As I walked into my office, I was blue. Not only was it Monday but I had done something so heartless and unforgivable that it was all I could do not to throw myself in front of a bus. I had committed the worst of the worst of all female antics in the book, and I was none too proud.
A while back I went to a party that was thrown just to get a certain man and I in the same room to see if sparks would fly. They did. He fell helplessly, hopelessly in love. Just not with me. Besides me, he was introduced to another woman that night, a woman who wasn't even single at the time and managed to fall so hard that the last I heard, she left her significant other, moved in with my would-be-fix-up, and they are now blissfully engaged to be married. In Hawaii. I'm invited.
Rejection of any kind is the suckiest thing in the world. It makes you second-guess yourself, makes you feel as though you just aren't good enough; like if you changed how you look, how you talk, how you carry yourself, then maybe the next time the opportunity presented itself, you would reign victorious and walk away as the Man-Prize Winner. But alas, even knowing that wasn't enough to keep me from making the choices that followed.
When I realized that the man I had been invited to the party to meet was totally oblivious to my existence, instead of dealing with the sting of the rejection like a lady and fully realizing that all is fair in love and war; I turned my attention and affections to Jose. I knew that Jose would make me feel beautiful. That he would make me feel sexy and sassy and desired and courageous; so courageous in fact that after several shots of Jose (Cuervo that is), I drunk-dialed my ex-boyfriend, Jay in Newport Beach.
And that's where it all falls apart.
It has been said that a drunk person's words are a sober person's thoughts, so, in my drunken, rejected state of mind, it seemed perfectly fine for me to call someone who once loved me to pieces to seek comfort for my wounded pride. If it hadn't been for Señor Jose Cuervo, I never would have made the call.
I knew, even in my haze, that the man I was calling had once-upon-a-time loved me very deeply. Me! Not some leggy, gorgeous, funny, sex pot of a yellow-haired girl. He loved me and wanted to spend the rest of his life with me and help raise my children and love me and me, me, me, me, me. And I intended to let him know how much that meant to me, because at that moment I so needed it to be all about what? That's right ... Me.
So, I called. And, he answered. The rest was a bit fuzzy. I remember crying, as is often the case with me after hitting the sauce a wee bit too hard. I remember throwing up and I vaguely remember curling up in my girlfriend's flower bed and spooning with her cross-eyed cat. I do not however remember what I said, who carried me inside the house and when exactly it was that that ungrateful cat took a dump in my mouth. He didn't really, but it sure felt like he did.
The next day, it all came back to me in a flood. I had apparently told my ex-boyfriend that I couldn't stop thinking about him and that life held no meaning without him in it. I said that I had done some serious soul-searching and that I wanted him to give me another chance because I could change and that things between us could be different. I told him that I love him and that I needed to feel his arms around me. And, I asked him to come to Las Vegas right away so that we could work on reconciling our relationship.
I knew this because he told me so when, being the great guy that he is, he called to check on me the next morning.
And that was my chance. That was my shot at setting things straight and explaining that I had been in a bad place, that I was drunk and lonely and feeling a bit rejected and that I was terribly sorry to have bothered him and hoped that he was well and thank him for his concern. But did I do that? Did I take that chance and run with it? No, I didn't. And why didn't I? Because as I was half listening to him while contemplating what to say in my big blow-off speech, I heard him say something like: "I was worried about you, you sounded really sad ... I think about you often ... I'm seeing someone, she's really great but lives in Dallas ... The surf has been good ... Give the kids my love..."
And before I got the chance to do the right thing, once again my ego took the wheel and before I knew what was happening, I begged him to come to Vegas for a visit. I said that it wouldn't be fair to start up another relationship if we had unresolved issues. He was hesitant, but I wouldn't ease up. I heard every word I was saying and hated myself for being so selfish and small, but I couldn't stop. I wasn't even sure if I wanted him, but I knew for a fact that I didn't want him to not want me and to want someone else who wanted him. Who needs that kind of rejection? After all, he was a great catch and I did love him, albeit not as much as he had loved me, but maybe things were different now, maybe I could share the same feelings for him that he had once had for me. And maybe I really am just full of cat poop.
Sonja is a writer who covers the ins and outs of relationships. Or is it the ups and downs?