I (Used to) Crush a Lot: Part II

Me trying on a dress in Chicago that I couldn't afford, even though it was on sale. But LOOK AT THE PRETTY.

I didn't only have crushes in high school, but I'm sure you assumed that.

And I've been enjoying this whole "writing things that I might hypothetically say to boys" endeavor, so I'm going to continue. (This is more for me than for you, so feel free to not read it.)


Here are some letters for the people I definitely won't see at my high school reunion. (NOTE: This is not going to be a complete list. This is going to be however many I can think of before I pass out.)

- "Hello Ryan. I had a crush on you in 2nd and 3rd grade. Mostly because when we were supposed to make pictures using only construction paper hearts on Valentine's day, you made an extraordinarily intricate scorpion. You were so hardcore (for a 3rd-grader). I won the class spelling bee that year, and I remember mentally dedicating it to you... and hoping you were impressed. You moved away, and I never saw you again."

- "Hi. I can't remember your name, because I used to call you Delaware, as that's where you'd moved from. Major crush on you in 3rd grade. You were the first boy whom I actually was crushed on as a result of having awesome conversations with (at the time, they seemed very deep and intellectual... but we were in 3rd grade, so that means nothing). My friend Stephani hated you, so I never spent as much time with you as I would have liked. The days she was absent, you and I hung out by the monkey bars at recess and just talked. After 3rd grade, I switched elementary schools. I think you must've moved, because I never saw you again (or maybe I did, but I didn't remember your name?). You were the coolest, and I bet you're off having great adventures somewhere."

- "Hi Brian. I thought you had a crush on me in 2nd through 6th grades. We saw each other once a year when our parents had to go to meetings at a ski resort in Michigan. You once fought another guy so that you could sit next to me on a particularly long chair-lift up the mountain. We were both obsessed with "All That", and would do dueling impressions of Lori Beth Denberg's Vital Information for Your Everyday Life sketch. We would also sneak off while playing hide and seek with other kids, and hang out in a stairway on the other side of the building that they didn't know existed, where we were TOTALLY FLIRTING on an elementary school level. Imagine my surprise when you announced on Facebook that you are gay. BRIAN! YOU CANNOT BE GAY! YOU WERE THE FIRST GUY TO EVER FLIRT WITH ME! This is all very upsetting. I see you ended up going to Stamford for computer programming in undergrad, and stayed at Stamford for a Master's in computer science, and eventually went to law school there. So clearly, I've always been attracted to super intelligent guys. But at this point in time, you were the only gay-blindside that I've ever had. Your Facebook profile states, 'The sexiest thing someone can be is articulate.' I whole-heartedly agree (and this leads me to believe that we might now be interested in the same types of men)."

- "Josh, I met you at summer camp. I suspected from the beginning that you might be gay (which is why I don't really count you as a gay-blindside), but then you called me sexy once, which briefly sparked some hope. Last time I ran into you, you were wearing eyeliner, mascara, foundation, and blush. I heard that by the end of high school, your parents had disowned you and you had moved in with a friend. I hope you have found the kind of love and support in your life that you need."

- "Russell, you twit. I asked you to my junior prom, and you said no. I went alone. Thanks for nothing."

- "Hi Jim. Oh, the crush I had on you. The crush to end all others. I literally once saved a ketchup packet that you handed me in the cafeteria. THAT'S HOW CRAZY I WAS OVER YOU. I remember taking the SATs in the same room as you in middle school, though I didn't have a crush on you then. I took obsessive notes for you in our high school Psychology class while you were out for your scoliosis surgery. I wrote you a really bad love poem once, and I made the misguided decision of putting it on the internet, and Kate totally made fun of me over it, but I thought it was brilliant. Wish I still had it (it was a villanelle that compared you to the sun; wow, that's insanely funny now. I was SO INTO YOU), but that blog was lost in the Diary-X crash of 2002. I think you knew I had a crush on you, and that's why when Kate scheduled it so the two of us would walk together at Relay for Life, your friend Mike walked too, so that you wouldn't have to be alone with me. You told me I sounded great singing the song "Somebody to Love" by Jefferson Airplane, which then immediately became my favorite song. We were picked to sing in a quartet together in a choir concert, and I thought that was just the best thing ever, but I was so terrified to actually sing that I broke out in hives. When I was in the finals in one of the playwriting competitions I used to do, you told everyone that you were sure I was going to win, and that made my heart flutter. I was shocked (SHOCKED!) when you asked me as your date to my senior (your junior) prom. I didn't care that you specified that you were asking me 'as friends.' We hung out a lot in the lead-up to prom, as my good friend Christie was dating your best friend Mike, and the four of us were going together. Once we were actually at prom, you totally ditched me and hung out with the girls from orchestra the whole time, while I was with the drama/choir kids (although we were both in all three groups -- as were Christie and Mike -- so I'm not sure how we got separated). I once drove past your house just for kicks, but then I realized how super creepy stalker-ish that was, and was too embarrassed to do it again. My obsession with you consumed me, and I wanted to just crush you into myself and take you around with me all the time. You recently got a Master's degree from Stamford, again lining up in the trend of me falling for super smart boys. The degree was in Psychology, so I'm pretty sure you got it because of my BRILLIANT note-taking in high school. In that case, you're welcome."

Me, Jim, Christie, and Mike on our way to Prom. (May 2002)

- "Hello, Dan. You are a genius composer, and I once arranged it (ha! no pun intended!) so you could give a concert in my parents' house. Of all the guys I've ever been crushed on, you may be the most fascinating. When I asked you if we could get a picture taken together at graduation, you insisted we do it while hiding behind some big drums in the band room. You taught me how to beat out eighth notes with one hand and triplets with the other, which I still do absent-mindedly from time to time."

- "Screw you, Burrito. You were my first kiss. It happened directly after I said to you that I was not ready to be kissed. But you didn't seem to care. I'd had a crush on you for about a month. Not long after you kissed me (I also have a vague memory of a brief make-out session in an elevator that was particularly daring and exciting), you started entertaining flirtations from my friend Anna (for which I place equal blame on both of you). I came back early from spring break because you were stuck at school and BEGGED me to come spend time with you, but when I got there, you wanted nothing to do with me. That's about the time that I started finding out about your past as a criminal. You were making fake IDs out of your dorm room. And hacking into your high school's computer system and changing your former schoolmates' transcripts for money. And then, finally, you got caught stealing from another Notre Dame student (but were so freaking charismatic that you actually managed to talk your way out of being disciplined in any way). I was sick for a month right after that, during which time you basically dropped off the face of the earth. Next time I spoke to you, you made some comment about how, "the guys in my dorm are convinced you had a crush on me when we first met, but I told them they were wrong and that we just kiss sometimes. Oh, also, I have a girlfriend now." My poor, stupid heart. You subsequently married that girlfriend, and I believe you have now been married for 6 years. Good for you. You also got fat. HA!"

