My first real boyfriend in adulthood started out like any relationship when you’re 19… We met at a party and made out at, like, the seven following parties and then started “seeing” each other. This basically meant we started hanging out in day light hours and held hands in public and didn’t pretend to leave parties seperately. It was awesome. We did this for an entire Summer. Hanging out, making out, fishing, camping, tubing, laughing, sexing, dates, road trips, sleepovers when we could sneak them in (we both lived with our parents), all the best things that come with the start of a relationship in Summer. When Summer finally ended and I packed up to move back to Victoria he surprised me by asking me to be his girlfriend. I said yes, after all he was 6 feet 4 inches of small town, good lookin, fun time muscle.
Sounds too idealic to be true, right! Yup, you would be right. When I left town and moved back to Victoria, he had a couple more weeks until he had to leave for his season home base, so he visited often. It was magic, as only first love can be. However, what you’re thinking is “season home base? What is that?”. Well, when you’re a semi pro hockey player, you don’t necessarily live where your girlfriend lives. First Love left and went across the country. We continued to date. Gor 2 years. On and off of course. Because he was a hockey player after all. And what they say about hockey players is true.
Not to dampen anyones spirits but here are my top 3 shitty things First Love did (and yes, I have put them in order) and yes they are terrible and devastating:
3) One dark and rainy (so I like to believe) night he would not answer his phone. At all. And I called at least a dozen times. We had fought (per usual) and he took a bottle of gin and ignored me. I do not take well to being ignores. Hence, the outrageous number of phone calls. Finally I made contact… with his roommate, only to tell me that he was “occupied”. I was naive, but now I know what occupied meant. He was not in the bathroom at 3am, or sleeping, or in a meeting, or any other logical reason that would render him incapable of answering his own phone . Its sad to say I only figured this out when I saw the naked pictures of a cheerleader on his phone. Bazinga!
2) First Love was fond of breaking up with me on MSN Messenger (so I wouldn’t necessarily get the messages right away – remember, texting wasn’t cool this long ago and landlines were the main form of communication) and then reconnecting with me a few days later with a sappy email/phone call/song. It only took me three breakups to realize they always fell on weekends his team was traveling. At least he had the decency to ‘breakup’ with me before mattress dancing with puck sluts (my assumption on the morals of these girls was never proven).
And the #1 all time terrible thing First Love ever did was… drum roll please…
First Love and I took a break a few days before Christmas (he had to stay out East and all the breaking up was really getting in the way of the spirit of Christmas). We talked every couple days and always ended the conversation with “I love you”. Since he called me on Christmas, I thought I would call him on New Years Eve. Bad idea! Since he was 3 hours ahead of me I called him at 11 o’clock my time, just in time to get him before he hit the hay after the bar. Look at me being all thoughtful and shit. The conversation went like this:
Me: Happy New Years! Did you have a blast?!
Him: Yup. I want you to talk to someone.
Me: Who?! (At this point I assumed it was a teammate, I often spoke with the boys when I calles)
Some Bitch: Who is this? (Muffled whispers to First Love, ‘who is it babe’)
Me: Umm, it’s his girlfriend (I know, we were on a break but details don’t matter to drunk people)
Some Bitch: What? I’m his girl now. *click*
Me, being naive, assumed it was a joke, so called back and the conversation continued as follows:
Him: What? Didn’t want to talk to the chick I’m gonna f*ck?
Me: Excuse me? This is a joke, right?
(In the background Some Bitch is begging First Love to take her home, I can still hear it to this day. He mumbles to her “one minute, just dealing with her”)
Him: I’ve got to go, I need to f*ck this girl
Me: You f*cking prick. Never talk to me again. *click*
I hung up my cell, started crying (at 11:30pm on New Years) and then sucked it up and partied for a bit… I ended up in pajamas with a pizza by 1am, which is kind of stellar. And only talked to First Love on two occasions after that: when he called to apologize because his cousin told him what he did to me (yup, kid was too drunk to even remember talking to me) and when I saw him randomly at a gathering. What lesson did I learn? Never call a man on a holiday.