I remember a date gone wrong...

This fellow had asked me out on a date. He was an acquaintance of mine, not somebody I had my eye on, but there was no real reason to say no. He seemed nice enough, a bit of an artist type.

I don't remember what we did. Dinner? I think that was it. We were walking around after we ate, and he suggested we head back to his apartment for some ice cream. This request seemed completely innocent to me, and I love ice cream, so I agreed. He had a little squalid apartment; old fridge, hot plate, tipsy table and chair in the kitchen, and in the other room, a messy bed, a thread-bare easy chair and a dresser. I noticed a fascinating little purple box on top of the dresser, so pretty and out of place amongst the clutter. I couldn't take my eyes off it.

We were having pleasant enough conversation. We ate ice cream, sitting in the other room while we waited for the tea to boil. At this point, he made a move to embrace me. Embrace is a nice word, I don't think it works. He tried to grab me. I moved away quickly, and told him to cool it. He informed me that he bought me dinner, he fed me ice cream, and now it was time for me to "put out". He used those very words.

I jumped off the easy chair, grabbed the pretty little plastic box from on top of the dresser, and ran out of the apartment without a backward glance. I know for a fact that if I had stayed, I wouldn't have had an option about putting out or not. I couldn't believe it, that I had been so naive and that he was such a boor. I didn't think people like him actually existed except in novels and movies.

I still have the little black box with the trippy purple lid. The purple lid is holographic, and it looks like you can see deep inside the pattern...but the box itself is only about 1/2 an inch deep. I keep my guitar picks inside. Every time I look at the box and gaze into the misleading lid, I remember that shallow people can appear to be very deep, and that I am easily fooled by pretty wrapping.

Note: I have edited this piece after reading everyone's comments. It should be a bit clearer now why I took the box.

I remember a unique Christmas tree (thanks, Amber, for reminding me of this memory)....

My boyfriend, Earl, lived in a house with a lot of roommates. I loved hanging out there, it was almost always fun. One roomie, named B., had a little pet marijuana plant growing in his room. It wasn't very healthy, but he lovingly tended it and cared for it anyway.

One November evening, the Christmas spirit hit early. We were all well into the rum and egg-nog, we were singing Christmas carols to anyone who would answer the phone...when we realized we had no tree! Bruce ran to his room and brought out his scrawny plant, put it on top of the TV, and we made some paper decorations for it. (These people knew how to have fun, I mean it.) It looked like Charlie Brown's pathetic tree, if Charlie had grown up to be a stoner.

Our impromptu Christmas party was rolling along beautifully. We had dug out some Christmas records and were singing along merrily, when there came a knock at the door. A peak through the window, and we all groaned. The hermit-tenant who lived downstairs had called the cops on us again! If we did anything more than hiccup, he would call the police, and they would come and roll their eyes and tell us to be quiet, knowing full well that we were being mostly good. We were used to this drill, but we had never had a marijuana plant decorated with paper chains and stars sitting on the TV before.

"Hello, officer, what seems to be the problem?"

"We've had another noise complaint, sorry about this."

"We were just singing Christmas carols. We'll try and keep it down, sir."

"OK. None of you are driving anywhere, are you?"

"No sir. All eight of us are staying right here."

"All right then. Merry...Christmas" he said with a little grin, and that was it. He left! He had been standing about two feet from a perfect reason to ruin our day, and either didn't see it, or decided not to notice it out of regard for the season.

I'm sure it was only the first week of November. Cheers, Earl and B. and M. and J. and P., wherever you are!

I remember drinking home brew and watching Batman reruns....

I had been to see Alice Donut play at the Town Pump in Vancouver (June, 1989). I was enjoying hanging out with the guys in the band, and asked them if they wanted to come to my place and watch Batman reruns and smoke dope. What band would refuse that offer? A local friend offered to bring a crate of home brewed beer, so he got to come to the party, too. We all arrived at my place and had a quiet evening.

Rock and roll isn't all wild parties, you know. Sometimes it's flaking out on the couch and having friendly arguments about who made the better Catwoman, Julie Newmar or Eartha Kitt. We drank all the beer and watched Batman until we all fell asleep, curled up like kittens on the big couch.

I remember making my mom cry in 1981.....

