Spandex and Hairspray

Scott, Part 4.

2007-08-06T16:17:00.000-04:00

I guess it is time I finally finished this story. It has been keeping me from writing anything else, knowing I have to finish this one first.

Scott moved out at the end of January. I admit I was quite sad at first. I realize I was the one that broke up with him, I asked him to leave, but it still hurt all the same. He had been my life for nearly three years, and at 20 years old, that was a long time.

I soon realized that having Scott gone was a bit of a relief. I was no longer worrying about him, wondering where he was and what he was doing. I was able to go out with my friends without looking at the clock, thinking I should get home to him before it is too late. I was still talking to him every few days, he seemed happy in his new place, and although he would not admit it, I was sure he was seeing someone new.

Somewhere in mid February, I started to think there was something wrong. I was really tired, I was not feeling very good, and I was getting awful cramps. It occurred to me that I had not had a period since the middle of January, so just in case I bought a home pregnancy test. I nearly died when I saw that it was positive.

My world stopped. Here I was, trying to start a new life, enjoying being on my own for the very first time, happy to be out of a very unhealthy relationship. And suddenly, that seemed like it was all going to be taken away. I was 20 years old, single, in school, and pregnant.

It took me a few days to tell Scott. I had always had a hard time telling him things I was afraid would upset him, and I knew this would upset him more that anything.

I called him and asked him to come out for dinner with me. I kept trying all night to tell him, but could not bring myself to do it. I tried driving around, hoping that if I didn't have to look at him it would be easier, but I was afraid I would start crying. So finally, after we had been out for a few hours, I pulled into the parking at his complex and parked the car.

"I have to tell you something" I said to him, looking straight ahead, out my window.

You could hear the hesitation in his voice when he asked me what it was.

"I'm pregnant"

"Oh" he said. "Oh shit"

And with that, he opened his door, and got out of the car, closed the door and walked away.

I sat there for a moment. Stunned. I don't really know what I expected from him, but it sure wasn't that.

I tried to call Scott for a few days after that, but he would not come to the phone. Finally, about a week later, I got a call from one of roommates, telling me I needed to go over there.

I found Scott, sitting cross legged on the floor of his room, staring off into space. He was not talking, nor would he look at anyone. I asked the guys what was wrong with him, none really knew, but they did admit he had been experimenting with different drugs over the past few weeks, and he had been sitting there for almost a day.

I sat down right in front of him, and tried talking to him. He adverted his gaze away from me, and refused to answer me. I reached out and grabbed his hands, but he pulled them away, instead hiding his face in them, his long hair covering both his hands and face.

I begged him to talk to me; tears were streaming down my face. I got angry, telling him he needed to deal with life, he had to talk to me, help me figure out what we were going to do.

He finally looked up, and looked right into my eyes. His face was wet, he had been crying too. He seemed like he was trying to talk, he would open his mouth, but nothing would come out. I watched as he clenched his fists, and slammed them into his lap. I tried to grab his hands again, but he pulled them away like I had burned him, he shot me one last look, and then was staring into space again.

Finally I left. I could not take it anymore. I told his roommates to call me if he got worse, and to make him call me if he ever snapped out of it.

I cried for days. I was so torn. I ached for Scott; I mourned the end of our relationship. I was scared for my future; somehow I knew I would be raising this baby alone.

Finally Scott called me and asked to talk.

He apologized for the way he had acted, and claimed he could barely remember those few days. He told me he would support me in whatever I chose to do.

I got him to admit he had a girlfriend, and he also admitted he had been using some really hard drugs.

He promised he was going to stop, just stick to smoking pot and hash. He said his girlfriend was really nice, and knew I would like her.

It was hardly a month later, when Scott announced to me he was going to move to BC.

Just for a short time he said. He and his girlfriend just wanted to get away for awhile; they would come back in October when the baby was due. What could I do, I had no hold on him.

Right after he left, I got a call from the manager at the bank where I worked. The account I had held jointly with Scott, and had neglected to take his name off of, was overdrawn by $600.00. Scott had written a cheque on the account to finance his trip, and I was now responsible for the loss.

This was in late March.

Sometime in the later part of summer, Scott called to tell me they were back in Ontario. He and his girlfriend had hitchhiked home, and were planning on staying, wanting to be here for me when the baby was born.

I picked up Scott and took him out for a drive so we could talk.

I was trying to get out of him how much of a role he wanted to play in the baby's life. I wanted to know if he would be there for more than just an occasional visit.

He promised me he would. He wanted to live close by me, so he could spend as much time as he could with us.

But then I asked him about the drugs. I told him in no uncertain terms would I want any drug use around the baby. I asked him what he would do if he was taking care of it and some of his friends came by and wanted to get high.

He said it should not make a difference. At least when the kid was little right?

Well he was wrong. I told him that until he could prove to me that he would stay sober, and not let his friends near my baby, he would never see it.

The argument went back and forth for some time, but finally came to a head when he made a comment that infuriated me.

"This is why I am with Trish. (the new girlfriend) She does not judge me. She really loves me. She loves me for who I am...."

I slammed on my breaks, looked him right in the eye and said, "You fucker. How dare you accuse me of not loving you? I gave you everything I was. I gave up everything I had. I took care of you for three years. I loved you with all my heart You took it all, with hardly giving anything in return. GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY CAR!"

And I left him there, out in the boonies, about 15km from town. I still to this day don't know how he got back, and I really didn't care.

I heard a few days later that he and Trish left again for BC. I got a letter from him about a month later, apologizing for what he said, telling me he was sorry he could not be there for me. He said he would come back again in October, be there for the birth of the baby. I never responded.

Fall came and Scott never arrived. I did not expect him to. I had two wonderful girlfriends that were there for me through the pregnancy, coming to doctor’s appointments, going to birthing classes, giving me a shoulder to cry on when I felt overwhelmed.

On October 26th, with my Mom, my brother and my best friend by my side I gave birth to a beautiful, healthy, sweet 8 1/2 lb baby boy. I named him Christopher for my friends Christine and Charissa. I gave him my maiden name for a surname, and left the spot on the birth certificate that named the father blank.

Christopher would be my son, and no one else's.

In November, when Christopher was about 3 weeks old, I got another letter form Scott. He had heard about the baby through his sister, whom I had called. He was so sorry that he could not make it when he was born; he gave some wild excuse that I don't even remember.

I was done, finished. I wanted nothing to do with him anymore. So I wrote him back.

"My son and I are just fine without you. Please do not contact me anymore. I want nothing to do with you."

Scott never tried to contact me again, and I have not once in the last 14 years ever regretted that decision. Our lives have been better for it.

Scott, part three

2007-06-11T15:22:00.000-04:00

In the fall of 1992 I went back to school. I started at Humber College, taking a business program.

At the same time, I managed to convince Scott to try and go back to high school, to see if he could get his diploma as well.

I was feeling wonderful. Dad had given me my car back, so that I could get to school, and enjoy some freedom. I dropped Scott off at school each morning, and in the evenings we would often go out together, go for drinks, play pool, hang out with old friends.

By the end of September I had made a whole new group of friends at school. I was on the softball team, staying late to work on assignments, or going to the bar after school. I was starting to see less and less of Scott.

Scott had a new group of friends too. Some guys from school were renting the basement of the house across the street from us, and he spent a lot of time over there. Honestly, I was relieved. Although I knew he was going there to get stoned, at least I knew he wasn't moping around the house when I wasn't there.

It seemed we hardly were even connecting anymore. Weeks would go by without us having sex, sometimes we would go days without even seeing each other. Either I would get home after he was in bed, or he would be home after I was.

I would ask him to go out with me and my friends from school, but he wasn't interested in meeting them. I thought for sure he would have fun at the parties I was going to, but since none of my friends smoked up and got high, he was not interested.

The same would go for me. I had been clean for 10 months, and I was not interested in hanging out with his friends, watching them get high.

In November I celebrated my 20th birthday. Some of my friends wanted to take me out for dinner and we made plans to go to Red Lobster together. I really wanted Scott to come with me, I was still determined to make it work with him, and despite everything, I was still desperately in love with him.

Scott wouldn't go, and I was heartbroken. What should have been an awesome evening was darkened. I pretended all was well, made excuses for him to my friends, but I felt like crying the whole time. He tried to make it up to me, even bought me a beautiful sweater and gave me a really sweet card, but I think it was the beginning of the end for us.

I stopped trying. I stopped asking him to come out with me, stopped trying to make plans for just the two of us. We slept together in the same bed, but never touched each other. I stopped telling him I loved him, never kissed him goodbye anymore. I think I knew it was over, but just did not know how to tell him.

Near the end of December, close to the beginning of Christmas Holiday's, I went out with one of my new friends Missy, and her roommate Dave. I had been checking Dave out for awhile, thought he was incredibly cute. He was so different from Scott, had a good job, a social life, even owned his own house.

We we staying by each other's side all night at the bar. It felt great to be with someone who was giving me their full attention, doing what they could to make me happy. I loved having his arm around me, and when he kissed me goodnight, I kissed him right back. It was the first and only time I had ever cheated on Scott.

I went home that night and wrote Scott a letter. I knew I would not be able to tell him to his face. I told him how much I loved him, but that we were going in different directions and needed to be apart. I said I knew he was not happy living with my Dad, but I needed to be there, needed to make something of my life. I said I thought it was time he moved out, found himself. I never said it was completely over, but that we needed to take a break and figure out who we were on our own.

I told him he could stay as long as he needed to find somewhere to live. I was not kicking him out, but he needed to find something as soon as he could.

It was the hardest thing I had ever wrote. I crawled into bed that night and for the first time in a long time I kissed Scott on the head, and put my arm around him while I slept. I laid awake most of the night, trying to convince myself I was doing the right thing, but as I looked at him tears would come to my eyes, and I would not be so sure.

But that morning, before I left, I put the letter on my pillow, next to where he slept. I kissed him again and whispered I love you to him, and went off to school.

I remember telling Missy what I had done, she was so happy she squealed and jumped up and down in the middle of our computer class. I pretended I was happy and relieved, but this nagging feeling in the pit of my stomach just would not go away. I had spent nearly three years with Scott. At 20 years old, that was a really long time.

When I got home Scott was not there. In fact he did not come home for days.

When he did we talked for a long time. We cried and hugged and he told me he understood. He had a feeling this was coming for a really long time. He would start looking for a place, and hoped to be moved out by the end of January.

So for the next month or so, we just went through the motions. Nothing ever came of Dave and I, he said he wanted to wait until Scott was gone, didn't want to be the rebound guy.

For lack of anywhere else to go, Scott still slept in the same bed as I. But with the late hours we both kept, doing our own thing, we never went to bed or woke up at the same time. We stayed on our own sides of the bed. And although he never told me, I was sure he was already seeing someone else.

Near the end of January, Scott announced he had somewhere to live. He and the guys that had been living across from us had found a townhouse and would be moving out the end of January.

That hit me hard. Although I was the one that asked him to leave, I could not believe he was really going.

I don't know what started it, but that night we got into a fight. Some hurtful things were said, and we were both crying. However neither of us went out, and by the time we went to bed, we were both emotionally drained.

I'll never forget that night. I was lying there, knowing it would be one of the last times I laid next to Scott. I could smell his familiar smell, and was listening to the sound of his breathing. His hand was on his pillow, right next to my face, and I reached up and held it in mine.

Tears were streaming down my face, and although I tried to muffle the sounds of my sobs, it woke him up. He reached over and touched my face, wiping away the tears. I looked him in the eyes and said I will always love you Scott, no matter what.

He smiled and told me he loved me too, and then leaned in and kissed me.

One thing led to another, and we would up having sex. It was the first time we had been together like that for over four months, and it was so sweet, so loving, but it so much felt like goodbye.

We fell asleep in each others arms for the last time.

The next day when I returned home from school, Scott was gone. He managed to get into the townhouse early, and packed all of things and left. I was not expecting it and it hit me really hard. I locked myself in my bedroom and refused to come out for the rest of the night. I found one of his tee-shirts in the laundry and fell asleep holding it, pretending he was there with me. I felt so stupid, like such a coward for giving up on him, but I was still sure it was the right thing to do.

Scott, part 2

2007-06-09T14:58:00.000-04:00

The following spring Scott moved out of the place he was living and into a basement apartment with of all people, Gillian's best friend.

As terrible as that sounds, it really was a step up. He had been living in the basement of what could only be described as a crack house. It was an awful little space, not even a room, just a bed and couch next to the furnace.

At least in this new place there was a fridge & stove, a shower and bed and less chance of being robbed, or worse, in your sleep.

Gillian's friend, who was also named Teresa, could barely tolerate me. Why would she? I had made her best friend miserable, stolen her boyfriend, and god knows what else. It did not make it easy to hang around there, but I wanted to be with Scott, and I was not going to let her stop me.

Unfortunately, things went from bad to worse there. Scott and Teresa were not getting along, Gillian was always hanging around, and Scott's drug use was getting worse and worse.

He was so depressed, not wanting to live there. His moods got darker, almost scary. The way he would talk, saying things about hurting those that hurt him, he actually started to scare me. But I was in too deep, and I did not know how to get out.

The rumours were flying. Scott's friends were turning their back on him, accusations were being made about me, it was everything we feared it would be if we came out about our relationship. In breaking up with Gillian, treating her the way he did, Scott managed to alienate everyone around him.

I hated what was happening. The people I thought were my friends, those I thought I could trust were turning their back on me. It was like Scott had made it so that it would just be the two of us, no one else.

Eventually Teresa moved out of the apartment, leaving Scott there to himself. I thought it would be better, we told ourselves we only needed each other. We could care less about what people were saying about us.

It was quickly decided that I would leave home and move in with him. I was miserable at home, always getting into trouble, my brother was treating me like crap. I wanted out.

We had it all planned out, I would go on student welfare, take the bus to school everyday and finish the semester. I would get a part time job, and in the summer we would get married.

Of course things did not work out that way. Within weeks I had dropped out of school, I could not find a job, and Scott was not even looking. He just sat in the house all day, reading or watching TV. He never did anything, the place was a mess, we hardly had any food, and no one ever came to see us.

He started getting mean too. Not hitting me or yelling at me, just saying mean stuff. He would tease me about what I wore, what I read, what music I listened to. One night it got really bad, he was teasing me relentlessly because I wanted to watch 90210. Calling me a silly girl, telling me to grow up. I was washing the dishes, frustrated at the fact that he had been sitting in the same chair for hours on end, not doing a thing. I filled a glass with hot water & threw it at him. I told him he was never to treat me like that again. He of course sulked for hours, making me feel guilty. Eventually I was the one that apologized to him, and he just went back to his old ways.

There we were, barley 18 years old, living in a tiny, dirty apartment, never going out, sitting around all day, getting high and watching TV. We sat and talked about how hard the world was on people like us, how it wasn't our fault we ended up like this, we managed to find a way to blame everyone else but ourselves.

The only good day was the day the welfare cheques came. We would take a cab to the grocery store. Spend a bunch of money on food, things like Pop Tarts and Kool-Aid, peanut butter and a few loaves of bread. Then we would buy a few cartons of cigarettes, enough to get us few the next couple of weeks. On the way home we would see our dealer, stock up on some pot or hash and then grab a case of beer. Usually more was spent on drugs and beer than groceries, and within days the money was gone.

I was incredibly, terribly, unhappy.

I missed my friends, I missed school, I missed home. But there was no way in hell I was going to admit that to anyone. On occasion I would walk the three blocks to the nearest payphone to talk to one of my friends, I would pretend everything was wonderful, I was so happy, and so in love. Living on my own was great I would tell them, I could do anything I wanted, no one told me what to do.

Thank goodness I still had my parents on my side. As I wrote about in 5,601 Days, I was lucky my father gave me a second chance. He helped me get a job at CIBC, and within a few months I had stopped doing drugs and was heading in the right direction again.

I think watching me pull away; making a life for myself really scared Scott. At first he became more withdrawn, even more depressed. He never left the house, hardly spoke to me and would spend hours staring at the walls, not saying a word.

Eventually though, he seemed to come out of his shell a bit. Perhaps the fear of losing me was greater than his fear of being out in the world. We started going out on occasion with some of his old friends, playing pool, going for a drink. But he refused to join me in any bank functions. I went to BBQ's and Christmas parties on my own.

He still refused to get a job; he had every excuse in the book not too. When I was at work he sat at home, reading, watching TV, drawing or writing. He never cleaned, never did any laundry, never did anything productive.

However, if you asked, I would never complain. I still insisted he made me so happy, told everyone he was so good to me. I never let him know what I thought, I was so afraid of hurting him, so afraid if one more person let him down, he would break.

The following summer, my parents split up. It had been coming for a long time, and I think having me leave home might have been the final straw. Dad bought a house in Oakville, and Scott and I agreed to move in with him, eventually turning the basement of the house into an apartment for the two of us.

I was excited to be getting out of the little apartment we had been in for more than a year. I was sick of sharing a shower with the other people that lived there, having to hoard toilet paper, and having nothing more than a tiny little window to look out of.

Scott on the other hand was not too keen on the idea. He liked being alone, having no one to bug him, I think he knew that my Dad would try and push him out into the world, force him to tidy up after himself, and make him do some work. We moved in the house in July, and within days it was obvious it was not going to work.

Scott and Dad were constantly clashing. Dad wanted Scott to do more, get off his ass. Scott wanted to close the door to his room and go back to watching TV or reading. I was stuck in the middle, having to listen to Dad complain one minute, and then turn around and listen to Scott. I loved them both, and I did not know what to do.

One good thing that did come out of the situation, Scott was suddenly more willing to go out more, he wanted to get out of that house. Only trouble, he seemed to spend the time I was at work hanging out at friends houses getting high all the time. I would come home from work and he would be no where to be found, eventually coming in smelling of pot and beer.

Our relationship really started to suffer, but just when I thought all was lost, we would have one of those moments, one of those times where we clicked. I knew somewhere inside of Scott was my soul mate, the person I was meant to be with, and I was not going to give up without a fight.

To be continued…..

Scott, part one.

2007-06-08T20:29:00.000-04:00

I met Scott at a party. He was sitting under the stairwell, getting high with his friend named Cleatus.

I was walking up the stairs, with my friend Christine, when we spotted them there. Chris hung over the staircase, and said "Look Tee....there's a peeple under the stairs!"

This brought forth peals of laughter from the two boys. Chris had this way of sounding like a ditzy blonde when she was drunk, and this night was no different.

I was immediately drawn to Scott. If I were to describe to you back then what my perfect guy would look like, it would have been him. Tall, skinny, with very long, blonde hair and blue eyes. He wore tight faded blue jeans, and a black concert shirt. On his head was a bandanna, tied back to keep his hair out of his face.

We ended up under the stairs, talking to Scott and Cleatus for some time. For the life of me, I don't remember anymore of what was said, but I do know I left that party, wanting to get to know Scott better.

Over the next few months I only saw Scott here and there, at this party or that. Then he just disappeared, and I almost forgot about him.

It was late in the spring when I ran into him again. We were parked out in the boonies, a bunch of us with our cars. There were about 20-30 people milling about in the dark, having a few drinks, sharing a few tokes.

I came across Scott at some point in the night and we started to talk. I found out he had been kicked out of his house. He had stolen his Dad's car and wound up in jail for a week or two. He had just returned to Oakville, and was living on the streets.

So typical me, with my desire to help everyone, wanted to help Scott. I ended up driving around with him late into the night, getting him something to eat, and helping him find a place to crash for the night.

And so the pattern began.

Almost every day from that night on I would go to Oakville as soon as school let out, pick him up and we'd spend the afternoon and most of the night together.

We'd go park somewhere, get high, and share a slice of pizza, whatever.

We talked about everything. It was like I had known him forever. We liked the same music, the same movies, the same people. We laughed at the same jokes, and often found ourselves finishing each other sentences. It was like we were a match made in heaven.

Only problem, Scott had a girlfriend.

Gillian was her name...and boy she hated me.

She was younger, very naive, and was so in love with Scott.

Since she did not have a car, and had a pretty strict curfew, it was hard for her to see Scott. And once I came along, he was spending so much time with me; they never got to be alone.

Scott told me he wanted to break up with her; he just did not have the heart to do it. He did not want to break her heart.

I understood that he just did not want a girlfriend right then. His life was too messed up; he did not need that extra baggage. He was grateful to have me as a friend, but that was all he wanted. It did not stop me from wanting him though.

We continued on like that for some time. Spending nearly every day together, as friends. Gillian stuck around, never accepting him breaking up with her. She seemed convinced he wanted and needed her.

Eventually, as the summer wore on, Scott and I became closer and closer. He felt like my boyfriend, some people even assumed he was. We flirted, like girls and boys do, but it never went any further.

Until one night, late in August when we shared our first kiss. We were a little more stoned than usual, alone and goofing around. We were flirting quite heavily, play fighting and wrestling with each other. We had this running joke, teasing each other, saying, “I know you want me”, and countering with “Not as much as you want me”. We’d been doing it for months.

But that night was different. I could not resist anymore. He was laughing and smiling, something Scott did not do too often, and I wanted him so bad. I stopped and was looking right into his eyes.

He said, “Don’t give me that look”

“What Look?”, I asked.

“You’re looking at me with those Fuck Me Eyes”. He was always teasing that you could tell exactly what I was thinking by looking into my eyes.

I felt myself turn red and I looked away.

“I knew you wanted me…” He muttered, with a sly grin on his face.

“So what if I do” I said back, looking him in the eyes again.

Scott just stopped…looked right at me for a minute, grabbed my face with his hands, and kissed me.

It was amazing. It felt like the most natural thing in the world. Like he was meant to kiss me, like no other kiss I had ever received mattered anymore. I never wanted it to end.

We talked for a bit that night on the way home. We decided we would not tell anyone about what we had done. He really did not want to loose me as his friend; he wanted things to go back as they were.

So we did just that.

There were nights we would end up alone, and some of those nights we would find ourselves making out again. It would get pretty hot, but always stopped just short of us actually having sex. It was like it was just an extension to our friendship, and he was so sad and lonely, I think he needed to feel close to someone.

But things were changing. We just kept getting closer and closer. I don't know if it was the drugs, but I felt like we could read each other's minds. Sometimes we would sit in the car, just staring at each other for hours, but feel like we were having a conversation. We'd even laugh spontaneously, at the same time. I had never in my life felt more connected, more in tune with anyone.

It was my 18th birthday, mid November, when we finally had sex for the first time. At first it was just like any other night, but this time I would not let him stop. I wanted him so badly, and he knew it. We were in my car, in a graveyard. We were stoned out of our minds on LSD and hash. We had been having a great day together, he had been trying to make the day special for me. So when we got to that point. The point where we usually stopped, I looked at him for a moment, and he smiled, the smile I so rarely saw him give anyone. I knew I had to be with him. I wanted to be with him forever.

After that things did change. We started acting a bit like a couple around some of our friends. It was kind of fun really, like we had this special secret. When we were alone we would hold hands, kiss each other good night, sometimes spend the night together in his apartment.

But if any of Gillian's friends were around, we acted like nothing had changed.

Scott kept telling me she was fragile. He was so afraid of breaking her heart. He was afraid that everyone would hate us if he dumped her for me. He did not want to give that satisfaction to those who thought we had been screwing around all along.

He said he cared so much for me though. He wanted to be with me. I just needed to be patient. Someday it would just be us.

And like the stupid girl I was, I put up with it.

One night I went to see him at home. He had been expecting me but when I got there his landlord told me not to go down to his apartment, Gillian was there.

So I sat upstairs and waited for her to leave. When she finally did, she left crying.

Scott told me he had finally done it. He had broken up with her. He assured me she got it this time, and knew they were over.

He said that we should still not tell everyone about us. He did not want to hurt her more, make her think I was the reason we broke up. And I accepted that. I loved him so much; I was willing to do anything for him. I would take whatever I could get.

I was so happy that he was finally mine I practically lept into his arms. He seemed a bit hesitant, like he really was not in the mood, but I didn't care. I wanted to show him how happy he had made me.

But then I realized what was wrong. I could smell it on him. There was no mistaking that smell. He had just had sex with Gillian. I was so grossed out that actually gagged. I almost threw up on him.

I was completely humiliated. But I didn’t want to annoy him, make him think I couldn’t handle it. I just lied and told him I was not feeling well, I must be coming down with something. I got dressed and went home.

And of course, within days, Gillian was back. She would pop up at a party and suddenly Scott would be at her side, not mine. They would go off on walks together, "just to talk".

He kept insisting there was nothing going on; he was just trying to let her down easy. She was really having a hard time with the break up, and she got so upset to see me around him.

I pretended like I was cool with it. I wanted him to think I was mature, I could handle anything. The last thing I wanted Scott to think was that I was like her. I wasn't needy and clingy. I wanted to be the type of girl he wanted, and I was willing to wait forever to be with him.

It took me years to understand just how much he was using and manipulating me. He was doing it to both Gillian and me. I had never been taken advantage of so badly, before or since.

But this is not the end…only just the beginning. I will continue this another time.

Sara, no time is a good time for goodbyes

2007-06-06T17:01:00.000-04:00

I met Sara in grade 9. I don't exactly remember how we met, but I do remember how we got to know each other.

During her lunch hour, Sara would sit in front of the science room, waiting for her next class. I happened by her one day, and we started talking. We got along so well, that I started going to see her every day, and we sat there in the hallway, waiting for next period, talking about everything.

At some point a boy named Greg joined Sara and I in our daily meetings. He was a sweet boy, a little on the goofy side, and made us both laugh our asses off. Unfortunately we laughed and carried on so much, that it wasn't long before we were kicked out of the hallway and told to go hang out somewhere else.

So, we moved our little party to the stairwell, and for the rest of the semester the three of us met there everyday, to talk about nothing in particular, but everything that was important to us.

Once the semester was over, we no longer all had the same lunch hour, so we no longer met in the stairwell. But by then, Sara and I were great friends. I had also become friends with another of Sara's friends, Emma, and the three of us had become inseparable.

Once we hit grade 10, Sara, Emma and I were starting to test our boundaries. We had started hanging out in the smoker's area at school, meeting all sorts of new people. We were skipping school on a regular basis, going Sara's house, listening to music, talking about boys and school and anything that was on our minds.

The time I felt closest to Sara was when we were in the first semester of grade 11. I was going out with Shawn, and Sara had been going out with a boy named James for a few months. We were taking Chemistry class together, and failing miserably. Unfortunately, we were not yet 16, so we were not allowed to drop courses without our parent’s permission, and we were both on thin ice for skipping so many classes in grade 10. We had to go to that class, or we would be in trouble.

So, Sara and I spent the time writing notes back and forth to each other. 70 minutes is a long time to sit around doing nothing, it helped us pass the time. We filled a few notebooks with our notes. One of which I still have.

This is copied right from that book.

Sara - "Don't you hate it when you think about some of the things you've done in your life and you think why the hell did I do that? I hate it when that happens"

Teresa - "I know. Sometimes I wonder if I am going to look back on this time in our lives and say the same thing! Sure as hell hope not. I think maybe right now is going to be the best time in my life. I have this feeling I will always think Shawn was the best thing that ever happened to me. Even if we don't work out, he's taught me a lot, things I really did need to know."

Sara - "I know what you mean. These are supposed to be the best times of our lives. And I know for a fact that James is the best thing that ever happened to me."

I read that and I know the sentiment of what we wrote is true. I do look back on that time and consider it one of the best times of my life.

