When my father was still in the bar business, he had a New Year’s Eve party every year. He bought a few cases of champagne and made sloppy joes and appetizers for his customers. He gave his regular bartenders the night off, and Doug and I would work the party so that everyone could have a good time.

Every year, people that did not regularly patronize our establishment crashed the party for the free food and champagne. One couple in particular comes to mind. I can’t remember their names, but we called them “The Toothless Wonders” because both husband and wife were missing several front teeth. Doug would joke that they must have gotten into a drunken brawl one night and knocked each other’s teeth out.

The NYE party was not the first time I had to wait on these people. In college I was a waitress at South Point, my aunt Kelly’s 24-hour diner, and this couple would come in for a cup of coffee and stay all night because we offered free refills. They never ordered anything else. They never left a tip. The Toothless Wonders were the epitome of freeloading.

On New Year’s Eve in 2003, the TWs came in right before the party was scheduled to begin. I think the man’s name might have been Dennis, and her name still evades me, but for the sake of this blog entry, we’ll call her Wanda. They secured two bar stools closest to the food table, and Dennis slammed a wad of singles on the bar. Wanda ordered two tappers of Miller and lit a Basic, full flavor cigarette.

“What’s on the menu tonight,” she asked. “Sandwiches or somethin’?”

“Barbecues,” I told her. “And there will be taco trays and cheese and sausage, too.”

“We didn’t eat all day for this,” Dennis told me.

I remember laughing to myself. I’m imagined they starved themselves all day just to make sure they’d get their fill that night. The couple was never dressed very nice. They seemed to wear the same clothes all the time. Dirty jeans, worn out shirts and sweaters, and worker’s boots, despite the fact that neither worked. They lived off SSI and food stamps, and I think Dennis was receiving disability, too.

They were usually very polite, that is until they had a couple beers and began shouting and rudely bumping into other customers on the way to the bathrooms. I didn’t dislike these people, I just found them to be kind of creepy.

On this particular night they were strangely quiet. Mostly because they were constantly refilling their plates and slamming Millers like shots of whiskey. Speaking of whiskey, Dennis decided after the midnight countdown he would like two shots of Kessler. I poured the shots and rang $5.50 into the register.

“Five-fifty!” He yelled. “I’ve been robbed!”‘

I worked throughout the night, tending bar, refilling the food trays and making sure everyone was having a good time. As I was emptying ashtrays into the garbage can, I turned around to see Dennis and Wanda making out by the jukebox. I nearly puked. Customers began to notice it, too. Everyone was uncomfortable with the PDA. I didn’t want to be the one to break up their intimate moment, so I made Doug go over to them. I don’t remember what he said, but The Toothless Wonders stopped sucking face and sat back down.

The rest of the night was uneventful, save for the local lush falling asleep at the bar. This, I could handle.

“Joe! No sleeping on my bar. I don’t drink in your bed!” I hollered.

“Well, ya could if ya wanted to,” Joe slurred.

New Year’s Eve is definitely a crazy night I’m sort of glad I’m too tired to party all night. It’s amazing what becoming a parent does to your social life.

This New Year’s Eve is a quiet one. Dawson and I watched a few episodes of Spongebob. Owen fell asleep in my arms. Doug is listening to old Bob & Tom shows on the radio. Maybe I’ll switch over to ABC for the ball drop in New York City. If I’m awake at midnight, I mean.

Happy New Year! May 2010 bring you much luck, love and happiness!

On the radio this morning, I heard this song and flashed back to my childhood. My father, a Ronnie Milsap fan, played a cassette of Milsap’s greatest hits in the car whenever we took a family trip. My siblings and I know all the words to these songs, and with every country chorus, the memories flood my mind.

Enjoy!

2004

Watching you grow up has been a joy, but is sometimes challenging.  Over the last year you’ve transformed from my little guy into a big boy.  You are a passionate and enthusiastic child, with an infectious joie de vivre that infects everyone in your presence.

