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Fan Boys & Fear Boners

Tell me that you want me, tell me that you want it all…

Over the years I have posted cautionary tales about the risks of fraternizing with other members of the hockey community, namely hockey players, media, etc. Although this post may seem like it carries with it a similar warning, I think the lesson here is actually to think twice before trying to be LIKE ME!

I don’t know if I ever told you this, but I have a little thing I like to call ‘sex foresight.’ Some girls report meeting a guy for the first time and “just knowing” that they were going to marry their respective hims. Well, I have the same thing, but mine is purely from a getting laid standpoint. Now, I know what you’re thinking. I’m of the lady bits persuasion, and such bits carry with them certain powers. The power to pretty much get it whenever and wherever I want it, as long as I’m willing to take whatever is willing to take me, and, now this might be shocking to some of you, but I actually DO have standards that are probably higher than they should be for a girl like me, so I haven’t really exercised this power to date.

But, anyway, back to the point. My ‘sex foresight’ never fails me. I can’t for the life of me remember a time when I had a surprise tryst. I always have a hunch about some aspect of the dirty deed. Sometimes it’s the place, sometimes it’s the date, and sometimes it’s even the person I haven’t met yet! There are a few interesting stories to come out of this, including the one I’m about to relay to you, but another notable one occurred a few years back. I remember I was looking at my Twitter timeline, which is actually odd for me since I NEVER do that! I’m a big advocate of the Twitter list function and I much prefer to see what people are discussing in that forum. Anyway, someone had retweeted a random hockey player, which thrusted him into my timeline and, therefore, into my… uhhh… That innocuous tweet of his instantly made the old third eye start twitching, and I knew I would someday be in trouble. No, I didn’t start following that soon-to-be doomed hockey player, nor did I make a point to start going to any of his games, but it didn’t matter. About a month later he found me, and the rest is, as they say, history.

Enough about old flames, let’s talk about more current affairs! When I came back from Japan, I knew I was going to be all business when it came to getting the last of the unvisited arenas checked off my list, as I was already working towards getting myself to the Middle East. Now, I knew I was going to try my hardest to complete the set, but there was one unexplored hockey town that I knew was going to be “eventful” long before the lockout showed any signs of ending. And, for those of you that keep abreast of all my misadventures, I’m going to tell you right now that this post is NOT about Vancouver OR Edmonton.

On that fateful night I remember quite distinctly giving myself a cautionary pep talk prior to puck drop, which was also an unusual thing for me to be doing. Perhaps my ‘sex foresight’ is meant to be a warning and not simply a looking glass into future entries in the “repertoire of my moonlight delights.” I remember putting on the last of my mascara, and thinking to myself, “Well, you know it’s going down tonight, but whatever you do, WHATEVER YOU DO, do not, I repeat DO NOT go home with anyone who knows the the Internet version of you.” This seems like common sense because there are many people out there, men, women, and shit eaters, who think that what they read is what they get, and the people who actually know me can back me up when I say that ain’t the case, yet for some reason I felt the need to remind myself of this that night… Only to completely disregard it…

When I got to the game, sure enough, all the pieces fell into place. As I made my way down to my seat after the gates opened, I saw a few guys down at ice level. This isn’t odd, I’m sure you’ve all seen the superstitious pre-warm up crew loitering outside the dressing rooms, but one of them immediately stood out to me – the taller, hotter, built-er one! Since my seat was close to them it wasn’t odd that they had acknowledged me invading their space from the other side of the glass, but it wasn’t long before the looker in the bunch had called out to me. Now that WASN’T normal! He began to ask me a series of questions all with the aim of verifying that I was the Psycho Hockey Lady. I wasn’t sure what to make of that, but the old third eye started twitching again. I talked to them for a bit before they had to go get ready for the warm up. Nothing scandalous or suggestive occurred, but I carefully volunteered (like a fox) that I was staying in town after the game since I was such a long way from home.

After they left to suit up, I went back to game mode. I was there to survey the new arena and new fan base and that was that. But, in the back of my mind I started to wonder how it was going to go down with that guy. I wondered how he was going to find me after the game, but this was mostly a curiosity thing and not panicky in any way because deep down I knew that he would find a way. Sure enough, by the end of the game, a league official approached me and said he was asked to deliver a handwritten note from #00. No, obviously he doesn’t wear DOUBLE ZERO on the back of his jersey, but let’s just say he does for the sake of this post. So, the stage was set. The note provided me the coordinates of where they were planning to go out after the game with an invitation to join them. The intrigue was too great. He was too good looking. And I had nothing better to do that night…

In fairness, I know that I always have a choice, but the in-game note pretty much guaranteed that it was going down. I’ve said it before… I value a great story well above my own self-respect, and the story was just getting good, so I naturally had to see how it was going to play out. I make a lot of bad choices for similar reasons. Recently, I allowed an “affair” to persist with a guy in a serious (live in) relationship for no other reason than I was so curious to see how it was going to end. I was so intrigued by him because he didn’t behave the way adulterous men are “supposed” to behave. He was introducing me to all his friends and definitely not hiding the PDA’s around them. He was also parading me around on the street where he and his girlfriend share a home (while she was obviously there, I might add). Was he trying to get caught? Was he going for the old “trade up?” I just had to know! It was like my physical self would be out with him, but my emotional self was curled up on the couch, bug eyed, with a big bowl of buttery popcorn watching the whole thing unfold. Was I sincerely interested in him? No. Am I horrible person? Yes!

