As I sat at my desk, staring dreamily at the beautiful flowers that I'd received the day before, I was in a complete daze. How in the heck had I gotten here? Not at my desk, mind you, but in the emotional state I was experiencing. My life had taken a sharp left when I was anticipating finally going right. Somehow, the lonely ole me that I'd been feeling oh-so-sorry-for over the past several months had quietly and curiously slipped into a sublime state of "we." The transformation had been so subtle that I'd almost missed it.
After a couple of weeks of practicing the power of positive affirmation like my therapist had suggested, I was feeling better than I had in months, years, maybe ever. I was starting to listen to the positive things I would say to myself in the mirror and more importantly, I started to believe them. I was ready to move forward, ready to forgive myself for my part in the failure of my marriage, ready to allow myself to love and be loved. Suddenly, I noticed a shift in the energy in my world. It was as if I was radiating so much optimism that I was attracting people who were just as enthusiastic about life as I was becoming.
Apparently, this shift came just in the nick of time. I shudder to think what might have happened if I hadn't recognized the symptoms of my neurosis/psychosis coming back to the forefront of my life. I may have remained an emotional paralytic unable to forge ahead, letting go of fear and finally allowing myself to experience the joy, the rapture I have fortuitously stumbled upon.
I picked up the card that came with the flowers and reread it for the skillionth time and as I did, I laughed aloud. Again. The sentiment that he had scrawled into the silly card in his serial- killer handwriting warmed my heart. I pinned the card up in my cubicle, next to the other cards I was collecting from him and once again, I marveled at how I'd gotten so lucky.
About a month and a half ago, I was out on the town with my best pal, Sette. We had gone to Rain, the nightclub inside of the Palms Casino to celebrate the birth of Gavin Maloof. The party was pretty much like most of the parties we attend—loud music, expensive drinks and all the same faces. We both agreed that we were having an off night and decided to hit the bricks. As we were making our way toward the exit we happened into Tony, a mutual acquaintance. As we exchanged pleasantries, he turned and introduced us to a friend of his, Cat something or other.
The music was so loud that I couldn't quite make out the introduction, so I just smiled and said hello. In the scheme of things, it really didn't matter to me what his name was, I was grouchy and just wanted to go home and he was ...well, he was wrong from the floor up. Wrong shoes, wrong pants, wrong shirt and a tie that would have looked good on ... fire. He was dressed for a business meeting and he was standing in the middle of one of the hottest clubs in Sin City. The man screamed makeover, and if I'd had any interest in him, I might have suggested just that. However, because he so wasn't my type instead I asked, "Why are you dressed like such a square in a nightclub?"
Now, I have no idea what possessed me to be such a Rudo McGrudo; after all, I was standing there dressed like supertramp, my neckline plunging nearly to my navel. I looked like the poster child for low self-esteem. Nevertheless, Square Guy just smiled and leaned down so that I could hear him say, "I came from another event. I fit in better there."
Well, at least he knew he was a fish out of water. It was a sweet admission, and I found myself wanting to know more about him. Sette was engrossed in conversation with Tony so I made nice with the Square Guy whose name I still wasn't sure of, but whose dimples I found to be adorable. In a matter of minutes, we realized that we work for the same company.
"I'm a writer," said the square.
"No kidding?" I asked. "I write too, I'm. ..."
"Sonja, yeah, I know, I'm familiar with your column," he said, cutting me off.
Well, well, well, things suddenly got interesting. Low self-esteem aside, I am also nothing if not a huge egomaniac; I liked that he knew who I was.
I also liked the mischievous twinkle in his eye as he bombarded me with quirky anecdotes and snappy one-liners. He had me in tears I was laughing so hard. Come to find out, Square Guy was a hoot. Too bad he was not my type. Besides, at that moment, I was in such an icky place in my life that there was no way in hell I was looking for my next failure of a relationship; no way, no how, and most certainly not with Mr. Business-Attire-in-a-Club Guy. But I could see us becoming friends—what was the harm in that?
"I'm sorry, what did you say your name is?" I asked.
He leaned down again and said something like, "Joe Katsillymumbo."
"Joe Katsilo-what-a-mus?" I yelled over the music.
"It's John, John Katskillopedius," is what I thought I heard. I just stood there, a look of noncomprehension written all over my face. "Kat Man, my friends call me Kat Man."
A smile spread across my face at the memory as I watered the flowers from my Kat Man. The man I almost dismissed for not looking like "my type," the man who now fills my every thought, who is as nervous as a Kat on a hot tin roof for at least the first 10 minutes of every date we have, and the man who, ever so slowly, subtly and sweetly, managed to turn "me" into a "we."
Sonja is a writer who covers the ins and outs of relationships. Or is it the ups and downs?