Unqualified

  But I’ll be frank. You can know what you’re looking for, open yourself up to folks already in your life, and ignore your friends’ catty feedback, and still end up disappointed. Is that too harsh? I don’t mean it to be, but I think it’s important to be upfront about the fact that these small nuggets of advice aren’t the keys to relationship happiness. They can help you find love, maybe, but once you’ve met someone, you can’t turn him into the person you want him to be—the inner tools have to be in him. If those lean toward angry and unhappy or playing the victim, you can’t change those things on your own.

  When we get the unicorn question, I like to joke that unicorns aren’t found, they’re made. And while the foundation of a man’s makeup can’t necessarily be tweaked, there are some behaviors that can be honed over time, if you’re smart about your approach. I like to think of it less as changing a man, and more of, let’s say, adjusting him.

  For example: As I’ve already mentioned, Chris used to be late all the time. With me, with appointments, everything. He had no time-management skills. After that time I left the house because he showed up an hour late when I was cooking, he changed his ways. He’s not always perfectly prompt, but he’s on time enough that it stopped driving me crazy and wasn’t a point of conflict. I take some credit for his newfound semi-punctuality, because I made clear I wasn’t just going to wait all the time, but I also think it was a testament to how much he wanted to be in the relationship, because he was willing to change in order to be with me.

  A lot of the work in turning your regular man into a unicorn man (a uniman? manicorn?) is simply figuring out the best way to tell them what you want. Take Chris. He loves lists. Loves them! So while it may not always have occurred to him to clean the kitchen, or to put away the suitcase that was sitting in the hallway for a week, when I put it on a list, he would scrub that kitchen like his life depended on it and unpack that suitcase like a pro. He was never grumpy about doing chores at all, he just didn’t always think of them. That’s where the list came in handy.

  Finally, there’s a lot of power in the words thank you. When Chris does something that I’m grateful for, even if it’s small, I thank him, and I know he appreciates that. And he thanks me often, too. Courtesy has always been really important with us. Some couples tease each other a lot, and that’s not necessarily bad, but it’s a slippery slope. Harmless teasing can quickly lead to hurtful teasing, and public teasing inevitably spirals into a fight on the drive home, and then you’re in a really shitty spot.

  So there you go. Create a unicorn in three simple steps! Of course, even when you have a unicorn, relationships don’t necessarily follow the journey you’d envisioned. But that’s always the case; and if you’ve been lucky enough to catch a unicorn, you can at least count on kindness and respect. And that pretty much counts for everything.

  Chatroulette

  For a brief period in late 2009, I played a lot of Chatroulette. It was magical.

  Chatroulette, in case you don’t remember its brief heyday as king of the Internet, was (or maybe still is?) a website in which strangers from across the globe were randomly paired up to chat, visit new worlds, hear different perspectives, and basically just connect live. Unfortunately, like so many things, it got ruined by rampant penises.

  In late 2009 and early 2010, I spent a few months in the woods north of Auckland, New Zealand, shooting Yogi Bear. It was a long shoot, especially because the movie was in 3-D. Shooting a movie in 3-D is incredibly technical, and so much of the work was weather dependent. We would start to shoot a scene and a cloud would come overhead, so we’d have to stop filming, or we’d have people shaking massive cicada-like creatures out of the trees because they were so loud. There were some days where we wouldn’t shoot anything at all, so it was just me and the four or five dudes in the cast, hanging out in the woods.

  Most days, I’d eat lunch in my trailer with T. J. Miller, who played one of the park rangers. That’s when he introduced me to Chatroulette. My memory is a little hazy on why we had Wi-Fi access yet horrible phone service, but that was indeed the case, so the two of us would log on and talk to people all over the world.