JP, Courtney, me, and Burrito. Um, how cute was I?

- "Hey John. We met in college. You were cool. And funny. And super smart (which, obviously, I think is great). And it seemed like maybe you were interested in me, but only when you were drunk. You called me "Hot Aiea" when you were drunk (and then you sent me an article about how people are more likely to be truthful when drunk... which I probably should've understood was a sign, but I'm super dense about this stuff, and only put it together long down the road). But you never made a move. And the one time you came over to my dorm room, I just got really nervous, and then everything turned awkward. You're a lawyer in Chicago now, but you were out of town on my most recent visit. I would have liked to have seen you. Sometimes I wonder if you read this blog, as you always seemed to have a knack for calling or texting me directly after a post in which I'd mentioned failings in my romantic life. So if you're reading this (are you? -- weird), hi there."

This might be the only photo I have with John. And he's blinking. And his weird roommate is in it. And I'm wearing an awful shirt.

Fabian, John, Justin, and Shamp.

- "Hi Justin. You were John's friend (and later roommate). And a total douchebag. But you're hot, and pretty quick with your insults, and if the douchebaggery was aimed in someone else's direction, it was funny. But John was a gentleman, which you never were, and realizing that vital difference was the end of my crush on you."

Justin, classy as ever. He wrote the phrase "Canuck's Bitch" on my friend Mary's leg with a Sharpie when she was wearing a mini-skirt. (He's Canadian.)

- "Hello, Mikey. I admired you from a distance for awhile because I thought you looked like the drummer from Matchbox 20, and at the time I had a thing for drummers (glad that phase is over). You were simultaneously admiring me, apparently. You were 17 (you'd skipped a grade in high school and started college early, you smart boy, you), and I was nearly 19. You were the first guy to ever ask me on a date, which I tragically had to turn down because I was leaving to study abroad in Italy the following week. The night before I left, you finally kissed me (I was shy, but you persuaded me to make out with you using a football metaphor; yeah, I'm still not really sure how you pulled off that black magic). We made out for hours. You pinned me against a car and kissed me in the pouring rain, which would've been totally gross if it weren't so damn hot. I was with you until 4:00am, but I told my mother I was saying goodbye to my friend Mary. I thought about that make-out session with you so, so much, that I literally had to drop a class as a result of it (I couldn't concentrate on the archaeology of ancient Rome while I was daydreaming about you). We used to IM, back in the days that people IMed. You once referred to me as "the perfect woman" on your away message for the world to see. I'd never felt such glee. I started sending you hand-made postcards, which you never acknowledged. You called me up once asking if I wanted to get pancakes with you at 3am. I wish I'd said yes, but instead I wrote an overly dramatic piece of slam poetry about the conversation. You started dating some girl who destroyed your self-esteem, and you dropped out of college. A couple of years later you started doing theatre, and you wrote me to thank me, and said that it was because of my influence. I was never sure whether that were true. No matter what happens in my life or yours, I'm not sure my crush on you will ever fully fade. You made me feel intelligent, sexy, and special. And I will never forget that."

- "What's up, Jason? You offered to hold my hand once as we were crossing the street. You had a cartilage piercing, but didn't have the danger or spontaneity that I expected might accompany it (you got it pierced in a pediatrician's office). You were a math major of some sort, and belonged to an über-geeky math fraternity. I remember thinking one night while we watched a movie, "wow, he's got game," but I can't recall why that thought went through my head. I hung out with you for a couple of weeks (if that), and then when I saw you again a year later, you referred to me as a "former girlfriend." Um, we never technically dated; we just watched movies. You are married now, and I sometimes wonder if your wife actually knows that you're married. You tried to kiss me once (more proof that we never dated?), and were a terrible, horrible kisser, and I have since written a monologue partially inspired by that experience. So, thanks?"

- "Hi Greg. You already know you're on this list, because I sent you a bunch of my Diary-X blog posts while you were studying in Egypt, and I forgot to edit out the part where I casually mentioned I was 'so over Greg.' Most of our friendship consisted of you telling me about Jeannine (the girl you were obsessed with), then flirting and cuddling with me, and then going back to talking about Jeannine again. I have never been so confused (but it gave me something emo to blog about for 3 years). You are so smart, and so funny, and such a good cuddler. And I loved that you wrote incredibly controversial articles for your campus newspaper just to ruffle feathers. You did the nicest thing for me that I think anyone has ever done: skipped a concert of a band you loved so that you could surprise me with crayons and maps and help me study for a geography test that I was undoubtedly going to fail (and I ended up getting 100% on because of your diligent tutelage). I don't think I've ever known anyone as intimately as I knew you. We got to the point where I could listen to a song and know whether you would like it. People used to tell us that we would make a cute couple. You almost kissed me once, under a street lamp in the sunrise rain, in what would have been the most romantic moment that I've ever come close to living... but you shied away at the last second. One time, you actually said that you would love to date me (and I nearly fainted), but you never actually went further than that. I don't blame you for anything, but in retrospect, I think you screwed me up more than anyone else. Because after you, I wanted SO BADLY for someone to actually be interested in me, that I didn't take into account what I wanted in someone else anymore. If someone was interested in me, I was just magically interested in them (I call it "The Greg Rule"). I've survived a lot of really messed up quasi-relationships (which I won't go into now) as a result, and I also second-guess every nice guy I date, because I'm so worried I'm only dating him because he's interested in me in a way that you never were. You are working for a big fancy company now that keeps you busier (and more frequently out of the country) than anyone else I know, so I only speak to you once a year, if that. The last time I heard from you was an email a couple of months ago saying how heartbroken you were, as you have just now discovered that you and Jeannine will never be together (after, oh, 13 years of being obsessed with her... you didn't explain, but I'm guessing she got engaged to someone else). I still consider you to be one of my best friends. I wonder if I will ever know anyone as well as I knew you."

Me half-asleep on Greg. I always liked this picture even though I look terrible, because it's the only picture I had in which it looked like Greg was adoring me more than I was adoring him.

"Hey V. I totally forgot about you until I was looking through my photos just now. You were Greg's roommate, which meant that I spent a lot of time around you. I thought you were super cute, until you went on a drunken misogynistic rant. You said that you didn't feel women pulled their weight in society, and that you'd never known a woman who had lived up to her full potential. Just a hint: that is not an attractive position to take when speaking to a female (especially one who goes to a women's college, because we're pretty much all feminists). You're married now... Huh."

V and me. Glad I got rid of that shirt. Also, what's with the angle of this photo? Was it taken by a small child?

