In Which I Talk About Embarassing Things

The past five days have passed all too quickly, and during the whirlwind of the weekend and days off, absolutely nothing happened that could be labeled as "interesting" or "blog-worthy". I knew I'd have to write something, because I didn't want anyone to think (based on my last post) that I indeed went crazy and was placed in a Mental Hospital. I am proud to say that, no, I am not in co-habitation with the elbow-lickers or people who follow invisible flies down the hallway, trying to catch them with their fingers. I came back from the teetering edge of insanity by taking deep breaths (and screaming cuss words as loud as I could), listening to soothing music (Metallica or Disturbed works well), and going for a drive (with the windows down, screaming aforementioned cuss words and listening to aforementioned music at near-eardrum-bursting volume levels).

Even though I am more relaxed now and thus less likely to commit a felony, I found myself still lacking sufficient material for a proper blog entry. After some thought, I figured I might as well dig down into the metaphorical bag of embarrassing "First Time" events in my life. First date, first time driving a car, first alien abduction... you get the picture. I'm going to keep this idea as a recurring theme, because I'm frequently stricken with mental constipation.

Today I'm going to talk about My First Girlfriend.

Due to the fact that I was homeschooled and only at the public school every other day, I was not largely popular in high school. I considered it a good day if even my teachers knew my name. I was also a huge band geek, which probably didn't help my apparent case of invisibility with the ladies. It was mid-way through the first month of my sophomore year when I heard a rumor that some girls were talking about me. During marching band practice one day one of the color guard girls handed me a note, saying one of her friends asked her to give it to me. To this day I cannot accurately describe my reaction, but I will summarize with saying that until I had a chance to read the note my heart pounded furiously with nervous anticipation as to what it might say. When I finally had a moment alone to read it, my thoughts and hopes were confirmed. Someone liked me!

For the sake of her privacy and risk of humiliation for un-earthing her past dating history, I'll refer to her as First Girlfriend. She had long brown hair, and I had always thought she was cute. Both of us were very shy, and we maintained a majority of our conversations via intricately folded sheets of notebook paper. I typed my notes to her on the computer first, giving me a chance to proof-read what I wrote before I put pen to paper. We sat together on the bus to marching band competitions, and on the days where I was at the public school we sat together during our lunch period and met up in between classes. Even though I was quite the wordsmith in our notes, I had absolutely no game to speak of. More often than not, I was too shy to even hold her hand.

Shortly after we began dating, she asked me to the Homecoming Dance. Even though I was horrified of dancing, I agreed to go (this is also my First School Dance story. Two for one!). I honestly remember very little about the dance. I'm pretty sure I stepped on her toes at least 47 times during the first slow dance, and we sat awkwardly on the bleachers for most of the time after that. I must have asked her if she was having a good time every 12 minutes, and I probably asked her if she needed any fruit punch or snacks with just as much frequency. Luckily I had a curfew and was able to escape after a couple of hours, but I agonized over how much of a tool I was for a few days afterwards.

First Girlfriend and I dated from October through April or May that school year. For the entire duration of our relationship, we never spoke on the phone. I agonized over what to get her for Christmas, and struggled even more as to what the appropriate gift for Valentine's Day would be. Other than the school dance, we never saw each other outside of school, mostly because my parents had a rule that I couldn't date until I was 16, unless it was a double-date. I'm not sure what they were worried about, but I guess they didn't want me to running around sowing my wild oats. Being 15, I wasn't thinking about sowing any oats, or doing anything at all with anything anatomically located between my legs... I was more focused on not tripping over my feet or otherwise being a bumbling jackass around First Girlfriend, much less other girls.

Eventually, the combination of parental overbearance, my lack of courage, and plain old lack of proper communication led us to agree that it wasn't working out, and we decided to go separate ways. For my First Breakup, it wasn't that bad. I had gained experience and knowledge of the fairer sex, which for a teenager struggling to grow facial hair was worth more than gold. I would apply what I had learned to my next relationship, which would yield my First Kiss.

More on that later.