I have to go "work the door" at the rink this morning, which is kind of like "working the room" minus heat, cocktails, networking potential, intelligent snippets of conversation, and the possibility of getting laid, or hired.
Before I go, can I confess to letting out a bit of a snort when I heard a Canadian woman was handed a three-year sentence this week for fatally stabbing her husband. That's the same time an Australian woman received this month for killing her old boyfriend's dog.
At least those women will get food, likely some free skill training, and a warm bed. And sure, that bed may have some big butch named Carla lying in it, but after two, unpaid, three-hour shifts working the rink door today, I'll be looking for a room with a little padded wallpaper.
At least tonight's dinner is looked after. We're going to Hooters – proud sponsor of my son's hockey jerseys. The girls at Hooters won't be wearing as many layers as I will today, but boy can they work a room. Teetering with size 12.5 feet on the edge of puberty, Jack can't see beyond the menu or the 38" flat screens fixed on TSN, but I notice my lessons on making eye contact are falling a bit short.
Hooters bills itself as "delightfully tacky yet unrefined" but I give them thumbs up for good food in a fun, family atmosphere. While the name may suggest cleavage and jugs of beer, what you actually get is a perky, young student working her way through school. I like the Buffalo shrimp, Cobb salad, deep-fried dill pickles, and the fact that they stepped up to pitch in with hockey expenses.
I'd better go. It'll take me an hour to squeeze into my tank top and orange short shorts uniform. This Hooter Mom is workin' the door.
Hooters is located in at 120 Main Street in Dartmouth.
I don't know about you, but when someone tells me I can't do something, it just makes me want to do it more.
This blog has been a bit of a selfish ball and chain, but I love it. It has brought me new friends, and exciting adventures – like shitting my pants on the roller coaster at Wonderland, compliments of General Motors. It has given me an outlet, and it has made the cash register ring on occasion at businesses around Havenot – and that's what I really set out to do.
Like most relationships – you have to grow together, or to quote an interesting character I met on the golf course, "You wind up feeling like you're sleeping with your sister".
And nobody wants that.
So send me your events, your products, your feedback. I promise to try and get my edge back.
I LICK YOU TOO.
Say it better than I can. From Inkwell Boutique.
MY DAY JOB
Click to see what I do when I'm not offending people. A résumé of sorts.
Halifax Magazine's interview with Havenot's snarkiest blogger. At Atlantic News or click to read online.
HALIFAX BROAD WINS MARKETING'S CREATIVE FACEOFF
Click for juicy details and one heck of an acceptance speech.
I just waved goodbye to my child – with slightly less arm waddle I might add – then heard a plane skidded off the runway in Moncton, which is where he is headed to board a plane to Newfoundland. Fuck.
All of a sudden I have this urge to follow the bus, just to tell him how much I love him. Again.
Good thing I tell the little bastard that several times a day anyway.
I just typed "Jack snapped his wire" into our Orthodonist's online booking request form, which resulted in an uncontrollable fit of laughter and I had to explain to Jack what was so damn funny.
He didn't find it nearly as funny as I did. Kids are so stupid.
We are off to beautiful, industrial Cape Breton tomorrow for 5 days at the hockey Provincials. That is my March break, so if anyone is going anywhere warm and sunny, well, I don't want to hear about it. But you will be hearing about my March break. And it won't be pretty. I guarantee it.
In true Canadian fashion, let me begin by apologizing for the size and boldness of the above font. Not sure how to change that. As for me, I used to say I was a hockey Mom until that whole Sarah Palin thing, so now I am just a warm, yet poorly dressed woman who recently won Marketing's Creative Faceoff – which really didn't change my life, other than it afforded me new sneakers. I am a writer and art director at Broad Creative, a small-but-mighty advertising and design agency. When I am not working, I am thinking about working, picking up dog shit, or crying into my Tim's cup in some god forsaken rink parking lot, wishing I had a challenging job in a real city, with benefits like pay and nice clothes and intelligent conversations that don't start with "fuckin' cold in here, eh?"
Ooh, I can't wait to get the positive feedback from today's spew of bile from deep within.
I have to shower and steal some firewood somewhere, so Cousin Sarah can get her house staged for the photographer. If you see a fat, middle-aged woman near your backyard woodpile, please don't shoot me, or if you do shoot me, aim for the heart.
Apparently I don't have one anyway.
Have a lovely, nut-free weekend. My self included.
QUOTE OF THE DAY, AND QUITE POSSIBLY THE LIFETIME
You don't wish for a lighter load, you wish for broader shoulders.