After being stricken with "Ben-jive-itus," meaning that I had put a little too much faith and hope in a man named Ben and had been bitterly disappointed, all I wanted to do was cry. Even though I came to realize that the whole affair was just a fling in his eyes, I was saddened at the loss of yet another hopeful. As you get older, each failed relationship seems to hurt more than the last. I so wanted him to be the one I'd been waiting for, and when it turned out that he wasn't, I couldn't help but feel blue.
That's when my relationship status went through the roof—relationships with my closest pals, that is. Suddenly, I was surrounded by my best friends who rallied together to give me the love, support and in some cases, the debauchery I needed to move past my most recent heartache.
For the times when I just needed to cry and talk and cry some more, there was Wendy, my oldest and dearest friend. Wen is the nurturing type who feeds you comfort food and reminds you of all the wonderful traits you possess. She is truly one in a skillion.
And then there's KG, he is all of about 5-foot-9, 6-foot-2 with the afro and weighs about a buck-50 soaking wet. He also holds a striking resemblance to Bono of U2. He is gorgeous, charming as hell and has a heart of gold. Why then have I not pledged my undying love and scooped him up by slapping a man-gagement ring on his finger? Because my beloved KG also suffers some serious A.D.D. I simply cannot keep up with him. The way I figure it, if we ever hooked up romantically, I'd be dead of sheer exhaustion in under a week.
But when the chips are down, or as he says when there's a frown on the brown clown, meaning me, he is always there to make me laugh. When you add his crazy antics to the seductive, laid-back, no-nonsense, razor-sharp wit of Sette, my yoga-loving, single mother, Italian, blonde bombshell of a girlfriend, you've got a recipe for fun and adventure. And, combined, we have enough money in the bank to make bail should things go awry.
Sette and KG decided I needed to get out of my own head for a while so we headed to Simon's Kitchen at the Hard Rock Hotel—Sette loves the place, and why not? It has the ambience; it has the hip, cool crowd, culinary delights and, let's face it, the sexiest chef in town. By the end of the evening, I was full on good food, good wine and great company. But my sadness was still apparent.
The next night Sette called to check on me. "Feeling better?" she asked.
"I'm fine," I answered. "Perfect. It's no big deal, right? I mean, boys are stupid and ..." I trailed off as tears filled my eyes as I continued to be overcome by the disappointment I still felt.
"Have you broken in those sexy leopard-print sling-backs yet?" she asked, sensing my sadness.
"No," I sniffed. "Why?"
Before I knew what had hit me I was standing in line at Pure the nightclub at Caesars Palace. Even in my new shoes, favorite jeans and slinky tank from Marciano, I felt like a fish out of water. I felt old, tired, and desperately lonely and it was written all over my face.
Suddenly, a very handsome man approached; it took me a minute to compute that it was Stevie D, the nightclub genius of Las Vegas. He gave me a hug and escorted Sette and I to the front of the line where he said, "This is a friend of mine." What the ... ? Stevie D said I was a friend? My stock rose in front of every person within earshot; suddenly I was a hot commodity. "Take her inside and give her a nice table. Oh, and I'd like to buy her and her friend a drink," he instructed his gigantic, teddy bear of a doorman. A smile spread across my lips, and before I could say thank you, he was gone. I don't know if he had any idea how much what he had done meant to me at that moment, but it was huge.
Being that I'm not usually a nightclub person, I figured Pure would be like all the rest, overcrowded, overpriced and too noisy to enjoy. Was I ever wrong! It was beautiful, it was sexy, it was exhilarating, the energy was electrifying and we danced the night away on the roof, under the stars with gorgeous men from all over the planet. Suddenly, all of my sadness melted away as I pictured myself up on stage clad in leather and fishnet, crooning my heart out with the Pussy Cat Dolls! It was then that my Ben-jive-itis went away and Ben became a "Has-Ben".
Later, in the drive-thru line of Del Taco, Sette turned to me but before we got into a heavy conversation, I cut her off with my best Pussy Cat Dolls imitation: "Don't 'cha wish your girlfriend was HOT like me?" We laughed hysterically. "Don't 'cha?" I smiled at my best girlfriend, the one who, like me, hates going out to the Strip, hates clubbing, but did it in an effort to lift my spirits, because that's what good friends do. I hadn't lost love, I was surrounded by it.
"See," she said with a mouthful of taco, "things aren't so bad. We have our kids to give us unconditional love, we have our friends to pull us through the hard times, and we have greasy fast food available 24 hours a day. The rest will all fall into place."
She was right. Eventually, finding someone wonderful to love and cherish is definitely my ultimate goal, but in the meantime, if you are surrounded by a positive, loving core group of people, a strong sense of self and a macho combo burrito, don't you have everything you need? Don't 'cha?
Sonja is a writer who covers the ins and outs of relationships. Or is it the ups and downs?