My friend, Raychelle, from church was heading into Lethbridge with her mom for a shopping day, and they invited me to join them! How exciting!! Raychelle was one of my more thrilling friends, full of paradoxes. She was very popular at school, yet she was a faithful church attender. She was nice to me, yet she was one of the beautiful people. It didn't add up! Blond feathered hair and sunny smile, she was an angel to me of kindness. I got permission from my mom, and off we went for the day.

We went into all kinds of great shops, trying on all the trendy clothing. I could almost imagine I was one of the beautiful people, hanging out with Raychelle in the mall. Her mom looked at her watch. "Girls, it's time to head to the hair salon. Raychelle's appointment is in a few minutes."

Raychelle was whisked off by the beautician. As I sat in the salon with Mrs. West (names changed just to be safe), we began pouring through the hair-do magazines. "Look at this cute cut, Paula. I bet it would look adorable on you!" It was short, spiky on the top, with little long wisps of hair at the back. So new-wave! I agreed, yes, it would look good on me, in some other lifetime. "Paula, if you get this hair cut, I'll pay for it. You need a new look." Mrs. West said with finality.

Huh? What? My hair was just past my shoulders, long and thick and with no style at all. I usually just ignored it. A radical short funky hair cut was mine for the taking? I felt like I was on a game show. "Monty, I'll take door number 2" "Congratulations, young lady, you've won your first stylish hair cut!"

Soon it was my turn in the chair. I was trembling with excitement as the chunks of hair fell to the floor. I was being transformed! I was one of the beautiful people, but even better because my haircut was daring and unusual!! When the beautician was done, I looked at myself in the mirror and couldn't believe it. I looked like someone from Friday Night Videos. I looked like I lived in a city. Wow!

When I got back from the drive, after thanking Raychelle and Mrs. West profusely, I bounced into the house, thrilled to show my family my new do. My mom took one look at me and started crying. "What have you done?"

"Mrs. West payed for it, Mom. I didn't pay for it." Why was she upset? I spent no money!

"But Carol's wedding is coming up in the summer and you girls were all going to have long hair!" More tears. This was the first I'd heard of the long hair plan. I slunk to my room and sat on my bed, angry and sad and deflated.

Carol, my sister, came into my room and sat beside me. "I love your new haircut. I think it makes your eyes pop out. You look beautiful." We hugged. I did not understand my mother at all.

I remember enjoying a free concert that I thought I would hate....

I often scored free tickets at the college radio station where I had a show. Usually these tickets were for shows I was excited about, but I ended up with two free tickets to see George Jones, Loretta Lynn, and Conway Twitty--a show I was most definitely NOT planning on seeing. My boyfriend, Earl, and I decided it would be worth going, if only for the aspect of cultural adventure.

We dressed up as if we were going to the best punk gig ever. Earl leaned over to me as we took our seats and whispered, "It looks like everyone here shops from the Sears catalogue!" I giggled. It was true! Brown dress slacks, plaid short-sleeved shirts, polyester everywhere! Earl and I were out of our element, sticking out like a black-leather thumb. We were also about ten years younger than everyone else.

George Jones was up first. I had never heard of him before, but he was a good enough showman. We weren't overly impressed, but he didn't suck, either.

Then Loretta Lynn hit the stage. Earl and I were both dumbfounded. She was incredible!! We figured she would know her way around a stage, having been in show business for so long, but we didn't expect her to be so incredibly fabulous! After one song we became loyal subjects of the Queen of Country, Loretta Lynn, and she held us captive until her very last song.

Thankfully Conway Twitty was last. He was horrible, talking to the women in the front row like a dirty old man, putting out his hand for them to kiss, which they did. It was embarrassing. Before his second song was over, we fled.

We both liked Loretta Lynn so much that we were unashamed to tell all our country-music-hating friends how awesome she was.

Editorial note:

I have gone to the very back reaches of my archives and labelled everything. I wasn't very organized, and I may redo it again sometime with more generic labels....but, it would be a good time for anyone who wanted to click on the little labels and see where they lead you.

Have fun!

I remember getting hit in the back of the head....

The lockers at our school came in two rows, and the locker for my junior high years was in the bottom row. One day I was crouching down to get the books for my next class in the near empty hallway. Two boys from my class came running by, and one of them swung his Adidas gym bag, full of gear, into the back of my head as they passed. I was pushed by the force of the blow right into my locker.

