I didn't fully realize how much love sucked until I saw my friend Ryan wearing a pair of underpants on his head.

This would be about seventh grade. Ryan was a year older than me, superpopular and supercool, and until that afternoon he had enjoyed a healthy relationship with his girlfriend.

And then she dumped him. No warning, no provocation. Called him "selfish" and "immature." Then skipped back to her phalanx of giggling girlfriends, leaving Ryan in a perpetual state of ruin.

Throughout the bus ride home, he looked as though the bus had repeatedly run over his dog.

I sat in his living room, calming him down as best I could. Presently he left the room. And presently, he returned, remarkably changed.

See Ryan loping around the living room, in sort of a Simian crouch, flailing like a monkey or a belly dancer. A pair of BVD's atop his head. Shouting, "I'M IMMATURE!!! I'M IMMATURE!! I'M IMMATURE!!!"

My friend, my hero, my inspiration - reduced to moron status by a girl.

Sometimes, great revelations arise from peculiar circumstances. That was definitely one of those circumstances.

Lesson: Love makes smart people do really stupid things.

I only bring this up because Katie Ferrell did. Miss Ferrell writes "Par Avion," Friday's column for The Post, and last week she treated us to a glowing, misty-eyed meditation on love. Not a bad piece of writing, actually; chock full of August suns and souls exploding into infinity and hands you can always hold.

A sample: "The charcoal sketches of passion slowly taking shape as we walk away to stare at the ceiling and feign sleep. All the while, feeling the warmth creep up inside us..."

Mmm. Very nice. Here's what Miss Ferrell doesn't tell us: that warmth creeping up inside you is probably indigestion. For every time you find yourself in that situation, there will be 15 times where you stare at the ceiling and feign sleep whilst throwing golf clubs at your stereo, which can't play Nine Inch Nails loud enough to suit your mood.

Lesson: Love can adversely affect your golf game.

As for the love Miss Ferrell speaks of - hell, I'm all for it. But cases such as these are rare. Extremely rare. Ohio State beats Michigan rare. No arrests on Halloween rare. And although they might not admit it publicly, everyone knows what I'm talking about.

Perhaps I can explain this a little better.

A friend of mine (we'll call him Raoul) came to visit our fine campus this weekend, where he immediately became enamored by a young lass we encountered Uptown. They parted after flirting for a short while. She expressed a desire to see him again. The next day, Raoul bought this lass a stuffed bear at a rummage sale Uptown and waltzed over to her place, intending to wine and dine her and what not.

She shot him down like a frozen turkey. "Ohhhhh!!!" she began. "I'm sorry!!! Tonight I'm eating dinner with a bunch of guys I know!!! Hee hee hee!!!!!"

Raoul kicked the bear all the way up Court Street. The August sun had given way to dismal October rainclouds, and Raoul booted the bear into puddles and off brick walls and through busy intersections. He philosophized while doing so.

"This is the perfect piece of Avant Garde symbolism. (whap) This bear represents my innocence (whap) and my self-confidence. (WHAP) Oooh!! Muffy!! That had to hurt!!"

As we walked and punted, we couldn't help noticing the different reactions we got from males and females. Women made puppy dog faces and questioned the rationale behind attacking "this poor defenseless creature." Men, meanwhile, suddenly adopted serious facial expressions. "Dear God," they were probably thinking. "This guy must've gotten screwed over."

Lesson: When romantically frustrated, people tend to exact their revenge on inanimate objects.

I admit I am not exempt from this type of behavior. By the end of Spring Quarter last year, I was disillusioned to the point where I actually heckled wedding parties. My friend in Columbus lived across the street from a church, and one day, eyeing a happy bride and groom emerging from the cathedral, I delivered a sermon of my own.

"Hey, congratulations!!!" I began. "Have a nice time!! He looks like a nice guy to leave your kids with every other weekend!!! Hope she doesn't find out about those interns!!!"

And so on.

I'm not always an uncouth cynical party-pooping bastard, but if I were to permanently become one, I can pretty much guarantee you that love would have something to do with it. Katie Ferrell is right to point out the power and the beauty and the eloquence behind this emotion, but believe you me - there's a dark side.

Lesson: Sometimes love tugs at your heartstrings, and sometimes it kicks you in the taco.

Be careful out there, kids.

Send all love letters, wedding invitations and sensitive poetry to rh175696. Bonus points for rhyming "soul" and "hole."