This May Sound Crazy (6 page)

Not too long ago I learned about the difference between a big friendship problem and one you should just let slide.

For instance, here's one to let slide:

Your friend “borrows” your hair tie . . . the classic “omg, can I please borrow that? My hair is so freaking long!” Like okay, Noelle, you have nice hair.

Why you gotta make me feel
BAD ABOUT IT?
(I'm not bitter. Love you, Noelle. <3)

But let me tell you right now: YOU ARE NEVER GETTING THAT HAIR TIE BACK. So either invest in a large stock of neutral earth-tone hair ties or don't wear them on your wrist. xo

Yes, there are small friend problems—your friend doesn't answer texts quickly or maybe
they're a little needy or maybe they brag a lot. These all fall under the category of “Yeah, they're kind of annoying sometimes.”

But then there are big issues—issues that can break even the strongest friendships.

I'm gonna revisit a friend I might have mentioned once or twice before—Summer.

Before London, Summer was my best friend. We told each other literally everything. She was my confidante. I could tell her when I had a massive zit and go into excruciatingly awful detail about how wondrous it was to pop it. I could tell her about that one girl I couldn't stand who passive-aggressively favorited my tweets. I could tell her about the nights when I was really sad and couldn't sleep, and she'd always be there to answer the phone and tell me a joke about the really hot girl who liked my then-crush's Facebook
profile picture. I remember the time she told me, “Whoa, are we really stressing about this girl? Like, okay, she's hot, but you're legit ten times hotter. Plus, she looks totally vapid, and you're supersmart and funny and awesome. Relax. He's totally into you.”

SIDE NOTE:

I was not hotter than said girl considering she's an ACTUAL model. Like as a profession. So . . . YEAH. But everyone's hot, tbh—just different hot, so go out and be your own form of hot.

SIDE SIDE NOTE:

Said “crush” became my boyfriend, so heyyyyyy, score for ABrez. Holla.

Anyway . . .

Summer could also always talk to me. She'd call me at 2:00 a.m., and we'd sit on Skype for hours, joking and laughing and gossiping and being generally teenager-y and gross.

But I felt our friendship really was the strongest after I went through this one really sad and awful breakup. I mean I was SAD. I wasn't by any means in love with this person, but at the time, that particular relationship meant a lot to me. I was devastated that it wasn't there anymore. Especially since it had ended on such a bad note. VISUALIZE me crying in a cab while listening to Bon Iver and then showing up at my friend Ari's house to vent my sadness into a song. (LOVE YOU, ARI.)

At that time, Summer was totally there for me. She answered my calls at any hour of the night. She talked me through my horror over him finding someone new SO FREAKING
QUICKLY. She recommended chick flicks and sad songs and uplifting songs and told me to work out and drink tea and take care of myself. I mean, she was really THERE when I needed her. And I was always—and to some degree, will always—be grateful to her for that. Cuz at that point in time, what I so desperately needed was someone to tell me,

“You're worth more than what one lame-ass guy thinks of you.”

And that's what she told me.

Even then, though, Summer had her quirks. She was spacey and erratic and slightly flaky. At the time, I could've called her insane, but in that insane-but-charming sort of way.

I never saw any of these “quirks” affecting our friendship negatively.

That was, until she started dating Joel.

Yes, that Joel. The smart, cool British hipster. The one Summer was so into that she moved to London just to be with him. She gushed about how cute he was and all the adorable texts he'd send her. They were nauseatingly sweet, especially to a singleton like me.

Once she moved, I messaged Joel to take care of her, and he promised he would.

I also, in jest, told him to find me a “hot British boyfriend,” which he delivered on. (Yeah, Adam!) ;)

But a few weeks after Summer moved, she started acting strange. Sad, I guess. I assumed it was just homesickness. I mean, moving from California to England is a big culture shock. Add in jet lag and not really knowing anyone but one person, it's a lot to absorb. Especially at nineteen.

She swore she was fine and just missed her mom and her dogs and friends back in LA.

Summer seemed to perk up as Adam (“the hot British boyfriend”) and I got closer. It was super fun at first. But then I went to visit her in London and after a few days, she started acting sort of shady—canceling plans, being unresponsive and cold. She insisted it wasn't personal; she said she just didn't feel well.

Before I knew it my trip to London was over, and I was heading back to NYC. That day, I found out that Summer was also leaving, three months before she was scheduled to move back to LA. She said she had family things to deal with. This seemed odd to me on many levels.

1. I was her best friend. She told me everything. Why wouldn't she have told me this earlier?

2. Why wouldn't she tell her boyfriend? The person she ALSO told everything to.

The whole thing seemed just really strange.