Just like all my other girlfriends, Sara and I eventually drifted apart. I saw her from time to time, tried to keep in touch, but by the time we were in our 20's we were leading different lives. She moved out of the house and in with her boyfriend even before I did. And soon I was off to college, and hanging out with a totally different bunch of people.

I never forgot Sara though, I thought about her often. Over the years I made a few attempts to find her, but was never successful.

I've had this post in my draft file for some time. I just never got around to finishing it. Until this last week, when thanks to the help of a few friends and the magic of the internet, I finally found Sara again. We have exchanged emails and hope to get together soon, the three of us, Sara, Emma and me. I can almost hear the giggles already.

A little more than friends.

2007-05-13T22:25:00.000-04:00

I've always gotten along better with boys than girls.

I think it stems back to when I was the only girl on my street growing up; I spent my childhood playing Star Wars and Super Friends, always playing the part of Princess Leia or Wonder Woman.

I was content to play with trucks in the sandbox, or catch tadpoles in the stream. I preferred my Han Solo doll over any Barbie doll, and wanted the hot wheels garage for Christmas, not a doll house.

When I was in high school I had my close group of girlfriends, but I always had a few guys that I considered some of my best friends too.

It wasn't like I was a tom boy; I just liked talking to guys. There was no bullshit. They told you like it was, and never got too emotional. You could sit and play cards, talk about music, cars or hockey. They told stupid jokes, were a little crude, and sometimes even obnoxious, but I always felt comfortable with them.

I took drafting class so that I could hang out with the guys. It was absolutely my favourite class in school. Sitting there with Doug and Jason, designing party houses, finding ways to annoy the teacher, sneaking out for smoke breaks and discussing Pink Floyd's Dark Side of the Moon. It was awesome.

I loved to sit and play Euchre with Brent at lunch, and hang out in the cafeteria with Marc. I look back fondly at the lunch hours I spent in the stairwell talking to Greg, and the afternoons skipping school to go and get high with Cameron.

And then there were the guys that became a little more than friends. Although they started out just like the other guys, talking on the phone, hanging out after school, getting drunk together at a party, somehow, it would change. It would start with an innocent flirtation, or maybe a late night phone call that got a little too hot. Perhaps we would have had a little too much to drink one night, or one of us would be sad over a recent breakup.

There would just be that moment where you knew you wanted to be closer. A hug would turn into a kiss, hands exploring, turning into even more. One moment you would be innocently flirting, and the next the conversation would heat up and become more than a little suggestive. There was no stopping it. Teenage hormones would take over. That need to feel connected to someone, to feel close, to feel wanted.

I'd usually keep these moments to myself; it was something I did not even tell my closest friends about. Although I saw no harm in it, I knew that there were those that would, and my reputation was bad enough as it was.

So I kept the summer evening spent in the forest with one boy to myself. I never told anyone about the other boy that used to drop by my house when no one was home. And the other that liked to get together in a secluded park, so we could make out at the swings. There was one whose bedroom I would spend the afternoon in, before going out to meet with our friends. And the other, an ex-boyfriend, that liked to sneak off when we were at parties for something familiar and comfortable.

The best part about it was, because we were straight with each other, we could always go right back to being friends, just like we were before we took our clothes off. And I enjoyed having our little secrets, a reason to wink at each other, a look or a touch that no one else in the room would understand. It made our friendship seem special and unique.

I understand that for many, that type of friendship is not for them. But for me it worked. I never saw sex as a bad thing, and could not understand why people made such a big deal about it. I was young, and single. Hurting no one and doing what felt right for me. And what I am left with is some really great memories, some wonderful moments, and no regrets.

Dream of the Polish Turtle

2007-05-12T14:13:00.000-04:00

Most girls who have been through grade nine remember those secret crushes they had on the senior boys.

It would be that boy that did not even know you existed, had never even looked your way, but he had caught your eye, and the eye of all of your girlfriends. He became the hottest topic of conversation, hours spent giggling and daydreaming over what it would be like if he could just notice one of you. How amazing it would be if one of you became his girlfriend.

For my group of girlfriends, Sara, Emma and I, that boy was Brett.

Brett was in grade 12. He was one of the coolest guys in the school, with long flowing brown hair, tanned skin and gorgeous eyes. He was always surrounded by a group of people, laughing and carrying on. We were infatuated.

He was the topic of so many of the notes we passed between us

"So ah, what's new? See Brett today? He looks absolutely gorgeous today! He's wearing his jeans and this blue & white striped shirt. MAJOR gorgeous babe!"

"Saw Brett out at smokers today, with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth! GORGEOUS!"

We had even started talking like him, adapting his favourite phrase "So Ah...." in to our everyday conversation.

I don't know who it was that started the turtle thing, but one of us had had a dream about Brett and turtles. Something about him swimming in a Mr. Turtle pool?

Well at barely 14 years old, we thought this was the funniest thing. It wasn't long before we were sharing stories about Turtle dreams, and finding coincidences between Brett and turtles all over.

"Oh My God! Did you see, Brett is wearing green today...turtle colour!"

"I swear, I saw Brett eating Turtles at lunch"

We no longer used his name, we just called him Turtle. We collected turtles, drew turtles, even considered anonymously sending a box of turtles to him.

I even had a boy that liked me give me a turtle candle as a present. He heard I liked Turtles and thought he was going to impress me. Poor guy, he had no clue. We ceremoniously burnt the candle, while talking about Brett.

We followed him home, wrote him anonymous notes, studied his school schedule, and staked out his locker. Total stalking behaviour.

I don't know if he ever caught on, but we really were nuts.

Eventually, our infatuation wore off, and we moved onto other things. Brett graduated from high school, and soon we had real boyfriends, not ones that were out of our reach. Occasionally one of us would bring up turtles, and we'd have a laugh, but I don't think we ever had a crush like that on anyone ever again.

But I am quite sure, at least I know for me it is true, that to this date, any time Sara, Emma or I see a turtle, for a moment we think back to that time and smile.

5,601 days

2007-05-02T17:09:00.000-04:00

Early in the spring of 1991, I hit my rock bottom.

I had dropped out of high school, and moved out of my parents house. I was living in a dirty, tiny little basement apartment, with no phone, a shared bathroom, and a shower in a laundry room.

My boyfriend and I were on welfare, with no job prospects. We spent all of our money on rent, beer, cigarettes and pot. There was nothing left for food, or anything else.

The few friends I had left could not be bothered to come see me anymore, and I had no money to go see them. I had to walk 20 minutes just to get to the closest payphone, so I never talked to anyone.

I was with a guy who was mentally unstable, who wanted to do nothing but sit on the couch all day, in a pot induced haze. He got his kicks out of teasing me, putting me down and making me feel more worthless than he did.

And I had no one to blame but myself for where I was.

I knew I had to clean up. I was already trying to cut back on my drug use. I had completely stopped taking anything heavy, but I still was smoking up a few times a week.

I tried looking for a job, applied at such stellar places such as Tim Horton’s and the Esso Station down the road. I talked of going back to school, getting a good job and moving to a better place, but I had no idea how to do it.

I was terrified that was it for me. I felt like I was going nowhere.

I was one of the lucky ones though. I had good parents that would not give up on me. Sure, they were pretty pissed when I moved out, but they soon calmed down. They began to let me come home on weekends, so I could have a good dinner, and do my laundry. I always left the house with a bit of food, a precious roll or two of toilet paper and the feeling I belonged somewhere.

It was early June when my Dad called and told me he had a temporary job for me. He worked for CIBC and needed someone to come in and help out doing data entry for a few weeks. It was stuff I had done for him in the past, when I was still living at home, and I was thrilled that he was going to trust me to do it again.

My parents bought me a few nice things to wear and Dad picked me up each morning on his way to work. Being in his office, with all the nicely dressed people, doing something productive and making my own money was the biggest boost to my self esteem I could get.

Dad put a lady named Fran in charge of me. I think he must have confided in her about me, because she made a point of taking me under her wing, giving me advice and telling me when I was doing a good job. She made me feel so good about myself, like my future was not so grim after all.

I guess I did a good job, because that two week job turned into a summer long job, and when the summer was over, Fran recommended me for a permanent job as a teller in a branch close to where my boyfriend and I lived. I was able to walk to work each day, and I had a job that provided many more opportunties than the Esso Station ever could.

For most of that summer and fall I stayed fairly clean. On weekends I would drink and get high, but during the week I knew I had to stay focused. Eventually, the idea of being in an altered state just did not appeal to me anymore.

So that New Years Eve, the night 1991 turned into 1992, I smoked my last joint. I was at a party, and a bunch of us were standing in a shed, smoking one joint after another. I found I really was not enjoying myself. I kept wondering why I had liked this crap so much.

Finally, just after midnight, I proclaimed that that would be the last time I ever would get high again.

Everyone laughed. No one would believe that I could do it. I was the girl that for 18 months was perpetually high. I was the one that for months would buy a quarter ounce of hash a day, and smoke it with my boyfriend. The girl who rolled the best joints, the one that always had a little something on her to make the party better. She was going to be the one who quit...yeah right!

Well I did it. For 15 years, 4 months and 2 days I have been off drugs. Really it was not that hard. I never really got into anything that was physically addictive; I had only been emotionally addicted to being high. For awhile there I had forgotten how to function without it. But I had found myself again, and I decided I liked me better sober.

Besides, when I make a promise, I stick to it.

Don't ask Teresa, I don't think she knows...

2007-04-30T17:59:00.000-04:00

I received some constructive criticism on my writing today, some pointers that I will definitely take into account in future posts.

One of the comments made was that there was a possibility that my posts could be encouraging drug use and wild behaviour in teens. It was something that validated a fear I have always had when I write.

It's a hard thing to deal with. I try not to glamorize the life I led, but I don't want to take away from the reality of the events by trying to put a lesson in each post. Personally I think that would ruin them. I don't think the person who made the comment would want me to do that either.

I remember very clearly reading the book "Go Ask Alice" when I was about 17.

"It started when she was served a soft drink laced with LSD in a dangerous party game. Within months, she was hooked, trapped in a downward spiral that took her from her comfortable home and loving family to the mean streets of an unforgiving city. It was a journey that would rob her of her innocence, her youth -- and ultimately her life."

It had a profound effect on me, but not in the way you would think. I wanted to be the young girl in the book. I wanted to be lost in her world and escape who I was. I wanted to punish those that had hurt me. Although at that time I was not conscious of it, I think I thought that if I became a drug addict, it would hurt those people, make them notice me and give me the attention I craved.

God how stupid, naive and confused I was.

So I am not really sure what the solution is. A lot of what I did was destructive, and not behaviour I would encourage. But a lot of it was damn fun too. I just hope my readers are mature enough to tell the difference.

The following takes place between the hours of 9pm and 3am

2007-04-24T21:59:00.000-04:00

I made out with Keifer Sutherland once.

Okay, so it wasn't Keifer, but he sure as hell looked like him.

I had been in love with Keifer since I was 12 years old and I saw him in the Bay Boy. "The Bay Boy??", you say...I know there's a good chance you've never seen the movie, it was a Canadian Production. I'm not sure if it was ever shown much elsewhere. Rent it sometime, it's a good movie.

I was about 20 and in Niagara Falls for the weekend with some friends. I was newly single and was ready to get back out there and have some fun.

We headed out to the bar, and that is where I saw him. I swear, it was Keifer, just the way he looked in The Bay Boy. My heart actually skipped a beat when I first glanced at him. I thought it was really him. He had the same blonde hair, the same blue eyes, and that same sexy, kissable mouth.

I don't know where I got the nerve, but I managed to start talking to the guy, we shared a few drinks, got to know each other a bit. Apparently I was not the first person to see the resemblance. It was so strong that even his friends called him Keifer. Truthfully, I don't even remember his real name.

It turned out he and his friends were staying at the same hotel as we were, so we all went back there to party after the bar.

Keifer and I were stuck on each other like glue. We were sitting with each other all night, flirting quite heavily, making rather suggestive comments. And when the party died down, and people either left or passed out, Keifer and I found ourselves alone....

I'll spare you the details since this is not that kind of blog....but that is how I ended up making out with Keifer Sutherland.

It was a good night, even though I never saw the guy again. Probably a good thing, his personality was as dry as toast. But he sure as hell looked good!

So now I'll just have to settle for my Monday night date with Jack Bauer. But at least I know what it is like to kiss him!

Letting Go

2007-04-23T11:56:00.000-04:00

I've always believed in fate. Too many times I have just been in the right place at the right time, or experienced the strangest coincidences. Things happen for a reason.

Around the time I was 21 I was going back to school, trying to get caught up after my son was born. At that time I was feeling a little overwhelmed, a little sad, and probably a little sorry for myself.

I was taking night school courses, so that when I went back to school full time I could take a lighter course load, and have more time to work or be with my son.

One of these nights I was heading down the hall to my class, when I decided to turn around and use the washroom first. I tried to use the one closest to my classroom, but for some reason it was locked, and I had to run back to the other side of the campus for a different one.

As I was walking out I was looking down at a book in my hand and nearly walked right into someone standing in front of the door.

I mumbled "excuse me" and started to walk away, but as I did I turned and looked back at the person and realized I knew him.

We looked at each other for a moment, I am sure I am the last person he expected to see coming out of that bathroom door, he certainly was the last person I expected to see on my college campus.

"Shawn?", I said

"Tee?", He replied

"OHMIGOD", We said at the same time. I put my arms around his neck and he took me into the biggest hug, one of the best hugs I had ever received.

I was floored. If earlier that day you had asked me what one person I would like to see right now, I am sure I would have answered Shawn. I had been thinking about him a lot, longing for an easier time, wanting to love again like I had loved him.

I stood back and looked at him, reaching up to touch his face. "Is it really you?", I asked. "I can't believe it".

He just smiled and laughed, making my heart skip a beat.

Shawn was there for a course that was only a few nights long. I was late for my class, and although I just wanted to stay and talk to him forever, we just couldn't. We made plans to meet after class for a drink, and I walked away, almost in a fog.

We had a great time that evening, catching up, sharing stories, talking about anything and everything. When it was time to go we held each other for a long moment in the parking lot and made promises to meet again.

For awhile we managed to stay in touch. It wasn't like either of us were looking to start a relationship with each other, but we were so comfortable, and we really enjoyed each others company. I was drawn to him, just like I had always been. And hearing his voice over the phone....I loved the sound of his voice

I think part of the reason I never got over Shawn is that I was never really convinced we should have broken up. I always thought if we had tried harder we could have made it work.

And it was not so much Shawn that I longed for, but the time that Shawn was my boyfriend. The time when I was 15 going on 16, where I still had so much to look forward to, where every day was a new experience. Where my most memorable, happiest moment had been when I was in my boyfriends arms, on a dance floor, surrounded by my friends.

So spending time with him, it was like I was able to close the book, let go of that sense of loss, and move on. We had very different lives now, and although our personalities meshed, our lifestyles didn't.

There is one moment however that I am grateful for. We spent a really great evening together, about 2 months after we met again. It was relaxed and fun, I felt like my old self. We talked about old times, about old friends, and talked about what we wanted for our futures. We went for a walk and held hands, it almost felt like we were an old married couple, it felt so right. And when it was time for me to go, Shawn walked me to my car, where we shared an unforgettable, sweet, yet passionate kiss. It felt so natural, so familiar. But it also felt like we were finally saying goodbye.

I can remember I cried a little on my way home that night, not so much sad that I was leaving Shawn again, but sad to finally come to grips that I was an adult now, it was time to grow up and leave the past behind. And I felt like I was finally able to let Shawn go, I no longer had to ask myself "what if", I had my answer.

Sadly, I let myself loose touch with Shawn again. We talked a few times after that night, and I saw him once or twice, but life got in the way. I've Googled him though, and have seen a few pictures of him here and there. Someday I might get up the nerve to email him, I'm just almost afraid of how it would feel.

Friday Night Underground

2007-04-13T18:14:00.000-04:00

Friday night, 1989.

I would have been wearing skin tight, ripped at the knee jeans, slouched socks, ratty old Reebok sneakers and a black tee shirt, likely with Metallica or Alice Cooper on the front. On my fingers were three silver rings. A skull, a Harley Davidson eagle and marijuana bud. Around my neck was a thick silver chain that held a small peace symbol in the middle.

My curly hair would be teased; my black eyeliner would be caked on thick. I'd have a pack of Dunhill cigarettes sticking out of the pocket of my faded blue jean jacket, and I would be carrying my black leather purse, complete with fringes and a silver bullet. Inside would be my lighter, my eyeliner and some cash. Dig down deep to the bottom and you’d likely find my hash pipe, some rolling papers and evidence of weed that had spilled from a baggie or two.

I'd be at a party in someone's basement, hanging out with my friends. Long haired guys with leather jackets, girls with big teased hair, wearing black spandex pants and tee shirts cut just below their chest. Posters of Jim Morrison and Sebastian Bach were on the walls, a black flag with our favourite bud proudly displayed, covering the window.

Guns and Roses or Motley Crüe would be blaring from the cassette player, at levels almost too loud to allow us to talk. Every once and awhile a song we all loved would come on, stopping the conversation as we all sang along.

We’d be drinking Canadian Club and Coke from plastic cups, or some Molson product right from the bottle. You’d always make sure you took a close look at your bottle before you took a sip, for fear that someone might have used it for an ashtray while you weren’t looking.

Someone would light a joint, whether it was weed or hash, and it would be passed around for everyone to share. If there was lots to be had we’d have bottle tokes, one or two of us brewing, the rest of us enjoying taking the bottle to our lips, inhaling the smooth smoke deep in our lungs.

As the night progressed we’d all be getting more than a little stoned, much more than a little drunk. Some people would be getting quiet, lying on the floor, finding a corner to sit in. Others would be getting rowdy, the girls dancing around the room, hoping to get some boys attention. The guys getting aggressive, play fighting and talking really loud, hoping the girls would think they were cool.

Inevitably, someone would throw up, someone else would cry, and some couple would get into a screaming match in the hallway. There would be the one guy who wanted to drive home, despite being too drunk, and a big drama would ensue. Sometimes the party would spill out into the street, but that would never last too long before a neighbour would complain, or a cruiser would happen by, warning us to take it back inside.

I met some awesome people at these parties. Jen, whose basement was a favourite hangout, Christine and Chantal, both of whom I adore to this day. There was Dave and Andrew, who I had my share of adventures with, and Scott and Cleatus, the guys who hung out under the stairs.

Sometimes the parties would break up around 1am, sometimes you'd find yourself waking up with the sun coming in the room, having passed out on the floor. And no matter what, despite the headache and the sore lungs, you'd always leave with some great memories.

I am sure there are many of us who look back on those nights fondly, at least the parts we can remember. It was the best part of being 17.

The little things I remember most.

2007-04-13T17:28:00.000-04:00

I found this in a box of old letters and notes. Mementos from my youth.

It is a poem of sorts I wrote to someone I cared a lot about. I gave it to him for his birthday, written inside a package of cigarettes.

I was pleased to find it, I did not know I still had a copy. I had to smile when I read the terrible ending though. I've always had a hard time with endings when I write. I guess I've always had a hard time with endings period.

I know the person who I wrote this for reads this blog sometimes, I won't embarrass him by saying who it is. I just hope he smiles when he reads it.

It's the little things I remember most
Like running through a red light at 110
And taking a walk on a cold night
During the ventures we took outside.

There's the way you like your tea in the morning
And some "Pepto" to wash it down.

All the silences we enjoyed
And all the stupid jokes we've made
Even the music that surrounded us.

I remember the lost keys
And playing Frisbee through the night
The softness of your naked skin
And the times you held me tight

There were many nights spent in the car
With the trails of scented smoke
Winding it's way around our heads

And the cold nose
On warm skin
One very chilly night

Even though the memories are all I have
I will keep them, they are mine
And when I think of them
You'll be by my side
My friend for all of time

No Hot Pink Jelly Shoes Here!

2007-04-11T09:13:00.000-04:00

Not too long ago this blog was reviewed by So Many Blogs, So Little Time, and needless to say, it was not the most glowing review. Not the worst, but not near the best either.

I have to admit, I can see the reviewers points, and I do agree with her on some level. However, the more I think about it, the more I feel the need to respond.

First, she hated my template. Okay, I hate it too. I have asked a few designers, and tried to do some work myself, but no one can really seem to get the feel of it. What I don't think she got, was that to me the eighties wasn't Jelly Bracelets and Neon. It was darker than that. Not to mention I was 16 in 1988, not 1984. By then the eighties was black jeans, long hair and nearing the grunge era. I wasn't Wham and Madonna, I was Metallica and Pearl Jam.

The same goes for my posts. The reviewer says, "It's not the stories... it's the way they are told. They need some umph. They need some life. They need some tie-died shirts clipped up on the corner at the hip with a pair of hot pink jelly shoes!"

Okay, I get that. I know I could use some improvement in my writing skills. I am strongly considering a creative writing course. All I have ever done before was write business reports. I'm a bookkeeper, we are just naturally boring! But I betcha I could write a Financial Plan that would send shivers down your spine!

But sticking in 80's cliche's is not the answer. I don't really think she understands what I am writing about. I don't like to make assumptions, but I wonder if this reviewer spent the 80's listening to New Kids on the Block and shopping at Banana Republic. Not that there was anything wrong with that, but it may be hard to understand where I am coming from if that's the case.

Otherwise, I think what these girls do is awesome. It cannot be easy to weed through all of the blogs they do and come up with something to say about each one. I will continue to read them regularly, and learn from what they have to say. I just hope they like my other blog better. It's up for review soon too!

Your Loss.....

2007-04-03T13:09:00.000-04:00

The summer before I turned 16, I went out with a boy named Rich.

Although I had gone out with a few guys before him, Rich felt like my first Real Boyfriend, and I really fell hard and fast for him.

We spent a lot of time together, just the two of us. Not just hanging out with our friends, or going to dances, but spending time together, just like couples do.

I really liked him. I found him so easy to talk to, he was a bit wild, but had this really sweet and tender side to him. I really enjoyed the time we spent together, whether it was stealing moments alone in the park, or just sitting around his parent’s house watching TV.

There are a few things that really stick out in my mind of the time we were together. Like when he took me for a ride on his motorcycle, speeding down Upper Middle Road, with no helmets, ignoring red lights and stop signs, not stopping until we hit the dead end at Bronte Road. Sitting behind him, hanging on for dear life, I had never felt a feeling of terror or excitement like that in my life.

Then there was the time we were making out just over the hill from a soccer field, getting a little daring, zippers being undone, hands finding their way under short shorts and tee shirts. Suddenly we found ourselves being licked by someone’s dog, and we were laughing so hard, we hardly had time to compose and re-dress ourselves before the dogs owner came over the hill.

During this time, Rich's parents were away on vacation. So of course, his house became the place everyone went to party. The house was always full of teenagers from all over. I'd been friends with Rich's brother Joe long before I met Rich, and the house was always full of people I knew.

One night, while Rich was at work, I was over there hanging out with a bunch of my friends, having a few drinks, and waiting for Rich to come home.

By about 10pm I was starting to get a little too drunk. At 16 I was totally inept at determining what my limits were, and I had a tendency to go a wee bit overboard. I was feeling uncomfortable, as one of Rich's friends was hitting on me pretty hard, and I could not seem to convince him I was not interested.

I had a real hard time with that. I hated to hurt someone’s feelings, so in a situation where some guy I did not like was hitting on me, I just did not have the skills to let him down easy, and still get my point across.

I took what I thought was the easy way out. I feigned queasiness and said I was going to go lie down on Rich's bed and wait for him to get home.

This apparently was a bad move on my part. Mr. Casanova, who thought it was cool to hit on your friends girlfriend, got it into his head that me going to lie down was an invitation for him to join me.

I was only upstairs about 10 minutes when I heard the door to Rich's room open. I was lying on my stomach in the dark, on top of the covers. I felt someone’s hand on my back, so naturally I assumed it was Rich. I reached back and touched his hand, pulling him closer so I could kiss him. Imagine my surprise when I felt a gross, smelly moustache touch my lips. Rich had no facial hair!

I rolled over and there was this jerk, with a sick grin on his face giving me some line like "Hello beautiful".

I tried to sit up, but he pushed me back down on the bed and straddled me with his legs.

"I heard you are pretty good in the sack" He hissed in my ear.

I did not know what to do. My head was spinning from the alcohol, I was scared, But I was afraid to call attention to the situation, make trouble for anyone, so I tried to reason with him.

"Look" I told him, "I really like Rich, I don't want to screw around on him. Please, you better stop"

"But you are so hot" He said, "If you didn't want this, why were you flirting with me?

I was flirting with him??? Don't get me wrong, I know I was a terrible flirt, I loved getting a reaction, but I had standards. This guy was creepy. I had always thought he was. There was no way I was flirting...I was just being polite.

I tried to protest some more, but he was kissing me again, with that foul moustache and smelly breath, sticking his disgusting tongue in my mouth.

"Come on....Rich will never know" his hands now groping at my chest.

He was trying to push my legs apart with his knee, likely afraid my knee would find its way into his crotch. And believe me; the thought was beginning to cross my mind.

At that moment, the door flew open and the bedroom light came on. Dirt Bag released me and shot right up.

Standing in the doorway was Rich's best friend Jim. Sweet, unassuming Jim. He had this stupefied look on his face, like he could not believe what he saw.

"Holy Shit" he said, turning away.

I called out to him..."Jim, wait", but he closed the door and was gone.

I took that moment to stand up and run to the door. Scumbucket grabbed for me trying to make me stay, but he too was drunk, stumbling enough for me to get away.

I ran after Jim, desperate to tell him what was really happening, but he just would not believe me. He got on the phone with Rich and told him the awful thing he had just witnessed. Me, making out with Slime-of-the-Universe in his bed.

I started sobbing, grabbing the phone, trying to explain to Rich, but he would not believe me.

Pond Scum grabbed the phone and was saying things like "Buddy, you know I would not do that to you. She was hitting on me. I had no idea you guys were serious."

I waited for Rich to come home, but when he did he yelled at me to get out of his house, he never wanted to see me again.

He insisted that he and Mould Breath had been friends for years, there was no way he would betray him. I was a slut; he knew that, I knew that, everyone knew that. He told me he was surprised it took as long as it did for this to happen.

I guess my reputation had caught up with me. I was thought of as loose and easy, and that is what he believed. There was nothing I could do to change that.

The worst part was that I had to put up with seeing Rat Shit around for years afterwards. He would always try to catch me out of earshot of anyone else, and made snide comments, telling me he'd like to finish what we started. I made sure I was never alone with him again.

Rich and I eventually came to a truce. We embarked on a running joke whenever we would see each other...me winking at him, saying "Your loss" and him saying, "No...your loss" back to me.

But he never did reveal to me if he finally believed me. And despite the fact that Jim made the situation with Rich worse, I am still grateful that he walked into that bedroom that night. Who knows what might have happened if he hadn't.

Hey Chris...it's all mushy upstairs!

2007-04-02T22:27:00.000-04:00

I have one friend that I was close to in the eighties that I have mentioned, but not really written too much about. This is because she is a private person, and I want to respect that.

But I would hate for her to come across this blog some day, and think "Hey....what am I? Chopped liver? Why aren't I in the Friends and Lovers list??"

So I'll just write a bit.

I met Chris when I was 17 and she was 16. Although we went to the same highschool, we had never really gotten to know each other, until we happened to be at the same party one night, and we clicked.

The rest is how they say....history.

