Three years ago today, a young Mandounette sat on the steps of the Angelika awaiting a certain young man to join her for the then new and now forgotten Steven Soderbergh film, Full Frontal. Seven hours later, after a coke in a glass bottle, a few Belgian beers, a bottle of wine, some Moroccan food, a little bit of belly dancing, a Serge Gainsbourg impression, a virtual odyssey from Thompson Street to the northern edge of Alphabet City (he walked me home!), a lot of laughing and a kiss on the forehead, I thought I might just be in crush.

Three years later, the best first date of all time is still going. Many more cokes were drunk, much more Moroccan food was eaten (almost to the point of vomiting once because I didn't know the pastilla was an appetizer and I ate like 4 pieces), many more bad films were seen. Oceans and continents have been crossed. A cat and an apartment have been added to the mix. Nicknames have come and gone. We have seen each other in some unflattering positions: I was pretty much psychotic my first year in France, he's just goofy. But so far it has been a beautiful three years and I am certain that there will be many more.