- "Hi Mike. My other best friend from college. It's weird that I ever had a crush on you. So, so weird. Obviously, it was fleeting. We did a lot of platonic cuddling during college and in Chicago (by the way: you're the best cuddler I know, and if it becomes an Olympic sport, you should absolutely represent the USA), but I always kind of thought of you as a brother (and I know you're not offended by being "friend-zoned", as you refer to me as a sister, and we've had jokes about how us getting together would feel strangely incestuous). Then one time, you said something that sounded vaguely flirtatious, and I was instantly crushed (which I think can be blamed on Greg, in retrospect; you were the first victim of The Greg Rule). I thought, "Why have I never considered Mike as anything other than a friend? Mike is the best! I have been so wrong to friend-zone him!" Then about a week later I held your forehead while you drunkenly vomited and cried over another girl (Mary, my then-best-friend, whom you were crazy about), so I got over it very quickly. Thank God. You're one of my best buds, and I can't imagine how weird things might be now if anything more than platonic cuddling had ever happened between us. Excited to go to your wedding in the spring! (Not to Mary!)"

Mike and Mary

Mike and me. Apparently I really loved that shirt.

- "Hello, Pretty Girl (whom I will not name here, as I believe you are still claiming to be straight). I never knew what to do with you. There was a period of time when I am quite convinced you were flirting with me. Actually, I didn't realize you were flirting with me -- as I am rarely aware that I'm being flirted with/at/to -- but I put everything you had said and done on my then-blog, and my readers unanimously agreed that you were. If you were male, I would've actually picked up on your flirtation, because it was so glaringly apparent... but it was harder to pick up on coming from a female, if only because of how unexpected it was. You would put your hand on my thigh while we were talking. You would invite me over to your place to watch tv and movies, just the two of us. You would invite yourself over to my dorm room. You would give me little epithets that only we knew. You would lean in close and whisper things to me in an intimate way. At the time, I found the attention somewhat confusing. But then I realized that you were everything I was looking for in a man. And you're very attractive. I was interested, but I was held back by fear. Then I started realizing that all the attention you gave me only came when no one else was around. In front of others, you were actually more likely to taunt and mock me (playfully, I thought at the time). Were you ashamed of me? Or trying to hide that you felt something for me? Then we went through a period of time when we didn't see each other much (I was in a show, which takes over my whole life). You came to see me in it, and seemed so proud of me, and your compliments hit my heart more than anyone else's (even though it was somewhat out of your territory). But I got a boyfriend, and you started casually dating random guys, and somewhere along the way you stopped speaking to me. We had been good friends, but suddenly you started doing passive-aggressive things that were hurtful to me. Like replacing me on a project we had planned to collaborate on (without telling me, no less). Or canceling on plans for which I had pre-paid for both of us. You were still avoiding me years later when you visited Chicago and somehow got me uninvited from a party we were both planning to attend.  I don't know what your problem was/is. I try to contact you from time to time, but you don't respond. Of all the people on this list, I probably desire closure from you the most -- primarily as a friend. (I am still wounded. And incredibly angry.) But I suspect that I will never get it."

- "Ben, I thought you were H-O-T at the time. Smart, funny, and talented... and those are boxes I like to tick off. I would've forgot to mention you, except you just came up on my Facebook newsfeed."

- "Hi Dave. You were the inspiration for this post. I had a crazy huge crush on you while we were in a play together in Chicago. When I visited a couple of weeks ago, we established that you didn't realize that at the time (which is funny, because I'm the same way; I never have any idea when people are interested in me, regardless of how perfectly clear it may be to others). I always kind of figured that when you and your girlfriend broke up (because everyone knew that the two of you were going to break up), you would come find me. But by the time that happened, I guess I was dating someone else (Michael, I think -- what a cypher that relationship turned out to be). Perhaps it's for the best. I'm grateful not to have an awkward past with you. Weirdly, based on what you said and did on my recent trip (which, again, I didn't think much of until my friends Pete and Mike pointed out how forward you were being -- especially notable, since you're married now), I think you may have more closure issues from that situation than I do."

Why is this the only picture I can find of me with Dave?

Oh, wait! I found one of us dancing in the play. This was right after I did a big high kick (which is why my skirt is up like that), and right before he was about to dip me.

- "Oh, Matt. What a charmer you were. We were in a show together (with Dave), and had a sort of mutual admiration society. We weren't in any scenes together, so when we were off-stage, we'd each watch the other, and then say how brilliant each of us thought the other was. I think you knew that I'd had a crush on Dave before my crush on you began. I wonder if anything would've happened if that hadn't been so apparent..."

Me and Matt screaming.

How cute is Matt?

- "Dane, stop un-friending me on Facebook! You were in the same show with me that Dave and Matt were (I had just broken up with my first boyfriend, and to paraphrase Teen Girl Squad, I had a crush on EVERY BOY). You told me that I was the best female Guitar Hero competitor that you had ever come up against (and the only one who could hold my own on Expert), but you still handily beat me. You once said that I was the perfect woman, and that you wanted to marry someone exactly like me (and really wanted to marry a virgin), but that you couldn't date me because you couldn't give up sex. Guess what Dane: if you're not willing to give up sex, then there is no possible way that you can marry a virgin. LOGIC."

Dane, the un-friender.

- "Venessa, I thought you were incredible. Absolutely my favorite girly crush. A great actress, who understood and appreciated First Folio Shakespeare in the way that I did. Completely gorgeous. So knowledgable. A fast-thinking, free-spirit who shot from the hip and acted from the heart. I was fascinated by you. And I kept trying to subtly find out whether you would be into dating a girl... But then you got a boyfriend, rendering such information useless. And then you started trying to set me up with a guy friend of yours who saw me once in passing and thought I was cute. Colour me disappointed."

- "Oh, Ben. You're a cutie. I blogged about you, which was what made you confess that you had discovered my blog and had been reading it without telling me, and you had a girlfriend that I didn't know about, and things got super weird. You're not on Facebook, so I can't stalk you, and that drives me nuts."

- "Hey, Ricky. I met you through NaNoWriMo, which was when I was in that weird place with my ex-boyfriend Brian where we weren't technically dating yet, but where we were talking on the phone every night... so my crush on you never really fully developed. You are an electrifying writer, in a way that I could only hope to be (the first time you read something to me that you'd written -- something about eating "asteroid pancakes on Tuesday" -- I loved it so much that I had an impulse to tackle you and make out with you right then and there, in front of the whole NaNoWriMo gang; obviously I suppressed that impulse). And you made me laugh. And I loved exchanging grandiose, longiloquent emails with you. It was epistolary foreplay, and I think we both knew it. I loved when you used words from the grandiloquent dictionary just to make me smile. I still have those emails, and I read them about once a year. We used to make each other videos, and you inspired me to new heights of geeky creativity. You once made me a strip tease music video, and it was pretty much the best thing I've ever seen. You used to read this blog, but I'm sure you don't anymore (frankly, I'm impressed with anyone who does). I got a call from a jail in Pennsylvania at 3am about two years ago, asking if I knew you, as you'd been picked up for drunken belligerent behavior after winning a Risk Tournament (congratulations, by the way). I think the cop may have said you crashed a wedding reception as well, but it was so long ago that I'm not sure. I must be in your contacts as 'Aiea' (which I love), as I know you have a sister named 'Alyx', and I think they called me because I was listed first alphabetically. I've tried to get in touch with you, but you have never called me back."