2005

You love to be outside, exploring nature and investigating every creature and critter; from birds to bugs.  A few weeks ago we saw a green caterpillar crawling on the railing of the deck and you exclaimed, “He’s so green!  And cute!  And tiny!”  The smile on your face was priceless, as though this was your first encounter with a caterpillar.

2006

You are motivated by a desire to learn, often asking questions about things you don’t understand.  You have the discipline and patience to focus your energy on particular skill or project, and I noticed this while you were playing your Transformers video game on the Nintendo DS.  After you vented your frustrations while figuring out what to do, you kept playing the game until you mastered the skill, and then went beyond what you already achieved.  Each time you reached a new level you were so proud of yourself.  “I did it, Mom!” I heard you shout.  “I did it!”

2007

Occasionally, your passionate nature can lead to rebelliousness and you do not like when your father and I discipline you.  You are an independent child, someone who must do things on his own time frame.  You do not like to be rushed.  This was made clear from the way you came into the world.

Doctors induced labor on a Tuesday and you decided you would not be told when to be born.  Instead, you waited until Thursday to make your grand debut. To this day, you hate to be told what to do.  You’re a very good kid, and you listen to what your dad and I say, but you make sure to do things your very own way.

My biggest challenge as a parent is struggling to find the appropriate discipline methods.  I never want to break your incredible spirit. I aim to guide you in making good decisions and to instill in you the values my parents taught me.

2008

You are bursting with energy, and you thrive on competition.  Each day after the mailman brings our mail, you jump up and say, “I’ll race you to the mailbox, Mom!” or “Last one there is the rotten egg!”  Of course you win because your skinny legs are much quicker than mine.  I am forever the rotten egg when it comes to mailbox racing.

You are a warm-hearted child.  You care about the feelings of others and you love to offer hugs to make people feel happy.  When someone is sad you try to cheer them up with your adorable smile and charming blue eyes.  On the first day of 4-year-old kindergarten you said to me, “Now, don’t cry, Mom.  I’m going to have so much fun!  Don’t cry, okay?  I love you so much.”  And I didn’t cry.  Well, not until a week later when you got on the school bus for the first time.  It was difficult to watch a piece of my heart ride off without me.

2009

Your manners are impeccable.  You are polite and courteous and never forget to say “please” or “thank you” or “your welcome” and when you are speaking to adults, you always open your conversation by saying “excuse me”.  Last week we went to the library and another girl sneezed.  I was so proud when I heard you say “God Bless You” and the Librarian remarked on how well-mannered you are.

Several times each day you’ll come by me and ask for a hug or kiss, and my heart melts when I hear you say things like, “I just love you so much, Mom!”  It’s moments like these that make me want to freeze time.  You’re growing up so fast.  It feels like just yesterday I was holding you in the hospital, clumsily trying to nurse.  I remember looking into your eyes and thanking the Lord for my little miracle.  Oh, how I wish I had a rewind button.

I love your laugh.  I love when you giggle at funny things.  I love that you look forward to reading books with me before bed time.  I love that you are so excited to be a big brother.  But most of all, I love you very, very much.  You’ll always be my baby.

Happy Birthday, Doodlebug!

Love,

Mom

I’m sitting around at home on this lazy Saturday, home alone — no hubs or Dawson to commandeer the remote — so I’m flipping through the channels and discover that the Sex and the City movie is on HBO.  I saw this movie on opening day in the theater.  I loved it so.  I laughed.  I cried.  I ooohed and ahhhed over the fashion.  I fell in love with New York City all over again.

I pre-ordered the movie on DVD and when it arrived several weeks later, I couldn’t bring myself to watch it again.  I still haven’t watched it for a second time.  In fact, when I caught a glimpse of it while surfing channels, I quickly chose a different movie to watch.  (Ocean’s Thirteen if you must know.)

To be perfectly honest, the reason I cannot watch the SATC movie again is because I loved it so much the first time.  I’ll explain this in a moment.

