Why Do YOU Go To Hooters?

"Delightfully Tacky" - That's how Hooters advertises their establishment and they live up to it.

Hooters was started by six Florida businessmen who thought, "Hey... lets have a restaurant where hot chicks bring out sub par food while dressed in high-waisted booty shorts and tight tank-tops! We'll call it 'Hooters' and we'll have an owl with great big eyes like he just saw a big pair of hooters himself! Hey... his eyes can even be the two 'O's' in 'Hooters'! Is anyone writing this down!"

I wish I had thought of the idea honestly. I mean, you automatically tap into 50% of the human population with every straight, red-blooded American male (or drooling cavemen) as potential spenders despite whether or not your food is even good (or in my case... gives you the ever-lovin' runs the moment I walk in the front door of my house)!

Let's not kid ourselves here... no one goes to Hooters for the food. HONESTLY! SERIOUSLY! C'MON DON'T LIE TO ME! Guys go to Hooters in hope that they'll get the one waitress that has to put in her five hours of work a week to be able to compete in the Hooters International Swimsuit Pageant.

I fit into that demographic. I'm straight, I'm red-blooded, I'm American, I'm male and, I don't frequent a Hooters but I'd be lying if I said I'd never set foot in one. Only on special occasions have I ever gone to a Hooters i.e. bachelor parties, guys night out, bat mitzvahs, etc. Never have I turned to Breana and said, "You wanna go eat at Hooters tonight? I'm really craving some wings." You know why I would never ask her that? Because she knows I'm not going to eat their food! C'MON!!! SERIOUSLY!!!

Hooters taps into the most blatantly obvious visual stimulation to sell food and people don't care that they're being led like lambs to a slaughter.

"Hey you... you want to eat these chicken wings that are guaranteed to give you the runs later?"

"No! Are you crazy?"

"How about a perky young college student with big hoo-hoo's and booty shorts serves 'em up to you? Would you mind getting the runs then?"

"Hmmm... do you have any artery clogging, high-fat ranch I could dip those wings into?"



"Hi there cutie! I hear you wanted the runs?"

Hooters uses boobs to sell food! They're not well-known for their food! "Man... that Hooters has some GREAT food!" is not something you're ever going to hear!

Don't get me wrong, I've got nothing against Hooters other than it's blatant, "in your face" tactics at selling chicken wings. Hell... Katelyn even considered working at Hooters years ago when we were just dating as a way to make ends meet. They've got no qualms in advertising what's really so awesome about Hooters... they might have well just called it "Boobies"... then you still could have used to huge eyes for the two "O's" in "Boobies".

Quite simply, Hooters leaves less to the imagination than Olive Garden and that's why dudes like it. I don't want to and WILL NOT expose my daughter to that... it'll undoubtedly get shoved in her face eventually no matter how much I try to protect her from it. In the meantime I'll do my best to keep her from it.

Would you take daughter to Hooters? Would you take your kid to Hooters? Would you go to Hooters? Have you been to Hooters? Do you like Hooters (the restaurant AND the body part)? Let's see... tell me anything ANYTHING...

10 things fatherhood has taught me thus far

1. There will be drama every single day. Except for maybe the first day of school.

2. My daughter loves me unconditionally. She doesn't care about any of my flaws.

3. The money in my wallet is not mine. It’s my daughters. I’m just the walking ATM.

4. Sleep is a luxury. It is no longer a necessity or a right.

5. Parenting has made me into a blubbering fool at times. It’s OK for a superhero to cry right?

7. I learn from my daughter to be better, stronger and faster. See #2.

8. Sometimes I think my daughter secretly work for the Taliban on the weekends. See #4.

9. Braiding hair is not as easy as it looks. Really.

10. Beer is dear, but liquor is quicker. See #1.

So what have you learned thus far?

[Posted with iBlogger from my iPhone]

I Am Indeed A Violin

"She'll pull you out on the river - she's gussied up like sin,
You got jack all squat - you're a violin
And you're gonna get played until the money's all gone
Dearly beloved, the fix is on..."

- "The Fix Is On" by Peter Mulvey, from the album The Knuckleball Suite

Yes, it's true, no matter how much I try to deny it.

I am a violin.

How do I know this? My daughter is a master violinist, and doesn't really know it yet. She plays me like nobody can, I'm powerless to stop it. It's like I'm Superman (don't laugh, please) and she is like this five and a half foot tall, nineteen-year old block of kryptonite that wheedle better than God.