Anyway, I had a decent time out with the guys after the game, and I heard a lot of great stories, but it wasn’t long before we were alone. He was “nice enough” to walk me to my hotel after the bar, but then things took an interesting turn. At our age I figure certain things don’t really need to be verbalized, and yet, as we walked through the hotel doors, he immediately froze in his tracks.

Fear.

In many respects I am a bit of a wild animal. When I sense fear in the male of the species, I get all tingly inside. I suppose I find it both cute and amusing, but this guy took the fear to new heights. After managing to coax him to the hotel elevators, which was unnecessarily awkward since the people working the front desk had suddenly become aware of our “private situation,” I figured that was the end of the fear. He WAS man enough to “boldly” press the elevator buttons, after all! However, back in the room he was too nervous to even take off his coat for a whole hour. Yes, an actual 60 minutes! And, no, I wasn’t about to help him because I enjoyed watching him squirm as he slowly inched closer and closer to me just a little too much (re: horrible person)! Finally, he went for it, but, boy, was it ever hard to get him out of his suit. You can probably guess how the rest of the night went. It was like no matter what I did to improve the “private situation,” my efforts were met with what I can only describe as an actual wall of focused and determined fear-thrusting.

I didn’t think I’d see or hear from him again. I mean, why would I? I’m an out of towner, who was promptly leaving town the following morning. But it wasn’t until the morning after, when the hormones subsided, that I began to really review what had gone on the night before. That’s when I started to suspect that they weren’t just at ice level prior to the warm up when they spotted someone who looked like the Psycho Hockey Lady, they were at ice level WAITING for her. And since I am allegedly a huge puck bunny, it would seem the “hunter” had suddenly become the hunted.

Of course, I had no proof of this other than the fear boner I had to tame the night before. I’ve always suspected that the truly smitten puck bunnies have HORRIBLE sex with their on-ice super crushes due to the fact that they are so overwhelmed with the emotions attached to being with someone they regard as famous in any capacity. Now, I’m definitely not calling myself famous AT ALL, but he knew who I was before he knew me, so I suppose that was enough.

You’ll be pleased to know that the plot did thicken. By the end of the following day I began to notice that a string of his “buddies” had decided to follow me on Twitter, and within 2 weeks I had counted nearly a dozen, which both intrigued and pissed me off. On the one hand, he was CLEARLY talking about me, but on the plus side, I figure he must have been “claiming” that it was good. I’m not ashamed to say that it was most definitely not, and I blame myself equally for not being able to find a way to penetrate that wall of fear he had put up. On the other hand, it supported my suspicion that our “chance” meeting may have actually been orchestrated by him. Unfortunately, it also posed the possibility that this whole thing may have been a kind of bet within his circle of douche bag friends.

I’d like to think that wasn’t the case. I mean, despite what I’ve said about him, he was actually a REALLY nice guy. There seemed to be nothing mean or questionable about him, and I’m usually pretty good at getting an accurate reading on people. So, anyway, despite the fact that I was prepared to not think about him after our night together, I now had a mystery to solve, and had no choice but to start digging around in his personal life until I figured shit out. Sure enough a long term girlfriend showed up in my intelligence sweep, which was also quite shocking to me. Usually you can tell when a guy is cheating on someone with you, it’s just up to you to decide if you care about being his accomplice in adultery or not. But I seriously didn’t get even the slightest hint that he was attached, which suggested to me that he was far beyond having any sort of guilty conscience about being unfaithful to her, and that said guilt was not actually the cause of the fear he exuded that night. Besides you’d think he’d be a little more tight lipped about it, too, instead of, you know, telling anyone who would listen, not to mention feeling the need to actually show them (via Twitter) who I am, especially when he, himself didn’t actually follow me! Sometimes I wish my ‘sex foresight’ would give me a little more info so I can make better choices.

I suppose that brings me to the ultimate purpose of this post. You see, my ‘sex foresight’ has never been wrong, and now I have this unshakeable and terrifying gut feeling that my next take down is going to be my last. GASP! I’ve been trying to tell myself that this can’t be right. Perhaps I’m just foreseeing the dry spell I am FULLY expecting with the pending move to the Middle East. Perhaps it’s just my biological clock messing with my head and reminding me that, at 28, I only have, essentially, 10 good years to figure out if I ever want to do that whole married with children thing. And maybe, subconsciously, I’m slightly worried because 10 years has a way of just flying by. Hell, even death seems better than what I fear is coming, because I was hoping to have some time to reflect and atone for the sins I commit against “love” all the fucking time. I have helped so many hurt and betray their significant others. Granted, sometimes I don’t (technically) know about it, but sometimes I do, and I fear that karma is going to find a way to make sure I, too, experience that pain and deception for myself. And since I’m not the type to settle or get into relationships with people unless I personally think they are extraordinary in some way, I can already tell that getting burned by someone like that is going to be very ugly.

And then there is this place. This blog. The space that often becomes a little too TMI, but only in the interest of giving you, the readers, an honest retelling of my adventures on the road. I figured I would have more time to move away from my hockey history, which has finally reached a nice ending point with the completion of my NHL arenas, but if my intuition is right about this, then my last lay could show up at anytime. He could even be reading this right now!!! And what kind of guy would want to cage a train wreck like the Psycho Hockey Lady, I mean, really?! Anyway, I suppose the one good thing about this gut feeling is that it will definitely make me think twice before making any thoughtless upcoming decisions about jumping into bed with someone for no other reason than in the interest of expanding the folklore of my life. I guess that’s a positive thing, I suppose, but I still hope I am wrong about this. I’m still young-ish and there is still plenty of space for more notches on my proverbial bedpost, after all.

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One Response to Fan Boys & Fear Boners

  1. steve hohl says:

    I love the articles.

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