Me and Ricky, one of the few times we actually hung out in person.

Still think he's a swell guy.

- "Hey Barry. We met through this blog. You were one of my first fans. Remember when you made me that video where you were singing a duet with Kermit the Frog (whom you were also voicing)? I don't remember when my crush on you started (probably when you were blogging about your adventures in Japan), but it sure was full-force when Kermit came around. Also, as you know I tend to love it when people think I'm great. But you weren't the typical Greg Rule case; you happen to be pretty cool. And hot. (HA! Room temperature, I guess?) You propositioned me through drunken text messages a couple of times (might be the closest things I've ever received to this newfangled "sexting" that the kids are talking about, although they were still pretty tame by most standards). We planned to finally meet in real life when I got back from studying abroad in London (and, dude, we were totally going to make out). Ha! Yeah, that didn't happen. I didn't see you until a couple of weeks after meeting my darling boyfriend, Phil. Bad timing, I'm afraid. I recently went to your going-away party, before you take a fun, fabulous, international job. I met your gorgeous girlfriend (seriously; wow). I'm glad your life is going so well."

Me and Barry in NYC, just a few short weeks after I met Phil.

- "Hey, you. You're the person on this post who is most likely to actually read it, but I figured you'd be happier if I left your name off (although I'd wager a fiver that you tried skimming for your name, so maybe this was the wrong decision?). I think I've expressed most of what I would want to say to you. I cannot compare my experiences with you to anyone else; you are separate, solitary, singular. I've only actually been in your physical company a handful of times, but I feel more attached to you than that figure might suggest. My intermittent crush on you helped me get over two different break-ups, the first of which was particularly painful. I know that you have meant more to me than I have to you, but I was always at peace with that. Just like Mikey, the experiences I had with you crept into my thoughts invasively (after each event, and for a long while). Conversely (although you once used a cheesy line that suggested otherwise), I doubt our times together replayed in your mind much at all, as I have a feeling they were quickly replaced with new, far less tame adventures. But for me, they were among the hottest and most thrilling times I've ever had. You are vibrant, quick-witted, genuine, sexy, artistic, adventurous, and a truly caring person. Some of the emails you've sent me through the years have given me more helpful counsel than conversations I've had with close friends. You have this knack for casually paying me compliments that improve my self-image and relieve some of my insecurities, for which I don't know how to properly thank you. I think about you often, and occasionally worry about you from the minuscule fragments of data I gather about your life (don't read too much into that; just know that I care about you as a person). I hope that someday you find someone who appreciates you for more than just your looks, your job, and your address. I wish we were closer as friends than we presently are. Write me any time."

EDITED TO ADD: "Hello, Derrick. I thought you were into me. Hence why I was into you. We went out on a date once, but at the end you hugged me and said, 'I'm so glad we're friends.' That was weird."

- "Hi David. You're one of those people I was only interested in because of The Greg Rule. You used to call me at 3:00am asking how I was, and if I wanted to go out with you RIGHT THEN. Which was hilarious, not only because you were drunk, but also because you had no car and wouldn't have been able to meet me anywhere even if you had, in fact, been sober. A jealous friend of yours once drunkenly approached me at a party and told me to stay away from you. So I did. And I'm glad."

Of course the only picture I have of David is one in which he seems to be drunkenly hitting on someone, even though he has clearly wet himself. How appropriate.

- "Ugh, Jake. I had a crush on you for a couple of weeks, until you started sleeping with my roommate. HUGE MISTAKE. She was paranoid for the next YEAR that I was hitting on you, which I WAS NOT. You kept trying to flirt with me against my will. I had to live with her. And that sucked. And also, one time she accused me of flirting with you at a time when I MOST CLEARLY WAS NOT, and I punched her. Pretty hard. She had to ice herself the next day. And even though that was totally my doing and not yours, I'm going to go ahead and blame you for it, because this is my blog, and it's an ungodly hour of the morning, and you never should have A) slept with her, or B) flirted with me when you knew I was not at liberty to flirt back."

- "Bonjour, Julien. You are in the circus, and have held at least two World Records connected to your specialty event, The German Wheel (one of which you currently hold... *drool*). Watching you perform is the sexiest thing I have ever seen. (Note: Julien does a circus act that is a metaphor for struggling with sex addiction. It's genius.) We dirty-danced together in bars, which was exhilarating as well. But once the dancing stopped, you were self-conscious about your ability to speak English (which was so very appealing with your French accent), and clammed up. The last time I saw you, you were leaving a house party with two Italian girls, which was disappointing to say the least. Every couple of months, I use Google Translate to figure out what is happening on your Facebook wall, You should be flattered, because that is the most effort I have ever put into Facebook stalking anyone."

Me dancing with Julien. You'll just have to trust me that it was hotter in person.

I don't know what that face was about. Something got lost in translation.

- "Blake -- you came into play because of The Greg Rule. You were into me (I think. Were you? Wait, what am I saying; if I noticed, then you must've been, because I have to get hit over the head with it to notice), and I was very lonely, so suddenly I was into you. Also, you're smart, and one of those mythical nice guys, and I'm a sucker for that sort of thing. You quasi-asked me out once, but that date never happened. One night, you tried to (awkwardly) make a move, but I misread the signals... and then kicked myself, got drunk, and made out with my friend Dane. And then a few days later I met Phil, and I heard you were upset about that. But dude, your fault. Also, we are COMPLETELY wrong for each other, so no great loss there."

- "Hi Dane. I'm not sure that what I had on you was ever technically even a crush. It was more that I really wanted to get drunk and make out with you. (Isn't alcohol a divine excuse for behavior that would otherwise be unwise and awkward?) You drunkenly hit on me with some frequency for the first two years of grad school (so maybe this is the Greg rule again?), even once trying to give me a hickey in a bar (and you had a girlfriend at the time), for which I slapped you in an exceptionally hard fashion in what was the most truly deserved and satisfying slap I have ever bestowed upon another (although, as usual, you claimed no recollection of such events in the days after). I was always sober, and, thus, nothing ever happened (one of us had to make the responsible decisions). One time when we were both drunk and you implied you wanted me to lose my virginity in London so that you could sleep with me, I punched you (what is it with me getting violent when I'm drunk?). It took two years of knowing you before we made out for about two minutes. It happened in a London bar on a dare from some strangers who said we looked like we would make a cute couple. We had already kissed on stage in a Shakespeare scene that we had acted out earlier in the day -- and we had both been drinking --- so it seemed like a perfectly reasonable thing to do. You told me I was a great kisser, and I reciprocated the compliment. Then we resumed kissing. And then we realized how awkward it was (well, you did... I was enjoying the moment, to be honest), and you made some excuse about having to go get a beer. We never spoke of it again, for which I'm actually pretty grateful. It's weird that we ever made out, because by that point, I sort of thought of you as a frustrating younger brother whom I had to keep an eye on... But damn, you were a good kisser. Seriously. Damn. Well done. We made out a few days before I met Phil, so congratulations on getting in right before the buzzer. You are engaged now. Good luck."

