I'm a first rate Lovenut

Love is the dangerous thing. Sometimes it sucks all the coherent brain cells out of your head and turns you into a drooling zombie with only one thing on your mind-- love-- love, love, love and of course that special someone whose name you write incessantly during class while you’re supposed to be learning trigonometry.
Yes, I’ve been on the crazy side of love. I’ve been the poet idiot who writes sing-song rhyming syrup (some call this poetry, but let’s not insult the masters) best left under the lint inside the closets of my brain.
As Valentine’s Day rolled around each year in high school I daydreamed about mythical candy grams, love letters, carnation flower bouquets and a date for the Valentine’s Dance. My eyes got all weepy. My smile was too large and desperate for a date. My posture went to hell in a hand basket. The weight of “love” or the possibility of love pulled my shoulders down and sent my head to the side in a permanent twitch.
I stalked the halls for my one true love-- the boy who would bring me the ever elusive candy gram.
I feel sorry for the poor objects of my eternal affection because if they took the bait, they had a long, hard nauseating road ahead of them.
Remember, I said love is a dangerous thing, and I loved being in love. I loved ignoring my studies just so I could think about love. It became my favorite topic. I wrote love letter after love letter just so I could perfect love with words such as these: “You are the breath that fills my body and beckons me from my sleepy slumber into a new day of possibility. The light upon your face draws me toward your parting lips, a simple smile, a slight curve. I am burned with the hopes of a kiss. I am left breathless.”
And I wondered why some boys ran for cover!
Yes, I admit it. I was a first-rate love nut, and I didn’t give up easily. I was poor, desperate and perpetually sad.
For girls like me, there was no hope.
If I happened upon a someone just as transfixed upon love as I was, I did as all other healthy teenagers do. I turned off the phone, pretended not to see him and was as mean as possible. I mean, this guy was a first-rate fatal attraction psychopath complete with a fuzzy bunny and a pot of boiling water.
Love does make you a touch out of whack.
Sometimes love is all about the chase. Some people just hate to be ignored, so in their desire to be seen, they decide they are in love with the person who doesn’t know they exist.
I’ve been there too, and I am incredibly ashamed with myself.
There was once this “Greek God” from Austin whom I met in high school. He was about the cutest thing going with curly gold hair, big brown eyes and perfect teeth.
He was smart too. I just loved to look at him.
And then one day he smiled back, and I swore my life was over. The “God” had noticed me in all my adolescent beauty complete with zits, bad overly big hair and trendy outfit.
He even called. Then he asked me out. Oh it was true love-- until one day I realized I was bored.
There was no chase, no excitement. He was after all an ordinary boy with dirty blonde hair and brown eyes.
He was still smart, but come on what fun is that when you’re 17?
And he called all the time-- like once a day. Come on, a girl has things to do. I wasn’t about to be there at his beckon call even if he didn’t expect me to be.
He had to go.
Today, I feel really bad about this one because he really was a nice guy. He didn’t deserve a mean girl like me.
Sometimes I think about calling him up-- more than 10 years later-- and apologizing-- but that would be absolutely nutty.
You, see in the end your conscience gets you-- so just be nice and always tell the truth.
Love makes you crazy, and I’ll be absolutely honest with you-- I think ***** is hot. I hope he sends me a candy gram.