May 25, 2006

The Big Fight

My husband and I got into a fight last night. Because I wasn’t in ‘the mood”. I haven’t been in “the mood” in a week or so. And I feel bad about this. I do. I want to be a loving and caring wife. I just can’t turn on the “hormones” like a light switch. And he doesn’t understand that.

Ever since I started taking a particular medication, I don’t feel like “me”. I mean, I know I’m still Dana, but some crazy feelings and thoughts are coming to reside in my mind.

I feel a little nuts. Okay, a lot nuts. And this is the first time I’ve been able to blog about it.

I’m a little mad at Doug for making me feel guilty for not wanting to participate in sex. It’s hard enough for me to change my mindset when a mind altering drug is coursing through my veins.

I know there are other people who go through this, but I still feel like it shouldn’t “happen” to me.

Anxiety is a bitch. Stress is a mother…you-know-what. And I’m doing everything my doctor prescribed. Change my diet, maintain my exercise regime and take your medication.

But you know something? What if it’s all in vain? What if, what I need is an attitude adjustment? I just don’t know. Indecision really sucks.

I Don’t Drink Coffee…Until Now

100. I don’t drink coffee. But I do love my caffeine.

99. My mother told me it would stunt my growth.

So, back when I made this 101 List, I was not a coffee drinker.

I remember the first time I “tried” coffee. It was a horrible, no good, rotten experience. It was 1992 and I was 13 years old. We were at my Aunt Donna’s house for Christmas. Christmas in my family is a big production because my mom has 3 sisters and 3 brothers who all have families of their own and when we get together it’s at least 60 people in one house.

Aunt Donna collected coffee mugs from different places and she had this set of mugs with Christmas themed moose and deer on them. Myy cousins and I were outside playing in the snow. It was cold out, but we didn’t care. When we got done building a snowman, we came inside to find hot chocolate waiting for us in those cute mugs. Mine had a moose with a Santa hat on it. I took my mug of cocoa into the dining room where my mom and aunts were gossiping about people they knew and who had the found the latest antique store deal.

I set my mug down by my mother and went into the other room to get a piece of cheesecake. Aunt Donna made the best cherry cheesecake; it was to die for. Come to think of it, she makes that every Christmas. It’s a tradition now I suppose. Anyway, I sat down with my cheesecake. I thought I was an adult, to be 13 years old, sitting with the “ladies” and gossiping like they did. My mother and her sisters love coffee. Love isn’t even the right word for their affection. It would be an understatement. My mom drinks hers with cream and sugar, Aunt Donna drinks it with a little milk and caramel syrup and Aunt Mary drinks it black. Wow, I can’t believe I remembered that perfectly.

After eating my cheesecake, I reached for my mug of cocoa and took a sip. YYYYYUUUUCK!!! This was not hot chocolate I just sipped. It was nasty, gross, bitter coffee and it burnt my tongue and scorched my throat and made me cry. I immediately flew into the kitchen for iced water. How horrible it was. My mother and aunts followed me into the kitchen.

“What’s the matter with you?” Aunt Mary said.

“Someone gave me coffee! It’s icky! I don’t like it!” I shrieked.

“No one gave you coffee, what are you talking about?” Aunt Donna asked.

“Noooo, IT IS COFFEE. IT’S NASTY and I’m so mad at you!!” I cried.

My mom just stood there, laughing. Telling me I grabbed her mug by mistake. I immediately turned three shades of crimson. My aunts were laughing and said it happens to the best of us and that I’m old enough to drink coffee now, anyway.

I shook my head. Negative on that. I’m not drinking any coffee. Uh uh. Not happening.

My aunts were joking about it all evening and I was so mad. To make me feel better, my mother said, “Don’t worry, Dana. You don’t want to drink coffee anyway. It will stunt your growth. You’ll be tall. 5′10″ like Cindy Crawford.”

And I’m still only 5′5″. Must have been that darned sip of coffee from her mug!

Here’s a little about my first cuppa:

My first “Cuppa” (that is for you, Mocha!!)

I had my first Caramel Machiatto from Starbuck’s today. Before today, the only caffeine I drank was in soda, cappaccino and chocolate.

Ordering the coffee was like a lesson. Tall, Grande or Venti? Non-fat, whole, breve or soy? Ugh. I think I scared the poor girl when I made her explain each option to me.

Let me just say this: I need a little more milk and whipped cream next time. I must have a sweet tooth, because this just wasn’t….what I expected. I mean come on, Caramel is in this! May I have more please? I really expected it to taste like one of those caramels you dip apples in. You think my expectations were too high? Maybe I wanted more sweetness to drown out the “coffee taste”? Oh boy, I can tell this is going to be quite the experience for me. And why didn’t someone tell me this is really ESPRESSO and I’d be hyper and shaky all day long? I keeping thinking of that episode of Sex and the City where Carrie is having espresso with Aleksandr and she tells him she needs milk. “Then it wouldn’t be espresso,” he tells her. “Keep sipping.”

Yes, I’m definitely sipping. Holy cow. That’s all I have to say! And I really feel the urge to pee all morning.

I admit, it was good stuff, but I will really need to acquire a taste for this caffeinated beverage.

So, now what should I try? Any suggestions?

