The Curse Returns

I have never liked to make details of my personal life public knowledge-- not that I have anything to hide, just that I feel my personal life is between myself and whoever my girlfriend is at that time. Maybe it is just paranoia from my past-- unfortunatley stalkers happen, and people will always try to use your personal life against you. I usually keep my cards close to my chest-- and I only talk about it, in person, with my closest friends. In other words, don't get too used to this. But the comical frequency of this happening to me, has made me want to share it with you. Well, that and Joel asked who pissed in my Cheerios this morning (for the record, I had Rice Krispees for breakfast).

I'm not totally pissed off at the world for this, and it is really nobody's fault. But last night I found out that my girlfriend is moving. (As I still speak with her, I will not divulge a name) Yes, Adam this is a recent development, starting a couple months ago. So, everyone is going-- big deal, love leaves, life goes on, either go with her or move on. That's not what is bothering me. What bothers me is that this has happened to me way to often.

Everybody remembers their first case of puppy love, right? I had mine in 5th grade, sweet girl named Valerie-- so what happened to her? I don't know. She moved away, and I never heard from her again. And it has started a disturbing pattern in my life-- one where my heart is never where I am. OK, I wasn't as shaken about Valerie leaving-- how could I be, I was like 10. I was care free, and there is no way it would have lasted. Nor was I in love with her-- but back then, 10 year olds didn't date-- except for maybe a walk around the swings at recess. It is just the starting point for the pattern.

The pattern includes my move out to Nebraska just before I started high school-- that one hurt a bit more, as I had finally shed the lable as a nerd in school, and found out what the girls really thought of me-- apparently, I was more popular than I knew.

It quieted down for a bit, and then what my parents refer to as my "North American Hockey Tour". It started early in my junior hockey career-- when I was signed to play for Texas in the NAHL. My best friend, my first true love moved to Texas just after I graduated. (Yes, hockey players have emotions, too) Well, this could have worked out-- in fact it was too perfect. Kali's mom worked closely with the Texas team, and had already arranged to be my billet. Oh, but I forgot to mention. Texas already had two goaltenders-- Brandon Crawford-West (who left Miami-Ohio to sign with Pittsburgh), and some 15 year-old name Montoya (yes, THAT Montoya). Guess what, Texas cut me lose from camp before I even took the ice.

From there it was Robin in Winnipeg (my first stint there), Lyndsey in Syracuse, Katie in Binghamton, and Rachel in Peoria. The only girl who was a constant in my life was Kat, during my second (and longest stay)-- and even then, I was still changing teams more often than the members of Duran Duran change hair colour.

By the time I went back to Winnipeg (St. Boniface) for my second season, I didn't not expect to be there long-- I was on loan from Cincinnati, and just going through training camp to stay in shape-- biding time until one of the goalies in Cincinnati played themselves out of the lineup (long story, ask me some day). By then, the fact that my hockey life and my love life were never in the same place had become a joke among my roommates and friends. Then I met Crystal.

I remember so much about the night I met her-- I remember sitting at Boston Pizza, watching the Blackhawks getting pummeled by the Wild, I remember what I had to drink and how many, I remember the bitch-slap fight Andrew and I started at the table, I remember that I didn't drive home that night because I was drunk off my ass (who knew I would remember that?), and I remember turning to Andrew (my roommate) and saying "I just found a girl who is interested in me-- I'll be back stateside in two weeks."

I was wrong.

Ten days later I found myself the subject of trade rumours, the last cut from the team (three games into the season), packing my bags, and back in Omaha-- waiting for the call to return to Cincinnati. Those who know me, know how the story ends.

If only that was then end of the curse-- I certainly wasn't expecting it this time. I knew I would face a decision in the next year after I graduate, and hopefully have a job. I have accepted the fact that I will probably find myself moving next summer. But a lot could happen in twelve months-- I wasn't expecting it after two and a half.

I know I'll move on. There will be others. And I'm sure everyone has a broken-hearted story, tales of how they've been pooped on. But at some point I have to ask: who the hell did I wrong? Why do I have this bad karma? Am I just unlucky?

Life goes on, and I will survive. What doesn't kill me only makes me stronger-- but I'm still just a little bitter about being so snakebitten.

Ah screw it, who needs love anyway? Now-- where did I put my Joan Jett CD?