This May Sound Crazy (9 page)

Never

—and I mean NEVER—

trust a forty-dollar weave.

Let's start by saying I used to have perfect hair. Like Tumblr-worthy hair. Hair that would get PROB eight thousand reblogs—and that's me being HUMBLE.

But because of my job, a lot of times I'm required to dye it. And, as it turns out, bleaching your hair from auburn to white-blonde five times a year doesn't really help the whole mermaid look.

So, about a year ago, I was stuck wearing clip-in extensions to make my hair look longer than its shoulder-length status. They were nice clip-ins, but I always felt awkward wearing them, like someone could see the actually clips poking through. 'TWAS especially embarrassing when I started dating
Adam. He was always having to fix my hair to cover the clips.

But the bonded-on ones (which I use now) are really expensive so you need to reallllllllly invest in them. They do look the realest, tho.

Anyway. The Point: When I saw Summer in London, her hair looked FLAWLESS—LIKE FLAWWWWWLESSSS. It was long and luscious and just . . . yeah . . . PERF.

So I asked her what extensions she was using, and she told me it was a WEAVE. A sewn-in weave. I was skeptical at first—like does that mean it sews into my SCALP?!?

THE HORROR.

It doesn't—jsyk.

She told me her friend did it for her, and it only cost like forty bucks. So I said if she could hook me up with this person, I would love it.

Summer took me to her “salon,” which was actually this person's apartment. She was really cool actually and did a great job on it.

At first.

Problem was I was so busy admiring my new gorg locks that I completely didn't listen to any of the maintenance rules she told me.

I JUST WANTED TO TAKE
SELFIES.

After a few weeks, the tracks started to become SUPER noticeable, and my hair became super lifeless. It started looking like random strands of long hair in a gigantic nest (if that makes any sense). I tried everything to fix it. Different products, different tools—nothing worked. So finally I called Summer. She said I had to go back every three weeks to get it tightened. See, had I not been so focused on all the Instagram
opportunities my new hair would grant me, I would have HEARD the girl tell me this.

Well . . . problem was that now I was back in NYC and couldn't get to London to get the girl to tighten my weave.

So I had to deal with this nest-head of hair for another month.

This is a life lesson, people. Listen up. Moral of the story: IF YOU GET SOMETHING SEWN INTO YOUR HEAD, PUT DOWN YOUR PHONE FOR THREE MINUTES TO MAKE SURE YOU UNDERSTAND WHAT YOU HAVE TO DO TO MAKE SURE IT STAYS ON YOUR HEAD.

Let's flash back to Abba Brez at age fourteen. Lonely. Bored. Not a huge social life. Newly blonde hair that still has streaks of red velvet cupcake–colored strands. Listens to Regina Spektor alone in her room while painting her nails dark blue.

WHAT.
A.
CATCH.

When I was fourteen, I believed there was no such thing as love. I thought,
Guys say they love girls because they want sex
and
Girls say they love guys because they're insecure
.

I was a very opinionated fourteen-year-old.

I was also quite wrong.

I didn't believe I would ever find anyone who could capture my interest enough to make me feel this so-called “magical” feeling. What even was love? Was it even a real emotion?

I had just booked this cool movie and decided to go to dinner with the cast. It was uptown: Sixty-Third and Columbus to be exact. (Yes, I still remember. . . .)

I remember spending a lot of time on my eye makeup because I wanted to seem mature. I showered and used a really expensive body wash from Lush and then put on a Dior eye shadow that I'd gotten for Christmas. It was dark brown and made me feel sophisticated. I wore my favorite jeans, a Free People tank top, and a long cardigan. (It's weird how well I remember this.) Anyway, I told my mom and she told me that my friend and I (let's
call her Gwen) couldn't go alone. So my mom and her mom sat at another table. (I KNOW, I WAS MORTIFIED.) Gwen and I got there and met the guys. Let's call them Oliver and Dan. Oliver was muscular and beachy with long blond hair and model-esque features. Dan was tall, lanky, and awkward. And as soon as Dan shook my hand . . .

I had never felt that type of feeling before. This all-consuming, all-encompassing warmth all over my body. Everything he said was hysterical to me. Every time he looked at me, my heart rate would LITERALLY speed up. Every single time I thought about him, I'd smile. What was this? How was this real?

As the night came to a close, Dan gave me
his number and told me how excited he was to start filming. I'd never felt like this. I'd never been this anxious to be on any set.

The next morning when he texted me, I thought I could be happy just staring at his name on my phone forever. I didn't even need to read the text. I had turned into one of THOSE girls that has
that look on her face all the time.

But, even tho I felt so strongly for him, I never wanted to let on. Anytime anyone asked me I'd say, “No way! We are just friends.” Which was true. We were. TO MY INFINITE SADNESS.

I didn't want to risk anyone telling him and making things awkward, because I liked him so much. I didn't want anything to jeopardize us talking.

As we worked together, I really felt like he liked me. He always said how great my hair
was. Which was weird, but also nice, I guess? Idk? And he always said I looked beautiful. It was more attention than any other guy had ever given me.

