The Emails I Haven't Sent to Gus

Gus texted me yesterday. He's about to go on vacation with his family for a week, leaving LA and the other girl behind (at least, I assume she's not going with him).

GUS: Can i call you from [vacation spot]? Next coupla days?
ANGELA: Why?
GUS: ... To talk.
GUS: :)
GUS: If thats okay
ANGELA: 90% of me gives an exuberant yes. 10% of me wonders if talking to you will only remind me of the separation between us and cause me more torment.
GUS: I totally get it.
GUS: Lets call it "play it by ear"
ANGELA: When do you leave?
GUS: Ill be there tomorrow night
GUS: Thru sun
ANGELA: Have a safe journey and a relaxing vacation. :)
GUS: Thanx hun


Then last night, I wrote an email. I started composing it at 2am, fell asleep with my laptop on my lap, and woke up and finished it this morning. And I've been debating whether to send it all day.


Thank you for asking if you could call. Very considerate of you. :)

I would, of course, love nothing more than to talk to you. I'm desperate to talk to you. Please call.

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But I thought it only fair to tell you my thoughts on the matter.

I would rather put my cards on the table than hide them in my sleeve.

And so, here comes some vulnerable honesty.

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The hesitation arose in me because my brain is attempting to protect my heart. In talking to you, I'm worried I might become burdened with a terrible affliction called 'hope'.

It turns out, you weren't just a rebound. I've had a couple, and they were surprisingly easy to get over, once I was out of them. (Even if I clung tightly to them in the moment.)

You're different.

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I'm also trying not to be selfish. Try as I might, I haven't stopped wanting you. And I like to imagine that, on some level, you're not completely over me. (If you are, please don't tell me that; it won't lessen the pain.)

It feels unfair of me to keep talking with you. I'm trying to put myself into the shoes of a girl I've never met. I don't want to prevent you from being there with her 100%. It wouldn't be kind. Not after she's come all the way out here, with her dog, and worked out a job and a sublet, and is acting in your play, and has changed her whole life around to try to be with you.

The honorable thing would be for me to let you change your whole life around to be with her. And I want so desperately to be honorable. Maybe it's best, for you, if I tell you not to talk with me. Maybe it's best that I not only let you go, but that I push you away.

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But selfishly, I miss you.

I'm sure I'll be fine, eventually. I don't want you to think of me as some pathetic chick, wallowing in her bed, thinking about you all day. That's not where I am. [Literally: I'm in the garden. ;) ]

Most of the time, I'm okay. I've been getting a lot done, actually, mostly to distract myself.

Sometimes when you pop into my head, I think, "We started as friends. We can go back to being friends. I bet we'll be even better of friends because of how close we've become."

Or I think, "This would've run its course eventually. It's so lucky that it ended now, before it became more complicated."

Or I think, "He said he can see himself marrying this girl. This is the way things were supposed to be. Now I get to discover what's in store for me, without wasting more time on a guy who had already met his match."

But then waves of emotion come in unexpectedly.

Like when I want to tell you something, and realize that I've already texted you more than I should have that day, and I need to let it go.

Or when I had to cancel on Kate an hour and a half before the screening of The Way, Way Back, because I'm not quite ready to see a movie with someone else.

Or when the hot bartender (the one I kept joking about to try to make you jealous, which never seemed to work) gave me his number and I couldn't have cared less... I've already lost it, and I don't even care. Because he isn't you.

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Due to the friendly terms on which we ended things, you might end up being a sort of one-who-got-away for me.

The one I didn't get a fair shot with.

The one I'll always wonder about.

Almost funny, isn't it?

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In conclusion, I would love for you to call me. I can't tell you how much.

We can keep it light. We can avoid talking about her. Or us. It can be one of our fun, happy, silly conversations. I'd very much enjoy that. It can be the beginning of us being just friends.

But if you decide as a result of this information that it is better not to call, then I understand.

I'll be sad, of course, but I'll understand.

All good things,

~A~





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I didn't send it. I drafted a second email, which I also haven't sent:

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There are 750 words in my drafts folder explaining my internal debate regarding whether we should speak. The words are vulnerable, extremely honest, a bit embarrassing, and filled with affection (albeit a bit pained). I've been debating all morning whether to send that email...