  For those of you who never played Chatroulette, here’s how it worked: You logged onto the website and a box would pop up that said something like, “Want to play?” Then you’d click yes and get matched with a random person, or group of people, who could be anywhere in the world—a woman in a dark basement in Lithuania or a bunch of wasted dudes in Greece. For the most part, everybody we encountered was shrouded in darkness, perhaps because we were the only people playing on their lunch break. Everyone else seemed to wait until after hours. The darkness was especially striking because we were in RV trailers in the middle of the day with light pouring in through the windows. But however weird it seemed to T.J. and me to encounter a group of guys pounding beers in Pakistan, it was probably exponentially more jarring for them to happen upon a guy in a park ranger outfit in a crazy-bright trailer in the middle of the New Zealand forest.

  Eventually I started logging on by myself. This was before Chatroulette became masturbation central, and I loved that I connected with people who had no ties to me, and mostly didn’t know who I was. Later on in Chatroulette’s existence it became apparent that people could take a screenshot of the person they were talking to, but at this time it was all so new. You’d get paired up with a random person, and if someone freaked you out or you didn’t like them you could just click “next” and instantly go somewhere else in the world, and they could do the same to you. So there was an element of risk—Who were you going to see? Would they like you?—but once you connected with someone you just chatted. The beautiful thing about it, I thought, was that there was no small talk. It was straight to the good stuff: What are you looking for? Where are you? What do you want out of this? Are you happy?

  I love getting to know strangers instantly, skipping the niceties and getting right to the heart of a discussion. Who wants to talk about the weather? This is California—it’s always sunny. There literally hasn’t been anything new to say about the weather for years. I’m also an overexplainer, which speaks to my small-talk deficiencies. Instead of engaging in proper chitchat, I tell people too much about myself too early, even when they have zero interest. If I ask a flight attendant for a glass of chardonnay, I immediately get into how I had a crazy night last night. It’s not until I see their face, wearing the mm-hhmm smile of a person who couldn’t care less, that I remember that they don’t give a fuck. I do it at work, too. The crew calls me to set and I say, “I’ll be right down—I just need to pee and wash my hands and brush my teeth.” Why do I do that? They don’t need that visual. But it would never occur to me to stop at “I’ll be right down.”

  With Chatroulette, it really was a gift to have random and honest interactions with people who knew nothing about me. I talked to a librarian in Texas for an hour and a half about books and about life and about her depression and loneliness, and shared that I was lonely, too. I was lucky to be visiting this beautiful country, but I was away from the people I loved, so I could relate to her struggle. Then I connected with a gal in Milan who spoke English really well and we talked about boyfriends for a while. And I talked to a lot of really obnoxious girls in the UK. Once I landed on two girls who were doing meth and were pretty open about it and they said, while seemingly strung out, “You need to get a nose job.”

  “So this is what you guys do?” I asked. “You go on Chatroulette and you’re just mean to people?”

  They paused for a moment, as if wondering if they should actually talk to this person who was calling them out. Then they whined, “You’re annoying us,” and nexted me. I do remember it stinging, though, the nose-job thing.

  Chatroulette was a crazy and wonderful experiment, where you got to study abroad briefly and got to hear another person’s perspective on something without any of the associated risks of being a stranger in a strange land.
I loved the purity of that. The Hollywood bubble can be kind of isolating sometimes, which is why I love the escapism of reality TV and books and podcasts. It’s why I have a podcast myself, and why that podcast involves asking people to tell me their problems within moments of us meeting over the phone. But in some ways, Chatroulette was an even more authentic outlet for my curiosity and my desire to connect with the world outside of show business.

  Looking back on it, I think my experience with Chatroulette was the last time I was able to engage with strangers with absolutely no celebrity bullshit surrounding the interaction. I don’t think there’s anyone I meet today where the fact that I’m a semi-well-known actress isn’t somehow informing the exchange. It doesn’t actually matter that I’m an actress, obviously. It’s just a job. But fame often changes the way people interact with me.

  The magic of Chatroulette was short-lived. The site pretty quickly turned into a sea of men masturbating, which was disappointing. These men were too cowardly to show their faces, of course, so the camera would just land on their dicks.