The next few months were a downward spiral of her breaking up with Joel, then getting back together, then breaking up again, then making up rumors about me and him and my boyfriend. It was a huge mess. A huge, huge mess I didn't need and one far too complicated and tangled to unravel now. That
would need a whole separate book in itself.

However, these were all things I thought I could handle. To me all these little dramas fell under the “Well, Summer's just dramatic” category. I let it slide. I wasn't going to just forget that she had been such an amazing friend when I needed one.

But then that changed.

Something happened that really crossed the line. Many lines.

One morning, about four months after we came back from the UK, I found out that Summer had hooked up with my ex—a guy who had ROYALLY screwed me over. I was even willing to let this slide until Summer started trying to explain to me why he wasn't “that bad.”

AND IF THAT WASNT THE ULTIMATE
BACKSTAB. Remember that guy she helped me get over?

Well . . .

She became super “close” with him, too.

And it's different for everyone. There are lines that just cannot be crossed. There are things that are too hard to handle. Things you can't . . . just deal with. And if a friend crosses those boundaries, you have to realize they were never really a friend to begin with.

So look back, enjoy the memories, and just know . . . people cannot be trusted once they have broken the friend code.

“Don't get to know me”

She thought as they kissed

“You'll love me at first but

I'll never be missed

You'll find me intriguing

A prize to be won

But it's always quite certain I'm never the one

The one that will last in your mind as a catch

The one that is easy not stuck in her past

And maybe at first I'll capture your interest

But soon you will see the charm isn't permanent”

“Don't get too close”

She pleaded and begged

He said he would stay

But he'd already left

He took out his anger

In ways and not words

“I thought you would like it”

He said when it hurt

“Manic Pixie Dream Girl”

Clichés were what he resented

As well as where he resided

But I prayed that one day

He'd love who I was

Not just who I'd became

This zombie this model

This, dare I say mannequin

Who nodded, agreed

Only his opinion

This cutout

This magnet

Of things he decided

Of actions and moments

And painful submissions

This guilt and this sadness

That only was fueled by the cruel

twisted madness

“Cuz loves only madness”

She thought as they kissed

That only I'll feel

But he'll never miss

The truth is he loves her

But

She can't quite remember

Cuz the boy she's with now

Wouldn't raise a fist at her

Wouldn't guilt

Wouldn't question

Wouldn't scorn with resentment

Wouldn't make her feel wanted

Then just leave her stranded

Cuz the boy she's with now

Actually loves her

And she's startled

And cautious

But she still loves the difference

If you are single, alone, and hoping to find the match of your dreams—a fun, normal, sweet guy with similar interests, hobbies, and sense of humor . . . If you WANT to find an S.O. with potential to be a long-term mate . . .

You are reading
the wrong
chapter.

In fact, you are probably reading the wrong book and talking to the wrong girl.

In my nineteen years—okay eighteen, but nineteen in like less than a month—of living, I have become an expert, a connoisseur if you will, of how NOT to flirt with people of the opposite gender.

Flirting is a skill, in my opinion. Some people are born naturally seductive and flirtatious.
My mother is mystified by my lack of skills; she swears that at my age she had ALLLLLL the men. LIKE K, MOM, THANKS FOR MAKIN' ME FEEL SINGLE AS A PRINGLE OVER HERE.
.

I have friends who can win over guys without doing anything AT ALL. It used to bother me. I'd go out in a group and always be the “little sis” or the “baby” of the group. It's so bad my nickname is actually “baby” (or sometimes “baby spice” when I'm feeling a little
).

One evening, I asked my friend Lily to tell me honestly what I was doing wrong. She gave me that sad, sympathetic look that all my friends give me as she told me that I “didn't need to change” myself in order to get guys to like me. Before I tell you what I think about that statement, let's first go through some of the things I have done (and admittedly still do from time to time) that have led me to want to share my hard-won
wisdom about how NOT to flirt.

“Hey, there. I just stepped in my cat's hair ball. How are you
?”

Yes. That is a direct quote from me. And yes. I am ashamed.

While some folks might find my cat's bodily functions and my lack of attention to the carpet charming, others might find it, idk, DISGUSTING. I told my friend Noelle about this, and she immediately told me to punch myself in the face for my severe stupidity. I didn't and you shouldn't either, but she had a point. Noelle is one of my best and oldest friends. Not like, she's old, she's only a year older than me, but I've known her forever. She's brutally honest, loud, and aggressive in the best way. If I ever went to jail, I'd call Noelle to bail me out. She'd probably walk
in and say, “Let's go, you dumb whore,” and scream at me, but never tell another soul. That's why I love her.

“Hey, did you hear Mumford & Sons is releasing a new album? Mentally preparing myself for all the feels.”

