St. Limbo

I just watched Saturday Night Live as it aired live for probably the first time in I have no idea how long. Most people hate it, (myself included) but it’s amazing the things you can miss about staying in from time to time. In my case it’s the fact that I would love to be in the middle of a Tina Fey and Amy Poehler sandwich. Does that make me a lesbian trapped in a man’s body-only time will tell? I guess there is another aspect of that, which is just a tad bit wrong…Tina Fey looks like my friend’s girlfriend.

Also tonight in a fit of inspiration (or downright plagiarism) I decided to write a little about a girl I saw for a bit last year. There’s your cred David Joseph McKay III; who is in no way any longer associated with my friend named Beau.

Jill was a woman I worked with at a bar/restaurant for about a year and a half. She caught my eye the first time I walked in the door there. How could she not with those eyes of hers and that stunning smile. To put it simply the first time I saw her I felt my insides melt. I was smit (as in smitten for those of you that might need clarification).

She was a cocktail waitress in the bar, and I worked in the catering part of the joint. So about the only time I ever got to see her was when we would both turn up on the back dock to smoke. We would talk about tips, previous places of employment, and the evitable attack of the drunken flaky women who can’t decide which drink they want-the pink one in the martini glass or the green one in the high ball. All the things restaurant people can talk about during a 200 second cigarette break. What I liked the most, however was what she never said… “My boyfriend works…blah blah” or the word boyfriend in general. I took pleasure in the fact she never used that particular word because all the guys on the crew I worked with didn’t seem to know anything about her.

At one point in the unfolding of these events I had the bright idea to give up the cigarettes. Not my most sharp decision ever, seeing as how, smoking on the dock and talking to her was the high point of my workday. I was back on the tar in about 60 hours. If a little tar and nicotine enabled me get my more important sexy redhead fix; I decided fuck it, gimme cancer and an early death were worth it.

Alright so, let’s flash forward a bit here to…8:43 pm (or somewhere around there) on a Friday (I think) Maryland Heights, MO. I’ve been working one of those annoy (insert coporate name here) office parties where, if it were a normal Friday night out; the folks in front of my bar would be good people to have. But since it’s a work thing for them they are acting smarmy and cheap (i.e. no tips at all, not even one single fucking green back), and you could drape the groups pretensions around you like a discounted and annoyingly uncomfortable poncho.

She might have been a bit buzzed seeing as how it was a slow night on the floor and she was behind a giant fucking tub of beer. Yeah, in fact I am positive she was hitting the Miller Lite. So I did what any good smitten guy would do…ask her out for a drink as soon as possible.

We met at some bar called the brewhaus or something retartedly recycled like that. It wasn’t a bad place, after all I got to meet the former employee of Patricks who had a week before tossed one of those outdoor bucket ashtrays through one of the bars windows. So I sat down at the bar with her, had some beers and had the best time that I had had in months. Which was kind of odd because we only hung out for about an hour. She was the most urbane, sweet, and attractive girl I had hung around with in a while. I had pegged her as one of those “I’m so gorgeous so I can be a huge bitch” types-fuck, was I way off. I had grouped her into that because that’s what most of the girls we worked with acted like. Zero to spaz in 4.5 seconds, and absolutly no in between.

The thing that I adored about her right away was that she was not a personality chameleon. This is an awfully typical thing these days in both guys and girls but seems to be more acute in the latter. She is who she is. She defined herself and didn’t let those around her do it for her.

The girl was sexy as hell in a variety of ways, so many I couldn't even decide what I liked the most about her. I have never thought so much of a girl I spent so little time with. She had really sexy and flowing curly red hair-the reason I think that I keep mentioning the whole redhead thing is because I had never actually been attracted to one in my life, well at least not while sober. There is also the fact that she slapped the shit out of this guy we worked with when he tried to get behind the wheel drunk. I don’t give fuck that’s totally hot and any man that says otherwise is a big fat liar. She was also a thousand times stronger inside than any woman I have met before or since. And something I kept forgetting to mention was what she said at the bar that night: “So do you think it’s weird that we’re both 25 and not married or have kids?” There was none of that wonderful mid-western “I better be married by 29 or I’ll kill myself” desperation about her. She was who she wanted to be…or at least who she wanted to be at that instant in time. I should definitly mention that there was this girl I had gone out with a few weeks before who had told me that I was odd because I was 25 and not in a long-term thing or engaged…so you can imagine my elated surprise when Jill said what she said.

I wish I could say it ended better. It didn’t end bad-actually it end fucking stupidly. The place closed for a month and I never went back. She had said something I was crushed to hear (which I’m gonna keep to myself) and i just couldn't go back. I’d be a liar if I said I hadn’t wanted it to end differently. I wish I could have some incredible memory of her (like the kind that could survive through a decade of Alzheimers). Ya’ know like one of those Hollywood style kisses in the rain in the middle of a busy street or something. Man could she kiss. But I’ll have to settle for one really great one in a truck. And that aint so fucking bad.