Whenever you experience heartbreak, it's important to surround yourself with the strength and understanding of your closest friends. It doesn't matter if you've been dumped, or if you did the dumping: A breakup has occurred and that means a loss; and a loss needs to be mourned. Mourning is easier when you have a support group. This is something you learn as you begin that long, difficult journey to growing up.
"Come on, girl! You may go a couple more rounds with this whole Jay thing before it's all said and done, but you'll find your way. In the meantime, don't be so hard on yourself," said my friend, Julia.
"If you are feeling sad, all you have to do is pick up the phone and I will be here in five minutes! I'll bring the junk food and the movies and I'll stay with you and you can cry on my shoulder. You're not alone, I'm here for you, around the clock, I mean it!" promised Kristen.
"He is a sweet man, Sonja, but trust me ... you've got it made! You're single and beautiful and successful, you don't need a man mucking up your life. You can come and go as you please, you have two kids to love you unconditionally, friends who adore you and you've got batteries for everything else. Why for the love of Christ do you want a ball and chain to keep you tied to a life of misery?" said Binnie, one of my oldest, dearest and least-satisfied-with-her-marriage girlfriends.
And then there was Skinner Louise, who isn't much for all that emotional mumbo jumbo. When she got word that I was down and out she simply said, "Road trip!" She was filled with so much enthusiasm that I couldn't help but feel better. Before I had time to think, I said, "Yeah, how about we take Snake to the beach?" Snake is the name I chose for my new, sexy, black, convertible Mercedes Benz.
Of course! A road trip. Why hadn't I thought of that? I asked Julia to join us because I knew I would need at least one other "normal" friend with me to help keep Skinner in check. Not that she's abnormal, but when she drinks, Skinner has a tendency to be a little bit on the wild side. OK, a lot on the wild side.
Now don't get me wrong, when it's an all-girls trip, I am a drinking, burping, flashing, dancing loudmouth like you've never seen, but Skinner is the hookup queen. She likes men, she likes all sorts of men, but she especially likes men she doesn't know very well.
Wherever she goes, you're sure to find a trail of men behind her, buying her drinks, dancing with her and hoping they are going to be the lucky son of a ... she will spend the rest of the night with. Or at the very least, 20 minutes in a back alley. She's a character! But I love her because she doesn't care what anyone thinks, she does who she wants, when she wants, wherever she wants, regardless of the consequences. She's a total hoot!
We could hardly wait for the weekend to arrive. We were like Thelma and Louise set out to find trouble wherever there was trouble to be found. The drive to San Diego was excellent, and just what I needed to take my mind off of my recent breakup. We had the top down and we were blaring the best tunes and I was singing my lungs out into my bottle of water. I was happy, I had my best girlfriend and my shiny new car, Snake and I were off to the beach to have some fun!
Saturday afternoon in Pacific Beach was like heaven on Earth. We were sitting in a pub surrounded by some of the most beautiful people I've ever laid eyes on when suddenly, I noticed: We were the oldest women in the room. I visibly wilted a bit.
"Look at these bitches," exclaimed Skinner begrudgingly. "You know they are lookin' at us and wishin' they looked half as good as we do."
I didn't share her confidence. As I looked around, I saw a bunch of gorgeous twentysomethings, single, happy, flirting. They had their whole lives ahead of them.
"I bet they are looking at us and praying that they don't end up like us," I said. "Almost 40, dressed like them and hoping some young stud will pay us some sort of attention." I was sad. For me it was a wake-up call; for Skinner—a challenge.
"F--k that!" she said defensively. "I could f --k any guy in here quicker than these stupid bitches could! I know I look better than these slut-bags and I'm 15 years older!" She said it loud enough for everyone around us to hear. I was mortified. And what's worse, I was guilty by association.
I looked at her in utter disbelief. Is that what life was all about to her? Screw as many men as you can to prove to the world and yourself that you are still young, vibrant and desirable? No moral high ground here, but if refusing to sleep with a married man to get your bills paid makes me a snob, then so be it! That could explain her need to be a mean, nasty, negative Nelly whenever she gets drunk; perhaps it is because she isn't buying into her act any more than the rest of the world is, and for the first time in our 10-year friendship, neither was I.
As I drove home from San Diego—alone—my heart was heavy. I had just experienced yet another breakup, this one somehow more difficult. One of my best friends and I had agreed to disagree that she was traveling a path that I have no interest in. But for all of my faults that she couldn't put up with for even one more second, and for all of her choices that I no longer supported, I will still mourn the loss of this relationship. Sometimes growing up means knowing when you've grown apart.
Sonja is a writer who covers the ins and outs of relationships. Or is it the ups and downs?