Ex-girlfriends—they’re the ladies who played a major part on what our present life has become. If you’re telling us that you don’t have one because you only had one girlfriend in your life and you now call her your wife, then hats-off to you, brother. But if you don’t have one simply because you’re a NGSB (and worse, a 40-year old virgin) don’t give up because your luck will definitely come. #Puso
Going back, we always have that ex-flame that we can never forget. There's this girl which our mind loves to picture every time we get to hear (and deny knowing) Katy Perry's "The One Who Got Away." Some of them you're secretly stalking following on Instagram, while some are now included in you Saturday-night booty call digits. And then there are also the scary ones who you'll likely want to forget.
So, in this month of February, we take a look back and celebrate the fond (and not-so fond) memory of all the women you've loved, and the ones you wish you never met!
GOOD TIMES: Prior to slowly realizing she was a nutcase, she was pretty pleasant—and definitely on the top five list of great girls you dated. She let you do whatever you wanted—as long as you texted her about it. All the time. Poker nights with the boys were punctuated by her sudden appearance at the 11 p.m. mark. Sunday lunches with your family were marked by her casually showing up with a boxed cake for your mom. You tell yourself that you must be such an awesome boyfriend because she wanted to be with you. All the time. You didn’t mind—she just wanted to have sex (but with extra cuddling!) all the time, anyway.
THEN THE INEVITABLE HAPPENED: You finally acknowledge the noose around your neck that time she showed up at that birthday inuman you attended. In Tagaytay. With a deranged glint in her eye, she asked you why you weren’t replying to her the texts. With a look of relief on your face, you realize it’s over—and no time like the present to ditch her, right?
TODAY, SHE EXISTS: Wrong. It has been a year and you’re still receiving mysterious missed calls from an unknown number. She magically appears at the edges of parties and clubs you go to, where she alternately gives you the stink eye and flirts madly with you. You have to explain to all your common friends that no, she did not catch me having a threesome with two other men, and no, she wasn’t the one who broke up with me because I wanted to be with her all the time, and no, my penis is quite fine, thank you, it isn’t afflicted with some rare skin disease like she said. It’s exhausting and you’re terrified because you’re sure you saw her sitting by the edge of your bed when you woke up one night…
THE STEPFORD GIRLFRIEND
GOOD TIMES: You guys were just so cute. You carried her teeny-tiny bag around the mall; she bought matching shirts, watches, and bracelets; she packed you little lunches with Post-its inside reminding you to drink the vitamins she put in a little Ziploc bag for you. She reminded you, comfortingly, of your mom.
THEN THE INEVITABLE HAPPENED: She reminded you, not comfortingly, of your mom. The look on her face when you got an undercut. The insistence that you pick her up from a spa day with the girls just so she could see you for five minutes. The endless passive-aggressive comments about when exactly you would be proposing to her… At this point, getting the hell out of her soft, perfectly polished clutches consumed all your energy.
TODAY, SHE EXISTS: As your regular Saturday-night booty call when you’re bored and have nothing (or no one) else to do. She thinks you’re getting back together. You think she’s gaining a bit of weight and tell her. She goes on a diet, and then thinks you’re getting back together…
GOOD TIMES: Super cool chick you met at some party in college becomes your super cool girlfriend. She doesn’t mind your sloppy porma, lets you copy her homework, and accompanies you to all those weird, underground band gigs you felt were cool at the time. Your friends love her, your mom loves her, but the little libog monster over your shoulder is whispering that there are many more good lays waiting for you out there…
THEN THE INEVITABLE HAPPENED: Libog monster wins and soon you’re explaining how you should “see other people” and hoping her super-coolness means she’ll take it in stride. Surprisingly, she does, and after a few terse text messages and a few months of avoiding each other at parties, you realize you miss her (and her homework) in a we-could-be-buddies kind of way. So, back in the barkada she soon goes, as you explain to skeptical friends how it’s all platonic now. Although legend has it she still has your photo framed beside her bed…
TODAY, SHE EXISTS: As the can-you-believe-we-ever-dated friend and the token girl that all your succeeding girlfriends become jealous of at first. At barkada beach trips, you still catch yourself stealing glances at her in her bikini and feel a bit of pride that you tapped that—and curse the fact that she’s so much hotter now that she got curvier and got that shoulder tattoo.
THE PUBERTY-DRIVEN FIRST LOVE
GOOD TIMES: The awkward first flush of foreign hormones (and increasingly familiar boners) is making you believe that you are now isang ganap na lalaki. And what do real men do? Put on inexpert moves on the first available girl. She was your first everything—casual grope, sloppy makeout, even chance at third base. Your relationship existed in soirees, dark corners, and backseats of cars. 0.02 percent of you got hitched, with your prom photo framed beside your wedding shot in your sala.
THEN THE INEVITABLE HAPPENED: College. Glorious, chick-ridden, college—then you were sending her “It’s not you, it’s me” texts and saying crap like “I need to explore” to her tear-streaked face. You bury a shoebox of her love letters and start making a move on that cute girl in Chem lab.
TODAY, SHE EXISTS: As an older, prettier (but chubbier) version of her high-school self (with a new, hyphenated last name), as evidenced by the FB photos of her cradling her baby. You wonder what it would’ve been like had you ended up together, but mostly you remember that she gave you your (and hers) very first, slightly uncomfortable blowjob.
GOOD TIMES: For every designer drug she made you try, every shot she outnumbered you two-to-one, and ill-informed Saturday-night decision she goaded you into, you have the accompanying memory of patting her back as she vomited into the toilet. She was fun in the way standing on the edge right before a cliff-dive was. Oh, speaking of cliff dive, remember that time you went cliff diving and she called you a pussy—and then pushed you off?
THEN THE INEVITABLE HAPPENED: Your liver pleaded for mercy and you got your shit together. You started coming in to work without hangovers. After some epic, for-old-time’s-sake boot-knocking, you bid the embodiment of your roaring 20s goodbye.
TODAY, SHE EXISTS: As the perfect society wife of some corporate bigwig. Her clean hair and guileless smile are prominently featured in her mommy blog, where she displays her kitchen appliances and deluxe-yoga-studio-toned body (both paid for by the corporate bigwig, of course). No one believes you when you say she once had purple streaks in her hair and wore skirts that barely covered her ass.
THE ONE (THAT GOT AWAY)
GOOD TIMES: Life was one great rom-com without the sad parts. You were the dashing and not-so-pogi male lead, and she, the manic pixie dream girl with an endearing smile and penchant for crazy sex after a couple of craft beers. Every day you turned into an unrecognizable sap, and your buddies both wanted to hit and be you—your love story was that goshdarned real.
THEN THE INEVITABLE HAPPENED: All dream girls have dreams of their own. So when she got her scholarship to NYU / became a nurse in Dubai /gave in to her parents’ American dream / met some rich douche who could afford to marry her quicker than you could, you became the tragic figure getting drunk at bars and trying (unsuccessfully) to sleep with other women, only to cry on their shoulders at how much you still loved her.
TODAY, SHE EXISTS: As the impossible standard by which you measure all women. You still nonchalantly (but secretly) stalk your common friends’ Instagram accounts because you don’t want to follow her, and the day her wedding photos came up, you inexplicably felt the need to drink an entire bottle of rum. And you did. You’re over her, right?
From FHM's November 2014 issue