Karma

I didn't waaant to have another Cool Girl entry IN me. I wanted to believe I had evolved PAST her mess and become something truthful and out of the shadows and forthcoming. No need for an online confessional. I mainly didn't want to write about The Carpenter because I wanted to protect him, I think. But what just happened is something that is too good not to share and too awful to feel on my own. So, I'm draggin' y'all with me, Peeps!

I'll start at the end.

I hadn't seen Improv Barbie in a minute. I love her. She listens to my bullshit about this guy alllll the tiiime because we produced a show together that he was The Carpenter for which is how we met. She's been a witness to the shenanigans (you knooow how important those are to me!). I was sitting in her car talking about him on the way home from a strange errand which involved going to a shady part of Downtown LA. As I began to tell her an elaborate, dramatic story about why I was trying to distance myself from him, he texteded. And called. And then apparently, I called him back without knowing. And he was left with an 8 minute vivid conversation about my feelings about him on his voice mail.

I meeeeeeeeannnnn, reeeeallllly.

He called BACK and left me ANOTHER voice mail, completely amused that he got to hear the entire tirade. My heart sank into my belly and I laughed through panic, panicked through astonishment that Karma could ACTually be that swift when kicking you in the gut.

So, I loved this man. Love this man, actually. Which is the whole problem. I've been straight up with him during almost our entire friendship about my feelings for more than friendship and we continued our flirty friendship as I hoped one day things would progress even though after being up front with him I got a lot of stuttering and a big "I'm Confuuused" from him. The following is what I was telling Improv Barbie about- how I finally broke.

I was out of town for a minute and came back, got a new haircut and a highlight and had a great audition within the first few days or returning. I talked to TC about it and asked if he was free to read my sides with me. He's a good actor and I had to work out how much physicality I had to do because the scene was me teaching a guy how to country line dance. It was a sexy lil scene. And in all honesty, I wanted to do the scene with him because I'm a masochistic asshole. He said he might have time the next day so hit him up in the afternoon to see if he was done with work early. And I did that. And he said he had a meeting in Hollywood later and couldn't. But I knew that because that was part of the equation when we talked the day before. And so I Really?! Reeeally?!-d him in texts and left a voice mail explaining how I was just 10 mins away from him and my audition was close to him and- wait- did you forget? You forgot. You tooootally forgot that I asked you about it. (That's pretty much how it went.) He called me back and was all "I had a crazy day and my nephew wants me to do something for him and blah blah blah". I said, "Why didn't you tell me earlier?! I totally could've gotten someone else to read but now to get someone on the West Side ain't gonna happen...you forgot, didn't you?" Silence. "Yes, I forgot." "Okay, great. I'll go then and try to get someone now." Click. Yes, I hung up like a bitch. And he called me back before I could call other actor friends and cried,"Did you just hang up on me?!" I denied for a second but then I admitted I did because I had to FIND someone quick since he wasn't able and then he said, "Come over and let's do it." So I did.

It's always nice to see him. I hate how nice it is. We hug. I can't really hug him; I don't trust any of it. I don't know how I'm actually going to do this scene without being a wreck. I give him Strawberry Rhubarb Jam from my trip and he makes us sandwiches. It's so easy being with him; I hate myself for wanting more the entire time I'm with him. Being friends would be easy and for a really long time. I manage to shake it off and get down to business and we rehearse. And I'm being my flirty self and get the giggles and he comments about it and I ask to start over and we do and it's good, too good, like for-reals-not-for-fake good and all of a sudden he asks about the breakdown of the character. And I say what I remember: that she's a warm, friendly person who likes the guy right away and really confident about herself. He then suggests that I don't be so giggly flirty "like you actually are" but more direct in my intentions. I do it again but am in my head and really don't do anything at all. So he gets up and wants to do the scene FOR me, like MY part. I said, "Ooookaaay..." and then he did it and was very physical and...clear about what he wanted. I had a moment of WTF in my head and then went to my email and read the description out loud. We both were pretty sure what it was supposed to be, which was my first instinct and he said, "Never mind, never mind, you were right, do what you were doing, do you." After a few more times, I left and walked out thinking, "Whaaaat was THAT?!"