Let's be real. I was an awkward, pale, alarmingly small girl (as I still am). Not many guys are lined up around the block for that. But he made me feel like, they SHOULD BE. He made me proud of my awkwardness.

One night, me, Gwen, Oliver, and Dan all went to Gwen's house. We ordered pizza and sat on her bedroom floor talking about life and exes. I had no experience in relationships so I just made shit up. DUH. He, on the other hand, talked about his ex like she was the sun and the stars. It made me melt for him even more. The way he said he'd do anything for her made me feel like he was a genuine catch.

I never felt more obsessed with a human's
soul before. I really liked HIM. And not for his looks or his career but just because he was so fun to be around. He was funny and witty as hell. And sweet and caring and adorable.

I came to work the next day, completely high off of his compliments and the texts he would send me. Even if all he said was hi, the fact that his name showed up on my phone threw me into euphoria.

I walked on set, saw him, and said hi.

He gave me a huge hug and told me I looked beautiful. After I said thank you, he moved aside to reveal this gorgeous, brunette, Brazilian model. Let's call her Amber. I said hi and Dan said, “This is my girlfriend, Amber.”

GIRL-
FRIEND?!
WHAT!

My heart fell all the way past my feet and to the underground where Satan himself stabbed it over and over.

With a knot in my throat I just couldn't swallow, I tried to smile.

“Nice to meet you!” I exclaimed.

“I've heard so much about you!” I said, although I'd heard nothing of her.

Was this how Dan was to everyone? Did we ever have a special connection? Or was he just that intensely interested in every girl?

And AMBER?! How did he just not mention he had a gorgeous Brazilian model for a girlfriend?!?

As soon as the polite introductions were through, I headed back to my dressing room. Gwen followed me there, but I locked myself in the bathroom to sob. I didn't want her to know how sad I was.

Eventually stopped crying. I understood why he wanted Amber. She was flawless. I just thought I meant something to him, for some reason.

I spent the next year pining after him.

Praying he would realize what he was missing and would fall in love with me. When he broke up with Amber, I even fought over him with another friend. Until I realized . . .

He didn't want either of us.

That was the hardest pill to swallow.

Sometimes, you think you have this great connection with someone. And sometimes (maybe even most of the time) you're right.

But sometimes that connection is one-sided.

That's what we call unrequited love.

And it sucks. It's agony.

Unrequited love makes you
feel like your heart has been
ripped out, chopped
up, and fed to a dog.

But here's the weird thing: It's also worthwhile.

When you're in the throes of unrequited love, it seems impossible to EVER move on. How could you want someone else the way you want them?

But in some ways these are the kindest loves. You have nothing to lose. The relationship can be anything you can imagine. No one's heart will really be broken because it's not really real. Well, okay, that's not entirely true. If you really liked someone, that's a feeling. You felt that. And no one can take it away from you. Whether you're actually dating that person or just admiring from a distance, it is a kind of love. I remember thinking how unfair it was to hang out with him, knowing I couldn't have him. I remember crying all night listening to “The Chain” by Ingrid Michaelson and flipping through pictures of him on Facebook at Amber's birthday party. It was HELL. DON'T DO THAT YOURSELF.
REREAD “CHAPTER 1: REASONS TO NOT STALK YOUR EX” IF YOU DOUBT ME FOR EVEN A MINUTE.

After Dan, I literally thought I'd never love again. But that was so so so NOT true.

The love I felt for Dan was a totally different kind of love. In some ways I think love is like snowflakes—casually working in a winter/Christmas reference HOLLA—each one is different and each one FEELS different when it falls on you. But every snowflake—no matter how fast it falls or where it lands or how it tastes on your tongue—is still a snowflake, just like every love—no matter who it's with or if it's unrequited—is still love. That's why love is so exciting and impossible to resist.

With Dan it was the highest highs and the lowest lows. I loved every moment I spent with him, and hated every moment I wasn't around him. That kind of love isn't healthy.

It's one-sided and ultimately it's kind of empty. In time, that's what I learned. That kind of love doesn't work for me. Honestly, unrequited love doesn't work for anyone. It hurts. You deserve love that's returned. Everyone does.

A few years later, Dan called me out of the blue. It was the exact phone call I'd always wanted. I remember thinking, “I've waited for this day since I was fourteen years old. I prayed for this day, I wished and hoped and willed this to happen and here it is happening and . . . I don't want it.”

I KNOW IT'S CRAZY,
RIIIIIGHT?

But it's true. I had realized I wanted a love better than that. I deserved one that wasn't just, “I'm suddenly single and lonely and drunk right now and your name is one of
the first in my phone because of alphabetical order so I'm calling you because I want you to remind me how great I am.” Obviously he didn't say that but I'm giving you the real-ass subtext.

I wanted someone who wanted ME for me. For who I was, not for what I did for his ego.

And you know what? I found it.

Then I lost it.

Then I found it again.

And lost it.

And found it, again.

And recently I just lost it—again.

And yes, I am heartbroken. But what my time of unrequited love taught me, what any
love taught me, is that love WILL find you. It WILL come back to you. You WILL meet your someone and maybe you'll lose your someone, and you WILL survive it. All of it.