If this was a scene on a TV show, there would be a laugh-track. I'm sure it looked kind of funny. I did not laugh, but pushed myself out of my locker and sighed. Another meaningless violence against me. I grabbed my books and continued on to class. I think I was lectured for arriving late.

I remember not wanting to walk into class...

Junior High. An awkward age for many, but especially awkward for me, as I was one year younger than everyone in my class. I thought it was very cruel for puberty to leave me alone for so long; while all the girls in my class were developing breasts, I was still a little girl.

I would get off the bus, go to my locker and put my coat in, grab my books, then walk to the door of my classroom and hesitate. I'd steel myself, then walk in. Every day my classmate, Terry, would sneer at me from under his long bangs and say loudly, "Jesus F***in' Christ, Rempel, are you ever ugly."

Every day.

There is no response to this. You can't argue it, you can't agree, you can't ignore it. It's a losing situation no matter how you look at it. Somehow his statement always made everyone else laugh. You'd think they would have got tired of the same announcement day after day.

I was 11. I thought I was ugly.

I remember playing in the car....

Before you start clucking your tongue, this was something I was allowed to do. I wasn't a little kid, for goodness' sake. I was 11 or 12!

It was a sunny day and I was playing by myself. I was sitting in the driver's seat of the '68 Comet, pretending to be a grown-up, all cool and suave. I rested my right wrist on the steering wheel lazily, then rolled down the window and nodded nonchalantly at the people I was pretending to drive by. Oh, they were impressed with my driving skills! I glanced at the radio and pushed a few buttons, looking for imaginary rock and roll music.

At this point, I remember my eye landing on the cigarette lighter. All of a sudden I could look at nothing else. There it sat, woefully unused except for the few times Dad had showed me how it would pop out when it was hot. I found myself wondering how it worked. I pushed it in. I waited. It popped, and I pulled it out and looked at the glowing red circles. How could this light a cigarette? There wasn't even any flame. I did the next thing that popped into my mind. I touched it.

Wow! I burned myself a new set of fingerprints, and fast! First I dropped the lighter. Then I looked around quickly to see if anyone had noticed my stupidity. Nope, still alone. Then I stuck the lighter back in its place and sucked my finger.

This is how I have learned many of the important lessons in my life. There seems to be an inability to accept anybody else's word for anything. It means I have hurt myself many times, burned myself many new sets of fingerprints...but I know what I know, and nobody can tell me any different.

I remember begging my friend, Carolyn, to come rollerskating....

I was 16, and I loved rollerskating, and I loved rollerskating with Carolyn. She would laugh at all my jokes, and hers were even funnier than mine! Once a week all summer long, an outfit rolled into town and turned the unused hockey arena into a roller-skating rink, complete with music and skate rentals. We were there every week without fail.

The last week of skating approached. School had already started, and the next week they would begin turning the cement floor into ice again for the hockey season. I called Carolyn and asked if she was coming. "My parents aren't home and I'm babysitting my little brother and sister. I can't come."

"But, Carolyn! It's the last skate of the year!! You HAVE to come! Couldn't you drive in and bring your sister and brother?" I whined. This was a terrible thing for me to ask her to do. Her parents were very strict, and I was sure they hadn't given her any kind of permission to do something so brash...but I really wanted to enjoy the last evening of skating with her.

"I'll see what I can do."

That is the last time I ever spoke to her. I arrived at the skate, laced up, and began racing around the arena, keeping one eye on the entrance, but she never showed up. I figured common sense must have prevailed, but I was disappointed she hadn't found a way to come. I skated alone until the very last note of the very last song.

Later that night, I got a phone call. Carolyn had been driving into town for roller skating with her little brother and sister in the back seat. She lost control going around a gravel corner and crashed the car, killing herself and her sister and severely injuring her little brother.

You can see that I felt responsible for this. How could I not? I begged her to come, I put the idea of driving into her mind, I urged her to sneak out of the house while her parents were away with her siblings...

There was a huge memorial at school. I was asked to give a short talk of my memories of her. I visited her parents. They were Japanese, and I saw for the first time a shrine to the dead, pictures of Carolyn and her sister on a table with beads and little items of hers and symbols in red and gold that I was unfamiliar with. There was a candle burning, I think. It seemed very sad and beautiful. I attended her funeral in a big temple, with robed priests banging gongs as we sat silently.

I walked alone through this whole time as one walks through a dark fog. I told no one of how I had cajoled her that evening.