We've had times over the last 17 years that we were inseparable, and there were times that we were hardly on speaking terms. And then there are times, like right now, where I still consider her one of my greatest friends, even though months will pass without us talking.

I know however, that if I picked up the phone tomorrow and called her it would be like no time had passed at all. We could talk for hours, and I would enjoy every minute of it.

I owe Chris dearly for the support and love she gave me while I was pregnant with my first son. She was there every step of the way, so much so that I named my son after her. And after he was born, she helped me in ways you cannot imagine. I am not sure I would have made it through that time without her.

I also owe her for introducing me to my husband, although I understand they had some sort of affair when they were 12 years old....I'm not too sure I trust them together.....

Unfortunately, I don't get to see Chris much these days, she is a busy wife and Mom, and we just live to far away.

But I can tell you, there are two little children in this world that are very lucky to have Chris as their Mommy. And I am very lucky to say she has been, and always will be my friend.

Summer of 89'

2007-04-01T20:59:00.000-04:00

After Mik died I think I lost myself for awhile.

I felt terrible that summer. I wasn't sleeping; I was drinking too much, and staying out all hours of the night.

One best friend had moved away, another wasn't speaking to me. Others were in serious relationships with their boyfriends, and we just did not hang out as much.

I was trying to find a way to soothe the pain and emptiness inside of me. I felt a lot of guilt and I felt so lonely. I just wanted someone to hold me and help me forget how sad I was. And so I embarked on a series of reckless relationships.

The first was Steve. Another Steve, not the one who later became one of my best friends.

I met this Steve when I spotted him on his motorcycle riding up Bronte Road in Oakville. Through his helmet he looked really cute, and I loved guys on motorcycles, so I followed him. He finally pulled over, we chatted for a bit and exchanged phone numbers. We had a few fun days together, an afternoon skinny dipping in my pool, and another evening in the backseat of my car. And then he stopped calling.

Then Shawn came along. Again, not the Shawn I have written about previously...there are a lot of Steve's and Shawn's my age. Dave's too. They must have been popular names in the 70's.

Shawn was the first and only boy from my school that I had a fling with. Unless you count the time Doug Moorehead kissed me at a party, but I don't.

I heard Shawn liked me, and I had always thought he was cute, so we hooked up. We ended up doing it in the front seat of my car...so very romantic. That was in early July and I did not hear from Shawn again until we were back at school in September. Guess Shawn didn't really like me that much, I should have known better.

Then there was Randy. Randy was friends with Mik's girlfriend Tammy, and Tammy and I had become really close. It felt good to hang around him; he seemed to understand what I was going through. He would go with me when I brought flowers to Mik’s grave, and sit by with me. He’d let me cry on his shoulder when I felt sad. Our friendship remained quite innocent and I began to think that I could be myself with him. I did not need to sleep with him. The first time we kissed, I was so proud I went home without it going any further.

A few days later, I heard through someone that Randy was going around telling everyone he and I had sex on his couch. I was devastated; I refused to speak to Randy again, and promptly went back to feeling like a piece of trash.

Then there was Mike. Mike and I had been friends for over a year. I met him at 404, when he was about to get beat up by a 6'8" guy named Vlas. I stood between them and told Vlas to pick on someone his own size. Mike and I became instant friends.

We talked on the phone almost weekly for about a year. We had different groups of friends, so we were able to confide in each other without fear of our secrets getting out. We flirted a lot, usually because we were on the phone very late and we'd get a little silly. His was a friendship I quite valued.

I talked to Mike a lot that summer; it was comforting to be able to tell him things I could tell no one else. He was going through a lot too, having trouble with his parents. Soon we were no longer just talking on the phone, but we stared hanging out together, going to Tim Horton's, sitting around his house watching TV, talking in my car all hours of the night

I'm not sure how, but somehow we ended up sleeping together. I guess we were so comfortable together it seemed natural. Being with him allowed me to release a lot of the frustration and anger I was feeling.

I know Mike was just using me, but he was upfront about it. He never tried to make me think we were anything more than friends with benefits. I fully understood what we were.

Neither of us really wanted a relationship with the other, we just each had something the other needed. We kept our relationship to ourselves, only a few of our friends knew. We would often spend time in his bedroom, and then go out with everyone, acting like nothing was happening.

It was Mike that ended it. I guess he was being the mature one of the two of us, and realized that we were on a slippery slope, and eventually one of us would get hurt. Other than the fact that our friendship changed, I don't regret our time together at all.

I met Bob through Charissa.

Bob was a bit on the weird side, but he was kind, he treated me really well, and really seemed to like me. He never acted like he only wanted to sleep with me, he took me out to dinner, bought me flowers and gifts, even brought chicken soup and movies over to my house so we could be together when I was not feeling well.

Bob scared me. He was much too serious for my destructive lifestyle. At first I took comfort in being taken care of, but soon I was itching to get out and party again. He just seemed too old to me.

Then Jason came calling. Jason and I had gone out that previous January, and he still wanted to get back together. I needed an excuse to dump Bob, and Jason was it.

At first things seemed good, but around that time I got really sick, and then my Grandmother died. Jason just was not sympathetic. He teased me about still being sad about Mik, and was not much comfort over the loss of my Grandma. I think he only wanted to get back together because he knew I was vulnerable and I would willingly go to bed with him. I don't think he was too happy about the extra baggage that went along with it.

It only took a few weeks, and I began to resent having him in my life.

Thank goodness it was around that time I ran into Steve and John. They brought laughter and joy back into my life, and helped me forget how sad I was. I was finally able to put that summer behind me and move on. I'll never forget it though; it felt like a lifetime had passed in only two short months. Two months that totally changed who I was.

Call it what it is.

2007-03-30T13:10:00.000-04:00

Are you that guy?

Are you the one that would come up to me at a party, behaving very sweet and nice, make me laugh, compliment me and make me feel like I was really special?

Or are you the guy that would ask me to dance, let me put my head on your shoulder while I listened to you sing the words of a love song in my ear.

Maybe you're the one that would ask me to go for a walk, would casually take my hand in yours and tell me you'd never met a girl like me.

Are you that guy that would do all of these things and fool me into believing you really liked me?

Because if you are, shame on you.

Shame on you for taking advantage of a young girls insecurity. Shame on you for praying on her uncontrollable hunger to be noticed, to be appreciated, to be loved.

I've long since gotten over being considered a slut. I have come to terms with the fact that I was taken advantage of by many guys. I know that I was feeling a lot of pain then, and having sex with multiple partners was a way for me to numb the pain, even if only for a short time. It was no different than my dependence on drugs and alcohol.

But what really bothers me is knowing that this happens to so many girls, and guys are so good at taking advantage of it.

I get it, boys are horny little buggers, and it is nearly impossible for them to resist a young girl giving them the attention they crave. You cannot blame them for trying to get a girl to sleep with them.

But what I wish they would stop is the deceitful ways in which they go about it, and the horrible way they will treat a girl afterwards.

Don't lead her on. Don't make her think that if she sleeps with you the two of you will live happily ever after. Call it what it is...a booty call.

And for gods sake....don't brag about it afterwards. Don't label her a slut. Treat her with respect, and give her the credit she deserves. What she was doing was no different than what you did.

And whatever you do, don't guilt her, bribe her or force her into being with you. That's what god gave you hands, Penthouse and K-Y for. Just go home and use them. I promise not to tell.

All I need are some tasty waves, a cool buzz and I'm fine

2007-03-20T17:24:00.000-04:00

As mentioned numerous times in the past, I grew up in the city of Burlington Ontario. Burlington is about 30 minutes outside of Toronto, and although it is bursting at the seams now, in the 80's it was still a fairly small community, with lots of open spaces, forests, and rural areas.

I mention this, because growing up in a city that has it's own rural area provides a unique experience for teenagers. Something called Bush Parties.

We had many different areas that we would party in, Lions Park off Highway Five, Mount Nemo up near Lowville, Henderson Park close to Milton. We were even lucky enough to have some friends with big backyards to party in. But my favourite was the area we used at the north end of Burloak Drive, where the road had been closed and was no longer accessible by vehicles.

To get to the spot, you had to park your car at the end of the road, where there was a cement barricade. We had to be quiet when we got there, as there were houses nearby. You did not want to give yourself away with the tell tale sounds of beer bottles and laughter. We'd quietly climb over the barricade, and make our way about 1/2 mile into the bush.

Someone at some point had built a fire pit there, with logs and rocks around it for sitting on. There were always remnants of a previous party left behind, empty bottles of Export, tattered Molson Canadian cases, bottles with holes in the bottom and the fire pit full of broken glass and beer caps.

But we didn't care. We'd push the garbage aside, start a fire, throw a cassette into someones boom box, and we'd have a party. How simple was that.

We'd drink beer, pass around a joint or two, sing along to what ever was playing. Most nights like that we'd be listening to classic rock tunes, like Lynyrd Skynyrd, Boston or Steve Miller. Stuff you could sing along to.

Sometimes you'd know everyone there, sometimes two or three groups of people would show up on the same night, and the party would be huge. There were no cliques there, there were no popularity contests, everyone just got along. We were there to have a good time, and nothing was going to stop us.

I can remember one night in particular where I was dancing around the fire with John and he tried to dip me. Right into the fire. We must have both been pretty drunk, because we both lost our footing, he dropped me, and I landed right in the middle of the fire. Don't ask me how, it must be that teenage invincibility thing, but I didn't even singe my hair. John scooped me up so fast the only damage was was the black soot all over my jeans.

We hardly had time to recover from that when someone backed up too far and took a tumble down the ravine next to the area we were sitting. He should have been seriously hurt, but managed to climb back up with hardly more than a few bumps and scrapes.

Things like that would have the whole crowd doubled over, peals of laughter could be heard from miles away.

Then there was the night when one of the drivers took off early, and I offered to stuff about 8 people in my car to get them back to town. I told John and Steve to wait for me, I'd be right back, but John misunderstood and thought I was taking off on him. Unbeknownst to me, the bugger jumped on the back of my car as I was driving away and climbed up onto the roof. I did not even know he was there until I reached about 50km/hr, heard a loud "thump" and suddenly there were hands laying flat against my windshield. I immediately stopped the car, got out and started yelling at him. He just laughed at me, his surfer laugh that reminded me of Spicoli from Fast Times at Ridgemont High.

"But I'm Surfing Tee!" he explained.

He actually wanted me to drive all the way down Burloak Drive with him on the roof of my car! It took some coaxing, but I eventually got him inside. With all the people there already, he had to lie down across their laps in the back seat, which resulted in great fits of giggles, and many exclamations of "Hey who's hand is that?" and, "Ohmigod I'm gonna puke!", among other things.

I'm fortunate enough to live in a rural area now, and some summer nights we might have a few people over, light a fire in our backyard, put on some music and enjoy the evening. True, there's no dancing over the fire, or Car Surfing involved, but if I close my eyes, just for a moment, I can be back in Burlington and it will be 1989. I'll hear the laughter of my friends around me, smell the sweet smoke of a joint being passed around the fire. I'll be young, and free, and so happy. And it will make me smile, knowing how lucky I was to have those times, those friends and those memories.

I'm so glad I grew up where I did. I don't know if I could have been any happier anywhere else.

In My Life...I Loved You More

2007-03-18T12:43:00.000-04:00

There are places I remember
All my life, though some have changed
Some forever not for better
Some have gone and some remain
All these places had their moments
With lovers and friends
I still can recall
Some are dead and some are living
In my life I've loved them all....

An old friend from high school, who I ran into over on facebook sent me some pictures of our old crowd.

I can't tell you how much I am loving Chantal right now. I think she had one of the few good pictures taken of me from back then. The few I have I look either totally burnt out, or I have my hand covering my face.

And the bonus part, it is a picture taken with Steve and John, so it was taken at a time when I was quite happy, a time when I was more myself than I had been in years.

I've never written about the last time I saw Steve and John together. It is one of those moments I have etched in my brain. One of those moments where I wish I could reach back, grab myself, smack me up the side of the head and say "What the fuck are you doing girl?????"

It started when I met Scott. I've mentioned Scott before, usually in posts discussing low points of my life. I have yet to find the courage to write about him in detail, because I know it will bring up a lot of very painful feelings. Scott and I met while I was hanging out with Steve and John. The Guys didn't like him too much, they saw him for the loser he was, and likely saw what damage he was doing to me. And Scott didn't like them, although that was because he was jealous of our relationship. Otherwise there wasn't too much about Steve and John you couldn't like.

Once Scott and I started spending more time with each other, I naturally started spending less and less time with Steve and John. I still went over to Steve's on occasion, we'd play cards, watch TV, just hang out. But those times became further and further apart. All I wanted to do was be with Scott.

I went over there one afternoon to see them. We hung out for a bit, but I had made arrangements to pick up Scott, so I cut the visit short. As I was leaving both boys walked me to the door and hugged me goodbye. Steve looked me in the eye and asked me if Scott was really who I wanted to be with. John asked if I was sure of what I was doing. I could see they were concerned, and it really touched me.

I just laughed and told them I was fine. I really liked Scott, I wanted to be with him. But as I stood there on that front porch, looking at these two boys I loved with all my heart, for a split second I started to doubt myself. I felt an overwhelming urge to run back in that house, sit at Steve's kitchen table with a cup of tea and play Euchre with them until my cheeks ached from laughing. I wanted to go back to the way we were, flirting and joking, singing silly songs, being ourselves and having fun.

But Scott had me under his thumb. I felt drawn to him, and it was stronger than anything I had ever felt before. So I looked at them, standing side by side at the door. I smiled and told them would see them both soon. I was wrong. That was the last time the three of us were ever together again.

It was one of those moments when you make a choice, a choice that can change the direction your life follows. A choice that can change everything. I picked the wrong one.

I have long wondered how things would have been if I said "Fuck It" and blew Scott off that day. I know it's likely that eventually John, Steve and I would have drifted apart some other way, but maybe I would have been happier for just a few more months. Maybe I could have continued feeling good about myself and not become so dependant on drugs. Maybe I wouldn't have dropped out of school, and left home before I was ready. I wish I could write that things were good from that moment on, but they weren't

I don't like to play the "Shoulda Woulda Coulda" game, but this is one moment I do allow myself that. I keep it as a reminder to myself to follow my gut, to think things through. It reminds me how one decision can change your life, and some choices should not be made lightly.

Even now, writing this, it is really hard to fight back the tears. I look at that picture and I can feel John's soft dark hair under my fingertips, I can hear Steve's silly laugh, I can feel their arms around me as they hugged me goodbye. I want to feel those feelings again, to be 17 and truly happy.

I wonder if they ever knew how much they meant to me.

....But of all these friends and lovers
there is no one compares with you
And these memories lose their meaning
When I think of love as something new
Though I know I'll never lose affection
For people and things that went before
I know I'll often stop and think about them
In my life I love you more.
(Lennon/McCartney, 1965)

Never judge a book.....

2007-03-16T20:25:00.000-04:00

I wrote this post back in February quite innocently. I figured it was just another part of my life, and I wanted to share it. To me it seems quite relevant to the topic of this blog.

What I didn’t expect was to find that it is this post that draws the most readers from Google searches. Each and every day I will get at least one hit from someone looking for information on this story.

I did not think much of it until I got a nasty comment the other night, from someone who was disturbed by what I had wrote, accusing me of bragging about a rather sick subject, telling me I was “out of my fucking head”.

I have also received many comments from those offended by the fact that I have used the names of the people involved that I did not know. I have since removed those names.

I’ve had nasty comments before, and just shrugged them off. We all do that. But this one sat with me, kind of bothered me, so I tried to look at it from the readers perspective. I came to the conclusion that this could be disturbing if you did not really know me. I also re-read the post, and decided it was not some of my best writing, it was rushed, and my true feelings were not really conveyed properly.

So I have decided to edit the post, and re-post it. I hope that from now on, anyone that does read it takes it for what it is. It is just an account of an event from my past. I am not trying to minimize the tragedy; I am just recalling it from my perspective.

When I was younger I knew all sorts of different people, from all sorts of different groups, schools and even towns. Being kids, we did stupid things, got into trouble, made some really big mistakes.

There were two people that I knew that unfortunately got themselves into the worst kind of trouble. This is not so much the story of what they did, but the story of how I knew them, and how it affected the way I look at people even today.

The first was Steve Olah. Steve went to my high school, and hung around many of the same people I did. He had this mop of red curls atop his head, always was hamming it up, and generally was fun to be around. In my case, he was a regular supplier of my burgeoning drug habit, even supplied me with my first hit of LSD. On occasion we hung out together or ended up at the same parties. Truthfully I thought he was really cute, and would have jumped at the chance to go out with him, but he never really showed much more than a friendly interest in me.

I can recall one night hanging out with Steve and a few other guys at a park behind M. M. Robinson. We were getting high, and having a very deep and meaningful conversation about whatever would be important to a bunch of stoned teenagers at the time. We were out quite late, sitting on the climbers, enjoying the summer night. Steve seemed very concerned of my welfare...wanting to make sure that I got home safe that night, saying there were too many crazy people out there to worry about.

Mostly I remember Steve as a regular mall rat, usually you could find him in the Burlington Mall Food Court, one of many people you could hang around with. I even had a picture of him in my wallet, one taken from the Photo Booth by the Sears store. He was just part of the crowd.

So needless to say, the day I saw the newspaper headlines that Steve was wanted for murder, I was more than a little shocked. I remember the moment clearly, standing on the front porch of a friend’s house, waiting for someone to answer the door. I picked up the Hamilton Spectator that was sitting on the porch and there was Steve on the front cover, with headlines declaring there was a manhunt for three Burlington teens, wanted for murder.

We've all heard of things like this, mostly manifesting themselves in School Shootings, or a group of kids beating someone up "just to see what it feels like". The newspapers were calling it a “Thrill-Kill” But it had never happened in a small city like Burlington before. Not good kids, from good families.

I don't know all the facts. I only know what I read in books and newspapers. They were at a gas station where one of them worked. I read they chose someone at random, someone who looked like he might have some money, and a good car. The poor unfortunate man was a husband, a father, a well liked and respected local business man. They took his life without what seems to be any consideration for the lives they would destroy.

I did not know how to take it then, or even now. I, like everyone else in the community mourned for that poor family, and for the family of Steve and the people he was with. My friends were dumbfounded, how could someone we knew do this? How did we not know there was something wrong?

I even felt sorry for Steve. I liked him, but I hated what he had done. He obviously had some mental problems and I later found out it was believed he suffered from Paranoid Schizophrenia. He had begged for help, and no one listened. But he violently took another man's life. How does someone do something like that? It was incomprehensible. His Dad was quoted at the trial as saying "As sure as hell, he's going to kill again if he does not get treatment".

The two kids Steve was with that night have served their time and have been released from jail. Steve on the other hand must still have a few years to go. I really hope that while he was in there he got some help, and has received proper treatment. I still to this day feel sad for that poor boy with the curly red hair.

The second Murderer in My Midst....good name for a novel, I'll have to remember that, was a guy named Johnny Walker. Yes just like the whiskey.

This story is different, as it did not involve someone I liked at all. And it disturbs me on a different level, because of the situation I was in.

Johnny was not the type of guy I would have normally hung around. He was a friend of the boy my friend Michelle was dating, and Michelle wanted me to entertain him so she could be alone with her guy. I personally thought he was really creepy, and was not really interested in being around this guy, but Michelle was my friend, and I wanted to help her out.

So while Michelle was off with whatshisname, I got stuck, alone in my car feigning off this creeps advances. Luckily it was not too hard, he was drunk, and not too bright. I was able to endure a few slobbery kisses and a hand up my top before convincing him I was not interested.

The worst part about these guys was where they lived. They had a roach infested apartment in a seedy part of Hamilton, and lived there with Johnny's girlfriend. She was a real classy dame who spent her nights walking the streets of Hamilton, making enough money to pay for Johnny’s booze and her drug habit. I can remember being in that apartment, feeling like a fish out of water, hearing crying babies and couples yelling at each other down the hall. Smelling booze and piss in the stairwell. Honestly, sometimes I had a hard time figuring out Michelle’s taste in guys.

Luckily, Michelle got bored of whatshisname pretty quickly, so I only had to see him an Johnny a few times. But believe me that was enough.

About a year later, in the middle section of the Hamilton Spectator was an article about a hooker in Hamilton who had been found dead, murdered by her boyfriend, Johnny Walker. I don’t remember the details, but I do know that after reading it, I barely made it to the toilet before I threw up. I was working that day, and I was so upset I had to leave. I was disgusted, revolted that I had let that guy touch me. It was not a high point of my life.

I look back now and see how differently I reacted to both of these murders. I guess that is human nature. Why I was so understanding of Steve’s actions and yet so revolted by Johnny’s is hard to explain. Have you ever watched a movie and found yourself hoping the bad guy didn’t get caught, or if he did that he would get help? Well that is how I felt when it came to Steve.

In Johnny’s case however, was just relieved that I came out of that situation unscathed. If anything, it was just one more thing that added to my motivation to clean up and make a better life for myself, so that I didn’t end up in some roach infested, piss smelling apartment, selling myself to get my next fix.

And that is the story how it happened to me. I really hope that anyone who reads this is not offended, and I am truly sorry if you are. It is just my point of view, reflections of how I felt at the time. Just like every other story in this Blog. And just like with every other story, I welcome your comments, good or bad.

Need some feedback

2007-03-11T19:41:00.000-04:00

I've been playing around with my template a bit, but I have noticed when I try and do a screen shot of my Blog on some listing sites, the font is not what I intended it to be.

This is the way I see the font, if you see it different than that could you let me know? I see it like that on IE 7, I have the feeling it is different on other browsers.

Thanks so much!

Being the Bad Girl Worked For Me

2007-03-11T16:25:00.000-04:00

Growing up, I really had a hard time trying to fit into one particular group.

I sucked at sports, no one liked the smart girls, and I thought the preppy kids were too stuck up. Only the weird girls tried out for cheerleading and since I didn't play an instrument I couldn't be a band geek.

I wasn't a nerd, I wasn't a dirt bag, I was just sort of there.

When I was in elementary school I was picked on quite a bit. I was 6 ft tall by the time I was 12, super skinny, and a major klutz. I was so naive I got picked on for being clueless, and I dressed a little weird.

I had almost no self esteem. I let people use me and make fun of me, and found making new friends really hard.

Somewhere along the line however, towards the end of grade eight and just before high school, I discovered that being the Bad Girl worked for me.

It's not like I sat down one day and said...."Okay, I'm gonna be BAAAAD...” it was more of a gradual change, and the worse I became, it seemed the more accepted I was.

I started small by being one of first girls in my class to start smoking. But when I found that got me attention I moved on to shoplifting lip gloss and vandalizing school property. I got drunk before anyone else, and had was wasn't afraid to sneak booze from my Dad to supply my friends.

I started listening to heavy music. While my friends were into Duran Duran and A-Ha, I was listening to Metallica and Ozzy Osbourne. I became fascinated with Jim Morrison and Alice Cooper and loved going to the head shops in Toronto to buy band t-shirts and posters.

I ditched the pink shirts and bows in my hair. I bought black t-shirts, ripped my jeans and discovered black eyeliner.

I started making new friends. I hung out in the smokers pit with the tougher crowd. When the boys began to notice me, I went out with guys that were older, rough around the edges; some of them did not even go to school.

Soon I was skipping class and talking back to the teachers. I would stay out all night and lie to my parents. I was promiscuous and always looking for the next party. I became the girl you have been reading about in this Blog.

I was good at it. People seemed to respect me, no one dared to put me down to my face. They likely talked about me behind my back, but I never noticed. Everyone was always nice to me.

Never forgetting what it was like to be on the outside, I made friends with everyone. If I saw someone being picked on I would stick up for them. I didn’t care if it was some big guy that towered over me, I would get in between the bully and his prey and break it up.

Being so tall, people assumed I was a lot tougher than I was. I towered over most of my friends, and although I was a bean pole, people were afraid of me.

Sometimes people would ask me to go "beat someone up”. I didn’t like fighting but I would agree, knowing that just the threat of “I know Teresa and she’ll beat the crap out of you if you don’t leave me alone” was enough to stop the fight. Truthfully I only ever hit one person, and I was sticking up for myself. He deserved it.

Looking back, I know being the ‘smart girl’ would have provided me with a better chance for success, but I don’t think I would go back and change who I was. Just living the persona of being tough and strong made me tougher and stronger. True, I still have days when I am unsure of myself, I am afraid to speak my mind, but I am much better at it than I was.

So I’ll be the Smart Girl in the present, the one that has learned from her mistakes and grown from them. But you better watch out, because somewhere inside is that Bad Girl Teresa, and she’ll beat the crap out of you if you get her mad. Well likely not....but I could if I had too!

Ooh, Ooh that song....

2007-03-09T22:28:00.000-05:00

I'm sure you have heard of Acid Flashback's before...if not I wikipedia'd it for you. LSD Flashbacks

It has been 16 years since I last dropped Acid, and more that 10 since I had a full blown flashback, but I did have quite a few.

Sometimes however, if I am alone, and I am listening to music, and a certain song comes on, I can get totally lost in it, remembering a time when I heard that song while I was tripping. The feeling can be so intense that I almost could swear I see the trails again, and I get that bitter, creepy feeling in the back of my throat. It's fleeting, but it is a reminder of how powerful that drug was.

This is just a bit of the music, starting with the most obvious:

The Wall - Pink Floyd. Who didn't trip out to this album, or movie?

For me, the biggest impact came from Side 3. If we put this album on right at the beginning of a trip, by the time Side 3 came on, you would be totally fucked. The echoes of Is There Anybody Out There would go right through you, and Vera always sent chills down my spine. When Bring The Boys Back Home was finally over, you would be grateful to hear Comfortably Numb so that you could sit back, relax and quiet your mind. I don't think we ever really played Side 4, we'd be too freaked out by then to flip the record over.

That Smell - Lynyrd Skynyrd. Funny story. Well, I thought it was.

I was sitting in my car inside an old graveyard in Oakville. My boyfriend Scott was in the front seat with me, and this guy Manny was in the back. We were all pretty high at this point, which was why we were parked, I was unable to drive.

We were listening to the radio and the song "That Smell" by Skynyrd came on. Manny starting giggling uncontrollably, it was an evil sort of giggle, like something you'd hear in a horror movie. It kind of freaked Scott and I out.

Scott was saying, "Manny, geez cool it. What the fuck is so funny?", but Manny just kept right on giggling. Especially when the chorus came on.

"Ooh, ooh that smell
Can't you smell that smell?
Ooh, ooh that smell
The smell of death surrounds you."

We finally decided that Manny was laughing at the irony of the song, sitting in a graveyard...the smell of death surrounds you....So we did what anyone in our situation would do, we laughed right along with him.

But Manny kept shaking his head, trying to tell us we were wrong. That wasn't what he was laughing at.

Some time later...god knows how long, time had no meaning then...Manny said out of the blue, "Something really reeks back here" And he started laughing again.

Scott, shaking his head, got out of the car and pulled the front seat back to see if he could figure out what the hell the problem was.

Under the seat someone had left an empty chocolate milk carton, which at this point was was really ripe. Scott threw it over the fence and got back in the car.

Manny, who was still in the back seat, right where Scott had pulled the carton from, had stopped laughing and was staring right at Scott with this blank look.

"Is that better?" Scott asked.

"Hey...the smell is gone" he said, "Whadidya do?"

