Michaela Strachan, You Broke My Heart

 I turned on the telly
When I got home from school
She was there in her wellies
And a yellow Cagoule
You opened my eyes
To the birds and the bees
I loved you so
My Really Wild Show
On the BBC

A while ago, I did an entire epistle on teenage crushes. I liked writing it. But in hindsight, I felt like I missed the point a bit. Not every teenager has a hot crush on a celebrity. So, I felt a bit stupid for leaving that out, because I did have my fair share of crushes on non-celebrities.

Last night, lying in bed after a particularily epic orgasm, I got to thinking. This one song kept drifting through my brain. I wanted to find a good quality video of it, but I apologise, because there isn’t one.

It’s a song called “Michaela Strachan” by Scouting for Girls. It basically says everything I wanted to say in that post.

I said that “it takes courage to turn the page”. What I meant by that is that it takes a lot of balls to grow up. When you realize that your Michaela isn’t going to show up on your doorstep in her wellies and Cagoul to whisk you away on a wildlife adventure, that’s quite painful. Or at least, it was to me. Over and over again.

I feel like I’m missing the point again though. This was much clearer in my head last night, which is amazing considering I had just had such an epic orgasm that I ladyjizzed all over my sheets and nearly fell over dead…

Anyway, I started thinking about my own history of crushes. Now that’s complicated shit. But I think I remember where it originated.

In fact, it was ten years ago this year.

(author’s note: If anything gets lost in translation, I apologize.)

This guy… (let’s refer to him as The Catalyst, or C) .. he was a junior pedagogue at my first boarding school. The junior pedagogues were there during the summer months to keep the children busy during the day. I was eleven, he was… what, seventeen… And I hopelessly crushed on him. The age gap and possible future paedophilia charges did not once cross my mind. Remember, I was eleven.

Now, you should know that, until recently, I had no fucking clue how to act towards men. Every time I had a crush, I made an utter tit of myself. Here, I did so by attempting to plant a kiss on his cheek before he left us. Needless to say, he did an expert job in brushing me off.

My heart, it was broken!

And that’s where the celebrity crushes come in. They were my coping mechanisms for rejection. I spent months fantasizing about Pierce Brosnan, just to forget C. And it worked. Sort of.

So, what was my big idea last night?

I’m going to write a book about it.

Part me telling you about my history with crushes (both celeb and regular people) and part research about what makes people crush. I’d love to have your input, by the way.

Have you ever crushed on a celeb? On a classmate? Teacher, colleague, boss, neighbour, anyone?

What do you think made you crush?

What is your definition of a crush?

Anything you want to tell me on the subject can be deposited into my e-mailhole (the address is on the contact page). I’d actually love to get some input from the current crop of celeb fans (like Beliebers and Directioners and whatnot), but I realize that the chance that any of them read my blog is a bit slim. Might try Twitter.

Of course, if you wish to remain anonymous, you shall. Just… thank you in advance for helping me on this.

You know… thinking about C has left me quite nostalgic. It’s ten years ago. Ten fucking years. I’m 21 now and I wonder what happened to him. But also, I kinda don’t. It seems that he’s the one crush I’ve managed to move on from and forget at the same time.

Ten fucking years.

Back then…. fuck. Best not to be nostalgic. Best not to look back. It was the start of a dark period. One which I’d like to close off. In fact, I’m doing just that, right now. With this project, I’m closing off.

And it will be good for me.


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