I think this is the first picture I have of me with Dane. Too bad we both look terrible

Here's a better one, from our second year at grad school. He tried to kiss me at this party, even though his girlfriend was standing about 10 feet away.

(Side note: This two-part list contains two Danes, a Dana, and two Dans. And I once dated a Dan. What are the odds? Also a Dave and a David, now that I think about it. Also a Ricky and a Richard. A Ryan and a Brian, and I dated a Brian. And a Jake and I dated a Jake. Sorry, but the name geek in me is freaking out a little now.)


Honestly, there were probably a couple more (if you can believe that... because this list seems super long). But that's all I can remember at this precise moment in time. And it felt pretty great getting all of that out of my system.


May you let go of the things that didn't pan out, so that you may move forward with the ones that did.

~A~

My Love Lives in London

Phil came to visit at the end of January. For the first time, he was in my world instead of me being in his. And it was surreal, in the best way possible. It was marvelous.

We went to Universal Studios. (Including the Harry Potter World, which aside from the ButterBeer was COMPLETELY DISAPPOINTING.)




We went to the Jungle Gardens where we fed flamingoes (including Adrian, the baby I studied my first year for an acting observation assignment) and he held an alligator (named Peter Pan).






We played mini-golf (and I won). And we shopped. And we hung out in the tourist-y part of town.


He met my parents. They came down to Florida to meet him. At the first moment I had with them without Phil...

Mom: Oh, Angela! We LOVE Phil!!! Phil is just great! [Dad's name], Angela wants to know how much we love Phil.

Dad: Did she say that?

Angela: No.

Dad: Well. He seems like a nice, polite, hard-working, ambitious, intelligent young man, and he cares about you very much. We're very happy for you.

We had a picnic on the beach.




We went to the Dali museum.


He saw me act for the first time.






We explored the banyan trees and the Ringling grounds.






We put up a reading of a play he wrote (which was a massive success!!!) and hung out at a bar with the cast afterward.






We had an early Valentine's day.


We felt good and right and happy and comfortable and normal and wonderful.


Since he's been gone, it's been tough. The first week apart felt horrible. Far worse than the previous times we've been separated.

Maybe it's because we're deeper in this than we were before. Maybe it's because we don't know when we're going to see each other again. Maybe it's because once you get to a point where being with someone is normal, it's hard to feel normal without them.

I applied to a job in London that would grant me a 6-month internship visa. I could use some prayers, if you're the praying sort. Or I'll take some good vibes and well wishes if you're not.

If I don't get it... I don't know what we'll do.

The German citizenship isn't happening, and now it looks like Italian may be out as well. The Tier 1 Work Visa for highly skilled migrants (like people with MFAs) has now been discontinued for "overseas applicants" like me.

If we got engaged, I could live in the U.K. for 6 months, but I wouldn't be able to work... and I can't afford that. Which means we'd have to get married super-fast, and I'm not okay with that.

Phil is the man I want to marry. But I don't want my marriage to start as a result of a worst case scenario. "Well this didn't work, that didn't work, and this other thing didn't work. Darn it, I guess we'll have to get married." It just doesn't seem right.



So if anyone out there knows anyone that could help me, please let me know. In particular, I am looking for:
- Immigration solicitors/lawyers
- Members of Parliament, or other officials in the British government
- Anyone in the Royal Family
- Anyone in London who might be able to offer me a job that could get me a work visa
- Anyone in London who might be able to offer me an internship (either paid or with free housing) that could get me an internship visa
- Anyone who is a US citizen who is currently living in the UK on some sort of visa.
- Italian government officials
- Anyone who works in the Italian embassy, even as a secretary
- Con artists, mafiosos, or other unsavory characters who might be able to finagle a way for me to get into the U.K. with the ability to work


That's how desperate I am to get back to this boy.



May you not have to resort to illegalities to get what you want.

~A~

Whirled World, Part V: Cinque Terre

Librarian, Italian, and Attention-Whore

(The main street of Riomaggiore)

(Part I, Part II, Part III, & Part IV)

We made it to Athens. We caught our plane to Milan. We somehow found our way from the Milan airport to our Milan hostel. And when we got there (to a room that had a bidet about 3 feet from our bed) we ordered a pizza, and promptly passed out. As soon as we woke up, we began our trek to Cinque Terre.

I am ethnically Italian. I don't know how in touch with my Italian side I am, as that side of my family emigrated more recently than the other side. I'm around more "Italian-American" customs than "Italian" ones. My mother is full-blooded Italian (all four of her great-grandparents came over from Italy; her parents were born here). Her parents knew how to speak Italian (although I'm not sure how fluent they were), but they used it as a code language (you know how some parents spell words out so that their kids won't know what they're talking about? My grandparents used Italian for those purposes), so she never learned it. My father, who is not Italian, studied in Florence in undergrad and speaks more Italian pretty well. Yes that's right: ironically, my non-Italian father speaks the language that my Italian mother does not. (Did I just use the word "ironically" correctly? Because I think I may have, but I'm never quite confident on that matter.)

So yes. I'm Italian. And I took three semesters of Italian in undergrad. And I spent a semester abroad in Rome.

Despite this, my Italian is practically non-existent. And unlike most places in Italy, the people in the train stations on our route did not speak English (nor did most of the locals with whom we attempted to communicate). So I was incredibly proud of the fact that I managed to speak to people in my extremely-limited Italian, and figure things out just fine. Apparently, I understand a lot more of it than I thought I did. And I used some "creative language skills" that I learned from German classes in high school, meaning that I circled what I wanted to say until people understood it. When I didn't know the word for "pathetic", I used the word for "sad". Apparently it was completely grammatically incorrect, but they understood what I meant well enough to correct me.

(In one of my German classes, we could get extra-credit on a test if we explained something that we didn't have the vocabulary for. Example: The question asked us to explain the process of changing a tire. We didn't know the words for "tire", "jack", "flat", or "wrench", but we did know the words like "car", "bad", "road", "lift", and "circle". If you could fake it well enough that someone might be able to catch your drift, then you got extra credit. Really quite a brilliant method of teaching students to think on their feet in another language, in retrospect...)