Scott and I just looked a each other and cracked up in our own fit of giggles.

We never let Manny live that one down.....

......Maybe you had to be there.

White Punks on Dope - The Tubes

We knew this guy Pat, who was the biggest burnout I had ever met, then or now. He was in his 40's, far too old to be hanging out with 17 year olds. But he liked to party with us, and he was amusing to have around, so we let him.

He was a drunk, unemployed, homeless man, with dirty hair, dirty clothes, and a dirty mind. He had a glass eye that was always crusty, which he sometimes took out, rinsed in a glass of water, and stuck it back in, right in front of us.

He seemed to take a liking to me, often making comments about how he'd like to do pretty disgusting things to me. The guys never left me alone when he was around.

Pat loved this song. Every time he'd wander into one of our parties, he'd beg us to put it on.

One of those nights there were a few of us sitting around tripping out and Pat started jumping around the place, pumping his fist in the air, singing along....

"We're white punks on dope
Mom & Dad live in Hollywood
Hang myself when I get enough rope
I can't clean up, though I know I should
White punks on dope
White punks on dope"

He'd get right in your face while singing, rancid, whisky soaked breath, crusty glazed eye looking right at you.

It was pretty freaky, we did not really know how to take it. Thankfully as soon as the song was over he slumped down, took a swig of beer from a bottle someone was using as an ashtray, said, "Hmmm...kinda skunky.." and passed out.

If you ever wonder where I got my motivation to quit dope....Pat really helped.

Bike - Pink Floyd. Another Funny Story.

Scott and I had these friends Jim and Cleatus, who were every bit as much stoners as we were, if not more.

Jim had an old barn in his parents backyard that he could hang out in. Jim had decorated it in his own style, with posters and flags, and this bright red, HUGE, about 10 feet in diameter, Pentagram painted on the floor.

One night, a rather chilly night, we were back there listening to music, tripping on acid, and smoking whatever. We were all pretty high, someone had thrown in an old Floyd cassette, when the song "Bike" came on.

From somewhere in the back of the barn, Cleatus produced a little white tricycle and started riding it around in a circle around the Pentagram.

You'd have to know Cleatus to understand how funny this was. Cleat was the straight guy, the serious one, the one who never called attention to himself. True, he was a bit of a burnout, but he was just this unassuming guy.

He wasn't that tall and had this long, almost to his ass, straight blonde hair. Have you ever seen the band Killer Dwarfs? He kinda reminded me of one of them. His head was usually kept down, with his hair falling in front of his eyes.

So there was this guy, normally too shy to even talk, legs too big for a tricycle, riding around like an idiot, swaying his head back and forth, hair flying everywhere, shit-eating grin on his face, singing the words to this song...

"I've got a bike, you can ride it if you like.
It's got a basket, a bell that rings
And things to make it look good.
I'd give it to you if I could, but I borrowed it."

Fucking hilarious.

Okay....maybe you had to be there too.

Sunday's at Spencer Smith

2007-03-05T18:01:00.000-05:00

For a few months in the Spring/Summer of 1988, Sundays were spent at Spencer Smith Park playing football.

Well the guys played football, the girls sat on the sidelines hoping for some attention from the guys.

It was not really even a real football game. You were never really sure who was on what team, it was more the guys trying to see who was better at tackling whom. Pretty much all they did was throw around a football, and chase whoever had it to wrestle them to the ground.

I thought it was a blast.

Joe would be there, hamming it up, Paul and Alan would be there to tease all of the girls. Mark would be the voice of reason, and Mike would be there too, dressed just like Axl Rose, never picking up the football.

Sean would be teasing Joanne, and Pat would be his charming flirtatious self.

Corey was who I had my eye on, the reason I was there. I'd had a crush on him for awhile, but he never seemed to want more that a few afternoons alone in his bedroom, so I took what I could get.

Cassandra would be there with little Christopher. She was 19 and the first of us to have a baby. And Michelle would be there with Larry, they were always joined at the hip.

We'd talk about what happened the night before at 404, and figure out what we would be up to for the weeks ahead. We'd discuss important things, like how we hated our curfews, and who was about to get their drivers licence.

We'd smoke our DuMaurier cigarettes and drink our Cokes. Munch on Doritos or fries from the diner across the street.

It was a good time, before Mik died, before I started getting high, before we all drifted apart.

At 16, who could ask for more.

Spencer Smith Park is on the shore of Lake Ontario, home of the Burlington Sound of Music Festival, and one of the prettiest places in Burlington - if you ignore the view of the Stelco Steel Plant on the horizon.

From there you can see the Skyway Bridge, there is a park for the kids to play in, and a walkway along the shoreline. No one ever swims in this part of Burlington Bay, it is pretty much understood you will come out a lovely shade of green if you do.

But there is also a big field of green grass and trees, and that is where you would find us those Sunday mornings, doing what kids should do, just having fun.

It's a good memory, something I think of every time I drive down to the Lakeshore. The kind of memory everyone should have, the kind I hope my kids will have some day too.

Michelle

2007-02-27T12:50:00.000-05:00

I've mentioned Michelle a few times already, but never really explained who she was.

I met Michelle when I was going out with Shawn. She was seeing his friend Trevor, and thought we should be friends, so she made it happen.

Michelle was wild. More so than any of the girls I knew, and more than even I was. She had dark brown hair with thick blonde streaks in it that she wore spiked up. She had what I thought were the coolest clothes, the smallest minis, the tightest jeans, the sexiest tops. She had a leather jacket with fringes on it, and spiked high heeled boots. She was full of confidence and was not afraid to speak her mind. The guys all thought she was hot, and the girls were too afraid not to be her friend.

I loved her instantly.

Within months we were great friends. She transferred to my school and we walked around there like we owned it. She gave me confidence to talk to people I had never talked to before, made me feel sexy and beautiful and daring just being around her.

Unfortunately, my girl friends never really clicked with her like I did, but I knew her better than they did. I got her, and she got me.

Michelle did not have an easy time growing up. Before she started at Pearson she had been in a group home, and before that, living on the streets. She and her Mom did not get along well, and Michelle would not allow herself to be in a situation where she was not happy. When I met her she was back at home, but over the next couple of years she would go from her Mom's, to a group home, to the streets, to crashing at some guys place. I thought she was so lucky, a free spirit, everything I longed to be.

We got into all sorts of trouble together. Like the night she ended up in a jail cell for uttering death threats, with me giving a statement to a very nice police officer, trying to convince him she really did not mean it. What I didn't tell him was that we were both out of our minds on LSD, and I had 10 more hits hidden in my bra.

Then there was the time we were hitchhiking and she managed to convince our ride to take us to the Aerosmith/Skid Row concert, pay our way there, buy us t-shirts and take us to a bar afterwards. I don't remember how we got home, but I do know we managed to ditch those guys before they expected pay back.

We were 16, and we wanted to have a good time.

We'd get into bars by flirting with the bouncers, and manage to get guys twice our age to buy us drinks.

We'd hitchhike into Toronto in the evening, walk around Yonge Street meeting people, flirt with the really hot bouncers at the strip clubs, and then take the last Go Train Home.

We loved hard rock, guys with long hair, getting drunk and getting high. We were always looking for the next party, the next guy, the next adventure.

We fought like cats and dogs sometimes, but we always ended up laughing in the end. We were both so pig-headed, and usually could not remember what it was we were fighting about. But man she could make me mad, I still have a messed up wrist on my right hand where I punched a brick wall during one of our arguments. But she taught me not to be afraid to speak my mind and I am grateful for that.

Eventually we drifted apart, as I did with all of my friends. One day she called me to tell me she was having a baby, and it turned out to be the same time I was pregnant with my oldest son. We bonded over having our babies one month apart. I went to her wedding and we got together with our kids often for about 2 years, before we drifted apart again.

Someday I would like to see her again, see how life turned out for her. I would love to see her daughter, have my son meet her. They were so sweet as babies, I wonder if she turned out like her Mom?

I just hope that life turned out okay for her. She really was a good person, maybe a little messed up, but she had a huge heart. You could not have asked for a better friend.

Music of the 80's

2007-02-25T12:18:00.000-05:00

I have a Sirius radio in my car, and I am totally in love with it. I am not sure what the hell I did before I got this thing, with only 4 radio stations to choose from in my area, Country, easy listening and some jokers that pretend to be a rock station. I mean, there is only so much Kenny Chesney and John Mayer one woman can take.

So my favourite stations are the 80's station, the Hair Band station and one called Buzz Saw. I also get into listening to the New Wave station now and again, and they recently came out with one called Lithium, which is all 90's grunge and alternative.

I hear music on these station that I have not heard in years. It's part of the reason I get so damn sentimental, thinking about my past, and wanting to write about it. Hence, this blog.

I thought I would list a few of my favourites and the memories that I associate with them. I am sure anyone around my age would remember these songs when they were popular and have a few memories of their own.

Whitesnake - Here I Go Again. Riding the Go Train with Emma. I loved the train, still do. It always meant we were going somewhere exciting and different. Emma and I often rode the train together, and we loved to make up songs while we did. One of my favourites was a parody of Here I Go again, called, Ode to Transportation.

Rick Astley - Never Gonna Give You Up. I don't hear this song much, but when I do I think of Shannon. She loved this song...I loathed it. Once one of those things that made me realize how different we were. I still think she's pretty cool though.

Depeche Mode - Somebody. The last song at Club 404 almost every night. I always feel a little lonely hearing that song, makes me long for a different time.

Poison - Every Rose Has its Thorn. This song makes me think of walking down the streets of Burlington with Michelle. Sometimes headed for the bus, sometimes headed nowhere in particular. Often we were trying to hitch a ride to a party, to Oakville or sometimes to Toronto. Michelle and I loved singing this song together, and when I hear it I can picture the two of us, mini skirts and big hair, standing on a curb, thumbs out and singing. Man we must of had horseshoes up our asses back then. A whole friggen herd of Clydesdale's I think. We could have got ourselves in a shitload of trouble, yet every guy that picked us up dropped us off without incident.

Eagles - Hotel California. Speaking of singing with my friends, for some reason this song was quite popular in the smokers pit at highschool. We'd just suddenly start singing it. Likely because everyone knew all of the words. We'd even have hand actions to it too...good times.

Joe Walsh - Life's Been Good. Every time I hear this song I think of Chuck riding his bike, no hands, long hair in the wind. He would sing this song as he rode, you'd hear him coming up behind you and know who it was. Picture this, a 6'2" skinny guy, torn jeans, leather jacket, long hair and John Lennon glasses riding his ten speed with those curled under handle bars and skinny tires singing "I gotta Limo, ride in the back...."

Phil Collins - Groovy Kind of Love. On the dance floor at 404, in Shawn's arms, my head on his shoulder, him singing the words to this song. "When I'm in your arms, nothing seems to matter My whole world could shatter, I don't care" *sigh.....

Don Henley - Boys of Summer. Steve and John. "I thought I knew what love was. What did I know? Those days are gone forever. I should just let them go but... " I miss them.

There seems to be a lot of Eagles related songs in this list. Funny, I don't even like the Eagles.

David Wilcox - Bearcat. Charissa walking across the dance floor. Strutting would be a better term. I cannot describe the way she used to dance to this song, but it was funny to watch. If you know the song, just picture a girl, not even 5 feet tall, walking to the beat of the music, strumming her air guitar. It was priceless.

The whole Dirty Dancing Soundtrack. Reminds me of skipping school in grade 9, going over to Sara Deans house, sitting in her kitchen and smoking cigarettes. She had this album, we would play it and sing along to all the songs. We'd imagine what it would be like if we had boyfriends, giggle over stories of seeing our biggest crush, Brett Swaykowski at school. Talking about how much Dan Butler looked like John Bon Jovi. We were still so innocent, but on the cusp of big changes. How I wish I could go back and tell those girls to slow down, beg them not to be in such a hurry to grow up. In less than a year they would be so different.

Cinderella - Don't Know what You've Got.... Every time I broke up with a boyfriend, which sometimes could be a weekly event, I'd put this song on on mourn the loss. For a minute or two at least. Then I'd be off to bigger and better things. (translation-The next guy to use me and toss me aside)

Prince - Let's Go Crazy. In grade 8 music class we had to do what our teacher called music videos. We'd get in a group, pick a song and make up a dance number to go with it. This was one of my favourite things in elementary school. The group I was in always came up with the coolest songs and dances, We used songs like Toni Basil's Hey Mickey and Tears for Fears Shout. But my favourite by far was the one we did to this song. We loved it, the class loved it, but the teacher was appalled. I don't think she was ready for the gyrating hips, and suggestive lyrics..."Picked up the phone, dropped it on the floor, Sex, Sex, was all I heard". And the "Dearly Beloved" part at the beginning. You could see her eyes widening as she watched these pre-pubescent girls pretending to be at a funeral, delivering a eulogy. We still got an A though, with a stern warning to pick something a little less racy next time. I suggested Darling Nicki, but we thought better of it.

There are so many more, I could go on forever. What were some of your favourite songs in the 80s?

Remember 404?

2007-02-21T17:47:00.000-05:00

Friday and Saturday nights were Club 404 nights. It was what I looked forward to all week.

Getting ready was a big production. After taking a long shower, I would pack up my stuff and head over to Joanne's or Michelle's. I preferred to get ready there, so I did not have to hear my Mom telling me I looked trashy when I was leaving.

We would spend hours trying to decide what to wear, trading each others clothes, determining who we wanted to impress that night, and how we should dress to achieve that.

Our hair was very important. We would help each other out, separating hair into long chunks, coating it with hairspray and pressing the hot hair crimper to it. The heat would cause the hairspray to sizzle and steam, but the results would be awesome. We'd turn our heads upside down, scrunch up all the hair, tease it a bit, add tonnes and tonnes of hairspray, and before we knew it, we looked just like Lita Ford. Well at least our hair did.

The makeup was next. Huge amounts of foundation would be applied, to cover those big ugly pimples we got from wearing too much makeup. Some dark blush would be put on, to give us the illusion of high cheekbones, and light powder over that to tone down our over-zealousness. Then there were the eyes. We'd carefully apply our powder blue eyeshadow, sharpen our black eyeliner and put two coats on, top and bottom. If we were really feeling daring, we may even bring it out to make a little point on either end. Our eyelashes would be curled, and dark black mascara slathered on so thick our eyes would stick together when we blinked.

Our clothes would consist of either a really, really mini skirt with black nylons, or skin tight, lie on the bed and use a coat hanger to do them up, straight leg stretchy jeans, in light blue or acid wash. Our shirt would be cut off, showing ample skin, or if it was cold, we'd wear a shaker knit, v-neck sweater that would sit off on one shoulder.

I liked to wear a bandanna around my wrist, I had different colours to match my outfits. Michelle liked to wear a red one around her ankle, and Joanne only wore one if she had a hickey to hide.

But my favourite thing to wear was either my biker hat, or Joanne's Indiana Jones hat. I would spike my hair so that it fanned out around the hat and I thought it looked, like, totally awesome.

If we were wearing jeans, we would put on a pair of slouch boots to go with them, with or without fringe. If it was a skirt we chose, then spiked high heels would be put on. Joanne and Michelle were lucky enough to have fringed leather jackets, Joannes was purple suede, Michelle's was black leather. I wore an old faded jean jacket with strategically placed tears, or my old jacket from Loyola high school that I had stolen from some boy I could not remember.

We all had fringed Harley Davidson purses, which would carry our frosted lipstick, some money, some gum, a lighter and our cigarettes, which were tucked way to the bottom so to not be seen by our parents.

Trying to find a ride could be a challenge. If we were lucky, one of us would be going out with someone who had a car, or we'd try to sweet talk some other guy into giving us a ride. It didn't matter who it was, if we didn't like them, we'd just ditch them at the dance. Anything to get out of having one of our parents drive us. That was humiliating.

Arriving at the club was a big production. There would be plenty of hugs, whether it was a friend you had not seen all week, or someone you'd had just seen that afternoon at school. Standing in line, you'd catch up on all the gossip, find out who had broken up, who was going out, who cheated on whom. There would be a mad frenzy of passing around the McDonald's cups, filled with something more than just coke. Sometimes some Canadian Club, could be some vodka, or maybe a mix of whatever someone stole from Daddy's liquor cabinet.

There would be much discussion about who might be 'On Something' that night. Had Rich dropped some acid, had Joe and Brent been seen smoking up behind the building? OMIGOD, I heard Cathy and Heather were totally stoned.

Once we paid our way, and received an okay from Lisa or Mike the owners, we were in the door. I don't think I could ever forget the feeling of walking in that dark hall, the music blaring, the floors and walls painted black, the red chairs, the red bar, the lights on the dance floor.

You would stand just inside the door when you walked in, checking out who was there that night. You'd see Sara and James, sitting by the bar, Michelle and Larry out on the dance floor with Marc and Leena. Brent would be on a bar stool, with Jeanette by his side, and Mark would be nearby with whatever girl he was going out with that week. I'd look for Shawn, even when we weren't together, I loved seeing him there, he'd surely be near Vlas, who at 6'8", was not hard to miss.

I'd try to find that guy I kissed last week while we danced to the last song. We would have talked on the phone every night since then, with promises we'd meet that night.

Within minutes an awesome song would come on and we'd all be rushing the dance floor, giving it everything we had. Shook Me All Night Long by AC/DC, Pour Some Sugar on Me by Def Leppard and Bear Cat by David Wilcox were some of our favourites. And if Goodnight Saigon by Billy Joel came on, almost the whole place would get on the floor and belt out the words...We'll All Go Down Together.....It was just awesome.

There would be fights, tears, rumours and break ups. Someone would puke in the bathroom, and some couples would sneak out to the parking lot to be alone in the back of a van or car. And at 1:00 every night, Somebody by Depeche Mode would play, the lights would go on and we would all head outside. Those of us without curfews would head over to Tim Horton's for a coffee, the rest of us would head home with promises to meet the next day for a game of football at Spencer Smith Park, or maybe to go bowling down at Burl-Oak.

You're ears would be ringing from the music, your hair would have gone flat, and there would be black streaks under your eyes from all the makeup. You'd be carrying your shoes because your feet were killing you, and your lungs would hurt from all of the smoke you inhaled. You'd probably feel a little sick from whatever you drank earlier that night, and you would be exhausted from the endless dancing.

That was Club 404, and I loved it.

High Scool Meme

2007-02-16T16:14:00.000-05:00

I'm not really one for Meme's, but I saw this one over at Finding Life's Enchantments and thought it was relevant here.

Grad Year: N/A, last year there...1991

1. Who was your best friend? Emma Lupton

2. What sports did you play? Tonsil Hockey

3. What kind of car did you drive? A grey 1980 Pontiac Lemans

4. It’s Friday night, where were you? Club 404

5. Were you a party animal? I suppose you could call me that

6. Were you in the “In Crowd”? I was In a Crowd, but not really the "In Crowd"

7. Ever skip school? A better question would be...did you go to school?

8. Ever smoke? Anything I could get my hands on

9. Were you a nerd? No, if you compare my life to the show Freaks and Geeks, I was definitely a Freak

10. Did you get suspended/expelled? Oh boy, they tried. I was just way to good at talking my way out of things. And my parents were naive enough to stick up for me. Sorry Mom & Dad!

11. Can you sing the Alma mater? Alma Wha?

12. Who was your favorite teacher? Mr Dickenson, the drafting teacher. Awesome man. One of the only reasons I stayed in school as long as I did. And one of the few classes I rarely skipped.

13. Favorite class? Drama. I was always pretending to be someone I wasn't anyway.

14. What was your school’s full name? Lester B. Pearson High School

15. School mascot? I think a mustang, but that might have been elementary school

16. Did you go to Prom? No, only the nerds went to prom.

17. If you could go back and do it over, would you? In a heartbeat.

18. What do you remember most about graduation? Not graduating

19. Favorite memory of your Senior Year? I can't really remember senior year. It's a bit of a fog. I do remember my last day there when Mrs. Nichol said to me "Teresa, if you are not going to take this seriously, why don't you just quit school now and stop wasting my time." So I did.

20. Were you ever posted up on the senior wall? Can't say we had anything like that

21. Did you have a job your senior year? See previous post, Coffee, Fries, Files and Golf Balls

22. Who did you date? Everyone. Except the guys at my highschool.

23. Where did you go most often for lunch? Back in the forest to get high.

24. Have you gained weight since then? Only 5 pounds, well give or take 60.

25. What did you do after graduation? Again, didn't graduate. I did go to college a year later as a mature student. That I managed to finish, despite having a baby in the beginning of 2nd year.

I know some day you'll have a beautiful life....

2007-02-16T10:01:00.000-05:00

As a footnote to my last two posts, I wanted to stick this video in.

This was my favourite song during the time I was going between Noel and Ron.

There was a night, about a week before Noel and I finally got back together for the last time that we were out with a bunch of people, Noel and Ron included. We were playing pool and this song came on. I was sitting at our table, listening intently and I looked over at Ron just as the last verse came on. He sang the words to me, and then looked over at Noel. It was comforting, like he was finally letting me go.

A little corny, I realize, but a good memory for me all the same.

I know someday you'll have a beautiful life,
I know you'll be a sun, in somebody else's sky, but why
Why, why can't it be, why can't it be mine

Just a sucker with no self esteem, Part 2

2007-02-15T09:13:00.000-05:00

Well, I am sure everyone is just sitting on the edge of their seats, waiting to know what happened. No? Well I'll tell you anyway.

After Ron begged my forgiveness for the umpteenth time, things were going okay for a day or two. I even convinced him to go out together. Not like we usually did, going to the bars, with a group of people, hanging out, and then going home together. But out, acting like we actually were a couple.

We went and played pool at Formac in Burlington. We were there with Chris and Jay, and having a pretty good time. After a few games we were sitting, having a few beers, and these cute girls walked in. Ron started making eyes with one of them, I knew the look, and it pissed me off. We had agreed that we were out "together" that night. There was no flirting, or picking up other people.

So I did what any self respecting girl would do. I leaned over and laid a very passionate kiss on him, made it obvious he was with me. When I turned around the girls were gone, and from the look on Ron's face, he was not very happy with me.

Later, when we were lying in bed, Ron told me he was not too impressed with what I had done. I sat up and shamefully tried to defend myself, telling him I was just kidding around, what harm did it do?

He tried to tell me he didn't think we should be showing and Public Displays of Affection, he didn't want it to get back to Bonnie, it might upset her.

That was it. Bringing up the B word while we were in bed was too much. I quickly got dressed and walked out. I passed by Noel in the kitchen and mumbled something to him about Ron being such a prick and I left.

Somehow over the next few days I started talking to Noel again. I couldn't help it. Jay and Chris were seeing each other exclusively, and Chris and I were always together. Noel just always seemed to be around. He seemed to be happy to just take what he could get with me, and it was a comfort to have him around.

The following week, on Valentines Day, we all went to dinner at Chaps. Not only Chris, Jay and Noel, but Ron was there too. He had been really nice to me, trying to talk me into giving him another chance, but I was trying to be strong. I did make one mistake though. I gave him the Valentines card I had bought for him the week before when we were still together. It wasn't mushy or anything, just a little suggestive. I don't know what I was trying to prove, I just had it, and it was already addressed to him, so I gave it to him. I did not give anything to Noel.

During all of this Chris had been putting up with my constant fretting, worrying and indecision about what to do. Truthfully, I think she was getting kind of sick of it. Not only was she getting it from me, but she had to listen to Ron and Noel complain about it too, they were always asking her who I liked better, what they should do. She really took the brunt of it.

So it was no surprise later that night that she finally burst and told Noel that I really could not decide who I wanted to be with. She thought she was helping, but it had the opposite effect.

She told Noel was that I was torn between my feeling for both of them. Things with Ron were thrilling and exciting. I liked the feeling of being on edge and never knowing what was going to happen next. With Noel I felt comfortable and warm. Things were predictable and secure, and I wasn't sure if I was ready for that.

Chris was only trying to tell Noel that I was struggling with the idea of settling down, because with him I felt I could do that. I wasn't sure I was ready to give up the party lifestyle. In typical guy fashion, Noel misunderstood and thought I had been telling Chris about what I thought of them in bed, not how they made me feel all of the time. He was furious. Being as drunk and stoned as he was, he started banging and yelling, calling me some pretty nasty names. Problem was, I was in the next room and heard the whole thing.

So I did some yelling and screaming of my own, calling Noel a stupid drunk, saying all sorts of things I shouldn't have. After all, he was the one who really did have a right to be mad. I had been stringing him along far too long. I was doing to him, exactly what Ron was doing to me.

As I was leaving, feeling pretty ashamed of myself, I ran into Ron in the driveway. He could tell I had been crying and wanted to know what was wrong.

I told him I was done with both him and Noel. I could not take this anymore. They had had me on an emotional roller coaster for months now, and they would not have me to toss around anymore.

Ron put his arms around my, tried to tell me he was sorry. He did not want to see me go. He could not commit to me, it just hurt him too much to see me with other guys.

I pushed him away. "You asshole," I said, "What the hell do you expect me to do? Let you run around with whomever you please, stringing along your poor wife, while I sit in the corner, waiting and hoping for a little attention from you. Not fucking likely. I am done. Leave me alone, go back to your wife. Happy Fucking Valentines Day."

And I walked away. For the last time. From Ron at least.

I tried to be friendly with Noel. It wasn't hard. He was always around with Chris and Jay, so putting some effort in was important. Ron did go back to Bonnie. And they seemed to be trying. The baby was due soon, so I guess he felt he needed to be there. Whether he was being faithful, I highly doubt that, but at least he wasn't around me.

I tried to stay just friends with Noel. I started dating other guys again, nothing serious, just going out to the bar, playing pool, things like that. I just kept thinking I wasn't ready to settle down. Howver more and more I would find myself calling Noel. Sometimes in the middle of the night, when I felt really alone. He was such a good listener, and it felt good to talk to him.

Late in March, my Grandfather died. I found out in the morning before I left for school, but I had an exam that day and still had to go. The first chance I had that morning I called Noel. He was the only person I wanted to talk to, it felt like he was the only one who could comfort me. I desperately wanted to feel his arms around me, and I went straight to him as soon as I could.

He held me as I cried on his shoulder, kissed my hair and told me everything would be alright. He made me feel secure and loved. Everything felt right being there with him. I realized I was tired, it was time for the craziness to stop. I wanted to be with him, like that, all the time. I looked up at him and kissed him on the lips, and asked him if we could try again.

"Of course we can," he whispered, "I was just waiting for you to be ready."

So that was it. We have been together ever since.

We have had a wonderful relationship. We love and respect each other, and have remained totally faithful. We've had our struggles financially, and emotionally, but we work through things, communicate with each other, respect each other. He has been a father to my son, and we try to see his boy as much as we can. We also have a son of our own and we are happy as a family.

This March we will have been together for 12 years, and married for six. But we still don't celebrate Valentine's Day. It just does not seem right. We have plenty of other things to celebrate the rest of the year, and that's just fine for us. I'm just lucky he is a patient man, or I could have missed out on something really special.

Just a sucker with no self esteem....

2007-02-14T19:12:00.000-05:00

Although I am happily married, and today is Valentine's day, my hubby and I are not celebrating as most couples do. We never do celebrate today, not since the first year we were together.

I was trying to decide whether to write about this here, or on my other Blog, Georgian Blues. But then I thought Spandex and Hairspray is about my past, and all the stupid things I did, and Georgian Blues is about my present, and all the stupid things I do now. Although this was in late 94', early 95' it was my past and I guess it belongs here.

