Really... She works at Hooter's.

Today, my lame life has his an all time lame. I'm sitting alone in my home listening to my microscopic television blast out some Big Bang Theory and eating my sorrows away in Pringles calories, stewing over New Year's. Let me set the scene for you... our friends were here from out of town to enjoy the New Year party being held a few blocks over. Ever heard that Ke$ha song that goes, "gotta water bottle full of whiskey in my handbag..."? Fuck the water bottle. I had the whole damn Crown bottle in my bag, with every intention of showing the boys what it meant to be a real lady. Also known as getting so wasted I call my older disapproving very proper businessman brother who lectures me about the dangers of alcohol poisoning bawling about how much I miss him and want him to move home from Minnesota. You see, Daddy never drinks anything but Crown. Only the best, top shelf, purple-bag liquor. I must have gotten his love of expensive heat, because I can't count the number of shots that I did but I can tell you that the friend taking them with me was so wasted he had to stop on the way home. Anyway, so Crown in bag, I was ready to go. Until I got a "firm talking to" about the people that I wasn't allowed to talk to or communicate with at this party. Whatever, I just brushed it off. So it WAS, after all, NYE, and I was wearing my hooker boots because that is the only time that is socially acceptable.
I didn't make it out the door without smearing my eyeliner and chucking my heels at the wall.
That aside, I wasn't going to let my night be ruined. Amongst the bragging of the night, our friend Alan was waving a piece of a napkin in front of my face. "See this? Katherine. Waitress. Hooter's. Gave us her number!"
The word "us" instantly threw me for a loop.
"Who is 'us'?" I asked timidly. Moreso pissed off, less so timid. "Well," I heard that tone in Chet's voice. "I just helped a little."
Helped a little? As soon as he was out the door his friends were squealing like pigs. He didn't just help a little, he hit on her to the point of inviting her out. Then, Alan charmed her with a little bit of his really bad jokes and she handed the number to him, but NOT until Chet had given her his number. When confronted, "It was just a waitress."
NOT OKAY.
So I got over it, reminding myself of the delicious Crown waiting for me inside of that Coach bag. Until I stepped onto the patio.
"Just show me your tits, come on! I want to see them!" To a different girl.
Do you know that feeling when your stomach drops out of your body and just makes you want to die? I experienced that feeling in the worst way I ever have. "What did you just say?"
"Nothing," was a quick reply. Even still just typing about it makes me nauseous. He keeps telling me that it's the same as looking at porn or at a magazine, and it's not okay. I'm not sure what I'm going to do. It's nawing at me.
But come on.
Two girls, one night...
for the love of God, she works at Hooter's.