with yourself because your boyfriend (now ex-boyfriend, you guess) will not call you or even acknowledge that you existed in his life. You try to achieve closure with yourself through your long truly pitiful discussions with just yourself. You start to think you have multiple personality disorder or that there is something wrong with you because these long drawn out conversations last for hours. You maybe try one more time to contact him through e-mail, text, or a voicemail. You even consider hiring a skywriter or sending a telegram. But these efforts go unanswered. You have been frozen out, honey. And it's fucking cold.

Throughout the next week, you will suffer through the stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and then acceptance that this person you spent time with had really no respect for you at all. -Not enough to even let you know that you have been let go. And you run over your mind the last time you were together. You are embarrassed that you trusted this person.

After all this, self-probing and wretched humiliation, you come to the realization that this person can go fuck himself.

And this is finally your closure.

You thaw yourself out from the freeze out and move the fuck on.