About 6 months after my son was born I kind of went through a Britney-post-KFed phase. I was only 22 years old, and since I was 18 I had been tied down. First to an emotionally unstable boyfriend, and then to a tiny little human being. I was dying to get out and have a good time, and I was constantly pushing the limits. Although, I was never photographed getting out of a car with no panties, the things I did were just as shameless.

I was relying too heavily on my family to babysit for me, and I was going out and partying far too much. I was desperate to connect with other people my age, I was dating several guys, and I had engaged in more than a few one night stands.

One night in December, my friend Chris and I ventured out to see a guy she had been dating, Jay. The weather had been getting nasty all night, but we thought we would be okay. But about 10 minutes after we left her house we hit heavy whiteouts and drifting snow. Soon we found ourselves stuck on the side of the road. I was driving a 1980 Camaro at the time, not the best car for these conditions.

Even though it was only 1994, we were lucky that Chris carried a cell phone. Since she lived in a rural area, she had it for a situation just like this. She called Jay and he managed to make his way out to us to pick us up.

This was my first time officially meeting Jay. He had briefly gone to Pearson, but back then I only knew him as JC, I never actually talked to him. Along with Jay, was his friend Ron, and his brother Noel.

Both Ron and Noel were cute. I knew Chris had been bringing me out to Jay's so I could meet Ron, but at first I was kind of intrigued with both guys. I decided to see how the night progressed.

Once we made it back to Jay's I was able to really get a good idea what these guys were like.

Ron was very outgoing. He had a lot to talk about, and totally held my interest. He was funny, and a little goofy, but I found it cute. He was very flirtatious as well. He knew I was there to meet him, and he was obviously doing his best to impress me.

He was really pretty hot, just a little shorter than I, shoulder length dirty blonde hair, a quite a nice body. He was older by a couple of years, but I always have liked older guys.

Noel on the other hand, was very quiet. He had obviously had a bit too much to drink, and was not very steady on his feet. He tried to include himself in our conversations, but he was just too far gone to add anything relevant. I still thought he was cute though, he was younger than Ron, closer to my age. He was a little skinny for my taste, but he had this dark, thick curly hair, and the most beautiful blue eyes. He looked like a sweet, shy little boy.

Within the first hour we were there, Noel was passed out on the floor, so I naturally turned my attention to Ron. It had become apparent that we were not going anywhere that night, the roads were closed at this point, and none of the guys were sober enough to give us a ride anywhere. My brother, who I lived with at the time, was taking care of my son. I called home to let him know I would not be home until morning.

The night passed by quickly. We talked, drank a bit and watched movies. Eventually Chris and Jay retired to Jay's bedroom, and I stayed on the couch talking to Ron. Around 6:00 in the morning, we called a tow truck, knowing my car would be snowed in, and we ventured out to wait by my car.

We left Noel at home to sleep it off, and the rest of us piled into Jay's car. Once we reached my car, Ron and I went and sat in it to wait for the tow truck, and Jay took Chris home.

Like any snow storm, the wait for the tow truck was a long one. We sat in the car, listened to music and talked about things. I found out Ron was separated from his wife, and had a daughter. This actually made me feel like we had a bit of a connection, as he had just as much baggage as I did.

Once we got my car on the road, I took Ron back to Jay's to drop him off. He was living there while separated from his wife, so we talked about how I would come by soon with Chris. Standing there in front of the house, we shared our first kiss. I still remember him saying to me "man your tall", since I was about 2 inches taller than him.

That was in early December. December 11th to be exact. Ron and I continued to see each other for the next few weeks, until just before Christmas, when he told me he was going to go back to with wife over the holiday's. By this time I had found out they were only newly separated, and in fact she was pregnant. It was too late though, I was already head over heels with Ron, I was willing to take what I could get.

I was so happy after Christmas to get a call from Ron, asking me to spend New Years Eve with him and Jay. Chris was not there, Jay was also seeing another girl, and he had invited her over.

It was this night that I found out who Ron's wife was. I had known her name was Bonnie, but that was all. Hear no evil, see no evil right? In other words I had been wearing blinders, knowing anything about her made it to hard to pretend she did not exist.

It turns out that this was not just any Bonnie. This Bonnie was sister to Brent and Rob, whom I have previously mentioned. (read Condom's In The Sky, and Fieldtrips to the Police Station, it will become apparent why this was a BAD thing.)

This was a bit scary to me. Bonnie and I did not have a good history, and when she got wind that I was seeing her husband, a man she was trying to reconcile with, there would be hell to pay. She had already threatened to kill me in the past, spitting things like "You've already slept with my brothers, who's next, my Dad!?!?" in my face. This was worse than her Dad....this was her husband! Why nobody had cared to tell me this before, I do not know. I felt like a really bad joke was being played on me.

A few days past New Years, Ron told me again that he was going back to Bonnie, and we would have to stop seeing each other. By this time he had heard about my history with his wife, and realized what a bad situation this was. But that did not last, within days he was calling me, telling me he missed me and he wanted to keep seeing me. He was having a hard time, because he cared for both Bonnie and I, and did not know what to do. I fell for it, hook line and sinker.

All this time, Noel had been staying at Jay's on and off, and had been observing the goings on between Ron and I. I did not realize that he had a bit of a crush on me, and had been dying to talk to me. It was not long before he got a chance.

At this time I was back to school, going to Humber College. I was also going to night school, trying to get caught up, and those nights my brother looked after my son. Ron and I had made plans one of these nights for me to go over and see him after class, which was over at 10:00. I was a bit late getting to the house for whatever reason, and just let myself in so I would not wake anyone up. When I went through the front door, I could see that someone was watching Little House on the Prairie in the living room.

I crept in, figuring someone had fallen asleep watching TV, why else would that show be on, and was startled by Noel popping up his head and saying hello.

"Uh, what are you doing here?" He asked me.

"Ron told me to come by after class, Is he in his room?" I replied, starting to head down the hall.
"Um, no. Ron's um, out. He'll be back later I think" Noel said, said, a little hesitantly.

"Okay" I said, "I love Little House, I'll wait with you"

Noel seemed like he wasn't to sure this was a good idea, but then he shrugged and made room for me on the couch. I think he was glad for the company.

I had found out over the six weeks or so I had been hanging around that Noel too was just out of a bad relationship, and had a little boy who just three years old. However, I also knew that Noel and his ex were never getting back together, his had been a messy break up.

We talked a bit about our kids, and what we loved about Little House. We found out that although we both loved hard rock, we also had a thing for singers like Neil Diamond and Billy Joel. We laughed about this, I had never met a guy who had quirky music tastes like my own

I really enjoyed talking to Noel. It was kind of nice to have a conversation with someone who was not trying to get in my pants. Although over the hour or so I sat there, I kept getting the feeling Noel was uneasy about something.

I had finally decided that it was time for me to go. It was almost 1am, and I came to the conclusion that Ron was not coming home. I stood up to leave, and as I did, the door to Ron's bedroom opened and out walked a girl with long brown hair, wearing nothing but her underwear.

Suddenly I understood. Noel had been lying to protect me. Ron was not out, he was in his bedroom with another girl. I knew he had been seeing other people, I had been too. But shoving it in my face like this...it was a bit too much.

I grabbed my coat and my keys, asked Noel to let Ron know I was there, and ran out before he could see the tears welling up in my eyes. Noel tried to walk me out to my car, make sure I was alright, but I pushed him away and closed the door behind me.

The next day Ron called me, ever so apologetic. He had gotten the nights mixed up, thought I was coming the next day. He told me that if he had any idea I was there he would have come out to see me, not do what he was doing behind my back. We had an open and honest relationship didn't we? Besides, he was starting to think he didn't want to see any one else but me. Wouldn't I give him another chance?

Of course I did. I was naive, I was young, and I really liked him.

That lasted about a week, and then Ron was back with Bonnie again. I put on a brave face, pretended it didn't bother me, and still went to the house on my own to party with Chris, Noel and all the other people who hung out there.

I started spending more and more time with Noel. I found him really easy to talk to, and it was a bit of a relief to have a guy to talk to that I wasn't sleeping with.

Some nights, when Chris and Jay would be off together, Noel and I would sit by the fire, having a few drinks, just talking. I even started to bring my baby there, letting him sleep in one of the spare rooms in a portable crib, so I would not have to drive home. Noel was so sweet. We would fall asleep, sometimes on the floor, sometimes holding each other, but he never went further than that.

This went on for about a week before Noel and I kissed for the first time. After that things moved quickly, and it didn't take long before we were doing more than sleeping when we slept together.

Soon Ron got wind of my new relationship with Noel, and almost immediately he was back at the house. He took me aside, told me it wasn't going to work with him and Bonnie, and he wanted me back. Exclusively. It really hurt him to see me with Noel. They were friends, and he just couldn't handle it. Noel and I had only been together for a day or two, and Ron was his usually charming self, he convinced me to break it off with Noel, and go back to him.

Noel took it all in stride, just shrugged it off and went back to his beer. I thought all was well in the world.

This was two weeks before Valentines day. Only about 8 weeks after I had met these two. So much had happened already, but there was more to come.

Since this is getting really long, and the story does not end here, I will continue this tomorrow. In the mean time, I'll leave you with the lyrics that inspired the title of this post and a picture of the three of us taken right around this time. That's Ron on the left and Noel on the right.

Can you guess which one I ended up with?

SELF ESTEEM - The Offspring

I wrote her off for the tenth time today
And practiced all the things I would say
But she came over
I lost my nerve
I took her back and made her dessert

Now I know I'm being used
That's okay man cause I like the abuse
I know she's playing with me
That's okay cause I've got no self esteem
cause I've got no self esteem
We make plans to go out at night
I wait till 2 then I turn out the light
All this rejection's got me so low
If she keeps it up I just might tell her so

When she's saying that she wants only me
Then I wonder why she sleeps with my friends
When she's saying that I'm like a disease
Then I wonder how much more I can spend

Well I guess I should stick up for myself
But I really think it's better this way
The more you suffer
The more it shows you really care Right?

Now I'll relate this a little bit
That happens more than I'd like to admit
Late at night she knocks on my door
Drunk again and looking to score

Now I know I should say no
But that's kind of hard when she's ready to go
I may be dumb
But I'm not a dweeb
I'm just a sucker with no self esteem

Coffee, Fries, Files and Golf Balls

2007-02-13T12:13:00.000-05:00

From 15-18 I had quite a few different jobs, never staying at one place for too long, either getting bored, or getting fired.

My first job was the summer before I turned 16. I got a job at Timothy's Coffee in the Supercentre. It was so cool working there. All of my friends hung out there, so I got to see them all the time, never missing out on what was going to be happening after work, always having someone to talk to when it got quiet.

I actually enjoyed working there. My boss was a bit of a bitch, but for the most part we worked alone, so I did not have to deal with her much. I got to know a lot of new people, others who worked at the Supercentre, and just regulars to the coffee shop.

There was however, this thirtysomething creep that worked in the grocery store in the mall. He thought he was a real hot shot, and flirted with all the ladies. My boss thought he was great, she was prone to these ridiculous giggle fits whenever he was around. Then one afternoon he offered to give me a ride home, and I naively accepted.

The creep pulled into the park near my house and was trying to kiss me with this disgusting, bushy, moustached covered mouth, and was trying to feel me up. I kept trying to get him off me, but not putting up too much of a struggle, since that only seemed to get him hotter. He only agreed to take me home when I bullshitted him, promising that if he let me go home I would go out with him some time, and we could really get it on. As soon as he dropped me in front of the house I turned around, gave him the one finger salute and said "Fuck You Asshole". I was quite proud of myself.

The next few days I worked The Creep avoided the store completely. It wasn't until my boss was in with me that he came in for a coffee. The two of them went off in a corner to have a very intimate conversation, and about 15 minutes later I was fired. Bitch Boss told me she had received complaints I was being rude to customers. Yeah right.

So I did the most mature thing I could think of in my very wise 15 and a half years. I went outside and keyed the creeps fancy little red sports car. I am still proud of that. I just wish I had the guts to pull a Carrie Underwood on it. That would have been more fun.

The next job I had was at White Rose Nursery's. Nothing too exciting there. Truthfully, the only thing I really remember about that job was the smell of Eucalyptus. I love that smell.

When I got bored there I quit and took a job at Saratoga Fries in the Burlington Mall. That was fun while it lasted, my friend Michelle worked at the Orange Julius next door, and my friend Monica worked in the store with me. Working at the Burlington Mall was more fun than the Supercentre, more people hung out there. And free fries....YUM! Sadly though, the job only lasted about 3 weeks, before my boss caught me making out with a guy in the back of the store after hours. I was promptly fired.

Much to my parents chagrin, it was months before I took another job. The following summer I worked about 2 weeks at Longo's, got bored, took a job at Caz's Fish and Chips, couldn't stand the smell and quit that.

Are you sensing the pattern here?

That fall, just before I turned 17 I got a job at Gerrie Electric as a File Clerk. NOW I was in my element. I was actually good at this stuff! I worked 3 hours after school, 3 days a week and Saturdays. Still totally had a social life, I worked alone, and my parents were off my back.

I loved the job. It was a little mundane, mostly just filing and mailing invoices, but I was quick and efficient, and my bosses seemed to like me.

I met some pretty cute guys there too. There was some renovations being done, and this one worker there was so hot. I used every excuse I could think of to walk by him. He called me Blue Eyes and flirted his ass of with me. Made going to work that much more fun.

And then there was this other guy who worked in the store, and was often there on Saturdays. He would come back and see me and we'd talk about things. Sometimes after everyone else was gone we'd make sure all the doors were locked and we'd smoke a joint or two and make out a bit. Must not have been to memorable though, I don't recall what his name was.

Eventually, things started getting really busy there, and they decided they needed someone who could work more hours, which I couldn't. I lasted there nearly 8 months. This was a record for me.

So other than a 2 week stint at Dairy Queen, from which I was fired, my last job in high school was at Indian Wells Golf Club, just north of Burlington.

This job was Awesome. I worked as a server, either in the snack bar or on the 9th hole. And if there was a banquet we got to wear little black skirts and tuxedo tops and serve there.

The hours were crazy, often we had to start at 5:30 in the morning. I used this to my advantage though, I would just not go home after partying all night and go straight to work. Tell my parents I slept on the couch so they didn't hear me come in and leave. Worked like a charm. I even managed to convince the cook I usually worked with to punch me in and cover for me so I could come in around 7:00 instead. He was willing as long as I covered for him later on in the day and let him take a nap. Being unsupervised is great.

And the tips were great too. I often could go home with a couple hundred dollars in my pocket after one shift. Problem was though, this was when I was getting heavy into the drugs, so it mostly went to pay for my habit. I had fun while I was doing it though.

I got Joanne a job there and made friends with the rest of the staff. We had a great times after hours hanging out, even while we were working. I won't tell you what some of the cooks did to the food, it may keep you from ever eating out again, but I can tell you they did not put up with guys that got too fresh with the girls there.

I actually stayed at the job till the end. The club closes after Christmas, and by the time it re opened in the spring I was already moved out of the house, living in Oakville without a car and could not get there. Otherwise I would have gone back for sure. They even asked me to be a manager that year. I think I really would have loved that.

Instead I got a job at CIBC. That hell lasted 15 years. What a waste.

Condoms in the Sky?

2007-02-09T14:14:00.000-05:00

An old friend (old in that I have know her forever) reminded me the other day of the New Years Eve party we went to for 87/88, the year we were 15.

This party was at a boy named Wally's. Wally had decided that he would only invite a few of his guy friends over, and in order to keep the party under control, for us girls to go, we had to be invited by one of the guys.

This was fine and dandy, except all of my girlfriends were going out with one of Wally's friends, and I was dating a guy he didn't like. It didn't matter that I was on the verge of breaking up with Jeff and had no plans to see him that night, I was not going to the party.

I was over at Joanne's house that afternoon, watching her get ready to go. She was going out with Joe and was very excited about the whole night.

Joanne really wanted me to go to the party. We were really close at this time, and she didn't want to go to the party without her best friend. Luckily she can be very persuasive and she convinced Joe, to ask Brent, who wasn't bringing anyone, to ask me to the party. It turned out Brent had been wanting to ask me out, but since I had a boyfriend never did. When he heard I wanted to break up with Jeff, he asked me to go.

So Joanne and I squeezed into our tightest jeans, put on our slouchy socks, teased our hair, caked on the black eyeliner and frosted pink lipstick and then sprayed ourselves with Poison (the perfume). We were looking hot and ready to go.

The party was underway by the time Joanne and I got there. There wasn't a huge crowd, I think Wally only invited 5 or 6 guys, so there was less than 15 people, but that's all you need for a good party.

It was a little awkward at first with Brent. I thanked him and hugged him for inviting me, but truthfully I had never looked at him as more than a friend before. He seemed like a really nice guy though and I decided to give him a chance. We flirted with each other quite a bit, and the more alcohol we consumed, the closer we seemed to get. Before long, Brent had me on the phone breaking up with Jeff, so I could go out with him.

I should mention, Brent's older brother is Rob, who I have spoke of in previous posts. However, this was before I had ever even met Rob. I don't know what it was about those Laughren boys, but they seemed to have an effect on me.

We all became more and more drunk as the night wore on. At one point Brent, Joe, Joanne and I went for a walk. We were laughing, singing and whopping it up. Making real asses of ourselves. Joanne, forever the blonde, looked up at some new apartment buildings being built and yelled out....Look Tee...CONDOMS! In our inebriated state, this was extremely funny and we almost peed ourselves rolling around in the snow laughing.

I met Charissa's cousin Dan that night, and despite the fact that I was now going out with Brent, I was smitten right away. Have I mentioned before I had a very long term crush on Dan? I didn't know that night he was related to Charissa and I made a fool of myself touching his long blonde hair, telling him how cute I thought he was. At one point I even had my head in his lap, but that was because I was having a really hard time sitting up, and my head hit his lap before it hit the floor. God I was shameless.

Perhaps the highlight of the whole evening (insert sarcastic note here) was actually a part I remember little of, but everyone who was there was sure to remind me of later.

At some point, Brent convinced me to go upstairs with him. He wanted to be alone with his new girlfriend. We ended up in someones bedroom, on someones bed, engaging in some pretty heavy making out.

From this part forward the only memory I have is lying on my back, realizing Brent is on top of me, and when I reached down I felt his naked and hairy little butt between my equally naked legs. And the next moment, Wally, and Shannon (the aforementioned old friend) were standing in the doorway with looks of shock on their faces. It really wasn't until that second I snapped back into reality and figured out what was happening.

Yes, this was the memorable way in which I lost my virginity. Touching isn't it. Most romantic.

The best part is, by the next day, everyone, I mean EVERYONE knew about it. I had people I hardly even knew come up to me for months after and tell me they had heard about me and Brent at Wally's party. It is no wonder how my reputation of being easy came about. I was the first of my girlfriends to loose my virginity, and it was a reputation I was never really able to shake. It led to my shenanigans with Rob, and led to numerous guys using me and throwing me away. The whole thing actually haunted me for years. Came back to bite me in the ass on more than one occasion, even years later when I met my Hubby. But THAT is an even more sordid story, a very long and shameful one that I'm not quite ready to share.

I guess I should have just stayed home that night eh?

A Half Pint of Cheetos

2007-01-30T16:09:00.000-05:00

There is someone that I have not written much about yet,that is perhaps one of the most important people I met as a teen. We did not spend too much time together, but we always had a special bond, a kind of understanding that we would always be there for each other, a mutual respect and love that has carried us through to the present. Even today I don't see her much more than every other month or so, but I still consider her my best friend, and I am comforted to know she is out there.

Charissa and I met at a dance, not at 404, but at Scooters, another teen dance in Burlington. I can still remember her coming up and introducing herself, she had noticed we had some friends in common and wanted to get to know the girls I was hanging around with. There was some confusion over our names, they sound so alike, and we laughed over that. I was sitting on the floor when she came up to us, and when I stood up we almost died laughing. Charissa is only 4'11", I am a hair over 6'. We were a typical Mutt and Jeff.

I don't know what it was that drew me to Charissa. She is a year and a half younger than me. She wasn't even out of elementary school when we met. We hardly seemed to have much in common at all. But we clicked. I loved talking to her, you could say anything and it would not shock her. She never judged you, took you as you were, and could keep a secret. She was open, and honest, and incredibly funny. She had this almost childlike quality about her, but she was far from innocent.

I think that is what I liked the most about Charissa. She had some hard knocks in life, but she never complained. When she told you about her past, it was very matter-of-fact, never oh-woes-me. She took things that happened to her, and learned from them. She still could laugh at life, enjoy things and look forward to her future.

Everyone that knows Charissa knows her one fault. She is always running late. I think she tries to do too much, and often finds herself running out of time. She'll say she is going to drop by, and she never shows. She'll ask you to come by and pick her up to go somewhere, but you never get out of her house. But you get used to it. You learn not to expect her to show, and you are pleasantly surprised if she does. And you know, if it is really important, she will be there, and on time.

I had chosen Charissa to be my birthing coach when my oldest son was born. She made it to our pre-natal classes, on time. She was there when I wanted her to go to a doctors appointment with me, and when I called her at 5:00 in the morning the day I went into labour, I hardly had time to put on my shoes and she was at my doorstep.

When I got married, Charissa was my Matron of Honour. She organized my shower, she decorated my cake, and was there every time I called her to help out on things. She helped me to decorate the reception hall, and was there bright and early the morning of the wedding to calm my nerves and help me get ready.

The day my youngest son was born Charissa was at another wedding, almost an hour away. Although this time I had my husband there, she insisted she was going to be in the delivery room, and she left that wedding in the middle of the reception so she could be by my side, holding my hand just like she had been 8 years before.

This spring I will have been friends with Charissa for 20 years. She is loved by my whole family, my kids, my husband, even my parents. I am truly blessed to have her in my life.

Need to get my thinking cap on.

2007-01-30T15:42:00.000-05:00

I have been trying to come up with a new story to write about. I find it a bit difficult as though I remember doing things, and the friends I had, I have a bit of a hard time remembering the details that make the story interesting. There are a few too many fried neurons in my brain, trying to make the connections can be hard.

I was going to write about the first time I got high...but I don't remember when, where or who it was with.

Then there was the other time I got dragged down to the police station, but I was on acid, and I remember very little of it.

There are parties, concerts, dances and other things that I can recall, but they often just merge into one, and I have a hard time separating the events in my head.

Some other things I am almost afraid to write about. My blog is getting more exposure now, which is what I wanted, but what if my Mom or Dad, or my teenage son come across it? Or worse, what if one of the people in this very small town I live in happens to find it. I am using my maiden name, but it's not too hard to put two and two together. I've been trying to make a good name for myself here, there are too many small town minds that just wouldn't get it.

What I really want is to have some of the people I write about, or someone I knew back then find this. I think some would get a kick out of it, and I love hearing from people in my old crowd. That is why I use my maiden name. If you Google Teresa Osborne right now, my profile is #1 on the list.

I guess I will just continue to write about people for now. It may not be all that interesting to others who read this, but perhaps some will find a similarity to friends they used to have. Perhaps it will bring back good memories for them, that would be a good thing.

And hopefully, as I write about these people, more of my memories will come back to me, and the stories will flow again. I have all the time in the world to write in here, I don't plan on going anywhere.

Spiders on drugs

2007-01-28T18:56:00.000-05:00

This is too funny. I remember these films on Saturday morning TV, as well as being shown them in science class. Somehow I missed this one though.....

You know you grew up in Burlington in the eighties if....

2007-01-24T19:25:00.000-05:00

1. You lived in “Borington”, not Burlington
2. You can remember when Headon Forest was....a forest
3. You remember when Robert Bateman High School was called Lord Elgin
4. You know who Robert Bateman is, and can describe approximately where he lives
5. The food court at Burlington Mall was an Eaton's, and Home Sense was the food court. Zellers was a Robinson's, and Sport Check was the movie theatre.
6. You remember when there were fountains in the Burlington Mall, and it was cool to hang out there.
7. Mapleview was a big field beside the QEW Niagara
8. You know what the Supercentre is and can remember the excitement when it was built.
9. You either had a Birthday Party at, or went to a Birthday Party at Roller Gardens
10. You regularly hung out at Roller Gardens
11. You know what Scooters was
12. You hate what they have done to the public library on New Street
13. You can recall a time when there were less than three Tim Hortons in town
14. You hung out at Club 404 or Stars, depending on who your crowd was.
15. You have heard of or knew Steve Olah, Jamie Ruston or Joseph Fritch
16. You can sadly connect yourself, through a game of Six Degrees of Separation, in some way to Paul Bernardo
17. Warwick Court was the place you did NOT want to live
18. You can remember when the Skyway Bridge was only one bridge, 2 lanes on each side
19. You'll always fondly remember Club 54 as Chuck E. Cheese's
20. You knew Finger Eleven when they were the Rainbow Butt Monkey's
21. You know someone who knows someone who knew Jim Carey
22. You know the name Rolly Bird and giggled whenever you used to hear it
23. Your Mom took you to the Village Square and you got a treat from Grandma Lee's.
24. You have been to a bush party
25. The annual highlight of your social calendar was going to the Sound of Music Festival
26. Calling someone a Skid was not necessarily an insult, although it depended on who was saying it
27. You took great pride in the fact that The Spoons were from Burlington and can sing all the lyrics from Romantic Traffic
28. You can remember when Chaps was a new restaurant
29. You knew where the green bus, the blue bus, the orange bus and the grey bus would take you.
30. You know what it was like to wait to cross the train tracks at Walkers Line and Mainway
31. You know what it means to catch air on #1 Sideroad
32. A Boonie Cruise was going north of Highway 5. Now that's going to Walmart.
33. You can recall a life before IKEA

That's all I can think of for now. If anyone from Burlington reads this and wants to add something, leave me a comment. I'll make sure it makes it to the list.

You know you grew up in the eighties if....

2007-01-24T16:16:00.000-05:00

I have read a few of these lists and decided to take a few of my favourites, make up some of my own and compile my own list. Watch for my next list, I am going to make one up called "You know you grew up in Burlington in the eighties if.... "

You remember watching shows like "Punky Brewster", "Webster" and "You Can't Do That on Television"
You know the profound meaning of "Wax on, Wax off."
Your favourite movie of all time is "The Breakfast Club" and you knew someone like each of the characters in the movie
You hold a special place in your heart for "Back to the Future" and Micheal J. Fox.
You ever wore Jelly Shoes or Jelly Bracelets
You wore a banana clip in your hair
You know who Xavier Roberts is, and had a doll with his name on it's butt.
You can name at least half, if not all of the members of "The Brat Pack"
You have seen at least half of the episodes of "Fraggle Rock", and can sing at least part of the theme song...."Down in Fraggle Rock......."
You thought Molly Ringwald was really cool
You ever uttered the words "Sike!"
You ever wore neon clothing
You know who He-Man and She-Ra are, and hoped some day they would be boyfriend and girlfriend.
You remember when ATARI was a state of the art video game console
Poltergeist freaked you out
You layered your multi coloured slouch socks, and wore them over the cuff of your shiny spandex pants.
You ever made a cool noise when running in mock slow motion, pretending to be the Six-Million Dollar Man.
You remember when Luke and Laura got married the first time
You ever crimped your hair
You remember staying up late to watch Friday Night videos, before Much Music
You can remember listening to Prince and wondering what it really would be like partying in 1999.
You remember watching news footage of the Challenger Explosion at school
You can remember what it was like riding in the back of the family station wagon, facing the cars behind you.
School House Rock played a huge part in your education
You know what it means to give a "Care Bear Stare"
You know who Mr. Belvedere is
You remember the sayings, "I've fallen and I can't get up", and "Where's The Beef?"
You knew the first generation of the Degrassi Kids, even remember when they lived on "Degrassi Street" and went to "Degrassi Junior High".
You remember Heathcliff the Cat
You ever held a boom box on your shoulder
You solved the Rubik's Cube by peeling off the stickers, or pulling it apart and putting it back together.
You remember when it was worth getting up to watch Saturday morning cartoons
You remember reading Tales of the Fourth Grade Nothing and Superfudge
You ran in the first "Terry Fox Run" and can remember when he passed away
You owned a Swatch Watch
You had a crush on one of the Corey's
You remember when Saturday Night Live was Really Funny
Your school had one computer, and it was a PET.
Car Phones were only for the rich, and they had cords.
Roller skates had four wheels, to at the front, two at the back, and they were about 2 inches thick.
You remember when Micheal Jackson had a nose, was black, and cool.
You ever uttered the words, "Gag me with a spoon"
You felt real fear when someone lit a cigarette near you. Not for the dangers of second hand smoke, but because of the full can of hairspray in your hair.