Cinque Terre is a group of five small seaside towns. You can hike between them, and it's about 12km total. We ended up staying in Riomaggiore, which is referred to as the "last" of the five towns (although it seems to me that it could be the first if headed from the other direction... Whatever.)

It's gorgeous. The main part of the town is just a street. It leads down to a very small little dock, and giant rocks that people lay on to get sun. And there's a very small rock beach. It's quieter than some of the other towns, which I liked. It was my favorite of the towns (well, the four I saw... we never made it to Corniglia).

(The dock end of Riomaggiore.)

We were in a hostel room for 9, which was our first non-private hostel on the trip. There was a group of three Aussie girls: Kate, Katie, and Emma. There were a couple of Kiwis (from New Zealand, if you're not up on the lingo), who were traveling with some boys in a neighboring room. There were a couple of girls from Idaho who were also traveling with some boys in the neighboring room.

The first night, Two-Shots-Up and I got some pasta from a cute little shop. She also got focaccia, which is an Italian bread that I had introduced her to in the train station in Genoa. Then we went to the rocks and watched the sunset.

(Best sunset picture I've taken yet. Seriously, check that.)

We went out to a little bar. We got hit on by some horrifying men. And by the end of the night we were chatting with a very drunk Kiwi (who was traveling with our hostel-mates), a geeky young guy from the USA, and an older guy from Manchester, England who was there leading a cycling tour. When the bar was closing, someone suggested that we should get some wine and head down to the rocks at the pier. So we did.

(Two-Shots-Up and Ryan. I think you can tell what she thought of him. But you certainly can't tell just how WASTED he was.)

On our way there, Ryan the Drunken Kiwi pulled me aside and tried to hit on me. Now, if you'll remember my history, I don't have a great track record of knowing when people are hitting on me. So what tipped me off?

RYAN: Hey, you and I have some business to discuss.
ANGELA: We do?
RYAN: Yeah. You've been flirting with me all night.
ANGELA: No, I haven't.
RYAN: Yeah you have. Looking at me through those glasses of yours. You look like a naughty librarian.
ANGELA: I'm going down to the rocks.
RYAN: No, no, no. You can't go down. We have other plans.
ANGELA: What?
RYAN: Can you tell me I have books overdue, and that if I can't pay the fines then I'll have to make it up to you? You know, sexually?
ANGELA: No.
RYAN: I've been a very bad boy. I was too loud. And it's supposed to be silent.
ANGELA: I'm leaving.
RYAN: NO! I mean, I really like you. And I just want to take you home, cuddle with you, kiss you, and feel your boobies.


Most of that conversation is probably paraphrased (as it was a while ago, and also I was speaking with a drunk guy who had a thick dialect, and wasn't exactly easy to understand)... but that last line? Verbatim. (Two points for honesty?)

Eventually, I just gave up on trying to reason with him and started walking toward the rocks with the others.

On our way there, we passed a group of guys. Ryan ran up to them yelling in the worst fake Italian accent you've ever heard:

"ARE-A YOU-A ITALIAN-O?"

My immediate reaction was to use a good Italian accent (I'm Italian, and I study accents in grad school... so it was decent) to say, "Don't listen to him. He's not an Italian. He's drunk."

One of the guys from the group came up to me, speaking with a strong Irish dialect. "Are you Italian then?"

"Yes, I am," I replied, still using my fake accent. It wasn't a lie. I'm half Italian.

"That's great, isn't it. Are you from here, then?"

"Not exactly from here..."

"Well, I guess prob'ly no one's really from here, it bein' a tourist town and all. I'm from Ireland, myself."

And then, without thinking, I said, "Are you, now?"

... in an IRISH DIALECT.

The Irish dialect I'd studied in grad school last semester. The one that ISN'T VERY GOOD.

And in the millisecond after I did it, I was MORTIFIED. Not only because I'd blown my cover as an Italian, but also because the guy probably thought I was mocking him or something.

He said, "Wait, what did you just say? You sounded Irish there for a second."

I don't know what possessed me to do so, but I returned to my Italian accent, and said, "Oh, yes, well, I have a friend who is from Ireland, and sometimes it is easier for her to understand my English if I try to talk the way she does."

And the guy TOTALLY BOUGHT IT. No, seriously. TOTALLY BOUGHT IT.

And I saw that the Kiwi, the Brit, the Geek, and Two-Shots-Up were all conversing with his big group of compatriots, and therefore wouldn't call my bluff...

So I continued my ruse.

STEVE: My name's Steve. What's yours?
ANGELA: Angela. (Thank God I have an Italian name)
STEVE: So Angela, do you have any friends in other places?
ANGELA: (switching to RP British dialect) I have some friends in England, actually.
STEVE: That's AMAZING! Anywhere else?
ANGELA: (switching to general New York dialect) And I do have the one friend in Long Island...
STEVE: OH MY GOD. You sound like you're in a movie or something.
ANGELA: (switching to Tennessee dialect) And my one friend is from way back home in Tennessee...
STEVE: Wait... Wait... You're not really an Italian, are you?
ANGELA: (switching to a Midwestern dialect) Maybe I am, and maybe I'm not.
STEVE: Well, what are you?
ANGELA: (switching to my real dialect, which is a pretty standardized form of American, thanks to my theatrical training) You tell me.
STEVE: OH MY GOD, You're really feckin' with my head here.
ANGELA: (switching back to Irish dialect) Oh, am I now?
STEVE: That's seriously good! Oh my God.
ANGELA: (switching back to Italian)Thank you kindly.
STEVE: Well, I'm guessin' you're an American, because you know a lot of those...
ANGELA: (switching back to New York) But which American is it?

This went on for a few more minutes before Steve guessed correctly.

This story is so much better told in person, but I felt the need to share it with you, as it's easily one of the most entertaining pranks I've ever pulled.

It led to Steve trying to convincing me to pull the same trick on his friends, and then Two-Shots-Up not knowing what I was doing and calling me out on it. The group Steve was with? A bunch of guys who were traveling solo and had met each other in a hostel in Florence. They had gotten along so well that they decided to go to Cinque Terre together. They made me guess their accents one by one. I got Irish, Scottish, British, Australian, and New Zealand... but one stumped me. Spencer sounded like an American (a mix between Californian and Midwestern), but said he wasn't one. It turned out he was from the Bahamas, but his mother was born in Iowa, so he doesn't even sound like a normal Bahamian.

Steve the Irishman, Spencer the Bahamian, and Reece the Aussie decided to join our merry bandwagon to the rocks. It was most fortunate, as they unknowingly cock-blocked the randy Kiwi (who at that point was hitting on Two-Shots-Up and I interchangeably) and the middle-aged Manchester cyclist (who seemed quite keen on Two-Shots-Up). It was a beautiful night, and we just stayed out for awhile. More near each other than with each other. It was nice.

