Five-Day Old Pizza and Maxi Pads.....PART 2.....

Some people describe first love as euphoric and all-encompassing: an exhilarating magic carpet ride that takes you to all the most beautiful places in the world. I would say, not so much. First love is full of missteps and awkward moments intermitten with gooey feelings of attachment and overall horniess. But I wouldn't say I'm a pessimist; more a realist. Let's face it 98 per cent of first loves last a good 6 months longer than they should due to a contagious attachment disease, I like to call Awkward-repetition-avoidance-itis.

I mean, who hasn't comtemplated overlooking the ocassional sexual daliance due to the fact that a) you don't want to go through the whole body positions/body image/bodily functions comfort dance with another new guy; or b) you don't think you will ever be able to afford an apartment as nice as the one you two share, on your own.

But sometimes awkwardness comes upon a hill called horrific embarrassment. For most people, their innate awkwardness would give way to control and thus, they would be able to avoid horrific embarrassment. But when first love awkwardness is coupled with habitual cocaine usage and unbearable PMS cramps, you get a case of horrific embarrassment, or as I like to call it, the tale of Five Day old Pizza and Maxi Pads.......

There was something about Greg that screamed bad boy with a heart of gold. He still had his learner's license when he first met, but he had blacked out some of the letters on his "student driver" sign so it said, instead,"Stunt Driver." Very cool, that was Greg. Very loud, very forward, very abrupt; but very, very cool. He didn't have many friends, which seemed appropriate. Not everyone was in on this secret: Greg was very, very cool.

Greg was the perfect antidote to everything that ailed me. I was mischevious and ready to rebel against anything and everything in my path. I had spent too many summers looking for the perfect Dylan MacKay to match wits with my improbable Brenda Walsh. My own personal Luke Spencer to sweep me off my feet and carry me away from my abismal existence as a wallflowerish Laura Webber. That was one problem straight off the bat. We both watched far too much TV to understand what a real relationship with drugs and curfews and naked bodies and unreturned phone calls would be like.

There was nothing Greg could do that wasn't absolutely perfect. Sometimes I would break a date with him and not return his phone calls just so I could make him mad and hear him scream to me how much he loved me. He loved me a lot. He would scream it from rooftops; outside my house when I was grounded; on the family answering machine so everyone in my family could hear it.

He loved me so much that when I finally got the courage to admit to him that I could not sleep over that night because I had a visit from"Aunt Flo," he was actually relieved. At least I was not falling out of love with him; or worse falling in love with someone else. Besides, it's all part of Mother Nature's plan, right?

So despite my better judgement, and with a lack of understanding what a night at Greg's place would really entail, I preceded to prepare for a sleepover. I left my house that night with stars in my eyes and dreams of a magical night filled with candles and soft music and rose petals. When I returned less than 24 hours later, there were no more delusions of grandeur in my head. Just the all-emcompassing fear that if Greg ever broke up with me I might have to relive that horrific embarrassment all over again with someone new.........