Apparently I learned something

2007-01-22T09:17:00.000-05:00

You paid attention during 74% of high school!

68-84% Pretty good, you know that there are libraries and newspapers, and you remember what you've read. You were a child that wasn't left behind!

Do you deserve your high school diploma?
Create a Quiz

What I looked like back then...

2007-01-21T10:46:00.000-05:00

There are very few pictures in existence of me as a teen. My mom says she did not like the way I looked back then, so she didn't take any pictures....nice eh?

So I was flipping through blogs, and I noticed a lot of people have South Park characters made to look like themselves. I used a program called South Park Studio and this is what I came up with. A surprising likeness I think.

To be honest, I should have made the eyes a little bloodshot, but let's just pretend this was one of my sober days.....

More lyrics

2007-01-19T18:57:00.000-05:00

I called the post about Mik "Toy Soldier" because every time I hear the song (the Markita version, not the one by Eminem) I think of Mik. It was a really popular song the summer he died, and is very fitting.

It wasn't my intention to mislead you
It never should have been this way
What can I say
It's true, I did extend the invitation
I never knew how long you'd stay

When you hear temptation call
It's your heart that takes, takes the fall
(Won't you come out and play with me)

(Chorus)
Step by step
Heart to heart
Left, right, left
We all fall down
Like toy soldiers

Bit by bit
Torn apart
We never win
But the battle wages on
For Toy soldiers

It's getting hard to wake up in the morning
My head is spinning constantly
How can it be?
How could I be so blind to this addiction?
If I don't stop, the next one's gonna be me
Only emptiness remains
It replaces all, all the pain
(Won't you come out and play with me)

(Chorus)

Like a toy soldier.

2007-01-19T17:21:00.000-05:00

I thought I would write about Mik today. Mik was just a friend, I never slept with him, never kissed him, never even had a crush on him. It's not that he wasn't hot, he just had been in relationships with two of my best friends, and I could not look at him that way. Besides, I had a long-term crush on one of his best friends.

Mik's real name was Andre Fortin; he was called Mik for his middle name, Michel. Not Mick with a 'c', but Mik. He was quite a good looking guy. He had this dark, curly long hair, dressed like a real rocker, and had the most amazing, mesmerizing baby blue eyes. They were the kind that had the dark ring around the blue, the kind that really draw you in. He looked a lot like a young Mel Gibson in Mad Max, but with longer hair.

Charissa introduced me to Mik. He was a friend of her cousin Dan, and Mik and Charissa had kind of a thing going. She brought him over to my place so I could meet him the summer I was 15, just after school had let out for the year. We had a pool in our back yard, which Mik decided he wanted to swim in. I had to lend him a pair of shorts I had, they had these cute ducks on them. He looked adorable in them. It's funny how those tough rocker guys, with their long hair, dark jeans, black t-shirts and leather jackets, can suddenly look so sweet when you stripped them of all their garb. In those swim trunks he looked like a little boy, so sweet and vulnerable.

We sat around the pool for hours that day, had a great time. One of those times you remember, summer days, you know how they are. Mik signed my yearbook before he left, it said, "Life is like a bumpy road, never straight, always stoned."

The relationship with Charissa and Mik did not last long. He was a bit old for her. She had only just turned 14, and he was at least 17. But I saw him around a lot over the next year. Dan and I would hook up occasionally, and Mik was friends with a lot of people I hung out with. He and I really connected as friends. Often at parties, or at 404 we would be sitting apart from everyone else, deep in conversation. I seemed to get him on a level that a lot of others didn't.

The next spring I finally had an opportunity to introduce Mik to Emma. Wow did he fall hard and fast for her! At that time Emma was living in Ajax with her Dad, where her Mom had shipped her off to get away from Mike (they boyfriend I mentioned in the All Night Long Post). Emma really liked Mik too; she often wrote me letters asking about him, wanting to know if he was asking about her. And he certainly was. Mik would ride his motorcycle up to my house, and sit with me for hours, asking about Emma, wanting to know if she really liked him, wanting to know everything about her. He told me things to write to her in my letters, things he had said and wanted her to hear. He was so sweet. Just like a young school boy with a crush.

Unfortunately, with Emma so far away, they were never really able to connect. By the time school was out, and Emma was heading back for a visit, Mik was seeing this other girl Tammy. It was not serious though, and Mik confided in me that he really wanted to see Emma.

I had mentioned before in my post about Emma that she had really cleaned up, sort of drifted away from the rougher crowd I still hung out with. Living with her Dad had exactly the affect on her that her Mom had wanted. I was afraid to get her and Mik together. I knew Mik was using heavy drugs, and had been partying a lot. His moods had become quite dark, and I was afraid that if Emma rejected him it would get worse. I was also just not sure he was what she needed in her life. So I didn't get them together. I know now I had no right to make those choices, but I was young and I thought I knew what was best.

The first weekend in July 1989 we were all headed over to 404 for a night of dancing and hanging out. I had seen Mik earlier that day, and he told me that he thought since Emma did not seem to be coming back he was going to try and work things out with Tammy. He was going to try and clean up too. He told me he had been getting high a lot, and wanted to stop. He asked for me help and I told him I really wanted to see him clean, I much preferred him that way.

Most of that night is a blur for me. It was much like any other night at 404, lots of people, a few fights, many tears, but overall a great time. Since it was the first dance since school had been out, there were more people there than usual, and I had a blast seeing all my old friends.

Mik was there too, but I could see that he was on something, and he was sulking the whole night. I was not in the mood for him, you have to remember, I was only 16, not mature enough to handle someone like him, or recognize the signs of depression.

At one point, near the end of the night, Mik came up to me and asked if we could talk. I looked him in the eyes (oh those beautiful eyes) and asked him if he was stoned.

"Only a little blow" he said, "Just one last time okay?"

"Mik," I said. "Why don't you talk to me when your sober, I am not in the mood" And I walked away. That too was a mistake. I'm not even sure now if he was serious about using cocaine, but I didn't even like to see him joke about it.

It came time for us to get going, and I was near the exit hugging some friend’s goodbye, making promises to get together lots over the summer. I looked up and Mik was standing behind the crowd, looking at me. He waited until I was done saying goodbye, and came up to me one last time.

"I'm really down" he said, "I don't know if I can kick this. I don't think I am worth it. I should just kill myself".

This made me mad. Until that night Mik and I had always been straight with each other. No Bullshit. If I had a dollar for every time I had heard some teenager say "I'm going to kill myself" I would have been a rich 16 year old, and no one was dead yet. Not to mention, I was living in a house with a brother that threatened to kill himself whenever something did not go his way. I did not take him seriously, and did not make any attempt to hide my disgust.

"Mik, don't fuck with me" I said. "Go home, sober up, and come see me tomorrow. We'll talk then"

I gave him a hug and walked away. For some reason as I walked out the door I turned and looked back. Mik was standing there, alone, watching me leave, looking like he did not have a friend in the world. I'll never forget that image; it is etched in my mind forever. But yet I still turned and walked away. How I wish I had not done that.

Joanne had slept over at my house that night, and the next morning, about 8:00 the phone rang. It was my friend Pat.

Pat was a bit of a joker, liked to tease us girls. He also had this sweet crush on Joanne. So when he said "Tee, I got something to tell you. Mik killed himself last night" I told him he was a fucking asshole, that was not funny, and hung up on him.

Joanne and I went out a few minutes later. We had to run to the store to get smokes. We talked about the phone call while we were out. For a minute we considered the idea that maybe Pat wasn't lying, but we quickly dismissed it.

When we got back home there were a few messages for me. In fact a lot of messages. And the phone ringing when I walked in the door. It was another friend, Corey, and he told me that Pat wasn't lying, Mik really was dead.

I sank to the floor in shock and started to shake. Joanne grabbed the phone and started asking a million questions of Corey. She did not know Mik like I did, so it did not hit her as hard.

From what I was told, and what I remember, this is what happened that night.

A few hours after 404, Tammy, Pat, and someone else who I cannot recall, went to where Mik and Pat were sharing a house. He was not in his room, so they assumed he was not there.

At some point however, Mik was discovered, with a shotgun at his feet. I have been told many different stories of how he was discovered, and after all this time I do not know what is fact, or what is fiction, so I will not try and elaborate. All I know is that I never saw Mik's shining blue eyes again.

The funeral was a huge, yet heart wrenching event. So many people cared for him in one way or another. The funeral was at one of the biggest churches in Burlington, yet it was so packed people were standing in the back. The funeral procession to the graveyard was one of the biggest I had ever seen. I alone had 11 people crammed into my Pontiac.

Pat wrote the eulogy for the funeral, and until the point it was read I held up pretty good. But I remember listening to him, trying to hold in my sobs, feeling sick about the whole thing.

I did not share with too many people what had happened the last time I saw Mik. I carried a lot of guilt over the whole thing, and sharing those feelings made them very real. I blamed myself, wondering if I could have changed things if I had listened. I wondered if I hadn't doubted his sincerity about killing himself if he'd still be here today. I wished I had found a way to get him and Emma together. I was convinced I could have made a difference.

I kept it too myself. There were so many other people that his death affected, even more so than I. I did not think I deserved to feel as sad as they did, did not want to take from anyone else's grief.

So I started getting heavy into the drinking and drugs. I was stoned half the time and I carried a bottle Canadian Club Whiskey in my purse. I sought out comfort in bad relationships with numerous guys. Those two months, July and August felt like a lifetime to me, when I look back on them, I cannot believe it was not a whole year.

But soon I was back in school, and that was the fall I got together with John, who thankfully slowed the downward spiral I was in. Didn't stop me from hitting rock bottom, but certainly postponed it, and brought some joy back into my life.

I still feel really sad when I think about Mik, he was not the last friend I would loose over the years, but his death affected me much more than any of the others. I get angry when people talk about suicide; I feel it is such a selfish act. It may end their pain, but creates such heartache for those you leave behind.

This is the eulogy Pat wrote for Mik. I still have the original copy he gave me the day of the funeral.

Salute To a Friend.

In our lifetime we will share
Each and everyone, a moment of glory
But then again there will come a time
When we shall all be sorry.

For something we have done
Or something we have said
That time will be the moment of truth
for which we all will shed.

Andre was always telling us
"Hey guys, there's always tomorrow"
Dwell not upon the past
You'll hurt and feel sorrow.

Special, caring and outgoing
Are the words that come to mind
To me and all his friends
He was truly one of a kind.

He was the only one I knew
That would laugh when things were down
We would all try to act so serious
But there's Andre clowning around.

I could still remember him saying
"Hey yo, do you wanna ride?"
Then he'd throw me that crooked smile
God did he have pride.

He reminded me of Rocky
Though only through his looks
For even Andre had more sense
Then beating meat on hooks.

Things will always hurt
In the future, like in the past
But now that his war is at peace
He's found happiness at last.

Love can't be replaced
By someone or another
For Andre was my friend
But thought of as my Brother.

In conclusion to my tribute
There's something I must do
Andre: we know your safe
And for that I salute you.

Pat Laurent
July 5, 1989

In the fast lane with a Mercedes

2007-01-17T13:53:00.000-05:00

It seemed like the whole time I hung out with John, he changed girlfriends faster than he changed his socks. I guess it made me feel a bit better, since I was one of the few exes he had that he hung around with, and certainly the only one he was with almost every day.

Around spring of 1999 John started going out with this girl named Mercedes. She was this Portuguese firecracker, an exotic beauty. She had this wild dark curly hair and beautiful eyes. You could not help to notice her when she walked into a room.

Mercedes was not afraid to speak her mind, in fact I don't think she filtered much of anything. Most times I found her to be so funny, but I'll admit, at times it was a bit embarrassing. (like the time she told the guy behind the counter at Tim Horton's he looked like his face had been hit by a Mac Truck. He was a jerk though)

Despite being a bit jealous, as I was of all of John's girlfriend's, I really liked Mercedes. We seemed to hit it off right away. There was never a dull moment when she was around, she was not afraid of saying or doing anything. Unfortuately and John only went out for a short while, and I did not see much of her after that.

About 2 years later, Mercedes was going out with a friend of my then soon-to-be ex-boyfriend Scott, so I was seeing her around quite a bit. After Scott and I broke up, I started hanging out with Mer a lot, we'd play pool, go for coffee, hang out at the bar. She was really kind to me while I was pregnant with my oldest son, we often stayed up until the wee hours of the morning drinking tea in her kitchen, talking about anything and everything.

The night I went into labour, Mer and I were out playing Bingo. I was 5 days past due, and feeling like a beached whale, but she encouraged me to get out, have a last bit of fun before I embarked on the task of being a Single Mom. She was laughing her head off at me in the Bingo hall, the labour pains would hit, and I would squeeze the bingo dabber ink all over my cards.

After Bingo we went to Tim Horton's, or Horny Tim's as she called it. The pain was not too bad yet, and really random, so we knew it would be a few hours. We laughed like crazy when some guy there tried to tell us he knew I was close. Apparently he had helped birth calves in the past, and felt he was an expert. Mercedes chastized him for comparing me to a cow, really tore a strip off him. And while reading the Toronto Sun, we got a giggle from my BioDex, it said "You'll soon encounter a great deal of water in a manner most unexpected" We hoped that did not mean my water would break right there!

Well I made it home in one piece that night, actually early morning, and by 1:00pm the next day I was a mother to a beautiful baby boy. Mercedes was there to shower me with gifts, and shower the peanut with love. She became part of a support system of friends that were ever so valuable to me during that time. Truthfully, with people like Mercedes around me, I rarely felt much like a single mom, She was always willing to help out, hold the baby, give me a moment to myself. And her mom was great to babysit so Mercedes and I could get out. She loved my little boy and for that I loved her.

Mercedes and I had some really good times together, but foolishly, as I did with so many of my other friendships, I let her go. We drifted apart and by the time I was getting married it had been so long since we had spoke I did not even know where to send her an invitation.

Luckily, a few weeks ago I saw Mercedes name on Classmates and I sent her an email. I was so happy to get one back from her, she sounds like she has not changed too much. It was comforting to know she is happily married, and enjoying life.

It really is great to hear from old friends, no matter how long it has been. The more I write in this Blog, the more I come to realize, I let some really good friends go. It has made me see how precious friendship is, and I have resolved to work that much harder at the friendships I have now, and perhaps find some more that have drifted away.

Am I stuck in the 80's

2007-01-16T22:46:00.000-05:00

I was thinking about what could have possibly possessed me to suddenly want to write in this thing all of the time. It seems whenever I have a moment alone, I start thinking about what I am going to write next, who or what will it be about?

I was in my car today and I think I figured it out. My dear hubby bought me one of those satellite radios for my car....we live in the boonies with only 3 radio stations, it has been WONDERFUL to have. Anyway, there are a few stations on it that I really love, which are the 80's station, the New Wave station and one called "Hair Nation". Every minute I am in my car I spend listening to music from the 80's. Songs I have not heard in years. Every few minutes I am reminded of a different person, a different night, a different love. Music does that for me, I find it very powerful.

Something else I noticed, is that fashion trends seem to be really moving back to retro 80's. I saw a girl today in skinny jeans, with high healed slouchy boots and a suede jacket. She looked just like the girls I hung out with in school. She even had somewhat big hair. Not crimped and teased, but enough hairspray to hold it all up.

Finally, the fact that my oldest son is now thirteen really contributes to my daydreams. I watch him experiencing so many of the things I experienced 20 years ago. I look forward to his adventures over the next 5 years, hopefully he does not make as many mistakes as I did, or worse. But if he's lucky, and if I can help it he'll come out at the other end, dust himself off and embark on adulthood. And he'll say, boy what a ride, just like I do now......if he has half as much fun as I did, it will be worth it all.

Same Old Lang Syne

2007-01-16T22:41:00.000-05:00

I love this song, kept hearing it a lot over the holidays, always makes me very nostalgic. Sometimes I wish I could meet an old lover in a grocery store........

Same Old Lang Syne
(Dan Fogelberg)

Met my old lover in the grocery store,
The snow was falling Christmas Eve.
I stole behind her in the frozen foods,
And I touched her on the sleeve.

She didn't recognize the face at first,
But then her eyes flew open wide.
She went to hug me and she spilled her purse,
And we laughed until we cried.

We took her groceries to the checkout stand,
The food was totalled up and bagged.
We stood there lost in our embarrassment,
As the conversation dragged.

We went to have ourselves a drink or two,
But couldn't find an open bar.
We bought a six-pack at the liquor store,
And we drank it in her car.

We drank a toast to innocence,
We drank a toast to now.
And tried to reach beyond the emptiness,
But neither one knew how.

She said she'd married her an architect,
Who kept her warm and safe and dry,
She would have liked to say she loved the man,
But she didn't like to lie.

I said the years had been a friend to her,
And that her eyes were still as blue.
But in those eyes I wasn't sure if I saw,
Doubt or gratitude.

She said she saw me in the record stores,
And that I must be doing well.
I said the audience was heavenly,
But the traveling was hell.

We drank a toast to innocence,
We drank a toast to now.
And tried to reach beyond the emptiness,
But neither one knew how.
We drank a toast to innocence,
We drank a toast to time.
Reliving in our eloquence,
Another 'auld lang syne'......

The beer was empty and our tongues were tired,
And running out of things to say.
She gave a kiss to me as I got out,
And I watched her drive away.

Just for a moment I was back at school,
And felt that old familiar pain .........
And as I turned to make my way back home,
The snow turned into rain ..............

Jo's Letter

2007-01-13T18:00:00.000-05:00

I had this friend in school, her name was Joanne.

Joanne was really pretty. She was petite, with big blonde hair, big blue eyes, and an infectious smile.

Joanne and I became friends in grade ten. We had a funny relationship, I always felt very protective of her, I felt like I needed to guide her with everything she did. Looking back, I think I mothered her too much, which put a bit of a strain on our relationship.

People used to always ask if Jo and I were sisters. We had similar features, had an unintentional habit of dressing alike and often we were joined at the hip. For awhile we even drove the same car, an early 80's Pontiac Le Mans, hers burgundy, mine grey.

Another similarity, perhaps not a good one, was our taste in boys. I don't ever remember going after her boyfriends, and she didn't necessarily go after mine, but they did go after her. When Shawn and I broke up, he started calling her a lot. At first I thought he called to talk to her about me, but I think it started to become something else. However, thankfully, as far as I know neither of them took it too far. Seeing them together would have been devastating for me. And then about a year after I went out with John, she hooked up with him. They tried to be good about it, they told me right away and said if it was too uncomfortable for me, they would cool it off. It was very hard, but I lied and told them it was okay. Thankfully it only lasted a couple of weeks.

The reason I wanted to mention Joanne, is that she played a part in me cleaning up my act in my late teens. Unfortunately it took me being really stupid, and pissing her off to do it.

Joanne and I were dating two guys that were friends. Scott and Cleatus. We were spending a lot of time together, for the most part hanging out and getting stoned. This was just before I dropped out of highschool. I was not getting along very well at home, I was not begin treated well by my boyfriend, and I was using a lot of drugs. I was getting high before school, during school and after school. Mostly I was just smoking weed and hash, but it was a heavy habit, and I was a mess.

One afternoon, I was out with Scott and Cleat, Joanne was at work. We were heading down Kerr Street in Oakville, where we usually scored our dope. We noticed a burgundy Le Mans headed toward us, and it was Scott who said, "Isn't that Joanne?".

Both Cleatus and I took a close look, and we both could swear it was her. We were shocked, because she had said she could not come out that day, as she was working, and even more shocked to see a guy in the car with her.

I stopped and turned around to try and follow her, but I was not able to find the car again.

For the rest of the day Cleatus was sulking. I knew he really liked Joanne, and he was hurt, thinking that she had lied. This, in my stoned frame of mind got me really upset, and I was anxious to talk to Joanne.

Since we already had made arrangements to meet Joanne after work at her house, we all headed over there that evening. Not long after we got there, I asked Jo to talk in private, and I told her what we had seen earlier that day. She vehemently denied it. She went running up the stairs to Cleat, and was yelling at him, saying it was not fair that he accused her of lying. Hurtful words were said, and Scott, Cleatus and I ended up leaving with the door slammed behind us.

The next day I felt really bad. I started to doubt that it was Joanne I had saw, even though I the day before I had been convinced. I was hoping we could talk at school that day, and I even went sober so I could talk to her in a clear head, but she wasn't there. I called her from a payphone, but she was still so mad, she yelled at me and told me to Fuck Off.

A few days later I received a note from Joanne, one that I have kept all of this time. It's been folded and re-folded, the paper has yellowed, it even has small burn marks in it, likely from the joints I smoked while reading it. Here is a portion of the note, copied word for word.

"Stop accusing me of lying because as far as I'm concerned you are just too afraid to admit that you are wrong! So why don't you just keep your big fuck'n mouth shut. Or I will shut it for you. Everybody thinks you are a 2 faced bitch and all you care about is drugs. Well I hope you have a good time getting fried everyday with your druggy friends. All they are doing is fucking your life up. You look like shit, nobody trusts you. Basically the only friends you have are Scott and Cleatus. You don't know how much this hurts me to tell you but you have to hear it because you are gonna end up dead before the age of 19. I don't know how you could be doing this to yourself. But it is not my concern anymore. I am at the point where I don't want to ever talk to you again. So don't bother talking to me or calling me. Joanne."

It took awhile for me to realize Joanne was right. Unfortunately by that time it was too late for me. Most of my friends were gone, I had dropped out of school, and left home. All I had left was Scott, but he was a disaster in himself.

I kept the note where I could read it and eventually her words really hit a chord. I started to clean up, I stopped getting high daily, and by New Years Eve of that year I quit doing drugs altogether. (this past December 31 made it 15 years clean).

It took a few more years before I had totally cleaned up my act, as I mentioned before I still partied pretty heavily into my early 20's. I had replaced drugs with alcohol, and spent many late nights at the bar, going from guy to guy, or bed to bed. And I did not speak to Joanne again for about 3 years. Funny, like Emma I ran into Joanne at a bar. She was newly married, and my son was just under a year old. We tried calling each other for a bit, but also like Emma I don't think she was too impressed with the lifestyle I was leading. It was still another year or two before I really got on track.

I never told Joanne that I held onto her letter. If I did talk to her again I would like to thank her, I don't know that she would have realized how it affected me. She may not even remember the note. Maybe someday our paths will cross again, you never know.

Psycho John

2007-01-10T14:49:00.000-05:00

I came across these pictures on my computer and thought I would post them. The photo is of John, I took it when I was in grade 12, part of a project for media class. Many years later, I emailed a copy of the photo to John, who is awesome with computer animation and this is what he did with the picture. I thought it was really cool. It is actually animated, but I cannot seem to get that to work on here.

All night long...Part two

2007-01-08T16:28:00.000-05:00

This is a continuation of a the previous post. You may want to read that first so this one makes sense.

So there I was, lying in the grass, with Chuck beside me. I could hear Emma, Sara and Deb nearby, but I couldn't see them. I have no idea how long we were there, but it felt like forever.

Eventually we heard the guys calling out that it was okay, the cops had left. Chuck tried to help me up, but it was at that point I realized, I had had far too much to drink, and walking just was not an option for me. He told me to sit tight, that he would be right back.

Emma came over and sat down beside me and gave me the look. It was the "What Did You Do?!?" look, that I had seen from her many times before.

"Where the hell did you and Rob go off too?" she asked me.

"Ohmigod Em..." I answered..."Please tell me I didn't just do what I think I did"

"You fucked him didn't you?" She asked.

"Yeah....I think I did." I replied, putting my head in my hands. Why was it that while in the moment some things felt so right, but moments later, you know it was so wrong? "Oh Em. You know how much I like him, I just couldn't help myself."

We could hear a noise coming towards us, and we looked up to see Chuck being pushed by one of the other guys in a shopping cart from the Supercentre.

"I got you a ride Tee....hop in!" He said, a huge grin on his face. Chuck scooped me up and dropped me in the cart, and pushed me across the street where Rob, Chris and some other guys were waiting in a car. I laughed and laughed, for a moment forgetting all about Rob.

This is the part of the night that gets really foggy for me. I later found out that Emma went home with Mike, and I got into the car with the guys. I know I was in the back, sandwiched between Chris and some blonde guy I did not know. There was another girl was with us, I cannot recall if it was Deb or Sara, or if it was someone else. I don't know who was driving the car, but Rob was in the front seat, and I think Chuck was there too.

I have a flash of a memory of being at the Sunoco station down by Mapleview Mall, which was on the other side of town from where we started out. I can remember the guys talking about a stolen credit card, I think they were trying to buy gas with it.

My next memory is being in front of the 24 hr Ultra Mart on Fairview, again another side of town. Rob was trying to get some food with the credit card, but back then grocery stores didn't take them. Again this is just a flash in my mind. I was seeing this all while being semi conscious in the backseat of the car.

Next thing I knew, I opened my eyes to see the flashing lights of Sam The Record Man. I bolted upright as I realized we were on Yonge Street in Toronto! We were driving down the street, Rob was hanging out the window yelling, and Chris had his arm around me.

"What the Fuck!" I said. "How did we get here!"

"We drove Tee, how do you think we got here!" Someone said to me, I don't recall who.

I looked at the clock and saw it was almost 2am. I asked how long I had been out.

Chris looked down at me and told me that I had been in and out of consciousness for about 3 hours. He said, "Don't worry though, we took good care of you.", and then winked.

I looked at him, eyes wide and said, "I'll bet you did"

I searched the floor and found my purse, thank god someone had put that in the car with me. I took out my smokes, and searched for a lighter. Chris pulled one out and lit my cigarette for me.

"You're very peaceful when you are sleeping" he said to me. "But also responsive to touch".

"What were you doing while I was out!!" I said, feeling a little nervous.

"Nothing you didn't enjoy". He said back. The guy next to me laughed, I turned to him and begged him to tell me what Chris meant.

"I'm not saying a word..." he said.

I put my head back again, wondered what the hell I had gotten myself into, and promptly passed out.

Sometime over the next few hours we ended up at someone's house on Palmer Drive, which was close to where the night had begun. I don't recall arriving there, I don't know who's house it was, and I don't even know how I got inside.

