Seriously, get over it.

The one who started it all.

When I look back at the last six..or even ten years of my life, it's hard to remember what life was like each year cuz it just all blurs together...but when I think of the guys I've crushed on, liked, stalked, obsessed over, hooked up with and loved (eek), it becomes easier to sort out the last decade. Maybe it's a bit sad that that's how I remember my years but I've always been a little boy crazy, although I think/hope I've simmered down a teensy bit nowadays.

*AHHHHHHHHHH FILIPINO BBOYS FROM FRANCE WHO SING AND COOK AND ARE SOCIALLY CONSCIOUS AND RESPONSIBLE!!!! EEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!*

...Yeah, I'm still the same, with bboys and French accents as my kryptonite to boot. But when I look back at that blurry mess of unwashed, unkempt and unworthy boys, there's one guy that sticks out in my memory. If you could take a peek into my head right now, you would see a vision of him: gold, shiny and all statue'd up standing on a beautiful marble pedestal. Gross, right? It's been over three years and somehow, I still think about him from time to time...ok more than that...and I still miss him.

The truth is, when we were briefly dating, he was the first guy who treated me like how I always thought relationships should be like. We could talk and laugh for hours, he was always interested in what I'd have to say and he made me feel like a better person. I would go on for a while but yeah, he was pretty amazing.

And here's more truth for you: he broke up with me essentially because of the "long distance" but we all know that's really code for "I'm just not that into you" (man that was a bad movie) especially when the distance is a mere three hour drive. No matter how I tried to justify it, that was the reality. And here's the nasty truth: he started dating someone two weeks after we broke up.

So, there you have it. Yet here I am, waxing poetic about the good times we had. The post breakup depression was disgusting...and persistent. It was hard for me but what's crazy and amazing is that my friends stuck around and survived through my very intense mood swings and horrendous emo-ness...hm, I digress...what was my point again? Actually, I don't think I really have one. I've always thought that it would just take time and I would move on and he would be a distant memory but three years might as well be three months. I'm just hoping one day I'll look back and remember him and be happy...sans the golden statue on the pedestal. Maybe? Please? Because seriously...

...where are my Filipino French bboys at?

Dyzee's long lost French twin. Holy crap that took a long time...and yes, I had to do it in Microsoft Word. Ah, mon dieu!