Continued from How I met my very first puck bunny.

About a month after that pivotal last game of the season, I decided to move an hour away from home (and my precious junior hockey team), and finish high school in Toronto. I was seventeen and still in the habit of coming home on the weekends. My friends were becoming more and more rabid for the junior hockey scene since their encounter with the locker room puck bunnies during the last game of the playoffs. Naturally, they had replaced me with some new aspiring puck bunnies since I was in Toronto for at least five days a week. And let me tell you, they had been up to no good.

A couple months into the season I found myself at a game with my friends and these new puck bunnies for the first time. They were in the habit of waiting after every single game, and the fact that I was the one with the car keys still didn’t give me enough authority to convince them to vamoose. Once again, I pressed myself up against that same spot on the wall near the locker room trying not to embarrass myself. However, I still felt incredibly awkward regardless.

One of the new girls had a massive crush on some of the new blood on the team that year. All the girls piled around him when he got off the bikes and was heading toward the locker room door. I was looking around the arena almost subconsciously trying to disassociate myself with the girls fawning all over this new guy who was supposed to be the next big thing. But as I turned back towards my girls, I saw his eyes staring right into me. The thought that he was probably watching me the entire time made my cheeks glow red. It wasn’t one of those harmless glances either; he was fully attempting to steal my virginity with his eyes. I could tell by the smile on his lips and the twinkle in his eye that I would be in serious trouble if I didn’t avoid him at all costs. Unfortunately, my friends had other plans.

Once lover boy had marked his territory, my cluster began bending over backwards to get him whatever he wanted, which just happened to be me in this case. I always thought this was odd especially considering that one of the girls was so “in love” with him that she was buying up all his merchandise at the team store. They went to some incredible lengths like impersonating me on the phone and Internet because I wasn’t interested enough to contact him myself. But I think the strangest thing of all was that they were no longer confident that my looks were good enough for him.

The night that he first saw me I was dressed in my usual fashion, jeans, ponytail, and no makeup – nothing special. It was kind of funny how my friends never stopped to consider that the way I looked that night was what attracted him in the first place. Instead, they would make me come over to one of their houses a few hours before each game so they could have a “pretty party.” This party basically consisted on me sitting there while they did my hair and makeup. I don’t think I had ever worn makeup before this, truthfully. And it wasn’t just makeup; they’d do things like buy me shirts they thought I should wear to the next game for no good reason other than the fact that they felt it was very important that he needed to see me wearing them. The whole process kind of felt like a “preparing of the virgin” so to speak; it was a bit disturbing and terrifying. I wonder if normal non-puck bunnies do this kind of stuff for their friends.

I wasn’t really into the guy at first, but eventually I came around. He was just so…pathetic. I don’t know how else to describe it. He was probably the first guy to ever really show a romantic interest in me. The guy practically followed me around like a little puppy dog, and I just ended up getting used to it. What I once thought was pathetic started to seem adorable. But, like all things, it didn’t last. The male ego got in the way. At that age the ego has a hard time keeping up with the body I think.

My girl friends flew into panic mode at the news that things were no longer working out between us. They had to think of plan to get themselves in with the players because they knew they couldn’t rely on me anymore. I still loved hockey and the team, but everything was still fresh, so I didn’t really want to have an overwhelming presence at the arena. I finally hit my breaking point with the puck bunny behaviour after one horrible game a few weeks later.

They lied to me. They told me they bought us all tickets for the game that night. We were allegedly in row J (out of S), so I was comfortable with the idea. However, we were actually in the first row, which caused more teenage awkwardness than I needed at that point. I really wasn’t ready to see him that close up again, but glass seats turned out to be the least of my worries that night. For the first time ever I didn’t drive to the game. One of the newbies got her licence and so she was in charge of our comings and goings. Not only did they have to wait around after the game, they heard that there was a team party going on and they decided to find it.

My last memory of my time with these girls was of me sitting in the back seat of a soccer mom minivan, while the girls followed the players’ cars. They just happened to be directly behind my guy’s ride as well, which caused me to duck down in my seat and wish for death. It was at that moment right there that I realized that these girls, my friends, had fully crossed over to puck bunnydom. The funny thing was that they hadn’t done any of the stereotypical things that a puck bunny was “supposed” to do. Puck bunnies were supposed to be girls that just messed around with the players, so if any of us fit that bill, it was me not them. These girls had just become so obsessed with the players that they turned our friendship into a type of business – the business of landing a hockey player boyfriend.