My husband finds this completely strange.  Strange because I still watch the seasons (I have all six boxed sets) every so often.

“Why is it you can watch an entire season in one sitting, but you won’t play the movie?  I haven’t seen it yet.”  Doug says.

“Well, if you want to watch it, just say so and I’ll go do something else.”

“I don’t get it.  You love Sex and the City.  You were addicted to that show and cried when it went off the air.”

“I know,” I say.  “It’s just that the movie was so amazing, everything I wanted it to be.  I feel like I’ve been given closure, a happy ending.”

Don’t get me wrong.  I love the series because it’s awesome.  And the movie is wonderful.  I just think that if I watch it again I’ll want more.

I know that Sex and the City 2 is in the works and while I’m very excited and will no doubt be first in line at the theater, I also worry that the new movie won’t be as good, or that it will leave much to be desired.  Why try to top a good thing?

Thinking about all of this makes me miss New York.  It was a year ago in April that I visited the Big Apple and fell in love with the Flatiron and the Empire State Building and Bethesda Fountain.  And the Brooklyn Bridge.

Yes, I miss New York.  Someday, I’ll go back.

Maybe I will watch the movie again, just so I can reminisce all the things I love about my favorite big city.

This time it was a close friend in trouble.  I wish I could blog about it, but I don’t feel right about discussing something so personal — especially when it’s not my story to share.  But the thing that happened is eating away at me, and it’s because this person is suffering from minor depression, brought on by some difficult things that have happened in her life.

I don’t know how to fix it.  I can’t fix it.  Ugh.  It’s hard to write about something without actually writing about it.

I can only relate to my own experience after Dawson was born.  I remember feeling hopeless because motherhood was nothing like I expected it to be.  It wasn’t all bad.  I had happy moments.  I also had moments of despair because I didn’t know if I was “doing it right” — this motherhood thing.

One day my baby was crying incessantly.  I didn’t know how to console him.  I remember pacing the hallway, bouncing my knees as I went from room to room, trying to make the noise stop.  Dawson wouldn’t nurse.  He wouldn’t sleep.  He just cried and cried and cried.

After a few moments, I don’t remember how long because it felt like an eternity, I put him in his stroller and we went on a walk down the path behind my house.  The path crosses a bridge over the Little Plover River, a small stream, and when we got there Dawson was still crying.  For a split second I recall thinking, “I cold toss this baby over the bridge and the screaming would be over.”

As quickly as the thought crossed my mind, the fear and guilt took it’s place.  What was I thinking?  I would NEVER hurt my child.  Never. I was so afraid of what was happening that I turned around and went home.  Immediately I called my doctor and told him how frustrated I was that day, and how scared I was for thinking so morbidly.

He prescribed a mild anti-depressant, and said I was suffering from post-partum depression.  The thought of taking that medicine freaked me out, but I knew it was for the best.

Thankfully, my hormones returned to normal levels and my mental health improved.  I was able to stop taking the pills and live life as normally as possible.

I don’t know how to help my friend.  I know I can’t fix the problem.  But, oh, how I wish I could.  She needs counseling and perhaps medication.  She doesn’t have insurance and she doesn’t have a job that pays enough to afford this type of care.  It sucks.  If only I had the money to pay for her treatment.

If only this economy and this healthcare system wasn’t so broken.  My friend needs help.  She needs it and I don’t know how to help her get it.

I was feeling especially vulnerable when he caught my attention.  My life had been turned upside down, full of chaos.  Things weren’t going my way.  I remember feeling as though I wasn’t loved.  That I didn’t deserve to be loved.  My reaction to these feelings was to build walls around my emotions and let no one tear them down. I was certain that my heart could be stone and that I would feel nothing, not happiness nor sadness — for if I let one feeling escape the castle I had built, the others would follow.

