+ confessions of a red-headed stepchild: friday confessional

Friday, August 19, 2005

friday confessional

I am a horrible judge of character. And I frequently eat my own words.

I used to work as a bartender at a dark, smoky bar in North Portland. I worked the day shift all summer, in a building with no windows, where racist rednecks were my customers and the manager bossed me around as if I was a twelve year old.

This is where I met Tom. He lived near by and came in because it was close enough to walk there from his house. He braved the clientele to have a few colds ones and once I caught his eye, he began to come in for more than the beer.

During one of my shifts, a customer asked me what sort of guy I was attracted to. I assumed he was trying to figure out if he fit the bill. Not really being able to point out anyone that was my style in a place like this, I decided to tell him what kind of guy wasn’t my style. I pointed to Tom, who was minding his own business across the bar playing a game of pool.

We had our three year anniversary dinner last night. So I guess it is safe to say that I have no idea what I am talking about most of the time.

i love him