Yeah, yeah, I know, I'm 28years older than her, I'm stronger/faster than her. I am adult with a job and rent and I can drink beer anytime I want and drive* anywhere anytime...yet, somehow I can't resist the force of nature that is my Wee Lass.

I could say its because I just can't stand to hear whining, in any way shape or form. Especially that dentist-drill-in-the-form-of-a-kids-voice that so many of the kiddies are able to inflict on the world**. I could say its because the little kids are cute-cuddly-the-future-of-the-humna-race-blah-blah-blah...I could even say its because I am just a weenie who cannot muster the cojones to say no, just because I am the dad and I said so. And these are significant reasons why I am a violin.

But...the real reason is...I look at my daughter and she looks back at me with those impossibly beautiful eyes of hers and she smiles or does the "Happy Dance" and I say something that makes her laugh, and ohmygawd that laugh, that laugh can launch ships and cure the sick and it makes me want fall to my knees and kiss her feet because, because, because...

...she's my big pretty girl and I am dumbstruck***, in awe, totally flummoxed and grateful that I can be in her presence and know that I had something to do with bringing her into the world.

And that makes me a truly lucky man.

Teen Daughter – Curfew, Shmurfew

My teenage daughter has her driver’s license, her own car, her own cell phone, and her own set of friends. In other words, I’m starting to not see her much lately. She’ll take off on a weekend afternoon to hang out, or engage in Nerf-gun wars. She’ll take off on a weeknight to study with friends.
I’m suddenly having to set and enforce curfews.
She’s an adult, and she’s in college, so I’m trying to give her as much curfew freedom as possible. With freedom comes responsibility, right? And what better time to learn responsibility than when you’re living at home with a parent to guide you.
On a recent Saturday night when my daughter was out with friends, she texted me an hour before her midnight curfew: can I stay till 1?
I texted back: where r u?

She texted that they were at a friend’s house, watching the Sound of Music on DVD.
A one hour extension seemed perfectly reasonable to me, especially since she’d given me decent warning. I asked who else was there. She told me – a mix of boys and girls, and the girl’s parents were home. I said fine, be home by 1am.
At 12:30am, she texted again: can I stay till 2?
WTF? When she texted the first time, she would have known what time the movie would end. I was guessing they were moving on to some other entertainment – Wii, or cards, or Craig Ferguson on TV.
I figured this was a teaching moment. Since she wasn’t giving me any compelling reason to push her curfew to 2am, I decided she could live with her first request.
I texted back: no.
Five minutes later my phone rang. (My daughter never calls me. She only texts)
“Hi, Mr. Valadez,” a girls’ voice said. “This is your daughter’s friend Maxine.” (Name changed to protect the innocent.) “Can your daughter sleepover tonight?”
Huh? This was way beyond watching a DVD, or playing Wii. I mean, sleepovers are fun and all, and I’m fine with my daughter sleeping over at a girl’s house. But for me to be asked by my daughter’s friend? In the middle of the night? When I’d already been told there were boys?
“No,” I said. “Tell her to be home by one.”
“It’s just girls sleeping here,” the friend said.
“That’s great. One o’clock.”
Sometimes a dad has to be firm with his daughter.
Especially when he’s usually a pushover.

Cell Phone in the Dryer

My daughter’s cell phone went through the laundry.
There, I said it. And no, it’s not easier to say simply because it happened at her mom’s house. What happened could have happened at my place or anywhere.
You see, my daughter did the laundry, and she doesn’t normally do that chore. She dumped things in the washer one pile at a time. So she didn’t exactly check every pocket for rocks or gum or money.
Or cell phones.
At least I know she won’t be sending any dirty text messages. (Haha. Get it?)
Lesson learned, for my daughter.
My daughter should have emptied her cell phone out of her pocket before she chucked her jeans in the dirty clothes basket.

You’d think she would have noticed when her phone wasn’t near her! She’s a texting maven. Her phone chimes, rings, and buzzes off the hook, even when it’s not exactly on the hook.
To help her learn a lesson, we waited a month (!!!) before replacing the dang thing. And we charged her a pretty penny for her share of it. But replace it we did. She’s back texting again.
“Hey Dad,” she said this morning. “I’m popular!”
“Why do you say that?” I asked.
“I’ve gotten 200 texts in the last 2 days!”
I don’t equate popularity with number of texts, or self esteem with texting. But she’s only eighteen. Let her have her fun, eh?
“Do you have unlimited texting?” I asked.
“Yes!” she said.
“Are you sure? Because if you don’t, you’re paying the over-run charges.”
She went silent. After paying her share of the replacement phone, I can’t blame her.
“Mom says it’s unlimited,” she said.
Huh? “Are you positive?” I asked.
“I just texted her!”
That’s my Pumpkin!

