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| Welcome to the world of the neurotically happy poet. |
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| The first BF |
I affix obsessions to distant sports stars and conduct relationships with them that occur entirely inside my imagination. The only way that my boyfriends can disappoint me is if they lose games. I don’t care if they are cads in real life since the persona that I attach to them is entirely ideal. My first boyfriend was Bret “The Hitman” Hart.
We broke up when he came to the Philippines and I watched them and realized that wrestling is not really a sport in the true sense of the word. It’s a staged entertainment designed to string us along. I promptly dumped Bret for going along with this silly hoopla that they call sports entertainment. My next boyfriends were Erik Menk and Rudy Hatfield.
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| Yes, both. |
Yes, I had them both at the same time. It’s just fortunate that they didn’t know about each other, I dread to think about the bruises that they’re going to inflict if they go into a brawl over me. I definitely don’t want that, I’m a peace-loving gal when it comes to my boyfriends. I left Erik when his game dropped and he stopped getting the MVP trophies. Rudy upped and left for the United States when his Filipino Citizenship was questioned. We haven’t really had a closure. That didn’t stop me from cradle-snatching and hooking-up with the then-teenaged Rafael Nadal. They say he’s ugly but I DON’T CARE. He’s magnetic. He’s sexy. He’s brilliant. And he’s my boyfriend. Just don’t inform him of that fact or he’ll puke and immediately break up with me.
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| Rafa at his smoldering best |
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