White Dade Meets the Cowgirls or How to Get a Free Meal at Hooters
I walked into Oxygen Lounge Saturday night and they were not hard to spot. Three girls, dancing on poles in the “VIP” section, with a throng of male admirers drooling over their every move. I asked the security guard “Are those those FSU girls?” “Yeah,” he responded shaking his head, “they need to get they ass back to Tally. Fuck the Noles.” Apparently the VIP guard at Oxygen used to be a different kind of Guard at UM, and was one of the few whose NFL career did not pan out. I stepped to the velvet tope and leaned over to a short girl in a black dress sitting on a couch. “Are you Jenn Sterger?” I asked. She gave me a look like “Maybe. Who the fuck wants to know?” So I leaned over and introduced myself, which garnered a similar look saying “Okay, and that is supposed to mean what to me exactly?” “I’ve conversed with your father,” I said. It took a second for her eyes to light up, but out of all the people I’ve met through this blog, no one had ever been more excited to meet me as Jenn Sterger. “OMIGOD! Are you White DADE?!” I nodded and she immediately came out from behind the velvet rope. “Oh. My God! Funniest shit I have ever read in my life!” I expect this same reaction from all of you should we ever meet face to face.
I had snuck over to Oxygen from my usual spot in the corner of the Tavern, not mentioning to anyone where I was going. I had been personally invited by both Jenn's father and her internet Guru, so don’t go thinking this was some whacko stalker job or something. We talked briefly and she invited me out to dinner the next night. It really is a wonderful world where you can spend 1500 words saying why someone is everything that is wrong with America and in return they buy you dinner. (Jessica Cutler, you’re next, I expect the same treatment.) So Jenn told me to call her. Of course, of all the weekends for the screen on my Razr to go out, this would be the one. So when a minor, minor celebrity wants to give you their phone number, you can’t store it. She understood though: She is also the owner of that god awful technological advent known as the Razr phone. But unlike most pretty girls who tell me drunk in crowded clubs they will call me the next day, Jenn Sterger was true to her word.
I had initially thought the dinner would be me, Jenn, and maybe a couple of random friends of hers. Not so much the case. “A lot of people wanted to meet you” she told me on the phone. And not all of them were fans. Apparently some of the guys from Warchant.com who had had some not-so-nice things to say about my post were in attendance, as well as the two new Cowgirls for this year. They are making this a sort of secondary mascot for the ‘Noles. “Groups of girls always work” one of them told me. “Look at the Pussycat Dolls or the Spice Girls.” At any rate, a few of the guys were very nice and we talked about various guy-type things. But a couple were giving me the stink eye most of the night. Maybe they were just mad that I was not the fat, dorky loser they’d hoped I was.
In an odd twist of irony, guess where my dinner with the Cowgirls was held? That’s right. Hooters. It seemed appropriate as myself, Jenn and one of the new girls had all worked there so we immediately were able to swap “God, Hooters is a lousy place to work” stories. But the conversation was more interesting than that. I learned that Jenn Sterger is actually a bigger UM fan than I am, which isn’t really saying much. I also learned a little more about her family, her background, and her future plans. And as much as I’ve said about her over-exposure, I still maintain (and read through the original post if you think I’m contradicting myself) that she is just running with the ridiculous ball she has been thrown. Why she is famous still baffles me; in person she is attractive, but not going to turn any heads in South Beach. She even admitted she was not the best looking of the original three (and the new generation actually takes it up a notch) But for various reasons she explained she has gotten a break and is making the most of it, and I think we all would do the exact same thing.
I learned a few things during this dinner, though. Despite my pseudo-racist attitude towards hot girls, I learned that not ALL of them are awful, shallow people. But in order to be in that small subset of personable, witty hot girls, you have to have some sort of unusual background. Jenn was a band geek who got hot at the right time. Another one of the girls was raised all over Europe, so was probably not exposed to the American custom of not expecting beautiful women to have personalities. When I asked Jenn about the selection process for the new Cowgirls (not exactly run like the Miss Florida pageant) she said that obviously, you had to be hot, but more importantly you could not be a drama queen. You could not be full of yourself and you had to be a good person. And as cheesy as that sounds, I got a genuine feeling from the two new girls that they fit into that mold. At least for now. Jenn was certainly not fake towards me, but after a year of being semi-famous, it is hard not to talk about what you’ve done. I think a year ago she would have come off the same as the two girls who hadn’t appeared in Maxim.
We also discussed our mutual disdain for Tucker Max (apparently he ripped her too but in a much more explicit and unintelligent way, which is why I got a free dinner and he got, well, a book deal, but let’s not go there) and she gave me some post ideas for the future. She also said that Johnson needed to “cool it,” which seemed odd given that I am unaware of any anti-Cowgirl fervor emanating form the virtual pages of Johnson 3:16. When I relayed the message to him, it sparked a long drunken rant involving him wearing a blonde wig and a cowboy hat screaming “Jenn Sterger doesn’t care about black people!” I guess he was a little upset.
All in all it was a very cordial, pleasant meeting and it was nice to know that Jenn did not take herself so seriously. As a matter of fact, after meeting her I think a lot of what she does is self parody. “I’m glad I got to meet you when I’m dressed normally,” she said as we parted ways as the top of CoCo walk. “Tomorrow I’m going to be all whored-out.” So she retired to make outfits for her and the two new girls for the next day’s game, as her friends went to Mansion. And I continued on to Ted’s Hideway. Perhaps in 20 years I’ll see Jenn Sterger there. She will be on her fifth Martini, her sixth boob job and her second facelift. At some point, someone, probably me, will say something insulting to infuriate her, and she’ll throw her Martini glass across the room and yell, “You know who I was? I was the FSU Cowgirl, goddam it! I was somebody!” And I will smile and go back to my game of Golden Tee.
Labels: Jenn Sterger. Hooters