I never saw those girls again in the hockey capacity. They became more and more consumed by the way of the puck bunny until finally they were getting into some serious criminal dealings in their attempts to meet the team, like theft, vandalism, and stalking. They never got anywhere with any of the players, which kind of made everything seem so unnecessarily traumatic in hindsight. After all, they dropped me at a time when I needed the support of my friends most of all, and for what, a hockey team made up of complete strangers?! That’s why I laugh when I see my “haters” go after me on rumour sites, etc because they think that by siding with the player that I have an alleged conflict with that he and his team will magically know and care about who they are. That behaviour has always been a tell tale sign of a puck bunny for me. It’s sad that people are still that pathetic, though; after all, they don’t have the excuse of being in high school anymore.

You can see why I was suddenly inspired to research puck bunnies and write a book about them after this experience. Funny story: after all of this shit went down, what those girls didn’t know was that a few months later a certain hockey player was down on his knees begging me for forgiveness. Not only that, but we also had a bit of a thing again a few years later after he made it to the pros. I wonder if my friends would still think ditching me over a hockey team was worth it if they knew that this was the case. Of course, it would have been a less nightmarish experience if I was able to peer into the future, too. It’s like that song says, “I wish that I knew what I know now, when I was younger.”

Thus concludes Puck Bunny Month! Hope you liked it!

It was but eight years ago when the events I’m about the recount took place, and yet it feels like my life did not begin until that point. The sixteen years of breathing I had until then are a blur of swimming pools, baseball diamonds, Guns N Roses, and Saturday night Leafs games. It’s like my memories instinctively sharpened the moment I first met her. A woman, entity, and idea that would both intrigue and astound me into my adult life. This “puck bunny” would appear to change my life forever.

I think the first time I heard the word, my friend and I were jumping out of the car one frozen night to go to yet another junior hockey game. My dad, who isn’t into any sport other than NASCAR, decided my friend and I probably didn’t like the game and were “just puck bunnies.” It was kind of funny how you turn sixteen, and suddenly years of dedication to a sport fly out the window. At the time, my friends knew very little about the game. I didn’t mind so much, I was just happy to have someone along for the ride. We never sat closer than the eighth row, but, really, is there a bad seat in the house at ANY junior hockey rink? Player interaction just did not happen minus the odd, “Hey baby!” out of their car windows while we were waiting to be picked up…by our parents, I mean.

The last game of that season everything changed, and we were sitting smack dab in the front row. In my hometown (eww, remember that show on YTV?), all the hockey players went to the same high school, and, by extension, the school was also the haven for the fiercest puck bunnies around. One of my hockey buddies was friends with one of these girls, and by this final playoff game of the season, our click, and the click from Puck Bunny High collided for the very first time.

They looked so different from us. They had clearly taken their time getting ready for the game, and they all seemed to work at tanning salons (and that wasn’t even the style at the time). They sat at the other end of the rink from us during that game. They looked like these unemotional statues that had been forced against their will to even make an appearance rink side at all. They stared off into space with this stern and indifferent look in their eyes. They appeared to be above whatever was happening on the ice. I couldn’t help but wonder, “Why are they here?”

After the game, my friend dragged us over to meet the PB crew. It was now time for me to learn the lesson of waiting around the locker room. There were dozens of puck bunnies already down there waiting for the guys to get off the bikes or emerge from the steam infested unknowns of the locker room. Periodically, the gates would open, and the girls would flock together to see if anything skin coloured was visible through the fog.

I stood there thinking the experience was incredibly awkward. So, I pressed myself up against the wall and started observing the trends. Every cluster of girls, dressed in jeans and black tops, seemed to be fawning over one girl in the group. Whoever this designated It girl was in any one of the clicks, had this look of solemn superiority. Somehow she had risen above the others, but the question was how?

I looked to the group that I was standing askew of. My friends continued with the lively small talk while casting curious glances over at any young man in a suit that swaggered through the locker room door. But there was one girl from Puck Bunny High that didn’t say much. She was the prettiest one of the group, and her eyes revealed a certain level of cool expertise. She was the It girl, or as I would later call them, the Queen of this warren. As it would turn out, her claim to the royal throne was a hand job in the arena parking lot after hours. The girl was never the same again, and now she had the unbelievably challenging burden of getting her friends into the club.

I suppose I should have clued into the warning sign as I began to notice that my friends were carrying on the way the other non-Queens were. I should have realized that in the sea of laughter and large pearly white smiles, they were revealing a secret desire that would burn hot inside them now that they had the experience of this pivotal season finale. I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised with how the following season would play out. Hand Job Harriet would continue to be a stranger to me, but this “puck bunny” and all that she represented was about to move in a little closer to home.