The other day I had lunch with a work colleague who told me her first boyfriend from middle school just so happens to live in her apartment building, which is just crazy. We started reminiscing about our first boyfriends. Hers sounded like a nice, normal guy who turned out well. She must have been born with good taste in men. Not me. I ran into my first boyfriend, Jaime*, two years ago when I was visiting my parents. The staggering thing was that he hasn’t changed at all since we dated in 8th grade. He is doing the exact same thing he was 20 years ago — getting stoned ’round the clock, saying “right on” a lot, and playing guitar in a band that will never go anywhere. These things were all very attractive to me when I was 13. Oh, how I’ve changed. The only thing that has changed about Jamie is the way he looks. He is heavier and his hair is longer. I don’t think he’s cut it since 1991. Good thing the grunge look is making a comeback. To think, I entertained the idea of running away with him and getting married. I must have been rendered temporarily insane by the mix tape he made me. After the jump, I asked some Frisky staffers and friends what has become of their first loves.
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Don’t waste your precious time and money on dinner and drinks with a fugly troll. And don’t be punished for your “high standards.”
Instead, pay the beautiful ladies of WhatsYourPrice.com for their time. Yeah, I don’t understand What’s Your Price, either, other than it sells itself as a “dating site” rather than an escort service. Keep reading »
Ryan* and I started dating during my junior year of high school, when I was going through my Christian good-girl phase. I dutifully attended church lock-ins, Bible camps, and crushed on worship band boys. Ryan, who played guitar in a Christian band (sigh) and just so happened to be the son of my 6’5″ Pentecostal Pastor, was the one I chose. In addition to being a couple, we were best friends who were in choir and church drama team together. Ryan was absolutely hilarious, super tall like his dad, and best of all, my mom LOVED him. He really knew how to get old broads to swoon.
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“I’m looking for bliss … for Candy Land,” my last boyfriend said during our breakup.
Even though I was sad that we were splitting, I couldn’t help but laugh. It sounded absurd.
“That doesn’t exist,” I told him, trying to keep a straight face.
“Maybe you’re right,” he went on. “But I’m not ready to give up the dream yet.”
I pictured him venturing off into the vast single universe in footsie pajamas, wielding a plastic light saber, off to find Queen Frostine. I wanted to tell him he was wasting his time, but it would have been pointless to try to convince him. Like an encouraging parent would, you smile, pat him on the head, and say, “Good luck, soldier.”
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