The next day, we ran into Steve, Spencer, and Reece randomly. Steve was about to go back to Ireland, and the others were waiting with him outside the main office of the hostel with his baggage until it was time for him to catch the train. So we sat on the cobblestone road and waited with them. After all, we had no other plans (it was most truly a vacation, in a way I don't think I've ever had a vacation before). And that was the beginning of our beautiful friendship.

(Steve the Irishman, Reece the Aussie, and Spencer the Bahamian)

We ended up going to the rocks with Spencer and Reece, eating fresh fruit that we'd purchased at a market in town. I bought a plum and a lemon (which I was told would be sweeter than an American lemon... It wasn't. But I ate it anyway.)

(Spencer titled this photo "Angela con Limon" on facebook)

I wore my polka dot bikini without being self-conscious whatsoever: after all, I'd never see any of the people in Cinque Terre again (with the exception of Two-Shots-Up, but I'd been sharing rooms -- and beds -- with her for 7 weeks at that point, so I didn't care).

(Spencer, Reece, and Two-Shots-Up climbed down the giant rocks to get to the water)

Reece convinced me to get in the water. It was terrifying at first, with all the rocks around, but it became fun. We found slimy rocks to touch down on so that we weren't treading water the whole time. It was... nice. I don't know. Calm. And it was nice to not want to flirt or impress anyone. And my social anxiety didn't come out at all.

(self-portrait)

The boys told us about a photo they'd taken the day before that had an accidental photo-bomb in it. Eventually, they showed it to us. So now, I'll show it to you.

(It was supposed to just be a photo of how Spencer couldn't get his suntan lotion to blend in. But no. So much better and more awkward. They insist that they didn't notice the orange beach towel woman there until they were looking back at the photos later in the day.)

And then later, Two-Shots-Up and I had a fun little impromptu modeling session while Spencer took photos of us being as goofy as is humanly possible.





When we left the beach, we all went to a few grocery stores together and bought ingredients to cook our own dinner. I was in charge of the pasta (because, as an Italian, it's the one thing that I can cook... and I always make it perfectly. It's genetic). Two-Shots-Up made Sangria and sausages. We put mozzarella and antipasti in our pasta, along with some sauce the boys had made. And we had SO MUCH FOOD that we ended up sharing with all of our hostel-mates.

(I was REALLY excited about the Nutella glass with cartoon characters on it.)

(Two-Shots-Up's homemade Sangrias. They were potent.)

It's hard to explain how the town is set up, and where our hostel was... But basically, there was a narrow staircase from the town leading to the beach, and at one of the landings of the staircase where it took it's final turn, the door to our hostel room opened onto the landing. It wasn't the MAIN staircase to the beach... so we all sat on the stairs. And ate our food. And talked, joked, laughed, and sang. And the food was DELICIOUS! And people were going nuts over the Sangria. And every time someone started coming our way on the stairs, one of the Aussies yelled "CAR!", and we all picked up our dishes and stood against the wall so that the walkers could pass. I can't tell you how much fun it was. One of my favorite things that happened on my whole trip.

(Two-Shots Up, Reece, and Spencer in the narrow stairs. Kate, whose knees you see, was sitting in our doorway.)

I remember going out for drinks. The Aussies told us that they had gotten Nutella Daiquiris the night before (I was never able to obtain one, but doesn't it sound awesome?). So we decided to find another local drink... And we did. The Gelato Cocktail. Mine was mint and chocolate, making it more of a Grasshopper Milkshake than a cocktail. It was still a lot of fun. :)

(Spencer, Em, Two-Shots-Up, Reece, & Katie walking through a piazza over the road)

At one point, everyone started giving each other back-rubs. I don't remember how it started. Because of my back problems, I spent many years of my life not letting people touch my back. I even had to be careful when hugging people. During my first year of graduate school, my body became so knotted and warped that my Movement Professor said I was banned from participating in class until I got a full-body deep-tissue massage (no joke), so that was the first time I let someone massage me. It was terrifying, but ultimately a good experience. And grad school in general has both healed my back and also made me a lot less fearful than I used to be... so I've let people touch me more.

Anyway. Spencer the Bahamian was getting a reputation amongst the girls as being terrible at back-rubs. So he came over to me, where he could get a back-rub without giving one in return. One of my best friends from college (Greg) was a baseball pitcher, and taught me how to manipulate his upper back and shoulders, so I just do that on everyone now. Spencer not only seemed to love it, but he wanted to try. So I let go of my fear and said he could try on me. And, shockingly, he was doing great. It felt good. And I commented as such.

And then Two-Shots-Up shoved me out of the way and demanded that he work on her back instead. I was taken aback, of course. She said, "He owes me." It was weird. But whatever.

I believe that was the night we watched the World Cup game between the USA and Ghana. Two-Shots-Up had lived in Ghana for a year in undergrad, so she was rooting for them. And plenty of the people we were with were happy to root against the USA (mostly the Aussies, for some reason). But the majority of the people at the bar were American, and we're too pleased when Two-Shots-Up led the cheering section (in a clearly American dialect) whenever Ghana did something right. (Ghana won the game, in case you're as out of the sports loop as I normally am).

I walked up a hill with my laptop during the game to try to Skype with Phil. I found wifi. I didn't find Phil. I was a little grumpy as a result. The whole gang ended up in my hostel room trying to figure out what to do next, but I ended up passing out on top of my covers while they talked. Two of the Aussie girls tucked me in, and they all headed out to a beach (where they apparently all cuddled for warmth until they fell asleep). I'm glad I finally caught up on a little sleep. I think I needed it.

The next day, Two-Shots-Up and I decided to attempt the hike between the five towns. We took the train to Monterosso (the 1st town). We shopped around the old town and new town (Monterosso seems to be the biggest of the towns, and is divided in two parts). Then we started the hike to Vernazza.

What we didn't know: the hike from Monterosso to Vernazza is the hardest of the four hikes. OH. MY. GOD. It felt like we were going uphill forever. There was a staircase that felt never-ending (I kept thinking I could see the top... I was wrong at least 4 times. No joke). It was gorgeous, of course. But I'm not an athletic person, and it was VERY hot. I ended up stripping down to my bikini after the first 1/4 of that trail, and I was STILL hot (and I'm the sort of person who normally runs cold). I've never sweat so much in my life. And some of the trail was narrow and really quite treacherous. I almost fell down the mountain about 4 times.

(The never-ending staircase. This was about half-way up it. And no, that thing that you think is the top is NOT the top.)

In the end, it was worthwhile. We were surrounded by so much beauty. The vineyards. The ocean. The towns. It was a lovely little adventure.