Band is interchangeable, but at least it's something he can react to. At least it's something you'd both want to talk about—unlike stepping in cat hair balls, which, let's face it, less said about cat hair balls in general, the better. Anyway, the conversation will go even better if you make sure it's a band or movie or book or whatever that you BOTH like. If you just look through his likes on fb and choose something randomly, chances are you're gonna look really dumb when he starts asking you questions and you have NOTHING. I have done this many a time,
most notably when I was fifteen and a guy I liked (who my friends and I refer to as “Voldemort” but “Voldi” for short) told me he was really into dubstep.

At the time, I thought he was the sun, the stars, and the moon and all that was holy in the world, so naturally when he talked about deadmau5 and Modestep, I pretended to know exactly what he was talking about. I thought I'd be cool and prove that I knew my stuff (which I didn't), and proceeded to spend the rest of the night researching different dubstep artists. I really liked “Promises” by Skrillex when I listened to it on YouTube, probably cuz it was the most pop one I could find. (I was fifteen—DON'T HATE.) I posted the link to the lyric video on Facebook that night so that he would see it and realize I had been a dub fan way before I knew he was into it, too. Then he'd know that I definitely wasn't pretending to like it just to impress him (which I totally was, but yeah). I wasn't surprised when I woke up in the morning to
see he had commented on the link.
Nailed it,
I thought.

That was until I noticed that his comment linked to a meme that said, “If the only dubstep artist she knows is Skrillex, she's too young for you, bro.”

WHICH WAS RICH CUZ HE WAS YOUNGER THAN ME—BUT OK, SASS.

Sorry for that long tangent. I APOLOGIZE, but I'm still not over it. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Are you wearing black jeans with a long sweater and boots? CUTE. YOU'RE KILLIN' IT, BABE. WORK IT.

Now are you pairing it with a gigantic cat bag? And by cat bag I mean, a bag with a cat's face on it? Does your wallet have a smiling pug on it? Is your phone case a kitten in an ice cream cone that says “'Sup?”? Yes?

K.

Probably not a great way to accessorize for a first date, right?

HOW DO I KNOW? THESE ARE THINGS I HAVE WORN OUT ON DATES. I admit to using said cat bag, but that was because I was going to the gym before the date, and I'm allowed to do whatever I want if I am going to work out. I deserve it.

Here's the thing: Individually, quirky accessories can seem cute, endearing, even hilarious. There is a time and a place for the cat bag, pug wallet, and kitten phone case . . . But paired together on a date, especially a FIRST date, it screams ISSUES. I'm all for
freedom of expression through clothes, and think it's rad to own it totally—cuz confidence IS sexy!—HOWEVER, unless you met him at the local animal shelter, you probably don't want to lead with “I'm obsessed with baby animals and like to wear photos of them on my body at all times.”

Let him get to know how cool you are first and THEN let him see how your adorable wallet companion is just ~killing~ the game.

Okay. Let me explain.

Sometimes, I think I am the most hilarious person I know. Sometimes, I KNOW I am.
What can I say? I crack myself up. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

But sometimes over text my hilariousness doesn't come across quite the way I want it to. Example:

I'm at work. It's late. I'm tired and have had way too many espressos because it was 2:00 a.m. and I was working and ALSO cuz I'd just learned how to use the espresso machine on set and liked doing it in front of people to prove how skilled I was. And let me tell you: There really is a difference between being ALERT and being AWAKE. I was so jacked-up on caffeine that I was not thinking rationally.

So, I'm talking to this guy. Let's just call him Jake. He's being really sweet and funny, and I feel like I'm doing a GREAT job at being flirtatious. Until . . . he told me his crush on me was “unwavering” and I decided a good reply would be:

Why, Abbie? Why?!?

He didn't talk to me the rest of the night.

But the next day, he did so it's all good—dwai dwai.

Also another thing not to joke about over text—herpes. Don't ever mention herpes in writing. That's a bad call. Example taken from MY LIFE YET AGAIN! smh.

Cute normal nice boy: “I'm just hanging out. Drinking a dope milk shake. Too bad you're not here; we could share it.
”

Me being an absolute menace to society: “Ya, except too bad I have herpes sorry :/”

No reply.

Me: “Hahaha. I'm totally kidding. I swear I don't really have herpes.”

Me three hours later: “Okay, so I can see how that whole thing earlier wasn't funny and was kinda terrifying, but yeah I def don't have herpes.”

Me two days later: “Hey, just making sure U don't hate me. LOL. I swear I don't have herpes.”

Me nine thousand years later alone with 876 cats: “I still don't have herpes. Just a lot of cats. Does the milk shake offer still stand or nah?”