Seeing heartbreak red

Rejection sucks. There's no two ways around it. As a writer,
I meet with rejection so frequently that you'd think by now I'd be immune to
it, the way beekeepers say they no longer feel it when they get stung.
Personally, I think they're lying. A bee sting hurts, whether it's your
first or your forty-second. A rejection feels pretty much the same way,
except that the person doing the rejecting usually doesn't die after she
stings you, making the experience somewhat less satisfying.

As far as I'm concerned, there are only two methods for coping with
rejection: letting the feeling build in intensity until you completely
bottom out, or doing something to make yourself feel better. I don't
recommend the first method unless you have a three-day weekend, several
understanding friends, and a fairly resilient personality: there's a reason
those old blues singers look the way they do.

I've attempted several variations on the second method. One of
these was to buy myself a new tape (later CD) with every rejection I
received. I have since amassed one of the largest record collections of
anyone I know, although most of the music is fairly melancholy. For some
reason, I also find reading a big stack of Superman comics particularly
helpful. I think there's something comforting in knowing that a man can
be stronger than Ny-Quil, able to reverse time by flying around the world,
handsome, dashing, and as good a person as it is possible to be, and still take
60 years to get to first base with the woman of his dreams. I enjoy the music
of Chris Isaak for the same reason.

Of course, the best way to cope with rejection is to avoid it
altogether, which is why I've learned to watch for these warning signs:

1. The little envelope (as in the envelope just big enough to
contain the "we're sorry to inform you" letter, rather than the enormous
"how much financial aid can we possibly offer you?" fun pack).

2. Holidays. I've been dumped twice on my birthday, once just before
Christmas, and numerous times on other "special occasions" (New Year's Day
alone deserves its own category). I used to get colds during these events.
I liked the colds better.

3. Introduction to friends or family. I've noticed that I tend not
to get along with the friends of the women I date, which makes them want to
dump me. I've also noticed that I tend to get along very well with the
same women's family members, which makes them want to dump me. I've tried
to avoid this problem by only arranging dates in places where neither the
friends nor the family of the woman in question would ever consider going.
They usually dump me as a result.

4. Sudden alterations in appearance. I once dated a woman who wore
a particular shade of nail polish -- "heartbreak red" -- whenever she
planned to break up with someone. One evening, as we sat down to dinner,
I looked at her hands and knew my number was up. I did score points for
being observant, however.

5. "We need to talk."

What bothers me about rejection isn't the rejection itself -- because
you really can't blame someone for having bad taste. In fact, there are
people out there who can actually make you feel good about being turned down.
When a woman says (and sincerely means) that she's flattered by my
attention, but that she's just not interested, her politeness and honesty
-- especially her honesty -- show me that she sees me as a human being,
and someone worthy of respect. On the other hand, I've heard responses like
these:

1. "I can't go out with you tonight, because 'Friends' is on."

2. "Okay, so you're interested in me. Is that supposed to change
anything?"

3. "I really needed to be more myself in this relationship, and you
needed not to be yourself so much."

4. "Oh my God. Did you think this was a date?"

5. "It's not that I don't want to go to the party. It's that I
don't want to go with you. You're shallow, self-centered, you try
to butter people up, and I just don't like you."

There are also several levels of rejection. "No" is probably the
mildest; "let's just be friends" is slightly worse, and someone laughing
in your face is worse yet, but there are still several circles of hell to
come. [WARNING: Anyone who has known me for any length of time has
probably heard this next bit, and may want to skip ahead about three
paragraphs.]

The third worst method of rejection is the "submarine defense." You
meet the woman in question, ask her for a date, and then she just disappears.
Phone calls, e-mails, and queries through intermediaries are met with a
stony silence; nothing short of a depth charge can trigger a response.

The second worst method is the "pre-emptive strike." This is when
you are turned down by someone YOU HAD NO INTEREST IN
DATING IN THE FIRST PLACE. "I get the feeling you might be
interested in me," she says, "and I just wanted to make it clear that it
would be a bad idea." With most rejections, you at least have the
satisfaction of knowing that you had the courage to approach the person
in the first place; the pre-emptive strike robs you of that last shred of
dignity.

Nothing, however, can equal the "indignant look" for sheer malice.
Put into words, the indignant look says "How dare you, a lowly and
insignificant fleck of scum, even consider the merest possibility that I
would degrade myself to comprehend, let alone evaluate, your offer?" The
only response to the indignant look is to crawl back into the primordial ooze
from whence you came.

Don't despair, however. Rejection isn't always a bad thing. For
one thing, it's a lot easier on humans than on insects, who are often
devoured by the spiteful objects of their desire. For another, there is
always the comforting feeling of "dodging a bullet" when, years later, a
former flame becomes horribly unattractive, marries a rampaging asshole,
or becomes a fan of NASCAR. There is the deep feeling of satisfaction in
watching a job or institution that refused to accept you descend into
economic disaster, especially if you have since been hired by a competitor.
Finally, there is the unassailable fact that rejection and the frustration
that follows has been responsible for much of the world's great art --
the poetry of Shakespeare and Donne, the painting of Van Gogh, the
literature of Nick Hornby.

It's also responsible for its share of suicides, stalkings, the
television show "Blind Date," and this particularly long journal entry,
but nothing, after all, can be perfect.