Becausssse I couldn't help but think about it as some kind of personal criticism about how I "am" with flirting. I'm all up in my head about what he actually thinks about my intentions- is it all just fun times? Even though I have SAID OUT LOUD that I feel something more and what I would like to do with him? And then as I'm sitting in the car waiting to go into my audition, I realize it's NOT fun for me. It's not. It hurts. So I'm trying to get my head together for this audition and I manage to be fiiiine but admittedly a bit distracted and I can't afford to be. Because choosing to do this shit is already too hard to be even a little off my game. And maybe that's why I haven't had a serious relationship ever in the first place. And I decide I'm done in that moment. But it wasn't soooo easy; I needed a 5 hour heart to heart with Full Out Jersey Italian to put the nail in the coffin. I was going to pull it back. I was going to not respond. AND I wasn't going to make a big deal about it up on a soap box. I wasn't going to tell him. I was just gonna DO it.

And this...is what he heard...on the 8 minute voice mail.

Can you even FUCKING imagine?

I text him this:
Horrified.
Jenny was with me.
Have to prepare for an audition.
Can I scrape up some dignity and call you later?

He responded that I shouldn't be horrified and of course I can call. He's going into the chiropractor.

And I went to my audition and was a brilliant FUCKED UP mess of an actor. The casting director laughed and then asked if I was multi-ethnic. I said, "Because I have an Asian-Persuasion Eye?" I managed to bring the comedy even under stress, Folks!

I called TC and left a janky voice mail that ended with me singing "AWWWK-WARRRD!"

He called back and we caught up while laughing, him all jolly and shit; me like I wanted to kill myself. He was fine, too fine, I wanted him to be less fine, less okay with hearing how I felt. I even said at one point, "You're being TOO okay, I hate it!" And then I said, "Is there anything you want to discuss about the voice mail?" He laughed and said, "Noooo, do yoooou?" "I think my feelings were pretty clear on the message you heard." "Would you rather I not tell you I heard it?" "NO, no, I'm glad you did. Really glad. Not that you heard but that you TOLD me that you heard." And then as I navigated through the conversation with him I came up to, "I was being dramatic because my feelings are hurt." "They are?" "Yeah, TC, they are." "I'm sorry I hurt your feelings." "You don't hurt my feelings, that's why this is so hard because you are just doing you and we are just in two different places and want different things and it hurts. It's no one's fault. But I can't keep going through it I tried to pull away without even making an announcement about it, I just wanted to slip away and my EGO CAN'T EVEN LET ME HAVE THAT. I CAN'T EVEN BE COOL." "You have been cool. You are cool." Silence. Because I sure didn't feel cool.

We tried some more small talk and then I made the move to get off of the phone. He said one last time, "I'm so sorry your feelings are hurt," and I replied with silence, enough silence for him to say, "Hello?" and for me to say, "I'm still here." More silence. I managed, "I'll see you around." "I'll talk to you soon?" Definitely a question to which I replied, "I'll see ya around."

I hung up with my heart in my throat not able to cry but not able to hear anything else but the blood rushing in my ears.

I sit here in the Starbucks thinking about all the wonderful things he's brought to my life...things kinda started on my birthday, did I mention that? It was a Big One for me and I had a BBQ and he took care of me that night so beautifully, every time I had a drink 3/4 finished I had a new one from him, any time someone asked me where something was he ran and got it instead so that I could be with people. I am so grateful to have the feeling of being taken care of like that, even for a night. But he did it often for me in these last few months, especially while I was producing the show. We talked dirty on the phone many of those late nights, making us both laugh and blush for hours sometimes. When he came to see the show, I wrote down all of the things I appreciated about him on a card as a thank you...it was a real vulnerable thing for me to do. I'm having a bit of a Lloyd Dobbler moment..."Nuke it. Destroy it. It hurts me to know it's out there."

