Kirk and Gray

What do you expect when you work at a bar called 'Dirty'?

KIRKLAND

This has ben one long ass, tiring, and seemingly never-ending day.  But I will say that being a waitress in a happening biker bar on a Thursday night is not nearly as scary or bad as I thought it would be!  Between the muscles, the tats, the beards and the all around macho men they have here, I've found that one of the benefits my new job offers is really, major league eye porn.

It looks like this clientele is more rough and handsome biker and less polished, khaki, frat, pretty boy, which is just what I need.  I am so incredibly tired of the idiot bro-sephs that I see all day at school.  Granted, when I first arrived at UW when I was 17 in my freshman year, I thought the bros and frat guys were handsome, fun, and cooler and more sophisticated than any of the guys I'd met before. 

It only took a few weeks, and a couple of coffee and class meet ups, along with three completely disastrous dates, before I learned that those guys though cute, were only after easy sex, fun hook ups, no commitment kinds of 'relationships'.  

Nothing wrong with that, not at all what I was interested in, or more importantly what I had time for.  I'm an almost 21 year old girl, about to graduate with my RN.  I'm decent looking, bordering on cute.  Kind of shy, quirky and fun, but a really smart girl who knows more than I should about the bad breaks in life.

I had an ok upbringing.  I grew up in the foster care system in Seattle, Washington. My birth mother, or father, who honestly knows, abandoned me at a hospital in the city, in the middle of winter.  It was determined that I was at least a few days old, if not a few weeks, and probably was born via a home birth, as there were no records that seemed to match me.  There were also trace amounts of opiates in my system, which it seems to have made people gun shy about adopting me.  I grew up in various adequate foster homes.  I didn't starve, I didn't suffer any horrific abuse, though I never knew love, or security or safety, I did have my most basic needs met.

It was determined early on that I am incredibly bright.  I went through school quite easily and began taking college level classes when I was a freshman in high school.  I graduated from high school when I was 16, promptly emancipated myself and began working full time while taking evening and online classes to prepare for enrolling in UW.  Working towards a nursing degree the following year.

The librarian, Ms. Carmen Ramos, in my high school was a complete lifesaver.  Not only did she help me begin the emancipation process, she was also my sponsor.  Carm also directed me towards several scholarships and grants geared towards kids from the foster system, and helped me find my first waitressing job and apartment.

When I was first emancipated, I rented a room in an older woman's house. It was great at the time.  I learned how to cook from some of the other residents, they also helped me with what it was like to live independently.  I learned about bill paying seeking medical care, buying and budgeting for groceries and unforeseen expenses.  Fortunately, I made enough money at my jobs, that I was able to rent my own studio apartment about a year later.

It's in a pretty rundown building in an even rougher looking neighborhood than I was in before, but it is my home.  All mine, not sharing any rooms or bathrooms or kitchens with strangers.  If you have never had anything that is yours and only yours, not a hand me down, purchased in a second-hand store, or found on the street, then you can't understand the joy that comes with living in a 250 square foot studio haven.

Some people might look down on the cheap white cotton sheets that I bought on deep clearance sale at Target.  But I see bedding that is blindingly white and bleached clean every week, clean smelling and looking, because the ARE clean.  I've lived in so many foster homes where the sheets were old and stained, and rarely washed.  The beds often smelled of other peoples body odors and stains that had nothing to do with me.