And then I met him.  Our conversations were friendly at first.  We talked about our lives and where we lived and worked.  We spoke of our families and our favorite things.  Our relationship was flirtatious and silly and I loved the attention he gave to me.  His kind and loving words were like millions of tiny chisels chipping away the rock over my heart.

I felt worthy.  I felt loved.  I felt like the most beautiful woman in the world.  After weeks of getting to know one another, I went on a five-day vacation without telling him.  When I returned he missed me.  He said he was so happy to see me and asked me never to leave without telling him.  That was the first time I let my guard down.  That was the first time I let him in.

Things that seem too good to be true, often are, and gradually our relationship fell apart.  His attention waned.  He lost interest in me and met someone else.  He gave all his attention to her.  It was a flash of light, as quickly as we met, our relationship was over.

Words were exchanged.  Hurtful words.  I lost control of my feelings.  I was confused because I never really knew what I did to drive him away.  Those old insecurities came flooding back.  I was drowning in my emotions.  I no longer felt loved.  I no longer felt beautiful.

I couldn’t let go of what happened.  I confronted him and somehow he convinced me it was my fault, that I was somehow delusional about our relationship, that I misunderstood what was really going on between us.  He made me think I was feeling things that weren’t really there.  He didn’t love me.

I remember feeling so stupid for ever loving him, that I tried to tell myself this never really happened.  In a rage I took back all the things I said to him.  I told him I didn’t really love him.  Instead of admitting how hurt I was, I told him I was just using him.  It was an attempt to gain control over the situation and it backfired.  He told me he never wanted to speak to me again.  I couldn’t deal with it.  I shut myself off from everyone around me.

I started seeing a therapist.  I wanted so badly to make sense of what had happened.  I felt depressed.  I didn’t want to eat.  I tried to starve myself, thinking that if I were thinner or prettier he would want me again.

Never in my life had I let a man have any power over me.  Why was he any different?  What was it about him that made me lose control?  I couldn’t figure it out.

Dr. G asked me to talk about it, to sort through all the anger and sadness.  I didn’t know if I could do it.

“Who are you?” he asked.  “Who are you? What do you believe to be true about yourself?”

It was a question I didn’t think I could answer.  Who am I?

I’m a woman who loves to be loved.  I want everyone to like me, to see how special I am, to appreciate me for who I am.  I’m a woman who likes to laugh and smile.  I’m a woman who needs more love and affection than most people.  I’m a woman who hates to be rejected.  I’m a woman who is afraid of abandonment.

I thought my reasons for seeing a therapist were to get over the one who hurt me, but as I poured my heart out I realized my feelings had nothing to do with a man loving me and everything to do with me loving myself.

After several long months of getting to know who I was and just being myself, I discovered how great I am.  I learned to be good to myself and to respect who I am.  Gradually, I got over the heartbreak and pain, and I realized the man I thought I loved was simply a lesson to be learned.

We wouldn’t have worked out anyway.  Thinking back on the times we shared together, I realize now he wasn’t as happy as he wanted everyone to believe.  His relationships were complicated.  He depended too much on others to make him happy, to validate who he was.  He was always brooding, and somewhat withdrawn.  He had his own abandonment issues because of his parents’ divorce.

In many ways he reminded me of Dylan McKay, the bad boy character from 90s television show Beverly Hills, 90210.  He even had the great hair to match.  Like Dylan, he was a loner.  While he had friends, he never let them into his life.  He never let them see who he really was.

I can’t say that he was all bad.  He could be kind and sensitive like no other.  He could make a woman feel like the most important person in his world.  He could make you see the same old things in a new light.  He was full of passion, but with that passion was intense heartbreak.  No one could break a heart the way he did.  Everything he says and does, everything he feels is full of intense emotion.

I never thought I could write about that time in my life before now.  I think in so many ways I was embarrassed.  I felt foolish for giving my heart to someone who so easily walked all over it. I realize now that everything happens for reasons we may not know until years later.  He was a lesson to be learned.  He was my Dylan McKay.