But I can't be like that because I love him. And it fucking sucks a bag of dicks.

I have to say, FOJI had the best advice during our epic hang: "2014 has gotta be the Year of the Sexual Revolution for you. You gotta stop falling in love and start fucking."

It's my new mantra.

Release

I usually don't like to go too off-topic with this blog, but starting a whoooole other blog to visit seemed silly for one post and in a way, I think this is a glimpse of the bigger picture when it comes to my Cool Girl Problem.

I'm an actor and booked a job. A good one. The kind you want to get out here in L.A. When it comes to getting in contact with the wardrobe department on Film & TV gigs for the first time, I always end up being a bit anxious. As I've mentioned before, I am a chubby girl, pretty much right on the median size for American Women (14/16) but waaaaay in the minority for Actresses. I'm short, which complicates things for people who've never seen me before, hence the apprehension when describing my sizes to someone over the phone. For the majority of my experiences, my anxiety has been futile and those in Wardrobe become my favorite peeps, right behind Hair & Make-up. And then, something like today's events happen.

Coming from the world of Theatre, where clothes are built months ahead of time and every piece of clothing crafted specifically to your body, down to the tracing and measuring of your FEET, to a girl like me, this business of TV styling seems like a whirlwind. For example, I was supposed to shoot this morning and my first fitting was late yesterday afternoon. Time is not a luxury. I understand that the details cannot be taken on sometimes under these circumstances and I am harrrrdly the lead of this thing, so certainly I do not expect mountains to be moved for lil ol' me.

However, when I offer to have my most recent measurements sent over and a designer refuses and says "Just let me ask you for some sizes," red flags arise. Never once did she ask where I shop. Never once did she ask what I like to wear. "Just bring me some of your things to the fitting." These mainly say to me, "I don't know how to dress a cow like you."

Please do not think for a minute that I do not realize I am projecting. These are my fears I am manifesting into defensive thoughts. These are so similar to my running Cool-Girl Tape, I cannot begin to TELL you. That being said, all of the things bought for me in that first fitting did not fit; shirt buttons were stretching, skirts were snug at best, there was not a Spanx to be found! I was getting a sense that this designer was resenting having to dress a Plus-Size girl, who must've lied about her sizes over the phone.

Today, this hunch was confirmed.

"I'm going to go to Lane Bryant tomorrow," she'd said after the failed first attempt. "What size are you there?" Now, I don't SHOP at Lane Bryant because clothes generally do not FIT me there. Things are usually altogether long, including in the shoulder and the torso so I said, "Definitely a 14. And everything will be big. If they have a petite line, you may want to look at that." "Oh, we can alter things." Over the phone, she said she didn't want to alter anything because of time. Hmm.

Today, after waiting a half an hour for her to arrive, she came in like a tornado with stories of woe and I genuinely felt terrible about her situation. So many hurdles to go through. She managed to get very cute dresses for me, and they were big but not awful and the sweaters that I swam in, she pinned back. One was one of those tent sweaters with no armpits that I'm guessing was 3 sizes too big and she made a comment about taking some fabric out; I playfully added, "Yeah, and put an armpit IN!" She turned all school marm on me and said, "Well, we can always take away fabric, so bigger is good." I think I bit my tongue until I tasted blood and said, "Well, my dad's a costumer and I grew up building clothes, so I know how that works."

Then came the pants portion of the fitting. First up was a pair of dressy legging-pants. If you are on my facebook page ever, you will know how I THINK LEGGINGS AS PANTS ARE AWFUL. As I put on a pair, I basically told her that. Even the long sweater she put over them did not cover the awful highlighting of my cellulite the polyester blend provided. I said, "Could I just try the slacks?" (God, that's a word only my dad still uses.) The crotch on these pants were so short, it made me think they were a low rise which again, I voiced my opinion of- "Why do they even make these in big sizes?!" She said, "The crotch isn't that short; maybe you need a bigger size." Actually, I DON"T need a bigger size; I NEED A REGULAR RISE PANT.