The short version: Yes, you may call me from [vacation]. I would love to speak with you.

I'm booked tonight from 6:00pm-6:45pm my time, and 7:30pm-10:30pm. You are welcome to call me before 6:00pm (9:00pm EDT), or during the 45 minutes when I'm on the road between these things (9:45pm-10:30pm EDT), or after I'm done (but I'm guessing after a day of travel, and it being 1:30am EDT, you'll be sleeping by then).

Tomorrow I'm booked after about 6:15pm my time. But if you'd like to call during the day, I should be flexible. Just give me a heads up about when you might call, so that I can schedule my day accordingly.  

All good things,

~A~

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I'm not sure yet what to do. Send the first? The second? Neither? Just a text saying, "Yes, you can call me," and leave it at that?



Why do I over-think everything?

~A~

Celebrities People Have Told Me I Look Like

I need to cheer myself up, so I'm going to write something completely frivolous.

I keep a list of celebrities people tell me I look like. Because apparently, I look like EVERYONE. I started keeping track probably about 5 years ago.

Ones I get regularly (in vague order of how often):

- Anne Hathaway

- Aubrey Plaza (I have been confused for her twice in 2013)

- Natalie Wood (started getting it more often when they reopened her murder investigation)

- Rose McGowan

- Alyson Hannigan

- Christina Ricci (I've been on set with her several times; no one has ever compared us when we're in the same room)

- Audrey Hepburn

- Riki Lindholme (which is weird, because she's rarely a brunette)

- Sarah Hyland (I was confused for her once in January 2013)

- Mariah Carey (usually specified as "a white Mariah Carey"; I swear I get this at least once a year, always from someone I just met)

Ones I got more in the past than I do now:

- Alyssa Milano (got it more when I was a kid and Who's The Boss? was on the air.)

- Laura San Giacomo (got it more when Just Shoot Me was on the air.)

- The girl from "Hook", aka Amber Scott (apparently, I looked identical to that child, but I never saw Hook)

Ones that I don't get often, and wish I got more often because I am totally flattered by them:

- Allison Brie

- Analeigh Tipton

- Ashley Judd

- Berenice Bejo

- Eden Riegel

- Janeane Garofalo

- Kristin Kreuk

- Marion Cotillard

- Marisa Tomei

- Michelle Monaghan

- Mila Kunis

- Rachel Bilson

- Sofia Coppola

- Sutton Foster

Ones I have gotten that make me go, "huh?" for various reasons:

- Allison Janney (I have since been her stand-in a few times, and trust me, we look nothing alike in person)

- Angelina Jolie

- Annabella Sciorra

- Anneliese Van der Pol

- Beyonce Knowles (have gotten a few times, always specified as "a white Beyonce")

- Carol Burnett

- Carole Lombard

- Imogene Coca

- Jennifer Lopez

- Katie Sackhoff

- Lauren Graham

- Lindsay Lohan

- Lisa Loeb

- Liv Tyler

- Liza Minnelli

- Maggie Gyllenhaal

- Mariah Carey (it bears reiterating)

- Michelle Pfeiffer

- Mindy Smith

- Rita Moreno

- Stella McCartney

- Swoosie Kurtz

- Vanessa Hudgens

The Unreliable Narrator & the Conflicted Love Interest

I have a secret...

I'm an unreliable narrator.

Sometimes the things I write in this blog aren't fully accurate. Especially when it comes to my emotions.

Because the truth is, I spend a lot of time trying to talk myself into things. And even more time trying to talk myself out of things.


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Example: I wrote something on here about this guy being interested in me, but whatever, nothing was going to happen.

Truth: I was attracted to him from the beginning. I just wasn't ready. So many guys hit on me. Many asked me out. Do you know how many I harshly turned down in person? Just Gus. Because he was the only one who was an actual temptation, and I knew I needed more time.

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Example: I wrote a whole post about how being in Gus's play was more important to me than dating Gus.

