I just can’t seem to maintain the one-a-day blog thing, not right now, it’s just too hard. So I thought it’d be fun to reminisce about when my life was exciting and juvenile (as opposed to just juvenile). Here’s a blog I posted almost two years ago to the day (1/21/10?) about an event that happened even longer ago.
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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 lives.
The girl–
WAIT. I can’t give her real name because she’s googleable, we’ll call her Ninjette, not because she’s at least partially asian, but because she does Ninja stuff for a living.
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 Ninjette, whose mutual friend brought her upstairs, saw me [maybe he’s not nerdy, maybe he’s just aloof!] and said hi.
As I am prone to do, I asked what she wanted to be when she grew up.
Ninjette: My dream is to be in Maxim.
This is not a compatible dream for me. This isn’t even in Playboy, which though fully 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. This sounds judgmental, but…no buts, it’s just judgemental and I’m a crappy person for thinking it. What makes my dream so awesome? Nothing, that’s what.
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 my entire adolesence. 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…”
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.
Ninjette 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. At midnight we, the band, are asked to stop, while 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, Ninjette 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? We have incompatible dreams. Could it have just been Playboy? Well maybe she just wants to keep it classy and clothed…”
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. It’s a security measure so drunken (ninjettes/victims) idiots don’t find their way upstairs to someone’s home. I’m drunk and struggle with the code for a minute before just press the floor button because that’ll close the door and give us privacy. For 30 seconds.
Inside the elevator, we’re still doing the mauling thing. It’s awkward, because I’m like 6’4″ and she’s like 5’2″. (The door opens, I press the floor button) 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, I should have fun with that” so I spin her around, and -playfully- pin her against the wall. Playfully.
Playfully.
This should have set the tone.
Well, she LOVES it. And laughs, and then, instead of returning the favor, she does something which is best described as Excessive 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 oh so smoothly pried her vise-hands off of my not-wanting-to-be-vised throat. Slowly enough to not seem panicked, but fast enough to respect the fact that my vision was growing dim because this girl was suffocating me.
The elevator door opened, and again I give up on the passcode and just close it.
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– (this next bit happens in less than a second)
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.
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 so that I could HIDE from this girl killer ninja 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 happy for her because she overshot her dream, and sad for me, who was I to judge?
post post script: Really weird side-note: After I posted this (2012) I decided to do another google to see if she’d (killed) done anything recently. I almost vomited with confusion. We really are living in a holographic universe (matrix).