  I was so confused when Chatroulette became a forum for guys to show off their penises. I can’t imagine any scenario in which I would enjoy filming a close-up of my vagina or getting off on somebody else looking at it. I just don’t understand the arrogance of “look at this swollen member.” It takes women until we’re like seventy-eight to peer at ourselves down there.

  Ultimately, I was pissed that this cool forum where I had gotten to know strangers outside of the celebrity space was being taken away from me. I would hit next repeatedly and it would take seven, then thirty-two, then seventy-four times just to find a non-masturbator. So, what, you’re going to spend two hours until you find a view that isn’t of a penis? Eventually I decided to take out my anger on these men by cheering for them. I’d put on my best, most high-pitched cheerleader voice and be like, “You can do it! Let’s go! Let’s go! Rub hard! You can finish! Yay, go, rah-rah!” The idea was to annoy them so much that they’d next me, and eventually—after like two to four minutes—they would, but I was always surprised at how long they would stay on me with my annoying chants. Maybe they were like, “This girl thinks I can do this!” or maybe they were just excited to not land on a penis themselves. I never saw anyone go to completion, though, thank God. The goal was to frustrate them, and I usually succeeded.

  Eventually I stopped using Chatroulette. Because of the dicks, sure, but also because I came home from New Zealand and I wasn’t so lonely anymore. I wasn’t desperate for someone to talk to, so I could connect in person rather than traveling to a basement in Lithuania. But also, the dicks.

  How to Deal with Jealousy

  Newsflash: Jealousy is the worst. It’s a normal human emotion that is amplified in a competitive world like Hollywood and amplified even more when you are married to someone in Hollywood who keeps getting roles opposite sexy costars.

  People regularly ask me what it feels like to see the person you love kiss somebody else on-screen. And most of the time, it’s really not a big deal. It’s part of the job and I know that to be true, because I’m in the same business. But I’ve had my moments. Like when Chris worked with some of the most beautiful and charming women in the world. I’m not not human.

  I have a strategy to deal with jealousy. If I feel twinges of it, whether it was toward Chris’s smokin’ hot costars, or actors whose careers are more successful than mine, I try hard to befriend them and compliment and love them. Not in a fake, frenemy way, but for real. Because 95 percent of the time it’s hard to have jealous or catty feelings toward someone you really like.

  Also, there’s no other option. Regardless of whether your boyfriend or husband is a movie star or a teacher, if he works with women, you might find yourself dealing with moments of envy. And, short of forcing him to quit (a strategy I do not endorse), you’re going to have to live with that reality. In my case, Chris worked with multiple women who are hot and funny and charming and hugely successful, so what was I going to do? It’s unattractive, and unproductive, to be catty, so the only other option was to go on the offensive: “Will you please be my friend?” I’ve found it to be an effective strategy to avoid driving yourself crazy.

  For a long time, I felt really lucky. Even though Chris was becoming hugely famous and I’d been sort of famous for a while, the two of us led such boring lives that the tabloids usually left us alone. The paparazzi will follow you sometimes, but there are specific places you go if you want to be photographed, and Chris and I just weren’t there. We were homebodies.

  But when Chris filmed Passengers with Jennifer Lawrence, that all changed. Even before they met in person, my publicist, out of the blue, pulled me aside. “Anna, listen, there are going to be paparazzi all over them,” she said. “There are going to be shots of them laughing together on their way to set. There are going to be stories circulating, and you have to brace yourself for this.” I didn’t think it would bother me. I’ve been in this business a while now and I had seen Chris star alongside other beautiful women, like Aubrey Plaza and Bryce Dallas Howard. But then, when it actually started and magazines began running rumors, it was totally hurtful. There was one article where they showed this lonely picture of me walking down the beach alongside photos of Jennifer and Chris on the red carpet and the story was something like, “Chris is enamored of his costar, and his wife, Anna, is sad and feels like an aging actress!” I mean, I do feel like an aging actress, but that has nothing to do with this. (Also, I’m pretty sure that photo was taken on a family beach trip, and Chris and Jack were ten steps behind me.)

