I never write about this kind of stuff, maybe I should.   I don’t do the random hook up thing, and this is one of the reasons why. This girl almost killed me.

New Years, 2005.  My band is scheduled to play at a club in Destin, FL.   Big Top/Harry’T’s. Maybe you know the place?  The club is masterful, in that it is set at the basement of a condominium complex, where the owner, our boss, and friend lived.

The girl–

WAIT. I can’t give her real name because she’s googleable, we’ll call her Erin, after my good friend Erin Autin, who always reads my blogs and makes me feel talented.

(Keep in mind this is not a story about Erin)

So, earlier in the evening, in the aforementioned condo, we were hanging out, the room was bustling with activity and people having a good time.  I was sitting at a table on a laptop , when Erin, whose mutual friend brought her upstairs, saw me [maybe he’s not nerdy, maybe he’s just aloof!]  and said hi.

As I was prone to do at this point in my life, I asked what she wanted to be when she grew up.

ERIN: My dream is to be in Maxim.

This is not a compatible dream for me.  This isn’t even in Playboy, which though unclothed, seems less trashy to me.   This is a dream to basically be second rate masturbatory fodder.  Which honestly, isn’t that hard of a dream to attain. Most girls make this dream come true just by leaving the house.   This sounds judgmental, but… I guess I am.

Turns out she does something kind of cool for a living.  Sport Karate.

She was a black belt before she was a teenager. I respond with the appropriate “Huhwha?” and she loads up some video of herself, flipping through the air doin kicks and basically being more athletic in 30 seconds than I was through the better part of 2005.   Cool.  I’ve never known someone who did kicky-flippy things, and now I do. Her sport karate also puts her in the occasional movie/acting gig, which momentarily makes me think “Well… I’m into movies so maybe…”

but then her dream is MAXIM. I think nothing more of the interaction.

Fast forward.  Hours later. It’s now 2005 (or 2004? which year was this? anyone remember? Gabe? Jules?), and I’m drunk.  The band is drunk. We’re all very drunk.  This may or may not have been the year that the guitarist fell into the drums.

TheGirlWhoseNameis NOT Erin (this is now awkward for me and my friend Erin, but I’m okay with that.) stares at me, grinning dumbfounded as if what I was doing was in anyway more complicated than what she does for a living, which shows that she too was drunk.  The band is done shortly after midnight, and the club transforms into a hip-hop club, I’m told there’s a party in the condo upstairs.

At this point there’s a skip in my memory, which could be due to the drinking but could also be to the forthcoming physical trauma.

Suddenly, Erin and I are mauling each other.  Somehow or another we make it inside the elevator and I’m just sober enough to think “Holy sh#t what am I doing? Her dream is MAXIM.”

In order to get upstairs from the club part of the building, to the condos, you have to know the code for the elevator. Otherwise the elevator goes nowhere.  I’m drunk, so I just press the floor button. The elevator door closes.  Moments later it opens again.

Inside the elevator, we’re still doing the mauling thing. It’s awkward, because I’m 6’4″ and she’s 5’2″.   Being drunk I thought the solution was simple, I’ll just get on my knees.  It made sense at the time.

Again, the door opens, again I press the floor key, it closes.

My remaining traces of sobriety told me that kneeling and making out with this girl was stupid, so I stood up. and a few minutes later I thought “Why are we still in the elevator? Oh right someone needs to push in the code” so I stand up.

The elevator door opens, I press the close button, then I think “Hey this girl is tiny” so I spin her around, and -playfully- pin her against the wall.  Playfully. This should have set the tone.

Well, she LOVES it.  She moans/laughs, and then, instead of returning the favor, she does something which is better described as Retaliation.

In my defense, I didn’t see it move.  I think if I were sober I might’ve seen a blur, maybe.  But as it is, the next thing I know her hand is wrapped around my throat with a grip that could kill someone. Her hand speed puts Muhammed Ali to shame.

Being a male, I couldn’t really scream, for fear of killing the vibe.  It’s amazing how long a guy will try to maintain a vibe, despite things going horribly wrong.   So. No screaming, or crying, but if I’d been honest to the moment, I would’ve squealed the following:

OH MY GOD PLEASE STOP YOU’RE HURTING ME I CAN’T BREATHE.

Instead, I smiled cockily, and slowly pried her hands off of my throat, as my vision was growing dim. This girl was suffocating me.

The elevator door opened, and again I closed it, completely neglecting to type in the passkey.

I’d like to think that my defenselessness here was a result of the inebriation, and the near asphyxiation, but the reality is that if a black belt wants to beat me up, there’s not much I can do about it.  Next thing I know she spins me around and pins ME to the elevator, and we kiss.

Whew. More kissing. Okay, I can handle this. Jesus that was fast. Maybe I’m drunk. I hope she doesn’t do any–

She grabs my head.

Pulls my face toward hers.

And then SLAMS it against the wall so hard that I saw stars.

Then she said something that was not only not sexy, but also just not true. [At this point we were doing little more than kissing.]

“Oh yeah f@#k me harder!”

I thought she was kidding, but the look on her face told me that she thought I was, in fact, f@#king her harder, even though at best we were basically kissing and, more accurately, she was beating the living shit out of me.

The elevator door opened, and I had a momentary flash of genius.

“I think this is our floor!”

She staggered out of the elevator. I pressed the close door button, frantically entered the code HIDING from this girl, and retreated to the condo-party.

The end.

post script:  In googling her, and finding these pictures on her web page, I’ve discovered that she is infinitely more successful than I am.    That makes me sad, for some reason. Because she overshot her dream, while I dont suspect Maxim will be calling me any day now.

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