Now, the piece de resistance that she was so excited to show me was a faux-silk tank in a great print and she warned me it was not in my size at all, but she loved it so much she bought it and figured we could adjust it. It was a size 24. I am a 14. I can only imagine she's never bought a size 12 for a size 2 actress because she loved the fabric... ANYwho, it was a tent. She pinned the sides but my armpit holes will be humongous still. I started to play with the front, gathering it so maybe with a small accordion pleat under the bust, it could create an empire waist which at LEAST give it shape. She caught on and a grabbed a tie to wrap around me, "Oh, we can find a ribbon like that; that'll be cute!" It will be. If they can get it done. I hope they do.

So we were wrapping it up, both thanking the other for their patience, etc., and she says, exasperated, "I'm glad it worked out because, there are 3 Plus-sized girls on this shoot so...only so many looks at the Lane Bryant to choose from." It was her worst nightmare, apparently. As if that was the only store Plus-sized girls could shop in. And theeeeen, she said this:

"You know, next time, when you give your sizes, you really should say that you need fabrics with stretch in them or that they have to go to up to an 18."

I blinked. Several times. And with every ounce of patience God graced with me in the moment said this:

"Yeah, I know that my body can be tricky...I mean, who knows better than me- I shop for myself! But that's why I wanted you to have all my measurements because once you see them, you get a better idea of what you're working with."

She "Oh'd" me and said she understood. I highly, highly doubt that she would understand ANY of my measurements if she DID get them.

By the way, on every other job I've had, a designer HAS pulled an 18 for me on top of the 14/16's that I give as an average size. They'll bring an 1X instead of an XL because buying clothes for a stranger is difficult. NEVER ONCE HAVE I HAD SOMEONE SUGGEST I SHOULD WARN SOMEONE ABOUT MY SIZE AHEAD OF TIME.

I'm doing my best to meet this experience with Grace, to see how feeling attacked is only because my ego wants to be right. The bigger picture is, I am not in the best shape I can be, food is still a major addictive trigger for me and I am not pursuing dating at all because I am not enjoying being in my skin. A dear friend sent a funny text about a three-some to me the other day and I retorted, "I have a hard enough time being naked with ONE person, thankyouverymuch." He, very simply, responded, "Release that." I laughed hard after tearing up a bit at the simple truth of it.

Busted

I've been away for a while because I actually felt like I had this Cool Girl shit under control for a minute. But then September came and theeeen I didn't write because I was avoiding the shenanigans in my life. 'Cause that's how Cool Girl rolls.She sucks. Especially when something goes down that she knooows is futile, she knoooows has never worked in the past and she THOUGHT was a behavioral pattern that was dead and buried.

You guys remember The Touch of Gay Curse? Yeah. I've developed a terrible, passionate, fully-loaded crush on a gay guy. Well, at least a guy who fucks dudes. *sigh* Labels are sometimes complicated...

It's just so emBARrassing. HuMILiating. LAME. And you know what got me into this mess?! THEATRE. Good ol' American Musical Theatre. Every stinking time. I'm having fun. I'm feelin' myself. I'm in my POWER. And then I'm busted. Busted DOWN.

When you are in a show that is good, that is a fulfilling experience, ask anyone who performs for a living: the Love flows. It's Freedom and Magic and Trust and The Land of Make Believe. Literally. I was in this heavenly space. Someone on the first day of rehearsal seems to laugh at all your jokes and makes you laugh too and that horrible first-day-of-school nervousness goes away because you have a FRIEND. I will never forget when starting rehearsals for my first Broadway show, Billy the Angel was truly that when he took me by the hand and introduced me to a bunch of dancers who I did not know but who all knew each other and got me "in." Stand-Up Yogi was one of them. I still sleep on her couch when I visit NYC. It's a defining moment in the life of an actor, that first day.