  I talked to Chris about how hurt I felt, even though I knew there was no truth to the stories, and he didn’t understand it at first. “Why are you even paying attention to that?” he asked.

  But I wasn’t reading the tabloids or seeking the rumors out—people were telling me about them. I didn’t want to pay attention to the stories but I couldn’t block them all out, either. I’d always taken pride in our relationship, and the coverage, even though it was just false rumors, was making me feel insecure. Eventually Chris came around and understood why it felt shitty. Jennifer and I really are friendly, and she was apologetic even though she didn’t need to be, because she hadn’t done anything wrong. She’s awesome, but of course it’s hurtful and also embarrassing when people are saying your husband is cheating on you—even if it’s patently untrue. You still feel, and look, like a fool. But that’s something I have had to learn to handle in stride. When you’re a semi-public figure, married to another public figure, in a very public relationship, you don’t really have much choice.

  I know Chris has felt the same way in the past, and for that I’m grateful. I think a small amount of jealousy is healthy in a relationship, and a number of my exes were frustratingly not jealous. Not that I ever wanted Chris to feel bad, but I felt like it was okay if he believed I was a desirable person and that there were men who’d love to whisk me away. That wasn’t so much an issue while making Mom. I barely have any love interests on the show and even when I do, it’s such an unsexy format. But when Chris and I first started dating, and then later when I was making What’s Your Number? Chris had his jealous moments. We filmed that movie in Boston and Chris Evans played my love interest. While my Chris had a break from filming Parks and Recreation, he came to set and did a small part. He was never overt about it, but he would bring up my kissing scenes with Chris Evans casually. “So, when do you have to do that love scene with Evans?” he’d ask. It was thinly veiled, but very sweet. That passed within days, though, when he used my own jealousy strategy to his advantage.

  I had an early shoot one morning, but my Chris and Chris Evans did not. So they went out on the town the night before, and the next day they were best friends. They couldn’t get enough of each other. I was like, “Okay, I get it, nobody’s jealous anymore because you guys are best buds. Awesome.” They were so enamored of each other that I still ended up being the jeal
ous one clamoring for attention. Hey, guys! Look at me!

  I’ve been the romantic interest in movies, too, but—and maybe I’m being naive—I really don’t think I’ve been the cause of much jealousy on the part of the women in my costars’ lives. It’s a combination of being a woman in comedy and having been married with a kid. I eliminated any possible threat to serious actresses. You’re safe with Anna! She’s not going to take your man or your job!

  Turning the Tables: How Would You Proceed?

  For the “How Would You Proceed” segment on Unqualified, coming up with the just-right scenario for each guest is one of the best parts of episode prep, and listening to people talk their way out of awkward moments—whether it’s a bite into the raw chicken that Oprah cooked them for dinner, a surprise moment in bed with Javier Bardem, or a request to be the face of adult diapers in Japan—has been a joy. Cassie and I talked about how I’d proceed in some similarly insane predicaments.

  You just started dating a guy and he nicknames your vagina Marie Antoinette. He only refers to it as Marie Antoinette. How would you proceed?

  Anna:I think I would giggle a bit and think it was a little strange but I don’t think I would comment on it. Or maybe I’d say, “Let them eat cake!” After a couple of years if I was really into him I’d be like, “So are you really into the French Revolution? Should we go to Versailles?” There are so many things he could say that would be so much worse, but Marie Antoinette would be kind of amusing. I wonder what he would call his penis. I’m fascinated by the idea of naming genitalia and the kinds of people who would do that. It’s usually men, I think, so I would definitely want to know if he refers to his penis as something.

  You are dating a guy, Kevin, for three months. You hang out a lot. He travels frequently for work, and has told you that he’s a businessman. He’s superathletic, handsome, and seems like a really good guy. Suddenly he goes radio silent. He doesn’t return any calls or messages. Two weeks later you hear from him and he says, “I’m so sorry. I really wanted to contact you but I couldn’t. I have to be honest: I’m a spy and I was on a secret mission protecting our country.” How would you proceed?