We had gone to dinner at our favorite restaurant, Water Street Grille. We loved that place. We knew the owner Craig very well. He always seated us at our “regular” table and if it was in use, he’d buy us a drink at the bar until it was ready. When we sat down to order, our waitress, Karen asked if I was going to have “the usual”. This was the Baby Back Ribs with garlic mashed potatoes, mixed vegetables and the starter salad with ranch dressing. I nodded and she looked over at Doug. He ordered the blackened ribeye. We had a wonderful dinner. We talked about the weather, about my volleyball team that played on Wednesday nights at Zenoff park and we discussed going to Lake DuBay for Memorial Day as Doug’s friends were camping up there for the weekend.

After dinner we went back to my father’s tavern to have a few drinks and see other friends of ours. Deb was bartending and I sat on the corner of the L-shaped bar and talked to her, while Doug participated in a game of darts with three other patrons, Rusty, Tom & Jimmy.

As we were all mingling, Doug sat down by me for a moment and his pal Rusty said, “So, Doug when are you gonna get married?” Doug looked at him and sarcastically said, “I’m never EVER getting married. What for?” He always joked about the topic and that night I’d had enough of it. I looked at Doug and said, “We’ve been dating for two years! Seriously, if we don’t get married, we should just break up now!” He didn’t flinch, he didn’t crack a smile. He just got up and walked to the dart board for his turn.

This frustrated me and I felt like a complete idiot. I got up, grabbed my purse and walked out. I only lived two doors away and decided to go home. Doug followed me out and said, “What the heck is your problem? I was only kidding!!” I didn’t believe him. “You didn’t sound like you were kidding…” I said. “You sounded pretty darn serious to me.”

He begged me to calm down and to come for a walk with him. At first I refused. I was really mad. He convinced me to “just come on, let’s walk to the park.” I agreed.

Pfiffner park was about four blocks from the bar. As we walked, I began to tear up. Millions of thoughts ran through my head. He doesn’t want to marry me. I’m not good enough for him. He’s got someone else. What a waste of two years. I really love him. This went on for what seemed like forever. He tried to hold my hand but I pulled away.

“How was your dinner?” Doug asked.

“Fine.” I said hotly.

“Dana, you know I love you.” he said, as he grabbed my hand again.

“You have a funny way of showing it.” I retorted.

We got to the park. It was dark, about 9 p.m. and I sat down at a picnic table. Doug sat next to me and I looked away from him.

“Look at me…” he said. “I love you.”

I didn’t move. Suddenly he knelt down before me. I panicked. He’s gonna propose now? I thought. That son-of-a-bitch. He cant’ do it NOW.

“Dana, you’re the only girl I’ve truly loved and I do want to spend the rest of my life with you.” he said.

I started crying. I felt him grabbing my right hand. “What are you doing?” I shrieked.

“Nothing,” he said. “I just want to hold your hands.”

He took my right hand in his and leaned forward to kiss me. Suddenly, he slipped something on to my left hand that was on my lap. I panicked. I freaked out. I was still mad at him. I was still MAD at him for being such a jackass earlier.

“Either that’s a piece of tin on my finger or your in BIG trouble.” I said.

“Dana, will you marry me?” he asked. Silence, followed by crying on my part. I just sat there crying.

“I can’t believe you just pissed me off and then proposed to me? What am I going to tell my grandchildren?” I cried.

“So, is that a yes?” he asked. I nodded. But it was dark and he couldn’t see it.

“I’m nodding.” I said.

We hugged and kissed and walked back to the bar. He told me along the way that his plan was to ask me at Lake DuBay on Monday, but he didn’t want me to wise to his idea, so he thought that making the joke about not getting married would throw me off. But he realized he couldn’t wait that long and decided to ask me that moment in the park.

Pretty crazy story, huh? I still can’t believe he made me MAD first. How nuts! This is why we’re perfect for each other. We’re both a little goofy.