I do remember being in the basement of the house. Rob and Chris were there too. I woke up on the basement floor, between Rob and Chris. Rob was fast asleep, and Chris still had his arm around me.

My movement must have alerted Chris to the fact that I was awake, he propped himself up on one arm and smiled at me.

"You know, I was told I was going to meet this really great girl tonight, " he said to me, "but so far I've only really seen you sleeping, or taking off with Rob. When do I get to know you?"

"Sorry" I replied, "I didn't know. And I certainly did not mean to get that drunk."

Someone in the room, there were a few people there, told us to be quiet. Chris sat up, took my hand and pulled me up too. "Come on, let's go upstairs", he said.

We went up to a room, that appeared to be someone's sewing room. It was small, with hardly any furniture, and the only place to sit was on the floor. At first I was begging Chris to tell me what had happened that night after we left the Supercentre, he insisted nothing, that he was only teasing me earlier. I still to this day don't know if that was true, but I chose at that time to believe him.

I found out that it was around 5:00 in the morning. We talked for awhile, what about I don't know, but soon I found myself getting really tired again. Not from the beer so much anymore, just from the lateness of the hour. Chris and I laid on the floor, I put my head on his shoulder and promptly fell asleep.

I was not asleep for long though before I felt Chris' hand moving up my top, finding it's way to my bra strap and releasing it. I was so tired I did not even react. He seemed nice, and he was paying more attention to me than Rob did. I can recall thinking that I did not want Rob to think I was pining after him, and knowing that this would get back to him I let Chris continue. What a warped way of thinking I had back then!

So before long, Chris had my pants down, and he was fucking me. Two guys in one night, this was a new low, even for me. Even as it was happening, I felt totally disgusted with myself. I laid there, staring at the ceiling, Chris's hair in my face, wishing I knew how to say no. Trying to figure out how I kept getting into situations like this.

When it was over, Chris rolled over and fell asleep. I laid there for awhile, and once he started to snore, I got up, put my clothes back on, gathered my things, and looked for the front door. At this point I did not even know where I was, I was hoping I would be able to figure it out. I was relieved when I stepped outside to find myself standing on Palmer Drive, and I could see a bus stop a few doors down. The sun was starting to come up, and I was close enough to Guelph Line that I could hear the traffic picking up. I caught the first bus, and spent the next hour it took to get home, making up my excuses for coming home in the morning instead of bein g at Emma's. If only I knew what was in store for me there.

I found out later that Emma's mother had called our house looking for her at around 10:00 the night before. She had a feeling that Emma was out with Mike, and she was right. So my Dad had been out looking for me from about 11:00 till sometime in the middle of the night. Turns out he was pretty close to finding me at times too.

I had been in crap before, but this was bad. My Dad was so pissed at me, and my mom looked like she had aged 10 years overnight. The worst part about it was that we had tickets to go and see Alice Copper a few weeks later, and both Emma and I were grounded from going. If I have to say I regret anything the most about that night it was that. Seeing Alice Cooper in the 80's was a huge thing for someone like me, and it was something I never forgave them for. Parents just don't understand.......You'd think they could have found some other way of punishing me. I just rebelled harder after that. I blamed them. If they had not given me such a rediculous curfew, I would not have felt the need to lie and stay out all night.

I don't think I ever spoke to Chris again after that night. Saw him here and there, but we pretty much ignored each other. I guess he got what he wanted out of me.

Rob, I saw around too. Had to, he was Mike's best friend, and Emma was mine. It was always very impersonal though. Nothing like that night, at least until the following year that is.

But that is another story, and I have better ones to tell before that one.

All night long

2007-01-05T20:15:00.000-05:00

Okay, this is my second attempt at writing this. Earlier, I wrote for over an hour when suddenly my connection was lost, and I lost all my work.....arghhhh! How frustrating.

The night I have decided to write about was a very eventful night. I admit there are parts I hardly remember, I managed to get myself pretty drunk, and a good part of the night I can only recall like pictures in my mind. I know I had a darn good time, but for months after I certainly regretted the whole thing.

The summer I was 15 was a lot of fun. I started the summer going out with a boy named Rich Davies, who I was totally enamoured with. This was pre-Shawn, but post loss of virginity and I thought Rich and I would last forever. Unfortunately there was a misunderstanding involving a lot of alcohol, and some other guy, and Rich broke up with me, using words like slut and bitch when he did. It is another story however, one I may write about later. But it is worth mentioning, because it helps to explain some of what I did the night I am writing about. After Rich broke up with me, I did begin to question if I was a slut, and if I was worth anything.

The night began like many others. I was hanging out in the Supercentre with Emma, Sara, and I think Debra. The Supercentre is what is now the Fortino's plaza on Guelph line, but back then it still had a food court and McDonalds, and you could smoke inside.

We were sitting with Emma's boyfriend Mike Robinson, as well as his friends, Chuck, Rob, and some other guy named Chris. We were having one of those "what do you wanna do, I dunno what do you wanna do" conversations, trying to figure out what we should do that night.

Finally it was decided that the guys would go get some beer, and we would all meet over at M.M. Robinson to drink and hang out. Emma and I decided to tell our Mom's we were staying at each others houses, so we could avoid our ridiculous curfews.

M.M. Robinson was the highschool next to the Supercentre. It wasn't where I went to school, but I certainly knew a lot of people that did. Back then Highschools still had smoking pits, and the one at M.M. was an actual pit, hidden away from the street, under a walkway that connected two wings of the school. It had benches, and little alcolves that we good if you wanted to be alone with someone, or just to relieve yourself. A perfect place to party.

We met there after dark, likely around 9:00. We talked and listened to music, drinking beers, and the guys smoked some pot. There were some other guys there that I didn't know, and it was getting to be a pretty good party.

I should take a moment to talk about the people I was with. Emma was my best friend, who I have discussed in a previous post. Sara was also a good friend. We started hanging out in grade 9, and we got along really well. She was a petite burnette, with sort of an elfin look to her. I always thought she was beautiful. She always seemed unhappy though, I don't think her home life was much fun. Deb and I were friends, but I wasn't as close to her as I was Emma and Sara. She was very pretty, but pale, with almost white blonde hair. Very quiet, often you forgot she was there, but the guys really seemed to like her.

Mike was Emma's boyfriend. He had been on and off for about 6 months. He was 19, a long haired rocker, who had dropped out of school and didn't have a job. He was Emma's Mum's nightmare, and Emma's True Love. Chuck was a friend of Mike's. He had the same ambitions as him, and looked just like John Lennon in the 70's. Chris was pretty hot. I had just met him that night, did not know much about him, but he was like 6'2" with long blond hair, and an ass that looked great in jeans. Emma was looking to set me up with him.

Rob was a guy who I had had a crush on for almost a year. He like Mike Chuck and Chris was also 18. Unfortunately he was also the older brother of the guy who I had lost my virginity to, but I thought he was so hot. Long dark brown hair, always wearing tight skinny jeans, and often a football jersey. He had this toned upper body, and fantastic legs. (I had seen him sitting around the house with no shirt and shorts when I was going out with his brother.) Everyone knew I had a crush on him, including Rob, but he never really seemed interested in me. It could have been that I had slept with his brother, or it also could be the fact that I towered over him by about 4 inches.

Needless to say, with both Rob and this new guy Chris, I was in full flirt mode that night. I was feeling pretty happy with a few beers in me, and I know I was hanging on Rob like a wet shirt. The thing was, he seemed to be receptive to it that night. He was flirting with me too, putting his arm around me, grabbing my butt, making suggestive comments to me.

At some point in the night, and I am not quite sure how, Rob and I found ourselves alone in one of the alcolves. We were making out pretty heavily, he had told me that he knew I liked him, that he could tell I wanted him. He told me he wanted me too, he wanted to fuck me. It wasn't long before buttons were being unbuttoned, and zippers were being unzipped.

I can still remember what it was like kissing Rob. It reminds me of what it was like to be with Kevin, having fantasized about someone for so long, and finally kissing that person, feeling their hands touch you all over. It was like a dream, and I kept having to remind myself it was really happening, despite how drunk I was. The difference was, I was not the same girl who found herself kissing Kevin in my parents kitchen. I had been around at this point, having slept with 4 or 5 other guys, I was no longer the scared virgin. I wanted Rob, he wanted me, and there was no reason to stop.

Funny, I can hardly remember what it was like actually having sex with him It must not have been much to write about, I think once he got my pants off the whole thing lasted about 3 minutes....I waited months for this???? I do remember at one time asking him to wear a condom. At least I had the good sense to do that.

While Rob and I were away from everyone else, apparently a cop car pulled into the parking lot. From where we were you could see this, but they could not see us. All we heard was someone calling... "Run...COPS!", so we quickly pulled ourselves together and took off. We could see the flashlights of the cops looking for us, as we ran towards the Supercentre. I had the feeling I was not going to make it, when suddenly I was pulled down into the tall grass. Chuck had grabbed me and told me to lie down. It was so dark, that from where we were no one could see us. I could hear someone talking to the cops, a couple of the guys stayed behind to allow us to get away. The beer had been hidden, and they just told the cops that they were sitting around shooting the shit.

This was only the beginning of the night, hardly more than ten or eleven o'clock by this point. A lot more happened in the hours that followed, and I promise to write about that soon. For now I am tired, so I will rest. This has been fun though. I have not thought about this night in depth for years.

Not What I Intended

2007-01-02T16:48:00.000-05:00

As I look back, and read over my posts I realize that this has totally gone off track from what I originally intended. I had sat down to write stories about the things I did and went through as a teenager....sort of my own version of "Go Ask Alice", but somehow it has turned into me only revisiting some of the things that truly made me happy, not some of the darker things I experienced.

When I write about the people in my past, I find it creates a mood in me, puts me in a place where I become so caught up in that time, those feelings. I dream about it, think about it, reflect over it, as though it were only days, not years ago. I think that is why I am stuck on writing about people, not events. I loved the friends I had back then, and I love thinking about them. And it's not as though I have forgotten what I did back then, I just have not brought it front and centre the way writing about it would.

So I have decided to pick an event, a day, a night, or a period that I will concentrate on, write about and see where it goes. I really love writing, and I hope that I can create something that I can read and re-read when I want to reflect now and again. Now it is just a matter of picking What to write about, and try not to let it go to a Who. I guess then I should pick a time that involves one of the people I have already written about, then I will not feel the need to Character Build.

Whole Hearted

2006-06-28T09:18:00.000-04:00

I had been avoiding writing about John and Steve, knowing that it would hit me hard emotionally. For the last 2 days since I started writing about them, I have been stuck in an emotional fog, thinking about what it was like to be 17, happy, and feel like I was a part of something really incredible.

Not to say life now isn't great, I just terribly miss those days, and have always felt like it was a chapter that was never properly closed. Shawn and I had closure a few years later, Kevin just kind of faded away, but I walked away from John and Steve, and I left something with them, a part of my heart, that I have never been able to fill again.

To continue where I left off, John and I started going out, and we were having a great time. I loved having him as my boyfriend, I used to stare at him, I could not believe how gorgeous he was, and could not believe I could kiss those incredible lips, touch that beautiful hair, and put my hand on that wicked butt whenever I wanted.

And god how I laughed when I was with him. It wasn't that he was goofy, or a constant comic, I was just so relaxed, and happy when we were together. We used to joke at the end of the night that we had to take our cheekbones out and give them a rest, they ached from the constant laughter.

About the only thing that was a problem was we were never alone. We spent most of our time in Tim Horton's, or hanging out at Coronation Park with friends playing frisbee. There was always a crowd of people around us, and we never really got a chance to have the one on one time I craved to have with him.

Eventually, our budding romance fizzled out. I will never forget the day we were at Timmy's and John asked me to go outside with him. We went around back to the parking lot, I had no clue anything was wrong, I just thought he wanted a minute alone. I sat on the trunk of my car and pulled him close to me, so that he stood between my legs and my hands were on his hips. But when I looked into his eyes, I could see all was not right.

"Tee, we have to talk, " he started, and my heart sunk, I knew what was coming. "I don't think it's working out. I was hoping we could just be friends."

My hands fell from his hips, and I could feel a hot flush forming on my face, as I tried to hold back the tears. My throat felt like it was closing, and I did my best to look at him and smile. I did not have the nerve to ask him why, I don't think I wanted to know the answer. I had been dumped and dumped others so many times before, and it just seemed easier to get it over with without a whole lot of discussion.

But this time had to be one of the hardest. Usually I knew before that things weren't going right, I had had no warning here. And John had been the first boy in so long that I truly cared for, he wasn't just another guy to help me forget about Shawn.

I reached out and asked John if I could have one more hug. I said if he was going to be my friend, I was going to have to be allowed to hug him once and awhile. The tears were already starting to seep out of the corners of my eyes, and no matter how hard I tried to hide them I knew he could see I was about to cry.

He held me tight for a minute, and I kissed him on the cheek. As I did I said very quietly, "I am going to miss you", then I turned and looked away. He asked if I was going to come back in to Timmy's, I told him I thought it would be better if I went home. By this time the tears were streaming down my cheeks and I was having a very hard time controlling the sobs that were welling up inside. I did not want him to see this, I had the feeling that if he thought he had hurt me, that I wasn't cool with it all, we would never find a way to be friends again. I told him I would be fine, tried to convince him that he just caught me off guard.

We made a promise to get together again soon, and he turned and walked away. I sat there for a minute and watched him go, his walk was so cute, yet incredibly sexy. He had this swagger that was so natural and carefree. I longed to run after him and fight, make him take me back, but I knew that would only push him away.

I drove away with a thousand questions in my head. What had I done? Was I too clingy, did I come on too strong, too fast? Was there another girl? Maybe he had decided I just wasn't pretty enough? Perhaps it was because we were never alone. We had only had one night alone so far, and we had sex in my car. But is was awkward, we were terribly stoned, and not to mention we were interupted by one of Brontes finest, asking if I was okay, and telling us to move it along.

It wasn't long before I could hardly see through my tears and I had to pull over. I stopped at Shell Park on Bronte Road, so that I would not have to drive the QEW while sobbing. The rest of the day was much of a fog, I know I ended up calling my friend Joanne from the Burlington Mall (life would have been easier if we had cell phones back then). After that, I have no recollection of what happened. Funny how I have blocked out many of the painful things.

I am not exactly sure how I managed to do it, but I did find my way back into John and Steve's lives. I seem to recall that it had something to do with Michelle. She had friends, who knew John and Steve, and we started hanging around them, showing up at the same parties. I also hung around with John's sister a bit, so I would run into him here and there. Sounds a bit like I was stalking them, but that was no the case, it just seemed like we were really meant to be friends.

A few months later, I found myself alone with Steve one night. One thing lead to another, and suddenly we were kissing. That night he asked me to be his girlfriend. It was something I had never considered before. Steve was shorter that I was, and I had not looked at him in that way. But I really liked him, he was so sweet and easy to talk to, I thought I would give it a try. Needless to say it did not work out. I think it was only a few weeks later that I found out he was cheating on me! But it had really fizzled out fast. It was obvious we were much better friends than lovers. He was like a brother to me. It just never felt right kissing him or making love to him. I think he was afraid of hurting me, and when he met someone knew he did not want to tell me. I had a feeling something had been going on, but it was funny how I found out for sure.

I was over at Steve's house, John was there, as well as our friend Rich Verbeke. We were sitting around in the basement, when the phone rang. As I often did, I went ahead and answered it, and was surprised to hear a girls voice ask for Steve. Curious, and a little sneaky, I asked who was calling. I think this irritated the girl, and she said...."It's his girlfriend" Shocked, but pissed off, I said "funny....So am I!" and handed the phone to Steve. I sat there for a moment, stunned, with John staring at me with a "Oh Shit" look on his face. I looked over at Rich, who I had dated briefly in the past, and said "Hey Rich, why don't you and I go hang out at your place" He laughed and said sure. I took him by the hand, grabbed my stuff and walked out.

It wasn't long before Steve and I got back to being friends. Sure I was pissed at how he had handled the whole thing, considering it was him that initiated our relationship, but with some coaxing from John, Shawn and Rich, I put the whole thing behind me. We had too much fun together to let that get in our way. Soon we were back to hanging out after school, going to parties, playing cards, and hanging out at Tim Horton's.

There is a song by Alanis Morissette called "Unsent" that always make me thing of John and Steve. It is a song that includes letters written to old lovers, saying what she had always wanted to say to them. I changed the names in these two verses, as they pretty much say what I would love to say to these two.

"Dear Steven,
I loved you muchly
You were nothing but open hearted and emotionally available
and supportive and nurturing and consummately there for me
I kept drawing you in and pushing you away
I remember how beautiful it was to fall asleep on your couch
and cry in front of you for the first time.
You were the best platform from which to jump beyond myself
What was wrong with me?"

"Dear John
You rocked my world
You had a charismatic way about you with the women &
you got me seriously thinking about spirituality
You wouldn't let me get away with kicking my own ass,
but I would never really feel relaxed and looked out for around you though
That stopped us from going any further than we did
and it's kinda too bad cause we could've had much more fun"

Back to my love life.......

2006-06-26T23:27:00.000-04:00

I have been trying to decide who I want to write about next. After Shawn, my next big romance was with a boy named John, but John kind of came as a package deal, part of Steve and John, so I am going to write about them together.

I met Steve at 404, like I met many boys that year. I actually dated a friend of his, Tom, but that lasted such a short time, and fizzled out.

Steve was such a sweet boy. At first glance he seemed a little nerdy, but he had such a big heart, and would do anything for you. And after you got to know him, his looks changed, you could see a handsome man under his boyish face, and long stringy hair. And his eyes were so kind, you knew you could trust him with your deepest thoughts.

One night, in early summer I ended up at a party at Steve's house. It was a going away party for two of his friends I had never met, Rich and John. It was a great party, lots of people there, and I was having a great time. Then I saw John.

He was beautiful. I cannot think of any other word to describe him. Tall, slim, with this adorable little nose. He had eyes that were always laughing, and he talked with this funny 'surfer dude' accent. Kind of like Keanu Reeves in Bill and Ted, but before the movie had even come out.

But the best part was his hair. He had this soft, wavy brown hair, that fell below his shoulders. He had this way of combing it back with his hand as he talked, that was so natural, but almost looked like he did it just to make girls swoon. I just could not take my eyes off of him.

For some reason, John singled me out. Somehow we ended up in Steve's room with a few other people, talking on Steve's bed. I had been drinking a lot, so I do not remember the conversation, but I know it was very flirtatious, and I did not want the evening to end.

As I mentioned, this was a going away party for John and another guy Rich. It turned out John was going to move to Peterborough for the summer. And they were leaving that night.

It couldn't be! This guy was my dream man. He fit every cliche of what I found hot in a guy, looked like he could have stepped right out of one of those Hard Rock magazines I was always reading. But it was not meant to be at that time, I said my goodbyes, I can remember giving him a long, almost passionate hug on the steps as he left, with a promise I would not forget him.

That summer was crazy for me. So much happened that I put John to the back of my mind, figuring I would not see him again. I will write about that summer in a different post, I still have not figured how to work that one out. But I will say by September I was an emotional wreck, and ready to have some fun and laughter brought back into my life. And John was the one to do it for me.

On night I had stopped with my friend Michelle at the Tim Horton's in Bronte. I have no memory of what we had been doing earlier that night, but it was late. We were outside, talking to some people we had run into there, I had my back to the street. Suddenly, from out of nowhere, I was scooped up, and tossed over someone's shoulder like a bag of potatoes! I screamed for Michelle, who stood there and laughed while I was carried across the street.

When I was finally placed back on my feet again, who stood before me but John! I laughed and jokingly pushed him away, but then I pulled him close into a big hug. "What are you doing here!" I asked him excitedly.

John explained that things had not worked out in Peterborough, and he had decided to come back to go to school. He lived in Bronte and always hung out at that Tim Horton's. He thought he would never see me again, and was shocked to see me standing in the parking lot. I did not know what to say....I could not believe he even remembered me!

Steve was there too, as was Tom, the boy I had dated. We all stood around and talked in the parking lot, consumed a few tea's and honey sticks, before Michelle and I decided we had to go home. Unfortunately, I had managed to loose my keys! So we spent the next hour looking for the keys, before we gave up and called someone to pick us up.

Truthfully, I did not mind so much. I knew that this would mean that I would have to leave my car overnight until I could get back with a spare set of keys. Which meant I might see John again.

I don't even remember who picked us up, but there were promises made to see each other again the next day.

When I returned to pick up my car, I found out that Tom had stole my keys to try and keep us around even longer. At least that was the storey given to me. I did not care though. Steve and John met me to return the keys, and before the end of the day, John and I had our first kiss, and Steve and I were great friends.

And that was the beginning of a threesome that lasted for almost a year. The two of them became my best friends, and gave me some of the fondest and happiest memories of my teen years. Save a few emails from John over the years, I have not seen either one in almost 15 years. Yet I will always love them both.

I will write again about them, as the story does continue,I just don't have the time right now.

My Highschool

2006-05-18T12:44:00.000-04:00

I wanted to write something a little different today. So I thought I would talk about my highschool. It was where I spent a good share of my time as a teenager, so why not.

I went to Lester B. Pearson Highschool in Burlington. It wasn't such a bad school, had one of the best cafeteria's in Burlington, there were a few good teachers, and the kids were pretty down to earth. Not too cliquey like some other schools were. As long as you were respectful of others, they were respectful of you.

I spent most of my time in what was called 'Smokers'. This was an area at the back of the school where the kids that smoked, and friends of the kids that smoked hung out.

Smokers was divided into two sections, which was determined by which door you exited. In the junior grades, you hung out in the smaller of the two sections, which was fine by me. We were a pretty close knit group out there, no matter what time of day it was, you could always find a friend standing in that little alcolve. By the time I was in the senior grades, we were no longer allowed to smoke on school property, so I never got to hang out in the bigger area.

Another benefit of hanging out in smokers was the use of the orange benches. They were these long benches, upholstered in this gawd-awful orange berber. But they were right inside the doors leading to the smoking area, and that was where we hung out. Often we ate our lunch there, there was always a game of euchre going on, and it was not unusual to see someone catching a nap, nursing a hangover, or getting some sleep after a late night out. When I picture Pearson in my head, that is what I think of most.

Pearson had some good teachers, and some bad. But my favourite, and the favourite of many would have to be Mr. Dickinson, or Mr. D as we affectionately called him.

Mr D. Was the drafting teacher. Drafting was not a course that many would take, but the knowledge the Mr. D was the coolest and most fun teacher in the school kept many signing up for the class. I took his class for 2 years, grade 10 and 11. Sat right at the front of the class both years, directly in front of his desk, and worked very hard at being the teachers pet.

I must have drove that poor man crazy. I did not take the class seriously enough, and I would often sneak off or not show up at all. But I knew a sweet smile and a bat of my eyelashes would get me out of trouble with him, and I took full advantage of it.

During those two years I sat next to Doug Moorehead and a boy named Jason (whose last name eludes me right now). We goofed off something terrible. I can remember one class Jason and I dedicated to drawing and designing a party house, complete with sex rooms, acid rooms and other drug, sex and music themes. Mr. D. thought we were busily working on that days project. I don't remember what his reaction to what we did was, but I am sure it included a raised eyebrow, a shake of his head and a 'tisk, tisk, tisk'

If Mr. D was the best on the faculty, the worst had to be Mrs Romeo the VP. OHMIGOD she was an evil woman! She became VP I think when I was in grade 10, and she was determined to get me out of her school. I am not sure how I managed to escape her threats of suspension and expulsion, I guess it was a combination of my smooth talking, and my parents nativity. (They stood up for me, when I totally did not deserve it).

There was one incident when I was having a rather loud, and somewhat physical fight with my close friend Michelle Parry in the hallway. Romeo dragged the two of us down to her office, and made us sit there until we could talk it out in peace. As soon as she closed her door, Michelle and I were laughing like crazy. Our shared hatred of the woman did more to dissolve our anger towards each other than anything could have. Romeo had a sink in her office. Since she had us stuck in there, we lit up a smoke and used the running water as an ashtray. When she finally returned to her office, we quickly extinguished the but and hid the evidence. I remember the look on her face when she walked in, she asked if we had been smoking, we told her she must just smell in on our clothes, and she dropped the matter. Not only was she a bitch, but she was also gullible. Or just did not have the energy to argue with us. I'll never know, but she let us on our way.

Other one of Romeo's nasty habits was trying to make me late for class. I was forever running into the school at the last possible minute. We had until the national anthem started to get to class, or we were considered late. And since you had to stay where you were until the anthem and morning announcements were over, you were stuck as soon as the first notes of Oh Canada were played. Romeo would lurk near my locker, and on many occasions would start talking to me as I was getting my books. Asking me stupid questions about my classes, how things were going, etc. And then as soon as the anthem came on, she would say "Oh, I guess you are going to be late again."

I never graduated from Pearson. When I was only 4 credits shy of my diploma, I dropped out. Pretty stupid eh?

There was a teacher, Mrs. Nicholls I think was her name. I can still picture her buggy eyes staring at me in disappointment. She taught in Social Studies, classes like Stress and Crisis, and was the Co-op coordinator. She did not like me. I can understand. By the time I was 18 I did not give a darn about school, could not wait to get out of there. If I even showed up for school, I showed up stoned, I never completed my assignments, and I was not even living at home.

However, instead of trying to help motivate me, perhaps get to the problem (like you'd think a teacher that taught Stress and Crisis Might), she came up to me in the hallway one afternoon, and said "Teresa, if you are not going to take this seriously, perhaps you should quit school and get a job at Tim Horton's. Save us all a lot of trouble" So I said FINE....And walked out, never to return as a student again. I guess I had been looking for a good escuse to leave, and she pretty much help the door open for me.

Luckily, I am stubborn, and I decided I was going to prove that woman wrong. Instead of Tim Horton's, I got a job at CIBC, I went to college, got off the drugs and made something of myself. I have always wanted to go back and ask her where she got off saying something like that to a student, but I have never had the chance. When I made Dean's list at Humber College I nearly sent her a copy of my marks, but I was afraid she may take it wrong, and think she did me a favour. I was too afraid she would try the same trick on some other poor kid, and it would not work out the same.

So many other memories there, but it would take days to go through them all. Someday I will revisit the topic.

I knew a girl named Bugsy Morrison

2006-04-22T20:30:00.000-04:00

Looking back at my previous posts, I realized that perhaps my life sounds like an endless whirlwind of boys and sex. So I thought I would interject with an entry regarding something else, my best friend at the time.... Emma.

Emma was in my kindergarten class. She was one of the kids that started at Sir Ernest MacMillan School in Burlington with me when it opened its doors in 1977. However in the eight years we were there together, we actually hardly ever interacted.

It wasn’t until we were in Grade 9, that by some chance of fate we became friends. I’m not even sure how it happened, I just know that we really clicked; we liked so many of the same things, and could talk for hours and hours, never tiring of each other.

As far as our appearance goes, Emma and I could not have been more different. She was small, petite, in fact when she was younger everyone called her Mouse. She was so pretty though, such delicate features. I thought she was by far the prettiest of all my friends, and judging by how the guys reacted to her, I wasn't the only one that thought that way.

But inside we were very similar. We both had a hard time getting along with our families, we often felt ignored and insignificant at home. We liked the same movies, the same music, the same books. We had the same taste in guys, same taste in friends, and we both laughed uncontrollably at the same stupid jokes. We made up stupid names for each other, she was Bugsy Morrison, I was Mojo Risin. Had a lot to do with a weird obsession I had with Jim Morrison when I was 15.