Truth: I desperately wanted to be in Gus's play because I wanted to be around Gus. But that scared me. And I tried to talk myself out of wanting him. And convince myself that I wasn't just trying to be in his play because I had a crush on him, but that it was actually some sort of savvy career move. (Actually, it probably isn't; it's a tiny, non-paying theatre company, that already has a good opinion of me, doing a verbose high-concept show with no set in the Valley.) I just didn't want to admit to myself, or anyone else (and certainly not the internet) that I wanted to be in a play because of a boy. I actually nearly volunteered to be the stage manager (but stopped short of that because I really couldn't justify it as a good career decision; although Gus told me that he wouldn't have let me stage manage, as it would've been a waste of my talent -- his words).

[ETA: I did, in fact, offer to be an understudy after I found out I hadn't been cast.]

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Example: I made it seem like I was having a conflict deciding between Gus and Phil.

Truth: I don't think there was ever a real moment of me wanting Phil over Gus. I just felt like there was supposed to be. I felt guilty. I felt like I owed Phil something.

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Anyway. These are not the only times in the history of my blog where I haven't been 100% honest. But I felt I should own up to them, because I realized you are all working with incomplete information as a result of them. And I thought that maybe that would make everything else I'm writing seem either confusing, disingenuous, or delusional.

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I hung out with Gus on Thursday and Friday and Saturday and Sunday. And honestly? It was all pretty great. No crying, no stress, hardly any mention of the situation or the other girl (my choice). Just enjoying each other. And ignoring most of the circumstances.

I'm far more at peace with than I was. And maybe more than I should be. I don't know yet.



I'm not going to be able to see Gus again until Wednesday night or Thursday morning. (Between work and rehearsal, he basically has three 14-hour days in a row). And then on Thursday afternoon, we're going to Malibu, so that he can take me to that restaurant he's been promising to take me to.

We're driving separately. And while he hasn't admitted this, I have reason to believe that when he leaves me after dinner, he's driving to pick her up from the airport.

I know. Believe me, I know how messed up that is.

Especially because she doesn't know about me.


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He really likes me. A lot. In spite of himself, I think.

I think he's getting to the place where he wants to start focusing on her. His jokes are all becoming non sequiturs. He's starting to rebuild the wall that I've spent so much time trying to chip away.

But I see him struggling. He's conflicted.

Today we went to see a play. He didn't want me to kiss him anywhere near the theatre, because a couple of our mutual friends (the ones that we never told we were dating) were there. But when I did kiss him, he kissed me back, hard.

And he spent the whole play casually touching me in quick ways. It felt like he didn't want them to notice, but just couldn't help himself. He'd put his hand on my knee just for a second, and then take it away again. Or take the armrest in a way that made his arm touch my shoulder. Or rub my calf with his shoe.

I also know from the things he says to me. When he flatters me, he does it in a way that shows me his vulnerability, like, "I figured it was just a matter of time before you came to your senses and dumped me," or, "You're only dating me because I came along at the right time. You can't possibly like me as much as you think you do." (I know it's hard to understand inflection and context when I type out things he's said, but trust me that when he says these things, they are not ironic, or manipulative, or said in a way that makes me think he's trying to get me to like him either more or less than I do.) Or telling me that time we spend together is "so good... it always is." Or calling an evening in "perfect". Or looking into my eyes, kissing my hand, and telling me how beautiful I am.

I'm not going to lie to you: I like that he's conflicted. Even though he's not choosing me. I like that it's a tough decision. One that he worries he might regret.

And if I were a more mature and selfless person than I am, I might tell him that we need to stop seeing each other sooner rather than later. Because it's not fair to her. She's coming all this way on a huge leap of faith to be with him, and when he sees her, it will be right after having taken me out to a nice dinner. It'll be right after kissing me. And holding me. And (just a guess) after comforting me while I cry a little. And I know that when he drives to see her, he'll be excited to see her, but part of him will feel terrible about hurting me.

But darn it, I don't care.


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Someone told me a little about her last night...

FRIEND: She's a manic pixie dream girl.
ANGELA: Ah. I'm almost one. But only like half the time.
FRIEND: Yeah, she's one all the time. Also, she's crazy.
ANGELA: Well, I'm crazy, too. So Gus has a type.
FRIEND: It's a completely different kind of crazy. You're crazy in a good way.

*shrugs*

We left the conversation there.

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For now, I'm happy. For now, I'm okay. For now, this works.

But after Thursday...?

Well, don't be surprised if you get another blog post.

~A~