(The vineyards we walked through)

(A waterfall next to one of the safer -- yet still narrow -- parts of the path)

(Vernazza, from the trail)

When we got to Vernazza, we randomly ran into Spencer and Reece. We ended up getting dinner with them at a seafood restaurant (I don't eat seafood... I can't remember what my compromise was) that had a television so that Two-Shots-Up could watch whatever World Cup game was on that night. The conversation wasn't quite as free-flowing as it had been. Something seemed a little off, and I didn't know why.

We ended up getting gelato cocktails and gelato sandwiches (it's like an ice-cream sandwich, except instead of cookies it's in a croissant, and instead of ice cream it's gelato... and it's delicious) and sitting on the cobblestone road with all the Aussie and Kiwi girls. Two-Shots-Up had gone off drinking wine with one of the Kiwis and a couple of native Cinque Terre men. We were laughing, joking, talking... And eventually giving each other back-rubs. Actually, that's not entirely true... It was mostly just me giving other people back-rubs. (I like doing it. I don't know why. Just do.)

Eventually, other people joined in, and we had a little rotation going. I wasn't getting back-rubs, but Spencer the Bahamian insisted on giving me one, as he hadn't gotten to "repay" me from before. So I agreed. He was doing quite well. And about 30 seconds into it, Two-Shots-Up showed up, out of nowhere, and once again shoved me away from him and took my place.

"Seriously?"

"What?" She seemed oblivious to the fact that she had just knocked me onto the cobblestone paved.

"Did you seriously just do that AGAIN?"

"He owes me."

"For what?"

"I need this," she said. "Besides, you don't even like back-rubs."

"Don't tell me what I like."

"You wouldn't be able to tell Phil about it anyway."

"What? Why not?"

"Just stop making such a big deal out of it."

So I dropped it. She was drunk, if rude. I didn't understand her comment about Phil. It wouldn't have been any sort of betrayal, as it meant nothing.

Eventually the one cop in town told us to get off of the street, so we headed down to the rock beach. Two-Shots-Up came with us, but quickly disappeared with the Kiwi girl, apparently in search of some hot Italian she'd seen that night. So I ended up laying on some hugely uncomfortable rocks with Reece the Aussie, Spencer the Bahamian, and Kate the Aussie. Kate's from Melbourne and Reece is from Sydney, so they had this huge rivalry, and just kept doing that weird flirt-fighting thing that people do that I've never really understood or felt compelled to participate in. I moved over next to Spencer and just looked at the stars in the dark, clear night.

The next thing I remember was waking up in the dark, cuddling with Spencer. The others had left. I was in an incredibly uncomfortable position. I woke Spencer, but he was pretty out-of-it. We walked back to our respective hostel rooms.

In the morning we said goodbye to Reece and Spencer, and we decided to head back to Monterosso. As we were waiting for the train, I tried to make small talk with Two-Shots-Up, but she was clearly in a bad mood. I tried to be positive and keep things light, as I always do, until she cut me off.

"I've been having a problem with you," she said, looking away from me.

So I decided to be open to whatever she was going to say. We had one more day together, and it seemed like the easiest course to take.

She proceeded to tell me many things. Some of them made more sense to me than others. But the gist of things is that she thinks sometimes I try too hard. And that I'm an attention whore. And that I flirt with everyone. And that I'm constantly trying to fight with her for other people's attention. And that I don't really listen when people speak to me.

To be honest, about 90% of the things that she was having "problems" with were things that I had mentally accused her of as well.

It's strange to be confronted with someone else's perception of you, particularly when it doesn't align with your own. In some ways, it wasn't much different from how strange I felt when Ryan the Kiwi wanted me to be a Naughty Librarian. It makes me want to correct the other person. But perhaps what I should be doing is trying to see why they came to that conclusion about me in the first place.

So I took all of her criticisms without flinching. I didn't get defensive. I tried not to get offended. I apologized. I thanked her for bringing things to my attention. I thanked her for her honesty, and her bravery (as I imagine it wasn't easy for her to raise all these points that had clearly bothered her... after all, I hadn't said anything to her about the things she did that bothered me). And I said I'd work on everything.

They say that you're likely to be bothered by things that others do if they're issues you have yourself. Maybe Two-Shots-Up and I are too alike.

But then, she wasn't the one who fell asleep on the beach cuddling with a stranger the night before. So maybe I am everything she said. I don't know.

The rest of the day was fine. Once she got everything off her chest, she returned to being the lovely, happy, caring person that she had been in Santorini. We shopped in Monterosso. We took the train to Manarola (town #4) for dinner, gelato, and the sunset. And it was great.

(a statue of a local goddess, with Manarola in the background)

The restaurant we stopped at for dinner was super-cute. And the waiter asked us if we wanted to hang out with him when he got off of his shift. It's not the sort of thing I would have normally agreed to, but Two-Shots-Up is a more spontaneous girl than I am... So we agreed. She and I walked from Manarola to Riomaggiore on the easiest part of the hike: "The Lover's Walk". It was easy to be friends.

(The Lover's Walk. It's built into the mountain. This was, unfortunately, the best picture I could get with my point-and-shoot at that hour of the night.)

We met our waiter at a bar there with some of his friends. They spoke varying amounts of English, all with thick Italian accents (and the guy who claimed to speak the most English -- and who told us he TAUGHT English -- was actually the most difficult to understand). I spoke in half-English, half-Italian with the waiter. Two-Shots-Up spoke in mostly-English with one of his friends, and occasionally threw out a few words of Spanish, hoping that he'd understand them. We all did splendidly, I thought.

I was somewhat self-conscious throughout the encounter. I went out of my way to not do anything that might be perceived as flirtation. I avoided it to the point that I stopped feeling like myself. But I felt as though I had something to prove to Two-Shots-Up.

As the guys left, I asked Two-Shots-Up how I had done. She said, "I can't tell you that. You have to learn what feels right to you."

That only served to confuse me. What feels right to me is exactly what she said was wrong to her. I didn't push the issue.

We climbed into our beds earlier than usual so that we could head out in the morning. And I counted the hours until I would be in London, with Phil once again. And suddenly nothing else mattered.

I don't always know who I am. I don't always know how what I'm doing looks to other people. I'm not always the person I think I am, or the one I wish I could be.

In Cinque Terre, I found a little piece of myself. I didn't care about the passage of time. I wasn't nervous in big groups of people, where most were strangers. I ate gelato twice a day without beating myself up over it. I finally learned how to take a vacation.

Maybe what I really did was get in touch with my Italian side.

I am, after all, a pretty convincing Italian.

Just ask Steve the Irishman.



To be continued...



No matter what people think you may be, may you always be exactly what you want to be.

~A~

P.S. "When we see men of a contrary character, we should turn inwards and examine ourselves." - Confucius