Not only that, she was the only person I knew that knew who Rupert was. How could we not be friends. (I don't expect you to know who Rupert is either, and really, it's not worth trying to explain.)

Emma and I had an obsession with writing letters to each other, usually because we spent so much time being grounded; there was no other way to communicate with each other. We used to try and out do each other, and try to make the longest letter, adding cut outs from magazines, pages of doodling, or even song lyrics. I still have many of the letters she wrote me in a box. They still make me laugh; I usually end up reading them whenever I am cleaning out the basement, or packing up for another move.

The letters often help me to remember things that otherwise would have been long forgotten. Like my Grade 9 crush on a boy named Sam, or Emma's timidness around her first boyfriend, Guy.

They are full of happiness and sorrow, her frustrations with her mother, her irritation with this annoying friend or another. Most of them involve her love affair with a boy named Mike, something I am sure she has never forgotten.

We enjoyed making up our own lyrics to songs, changing them to include the names of boys we liked, or just things that made us laugh. It is hard to read, but on the above pages is a snippet of one of our favourites, called Ode to Transportation, sung to the tune of Whitesnake's "Here I Go Again." with an Elmer Fudd accent

Here I go again on the twain
Riding down the same old twacks I always do
Like a conductor I was born to twavel alone
And I made up my mind
I know which twain to take
Here comes the twain again.

Now I'm standing on the platform by myself
Waiting for the Go Twain to come in
And I'm gonna get on
And sit at the top
And look out the window
And wave at all the people going by.....

Cause here comes the twain again.

Emma and I loved taking the Go Train. Likely because it often meant we were off to a concert, or shopping on Yonge Street. Our Twain Song was composed late one night, probablly the summer of 1988, riding the train home from the Whitesnake concert at the CNE.

One of my favourite memories is the night we went to see Bon Jovi. July 12, 1987. We were totally obsessed! Emma had a huge crush on Ritchie Sambora, I was in love with Jon Bon Jovi. (And admittedly, I still drool over him) We stayed up all night before the concert, and watched the endless footage of Bon Jovi videos and interviews we had taped from Much Music. It was all we could talk about! And this being our first concert, we just could not wait for the day to come. We were on our best behaviour for weeks before the concert, for god forbid we should get grounded. We dressed in our best Skid clothes (Rocker Chick attire) and off we went. Truthfully, other than the intense excitement we felt, and the multitude of conversations we had about that night for months to come, I hardly remember much about the concert. I know Cinderella opened, and I know I was almost shaking with excitement being so close to Him (Jon). But I could not tell you the songs played, or what they wore. However, when I saw Bon Jovi again a few years ago, the excitement of that night was right there, I was wishing I could share the moment with Emma.

As you can probably tell, Emma and I are no longer friends. I fact we hardly spoke after we were 18, and I have not seen her at all since 1995. And I would be the first to admit, it was my fault.

We were so close, as tight as two people could be from the time we were about 13, until we were 17. We talked about everything, did everything together, and got in heaps of trouble together. And then I changed. I started hanging around with a different, rougher crowd. We drank a lot, got high, skipped out on school, went to bars, did a lot more partying than we should. Emma was smarter than that, it seemed the more out of control I became, the more in control she was. But I started to feel she was looking down on me, and she probably was. Looking back, if I were her I would too.

So I just ignored her. Stopped answering her calls, would look the other way if I saw her at school, just down right ignoring her. She likely didn't want to talk to me either. At the time it made sense to me. Why would I want to hang out with her and her boring snotty friends? I was having Far Too Much Fun with the friends I had. I was wrong. Like I would with many of my friendships that year, I screwed up.

I remember that day I knew our friendship was over for good. We happened to be standing in line to get our photos taken for graduation. I know I was stoned, take one look at the resulting picture and anybody could tell. Emma was there with her friends, and I don't remember what was said (brain was too fried), but I know it had something to do with questioning why I was having the photo taken, with the way I was going I would never graduate. She was right, but I was still pissed off. I did not speak to her again for years.

I ran into Emma again some time after my son was born in 1993. We were at Emma's Back Porch (a bar in Burlington, no relation). We passed by each other on my way to the bathroom, and I think we were both genuinely glad to see each other. We talked for a bit and exchanged phone numbers, promising to get together sometime. Problem was, I was still not entirely straightened out yet. I had stopped the drugs 3 years before, but I still drank and partied too much. I don't think she was impressed. She did not seem too keen on re-kindling our friendship, so I let it go. Maybe if we had met up a year or two later, it would have been different.

So here I am, 12 years later, and I still wonder about her all the time. Often, when I go down to Burlington I look around for her, wishing I could run into her. I feel I owe her an apology, I know I treated her badly, at a time she likely needed a better friend. And we were such "Kindred Spirits" as we used to say, I would hope we still would have a lot in common, just knowing I could email her from time to time would be something I would really like.

I wonder if she has kids. It is so hard to picture that little girl I knew as a Mom, but she’d be all grown up now, and I bet she’d be a good one. Everyone liked Emma, she was a kind and genuine person. It’s unfortunate that I realized that too late.

I guess if it is meant to be, it will be. Que Sera Sera.

Songs

2006-04-21T14:32:00.000-04:00

Every part of my past seems to be associated with a certain piece of music. I thought I would start to include songs that I associate with what I am writting, starting with my posts about Kevin and Shawn.
These two songs still make me think of these boys when I hear them. The Whitesnake song is associated with Shawn, and the Honeymoon Suite with Kevin.

What Does It Take - Honeymoon Suite

The two of us are one of a kind
This combination ain't easy to find
But why do I get a feeling from you
Things ain't right?
Do you need something new?
Knowing how both of us live
Leaves us so little to give

(Chorus)
If I could grow wings
I would do anything
Just to keep you with me
Cant you see?
If I could fly high
I would give you the sky
Don't you make that mistake
What does it take?

It's not like I've been mean to you
Its not like I've got something better to do
The life I live you'll never understand
If you fly with me we'd never have to land
Its easy to live hard and fast
But inside we know it wont last

What does it take
What does it take

Is This Love, Whitesnake

I should have known better
Than to let you go alone
It's times like these
I can't make it on my own
Wasted days, and sleepless nights
An' I can't wait to see you again

I find I spend my time
Waiting on your call
How can I tell you, babe
My back's against the wall
I need you by my side
To tell me it's alright
Cos I don't think I can take it anymore

Is this love that I'm feeling
Is this the love that I've been searching for
Is this love or am I dreaming
This must be love
Cos it's really got a hold on me
A hold on me

I can't stop the feeling
I've been this way before
But, with you I've found the key
To open any door
I can feel my love for you
Growing stronger day by day
An' I can't wait to see you again
So I can hold you in my arms

Is this love that I'm feeling
Is this the love that I've been searching for
Is this Iove or am I dreaming
Is this the love that I've been searching for
Is this love or am I dreaming
This must be love
Cos it's really got a hold on me

You really got a hold on me

Groovy Kind of Love

2006-04-21T12:58:00.000-04:00

You know that first love, the one you always remember fondly, that one person you've never forgotten? Well for me that person is Shawn.

It wasn't like Shawn was my first boyfriend. In fact he was far from it. And he wasn't the last either. It's just that he was the first boy to find his way into my heart, that first relationship that felt really special. My first real love.

I met Shawn at Club 404. The night we met, I was sulking in the back corner over a recent breakup with a boy named George. As I sat there, I looked up and saw this tall, hulking guy, walking over the tables towards me. I knew this was Shawn, he hung around with the same group I did, but I don't think we had ever spoken to each other.

He stopped and sat sideways in the chair in front of me, leaned his head back into my lap and said in this cartoony voice...."What you so sad about?"

I laughed my ass off. The sight of this boy with his mop of curly brown hair, fury moustache growing on his upper lip, and the kindest eyes you've ever seen, his head upside down in my lap, was too much!

He sat up, declared my laughter was much better, and dragged me out to the dance floor.

We were inseparable for the rest of the night. We danced to every slow song, sat out many of the faster ones with him sitting on a bar stool, me leaning back against him with his arms around me. He kissed me for the first time on the dance floor, by far, the best kiss I had ever received,I can still remember the way it made me feel. And to be able to look up to kiss him! He was taller than I was, something only a few boys I had dated had been.

We promised to meet each other there again the next night and I was on cloud nine. Shawn made me feel more important, more wanted that any boy ever had. This didn't feel at all like the others. Most of the boys I had been with wanted one thing only, and that was to get me into bed. The longest relationship I had had by that time was 3 weeks, I knew this was different. And how he made me laugh! I went home that first night with my cheeks aching, I had been smiling and laughing all night.

The next night I walked into 404 with butterflies in my chest. Would he be there? Would he still want to hang around me? I had spent hours getting ready, I wanted to look as beautiful as he made me feel.

I stood inside the door for a moment, looking for one of my girlfriends for support. I shrieked when suddenly I was scooped up and swung around, and pulled into the most passionate kiss I had ever experienced.

"You came....Fu**in A!" he said, using an expression popular with my friends at the time. I was ecstatic, he was there waiting for me!

Shawn was very well known in our crowd, probably one of the most well liked and popular boys. Being at his side made me the talk of the night. More people came up and introduced themselves, I met some people that became friends for years to come. I was no longer that slutty girl who would sleep with anyone... I was Shawn's girlfriend.

I have to admit, a few people tried to warn me about Shawn. I think it was very obvious how enamoured I was with him, and some said that he only wanted to sleep with me. But I wouldn't hear it. My friends were afraid I was setting myself up for a real heartache. They were right, but is wasn't really Shawn's fault.

Shawn lived in Oakville, and I in Burlington, so seeing each other was difficult. I wasn't quite 16, and he did not have access to a car very often. We always saw each other at Club 404, and I would sometimes take the bus out to see him on weekends. His parents were great, they always gave us the privacy we craved when I went to his house, and seemed to understand our budding romance.

That November I turned 16. The week of my birthday we all went to 404 and I had my most memorable night there ever. Everyone was wishing me happy birthday, and many of my friends who rarely went to 404 made a point of going there that night. I was so happy to be on Shawn's arm, I didn't want the night to end.

The best part of the night however, was when Shawn had the Whitesnake song "Is this Love" dedicated to me. He took me out to the dance floor, and held me so tight, singing the words to the song as we danced. Sounds pretty cheesy, I know, but up to that point in my life it was the most incredible thing that had ever happened to me. I knew that for the first time, I was truly in love with someone.

Shawn and I had a conversation that night about the beginning of our relationship, when people were telling me that he was only after me to get me to sleep with him. Shawn actually admitted to me, that that was partly true, but now he was happy, and really cared about me, that that was no longer his intention. I was on top of the world.

Unfortunately, rather than get better, things started to go downhill. My Dad had got wind of our relationship, and like all Dad's didn't like it. Dad had no idea that I was no longer his innocent little girl, and he was afraid that Shawn would de-flower me. Other than confessing to him that I was no longer a virgin, in fact far from it, there was no way to convince him that Shawn was a good person who treated me with the way I wanted to be treated. Sure he wanted to get me into bed, but he was a 17 year old boy. He was just normal.

To add fuel to the fire, one night at 404, Shawn and his friend Damir thought it would be funny to see who could give me the biggest hickey. It was all in good fun, but I ended up with a bruise the size, and colour, of a dark plum on my neck.
I managed to hide it from my parents that weekend. But that Monday morning, Mom drove me to school and got a good look at it. Well....The Sh*t hit the fan.

My Dad went nuts! He said that Shawn had abused me by bruising me, and that I was not to see him any more. He took it one step further, by confronting Shawn, in a manner similar to the way he confronted poor Jason by the pool 2 years before. My poor Dad. He meant well, but he just had it all wrong. He was fighting the wrong battles and unfortunately he just could not see our side of the story.

And poor Shawn. He was terrified, embarrassed, and not too happy. I was not surprised when he told me that he thought we should break up. I wasn't surprised, but I was certainly devastated. And furious! I never wanted to speak to my father again. He ruined the first real relationship I ever had. He was so concerned about keeping me safe and pure, that he pushed away the one boy that had ever treated me with kindness and respect. Shawn never made me feel like all I was to him was a booty call. I think he truly cared for me.

I mourned Shawn for months. I wanted no one but him. At first I would find any excuse to see him or talk to him. But then it broke my heart to see him move on with other girls. I even stopped going to 404 for awhile, just so I wouldn't see him with his arms around others, kissing some girl, looking just as happy and easy going as he always was.

Eventually I moved on. It seemed like forever, but truthfully, it was less than a month before I had another boyfriend. None lasted though. I could not find that same magic again, I wanted to feel those same feelings. And it was almost a year before someone came close.

That was not the last chapter on my relationship with Shawn. It took a very long time to get over him, and still to this day I think about him with great fondness. I was lucky that he remained in my life for a few years and I eventually had closure with him, but he will hold a special place in my heart forever.

My First Kiss

2006-04-13T20:20:00.000-04:00

From the time I was 13 through 23, the period I am writing about, I'd have to say I had my share of boyfriends. I sometimes compare myself to a cat chasing birds, the way I worked. For me it was more the thrill of the chase. Problem was, I would catch them and the get bored quickly, so I'd let them go.

The reason I am only writing about this period, is that the year I turned 23 I caught my prize, the man I eventually married. He is my present and future, so I plan on keeping him out of most of these stories.

During the ten years I am working on, there were a few of those boys that had a significant impact on me. I wanted to write a bit about them, so I have decided to dedicate my next few entries to them.

First of these would be Kevin. I met Kevin while still in Pampers, playing in the sandbox. His parents and mine were good friends, and we spent a lot of time playing together while our parents had dinners and parties.

I think I developed my crush on Kevin when I was about 8 or 9 years old. At first it was just a little girls innocence, imagining I would marry him in a fairy tale wedding. As I got older however, the crush became more serious.

Kevin paid little attention to me, he was more interested in following around my brother who was 3 years older than us. But I still imagined what it would be like to have him hold my hand, kiss me and tell me he loved me as much as I loved him.

As we got older, Kevin became very good looking. Even in his early teens, he had the look of an older boy, with sharp chiseled features, dark hair and these gorgeous, kissable lips. He was so cool, with his spiked hair, turned up collar, and brightly coloured Converse High Cuts. He reminded me of Judd Nelson in St. Elmo's fire, or Tom Cruise in Risky Business. Or for those of you who may remember him, he looked like a young Corey Hart.

When we were 14, Kevin's Mom and Dad split up. Really long story, but Kevin had to come and stay with us for a few weeks while they straightened some things out. He was going to the catholic school, and I the public. We both spent a lot of time hanging out with our own friends, so we rarely saw each other.

I know that during this period, we had a school holiday. I cannot remember which one, but since it was in the spring, it must have been either March or Easter Break. Kevin and I were often left home alone, my parents and brother would be working. I had these fantasies that we would be sitting on the couch watching TV and he would put my arm around me, or we would bump into each other in the hallway, and he would grab me and kiss me. What mostly happened would be him at one end of the house, me at the other, and we would not even talk.

One of the last nights he was there, my dad had lit a fire in the den fireplace, the room Kevin was staying in. Dad asked that I close off the vent when I went to bed, so the fire would go out.

I watched TV with Kevin for a bit, before heading up to bed, forgetting about the fireplace. I had been in bed reading for about 20 minutes, when I remembered what Dad had asked me to do. I crept downstairs and saw that Kevin was in bed, so I quietly closed the vent and left the room. On my way out, I stole a glance at Kevin, lying there on his stomach, with only a sheet covering his legs. I felt a stirring that at that age I was unfamiliar with, but I had an incredible urge to reach out and touch the smoothness of his back. I quickly turned away, before I did something foolish.

The kitchen was next to the den, so I made my way to the sink to get a glass of water. Standing at the counter, looking out the window to the street, I was trying to think of a way to get Kevin to notice me before his time at my house was up. I had decided that I would go upstairs and write him a letter, maybe hide it in his bag, or put it in his coat pocket. I turned to leave the kitchen and gasped when I saw Kevin standing there, right in front of me.

"Whaddaya doin?" he asked me. I told him I came down to close the fireplace.

"I like your pajamas" he said, looking me up and down. I felt my cheeks go red, as I realized what I was wearing left little to the imagination. I had on an old t-shirt, cut off just above my waist, and a pair of white boxer shorts, which had been washed hundreds of times and had become a bit threadbare. Kevin was just as exposed, he had not put on a shirt, and was wearing shorts himself.

"I see you looking at me" he said. "I was wondering why you do".

I was so embarrassed, all I could manage was "I dunno".

He moved closer to me. I could not believe what was happening. I had dreamt of having this kind of attention from Kevin for so many years, I had to keep reminding myself I was awake, and not just dreaming. He reached out and put his hand on my waist, touching the bare skin between my shirt and my shorts.

"Do you stare at me, hoping I would do this?" And he leaned in and kissed me! This was no 'first kiss' kind of kiss either. I felt his tongue pressing against my lips, and I parted them. Having his lips against mine, feeling his tongue touch my tongue, I couldn't believe what was actually happening.

I felt his hand move down, and he reached down under my shorts and cupped my bare ass in his hand. This was more than I was ready for, I broke off the kiss and stood back.

"What are you doing?" I whispered harshly to him.

"Come on Tee..." (everyone called me Tee)..."We've known each other all of our lives" He leaned in and kissed me again, this time with more urgency. He took my right hand and put it on his chest, as he ran his hand under my shirt and up my bare back.

I did not know what to do. I had always dreamt of being with him, but this was too fast. Too much, too soon. And I was so scared that at any minute my Dad, my Mom, or even worse, my brother would come walking in the room. It was very late, but if one of them got up to use the bathroom and noticed my bedroom door open, they surely would come looking for me.

I don't know how long we kissed for, but suddenly Kevin stopped. He put his hand to my face, leaned in and whispered in my ear. "I want you to be my first." he said.

I swear my heart skipped a beat. He couldn't possibly mean what I thought he meant. I had never even kissed a boy before him, and now he was trying to get me to go to bed with him?

"What do you mean" I said. I had to be sure I understood him

"Come to bed with me" he replied.

"Kevin, you can't be serious. We'd get caught for sure." I was trying to cover, I did not want him to know I was scared to death, and not just of getting caught.

"No one will know. We'll be so quiet." He kissed me again, putting his hand back up under my shirt, but this time at the front, and he cupped my breast in his hand.

"You feel so good" he told me. "I know you want me, I can see it in the way you look at me. It's not like we're strangers, We've known each other forever" he repeated. He took my hand again, and brought it down to the front of his shorts. "See how much I want you?" he said as he put my hand to his crotch.

I pulled my hand away as if it had been burned. Tears welled in my eyes, I was so confused. Here stood this boy, who I had longed to have touch me for nearly half my life. My lips still tingled from the feel of his kiss, and I would have been so happy just to kiss him again. But I knew this was wrong. There were so many things that were wrong about it. We were so young, we risked getting caught, not to mention the risk of getting pregnant.

I turned and looked back at the window. I told Kevin I was sorry, but I just can't. He touched my shoulder and told me it was okay. I turned to look at him, he stood there with a sly grin on his face.

"You know where to find me if you change your mind" He said. He kissed me one last time and walked back to the den.

I stood there for a moment trying to figure out what just happened. I could feel myself starting to cry, so I rushed back upstairs to hide my sobs in my pillow.

I laid awake most of the night, talking myself out of going back down to crawl into bed with him. I eventually wrote a letter to my best friend, telling her what had happened and fell into a restless sleep.

The next day, Kevin acted like nothing had happened. Of course we never were alone, so there was no way we could talk without drawing suspicion. At one point we were in the den with my brother, watching TV and I looked over to see him looking at me. He smiled and winked, but that was it. We never spoke of it again.

The next fall Kevin went off to private school, a 2 hour drive away. Growing up, I thought of him often, and if I knew he was going to be around, I would find some excuse to be home to see him. I only saw him maybe once or twice a year after that, the last time for many years was when we were 18 and I had already moved out of the house. My parents would keep tell me bits about him, here and there, and I loved hearing about all the trouble he was getting into.

I saw Kevin again a couple of years ago at the funeral of his step-dad. He looks years older that his actual age, he's married to a girl older than him, and is living in L.A. Obviously, we were never really meant to be, but some day I would like to have a conversation with him about that night. I have always wondered if he really felt the same way about me that I did did about him, or if he was just trying to get laid. I've always suspected the latter, but in my dreams, he was madly in love with me, but just knew our circumstances made it all wrong.

2006-04-09T15:44:00.000-04:00

I had been talking to a friend recently about getting caught in compromising positions by my Dad. This happened a few times, often I was able to cover up what I was doing. This is one time I wasn't.

When I was 13 we moved to a new neighbourhood, a part of Burlington called Tyendega. I was upset, as I was no longer close enough to my friends that I could just hang out with them. Getting together either meant arranging a ride from my parents, or enduring an hour long bus ride, if I had the fare.

At the beginning of the summer, near the end of grade 9, I had a few friends over to my house. We were outside and noticed two boys about our age, wandering about the street. One of the girls, I don't remember which one, went out and talked to them, and made arrangements to meet them in the ravine up the road.

In a fit of nervous giggles, we all ran inside to check our hair and faces. I had started smoking by this time, but the girls I was with that day did not know this. Wanting to appear cool to these boys, I grabbed my cigarettes out from the back of the closet and showed them to my friends. 2 of the girls decided they did not like this, and stayed back swimming in our pool, while myself and the other 2 girls set off to walk up the hill to the ravine.

Once there, we found the boys, one was named Jason, and I cannot remember the other. Jason lived a few doors up from me, and was tall and good looking. Being that I was already pushing 6 feet tall at this point, I automatically gravitated towards him.

I was so inexperienced with boys. I had not even had my first boyfriend yet. I pulled out my smokes and offered one to him. He pulled out a lighter and lit them both for us. Jason and I were sitting on a rock while the other boy and my two friends stood off to the side.

After all of this time, I have no memory of what we talked about that day. Most likely it was just about school, music, and who we knew and didn't know. I do remember we discovered at that point that Jason attended the junior school down the road from my highschool. He had failed grade 8 and was finishing it for the 2nd time. We discussed the fact that his grade 8 graduation was coming up, and told him we would meet him that night.

There were a few meetings with Jason after that. He knew my parents often went out on Friday nights, and if we both were home, he'd drop by so we could sneak off and talk or share a hard to get cigarette.

One night, after summer holiday had begun, Jason decided to go for a swim. It was dark, so it must have been after 9 and our pool was quite secluded in our back yard. I was afraid to get into my bathing suit, so I sat on the side of the pool while he swam around.

Well it did not take too long before he was splashing me, soaking me from head to toe. I decided just to jump in with my shorts and tee-shirt.

We had a great time, goofing around, dunking each other, throwing each other in the pool. I was worried that the neighbours might get upset at the noise, but I shrugged it off. This was the most fun I had ever had with a boy and I did not want it to end.

I remember so badly wanting to get Jason to kiss me. A few times he would grab me, and stop for a minute, looking very intently at me, but then he would smile a goofy smile and wrestle me into the water.

I don't know how we started pulling at each others clothes, but it became a game to try and get the others shorts down, and he seemed determined to free me of my t-shirt. It was so dark, seeing things under the water was impossible, and it really was just a childish game. At least I didn't see anything wrong with it. I was wearing a sports bra under my tee shirt and knew if he got my shirt, he would not see anything he shouldn't. He was wearing the shorts he had come in, and I could tell he had underwear on.

Wanting to get closer to him, still hoping for that first kiss, I chased Jason as he ran out of the pool. No sooner did I catch him, that he was working my arms out of my shirt. Laughing, I turned and jumped into the pool, and as I did, I felt the shirt slip over my head. He had got me!

I went under the water and came up it a fit of giggles. I was about to grab his ankle, when I noticed the look on his face. He was standing by the edge of the pool, my t-shirt hanging limply at his side. He was looking towards the gate to my yard, which was behind me, eyes wide in fear, as he slowly leaned towards me, and without looking right at me, and handed me back my shirt. I turned around, to see my father standing there, a look of horror on his face, my mother right behind him.

"What the hell is going on here..." He said.

"Dad, my shirt came off by accident....We were only playing around" I could tell my words had no effect on him.

"Get in the house" he said.

I grabbed my shirt from Jason, whispered sorry in his direction, an high tailed it in the back door. I grabbed a towel and ran up to the room that faced the pool, keeping the lights off to not be seen. Standing there in the dark I had full view of my Dad standing in front of Jason, hands on his hips, looking very stern. Poor Jason was obviously painfully uncomfortable. Shifting from one foot to the other, hands behind his back, staring at the ground, I knew he would rather be anywhere but there at that moment.

Tears were running down my face, I felt horrible for putting Jason in this situation. I could hear my Dad lecturing him, and although I don't remember what was said, I know I was horrified.

I watched as Jason grabbed his things and went out the back gate. I wanted so bad to run after him, tell him how sorry I was, make sure he didn't hate me. But I knew that was a bad idea.

After that, I cannot remember what happened. I am sure I received a lecture from either my mom or dad, but I don't remember the details. I know for weeks after I was heartsick. Jason no longer came by on Friday nights, and the few times I saw him outside, he would hardly say hello.

But of course, being 14, it did not take long before another boy came along, another drama unfolded. Soon I only saw Jason on the bus, he went to another highschool, but we had the same bus route. About half way through the school year he was sitting in the bus seat behind me and put gum in my hair. I then came to the conclusion he was just a silly boy, not worth my time at all.

Who I was, not who I am

2006-04-08T18:34:00.000-04:00

My name was Teresa Osborne. Today I go by a different name, but to maintain a tiny bit of privacy, I'll keep that to myself.

I was born in the early 70's in Scarborough, Ontario. We lived there only a short time before moving to Oakville, and then to Burlington when I was 5. I had a fairly normal childhood. I grew up in a middle class neighbourhood, lived with both my parents and my older brother, walked to school everyday, and played with the kids on my street.

I wasn't the most popular kid in school. I was a tall skinny kid, wasn't very good at sports, and I was a bit goofy. That is, until I went to high school and things began to change. That is when this story starts.

I am now the mother of a teenage boy. Watching what he is going through in life right now, the changes he is experiencing, the friendships he is making, reminds me of being 15. It has brought to the surface things I have not thought of in years.

I lead a very interesting life in the 10 years between 13 and 23. There were things I did that I would love to do again, and some that I am not too proud of. I knew some amazing people, many of whom I loved very deeply, and who had a profound effect on shaping who I am today.

Some may wonder why I would put all this out there for the world to read. There are many things I did that most people would want to hide away and never speak of again. But I refuse to be ashamed of my past. It is what I was, not necessarily who I am. And I am proud of who I have become.

There are moments in my past that I have had a hard time reconciling. I know that writing has always been therapeutic for me, and I hope writing about these things will help me let go of some of the pain I still feel. I likely will not post everything to be read by all, but I will post most entries. I hope people will be able to read some of it and find a way to relate, and enjoy what I have shared.

And finally, I do have one other motive for creating this blog. I hung around with an awesome group of people when I was a teen, and except for one or two, I know little or nothing of them now. I will use some of the names when I am writing, and perhaps some day this will help me find a way to reconnect. I would love it if anyone who reads this, who may of knew me, or any of the people I write about would leave me a comment, or send me an email. I would love to hear from you.