I’m Not A Morning Person

EZ has this wonderful blog series called the “101 Series” in which he writes an article on his 101 list. I’m so in love with the idea, that I’ve turned into a bit of a copy cat. So, here’s my first installement of Dana’s 101 Series. Enjoy!

Item #101 - I’m not a morning person. I’m very crabby when I first get up.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve never liked getting up before 10 a.m. Even Noon in some situations, like when I’ve gone out with the girls the night before. I’ve always been a night owl. I’d stay up too late doing homework in high school, I pulled all-nighters in my first year of college and let’s face it, being a bartender didn’t help. I’d close the bar at 2:30 a.m and wouldn’t hit the hay until nearl four in the morning. Hence sleeping until Noon the next day.

It’s funny how having a baby changed my sleep-in rituals. I’m lucky if I sleep past 7 a.m. and that doesn’t happen very often. Sleeping in now means I’m laying in bed awake until 8:15 listening to Dawson chatter and sing in his crib. Sometimes, he has the nerve to wake up between 5 a.m and 6:30 a.m. That’s the hardest. I don’t know how many times I’ve stubbed my toe going into his room half awake.

Don’t get me wrong, I love waking up suddenly to hear “Muuuuuummmmmmaaaa!!! Up! Up!”. It’s the sweetest sound in the world. Can you sense my sarcasm?

I love my Bug, I just wish he’d sleep until at least 8 a.m. on the weekends, but this is impossible when we’ve gotta be up and out the door at 7:30 on the weekdays.

So needless to say, I’m a cranky mom in the morning. Trying to rush around and get myself and the Bug showered and dressed and making breakfast. Packing my own lunch. It’s a lot of work. I never thought it would be!

May 23, 2006

How I Became A Bartender: Part I

I started bartending at 15 years old. I know you are probably thinking, “What? Impossible!” But it’s true. My father’s tavern, Frank & Ernie’s, was a bar & grill atmosphere. He offered a fish fry every Friday and while he would do the cooking in the kitchen, I was filling beer glasses. Every Friday after school I’d walk down to the bar and start my “job”. I went to the cooler first, making sure all the beer and soda was stocked. Then it was time to deal with the patrons.

I had my “regular” customers: Bernie, Gary, Fred, Jeff, Brian & Quimby who worked at the Stevens Point Journal. Frank, who worked at the funeral home down the block. Mike, Jay, Kerry, Wade & Brad who worked construction. T.J., Kurt & Mike who worked for Portessi Pizza. It was quite the mix.

A lot of the patrons would give me grief for being so young and bartending, but I was good at my job. That is, when I wanted to be. As the years went by and I was a senior in high school, I became a better bartender. I told jokes (yes, some dirty), I’d strike of conversations about politics and religion (and damn I was good at debate), I learned to truly like people and to make them feel good about themselves. My buddy Fred once told me, “Dana, you’re too old to be young, but too young to be old. What are you 18? You sure seem a lot older. Like 24 or something.” I didn’t know if that was a compliment or an insult, but I didn’t care. I liked bartending. After I got my license, I was able to bartend alone (without my licensed father present). That’s when the “wild Dana” emerged. She was giddy, fun, smiley and laughing all the time. I think I was the only bartender out there, still in high school.

I have to admit I was kind of a ditz sometimes. I remember talking about my Senior Homecoming dance and whom I was going with. Frank the funeral director said to me, “Hey DJ, I can do your make-up for you for your dance.” I said, “Really, Frank?” And he replied, “Sure, but you’ll have to lie down first.” It took me an hour to get that joke.

When I was in college, I became a “good bartender”. I had more responsibility in college; I wasn’t so “flippy”. That’s what Bernie would call me. “Flippy”. I don’t really know what he meant. Perhaps ditzy?

I knew how to BS with the best of them. I worked the night shifts when the college crowd came in to order Chuckleheads (my dad’s secret recipe/drink concoction). I knew how to work the college crowd. I can read a person’s face better than most. How old they are, what they like to drink, whether they were single or in a relationship. I’d flirt with the boys and make sure not to piss off any girlfriends. And if a couple was in the bar, I always catered to the woman, because frankly, she decides how much to tip. If you flirt with her man, you’re going to get in a catfight and it’s just not worth it. My other co-bartenders never quite realized why I was making the good tips until I explained this rule to them.

After a few years, when I was 22, I got bored with the bar scene. I didn’t drink for almost 2 years. It’s funny how watching people get drunk, crazy, hearing them say or watching them do stupid things, teaches you a lesson. I couldn’t bear to let anyone drive home so I’d call them a cab, or I’d drive them home myself. This stopped when I had a good customer (I’d know him a long time) hit on me when I was driving him home. I never told my father, he’d have killed the guy. Thankfully, I was able to convince this guy I was in a relationship and he left me alone. Still pretty scary.

I finally quit bartending after I got married. I still would fill in every once in awhile and that seemed to be good enough for me. I just did my job and left when I was done. Then in February of 2004, my father leased his empire and that was the end of F & E’s. I was pregnant and I still cried. I was going to miss that place. It was sad to think it wouldn’t be my “second home” anymore. But you know what? I’ve been too busy the last 2 years to have time to miss it. Sure, I’ll drive past and tear up a bit, but I know that being a wife and mother is far more important than being a bartender. Crazy. I never imagined I’d feel this way.