Ends up, I knew and enjoyed this Show Crush back in the day; I was taken with him then, during this first Broadway show of mine. We were not in a show together but hung in similar circles, although his was faster and partied a bit harder than mine. Let's just say on this first day of rehearsal, I remembered him but he didn't remember me. The cast was small and the rehearsals were few and we had a looooot of work to do. But the air crackled with fun.

There is an interesting thing that happens when someone asks your advice for the first time. I am always amazed when people can do this so openly, without covering it up with layers of circumstance or playing like it was their idea in the first place. SC was so vulnerable and asked such an interesting question about a situation with a friend. I admire that in people because I am not good at doing that at all. I gave my opinion. he took it in and thanked me. And that's kinda when the friendship deal is sealed for me. Something...clicks.

We quickly exchanged numbers and I would talk to him almost every night into the wee small hours. Half asleep one night I whispered, "Tell me a secret." And he did. And I did. Back and forth we went. Thinking of it now, it seems like a goddamn Nicolas Sparks novel. *barf* One night, he seemed a lil...weird. And was eating weird things. And cooking boxed Mac & Cheese wrong. Like, without a liquid. Then he mumbled something about wishing we were married detectives before getting off the phone. The next day, he confessed he took Ambien before he called me. Greeeeat. What he kinda pieced together was that he meant we were like Mr. & Mrs. Smith, which made me pee.

Over the weeks, we bonded over the places we came from which are so similar, our crazy families, our Catholic histories, our theatrical successes & failures and our starting from scratch out in Los Angeles. He's so gifted. Really brilliant. I like being around his light. I feel like I vibrate higher when I'm around him. One night, I had a few people over for cocktails and made him stay just a lil longer; I confessed to him, "I just don't want you to leave. Ever. I wanna be around you all of the time." He said him too. Then at 2:30 in the morning I went outside and picked lemons off the giant tree at the front stoop so he could take them home. His eyes shined as he left. Another late night on my couch, he told me about his rough first semesters in college and I held his hand and cried for his younger self. I told him I wish we had met in college. We decided to write a script about that very What If...

Compliments from a gay are the worst because they are generally better than any that a straight guy can come up with. They are more detailed usually, have more thought behind them, and many times take you by surprise because a male is actually paying attention to some shit. SC was lavish with compliments and never wanted to do my hair when giving one. He talked about a girlfriend he'd lived with for about a year (not so long ago); women he'd had sex with seemed to keep popping up to see the show. It was all very... layered. Because he also has a boyfriend currently. And an ex-boyfriend came to do the show with us as a replacement for a few weeks. And he and I talked about cute boys all of the time. But he was always very adamant about him being my only "Boo." The show was dirty and oversexed and so was almost everyone backstage. I've seen more heads of penises and areolas than I can count. There was lots of inappropriate touching and kisses and groping. Many commented to us after a bit of rough-housing, "Just do it already!" "It's like you're friggin' married." Illusion was winning but would not last forever. I KNEW this. I know myself. The party was going to be over once the show was. We got our closing notice.

I kept telling him, "Everything will be different. This will all change." And he kept arguing, "Why are you SAYing that?! You are the only person I hang out with in LA!" But, see, it wasn't about the time spent; it was about me and my crazy. I started to be mean, something I do when I don't want to deal with missing someone or change. Then I'd have to apologize but only half-way explain. How do you tell someone that you have to talk yourself out of falling in love with them every day?! It was maddening.

Christmas break has given me distance which is a good thing. We hadn't spoken until 2 nights ago when he returned to LA and took Ambien again for the first time in weeks. He called at 3am my time. I don't wanna do relationships under the influence. Even a friendship with layers. I just reread my Big Heartbreaker entries and the reminder of how busted that all was...I'm realizing how repetitive this all seems to be. I have no neat bow for this. There are strings hanging all over the place. I love him dearly. I want him in my life always. I just need to get over wanting his attention & affection all of the time.

I actually just messaged a guy on OkCupid who is a drummer with tattoos to see if I can throw myself into the arms of testosterone to get me over this crush. Maybe a good pounding can cure what ails me.