Get a Job!

When an oil change for my daughter’s car turned into major automotive repairs, it created a chance to teach our teen responsibility. You see, she doesn’t own the car; her grandparents do. So who exactly was supposed to pay for the repairs? (Subliminal message to our teen daughter: Get a job!)                                                          

My ex and I talked and came up with a plan.

First, we told our daughter that we didn’t expect her grandparents to fix thier own car and then give it to her for free. It’s not like they’re exec at AIG or anything. There’s no money tree in thier backyard. If there is, they kept it secret from me for 15 years! (Subliminal message to our teen daughter: Get a job!)

Second, we told her she didn’t have to take that car. She could find a comparably priced vehicle that she preferred. On that news, she jumped on craigslist and soon found a kick-ass Maxima at a cheap price. (Props to her for being so motivated.)

Only problem, the Maxima was in Boston. But hey – the guy selling it was in the Army and heading to Iraq, and he needed to unload it quick. He’d even pay to have it shipped here to California. My daughter was thrilled.

Um… does that sound sketchy to anyone besides my ex and me?

Who would check the car out? Why couldn’t this guy sell it to someone in Boston? Had the vehicle been in a collision? Was it considered “totaled”? If we did send a check, who would make sure the car was transported by a reputable shipping company all the way to California?

In other words, we told our daughter no to the Boston Maxima. (Subliminal message to our teen daughter: Get a job!)

Our daughter did some more checking, and realized her grandparent’s car was actually a great deal. The car is the vehicle of her dreams, but it’s functional and affordable. Props to her for doing the research, and being comfortable with her choice! That’s responsibility.

Third, while she does have money that she’s saved over the years toward a car, she doesn’t have enough to buy the car, repair it, and maintain it. Her mom and I said we’d chip in on one condition, and our message was not subliminal: our teen daughter had to get a job!

When I was seventeen, I’d already worked a full year, slinging burgers at Carl's Jr.. I couldn’t wait to make my own cash. Granted, my daughter has been a youth soccer referee since she was thirteen or so, and she refereed for gas for a while. But once her collage social life took off, she didn’t want to work weekends anymore.

Now that her teen independence is on the line by way of a car, she’s taking a new and deeper look at the whole work thing. Does she want to spend her weekends refereeing soccer, or being a cashier at Target? Or would she rather spend her remaining free time with friends? She’s thinking hard.

How long will it take for her to get a job? Who knows. At some point, she’ll decide she wants the car badly enough. Or there will be something else that costs money that will make her realize she needs to get a job.

Then again, maybe she found her grandparents’s money tree.

[Posted with iBlogger from my iPhone]

I’m Not Raising a Princess

A blogging single mom friend recently said that she felt bad for her daughters' self image since she was raising them in a home without a man. I understood her concern – as a single father raising a daughter, I made it a point to stay involved in my daughters life. I wanted to be the male presence as my kid grew up. It's good for girls to grow up confident in their relationships with men.
But the single mom’s reasons for wanting a dad around didn’t resonate with me. She wanted a man to dote on her girls daily, make them feel good about themselves so they’d grow into confident women.

Sorry, but I don’t dote on my daughter. It’s been a conscious decision of mine her whole life. I love having a girl in my family, and I certainly treat her well, but I’m not raising a princess. Maybe it’s because I grew up in a family of boys, I never saw what it was like for a dad to daily dote on any daughters in his home. I saw plenty of affection between my dad and mom, and they were great raising me and my brother. But dote? Ha. We cleaned the toilets and emptied the trash as much as anyone.

I know everyone is different, and people have their own parenting styles and cultural traditions. But as a dad raising a daughter I firmly believe that men who dote on their girls are not giving them confidence – they're taking that confidence away.

When a dad raises his daughter as a princess, a few things can happen. One is that she feels entitled to get anything she wants. That's not healthy. When she grows up and gets married, she’ll treat her husband poorly.

Second, she might only feel good about herself when a man is around giving her his undivided attention, and adoring her. Wouldn’t it be better if she liked herself on her own terms?

My daughter is in college right now. She’s won awards for soccer and softball. She’s a great student. She's looking forward to moving away from home, and exploring the world on her own terms. In short, she’s extremely confident, even without a lifetime of doting.

I didn’t raise a princess. And my nearly-grown daughter feels great about herself. Like a queen.

[Posted with iBlogger from my iPhone]