ericboy's Diaryland Diary

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The Saga of Chokehold and Yours Truly

Many, many moons ago, I wasn't so much the effective and smooth ladies man that I'm not today. I had a one-night stand, though, that haunted me for quite some time. This is the story of "Chokehold".
I was working at this restaurant where I flushed six years of my life after all was said and done. Much to my excitement, two attractive women and a very surly man were seated on the patio fifteen minutes before closing. We'd been rotating the tables out there and it was my turn. Yay! So I saunter out there, lay my thang down, and get their orders in lickity-split.
Over the course of the meal, and the many drinks, the more attractive of the two women starts asking probing questions about my personal life. More directly, my plans for the evening. She insists that I must meet she and her friend at the bar around the corner after work. I agree and they close their tab out and yadda, yadda, yadda.
I get to the pub and meet them at the front bar. We sit and talk and things are going well. The more attractive of the two, whose name eludes me now, (we'll call her Buttercup) starts flirting with this other guy in the bar that is far more attractive, ecnomically-stable, and groovy than I am. We'll call him Superman. Buttercup and Superman seem to hit it off fabulously. Oh well, no big deal. The other girl, who isn't entirely unattractive, starts talking to me more and more, much to the chagrin of the surly guy, who is still in tow and seeming very much like the fifth wheel. It turns out that her name is Juliana.
As the bar is closing, Buttercup wants to know where the after-party is. I offer the services of my apartment, a luxurious two bedroom that I share with two other guys. On the way back, we drop surly guy off at his house, who apparently was under the misconception that he had a relationship with Juliana. I know a glare when I see one, and he was glaring at me.
We get back to my place and are hanging out and being loud and rowdy. My roommate comes out on two separate occasions and asks us to keep it down or he'll start cracking skulls. Buttercup and Superman take off to parts unknown, leaving Juliana stranded at my place without a ride. On the couch together, we make mad monkey sex and fall asleep. I remember her trying to talk dirty during the act, referring to my member as my "gun". How sad.
The morning comes early and with a punch to the brain, as it often does after you've drank yourself half-to-death and all-the-way-to-stupid. Jeremiah and Eric come out of their rooms in the morning to find me and Juliana on the couch. My arm is around her neck as if I am trying to subdue her in a chokehold. Her new identity is formed and the fun ensues.
Chokehold wakes up and starts talking to me. I look at her and my heart stops. Not like an awesome Say Anything type of heart stop, either. More of a "Oh my God, what the fuck did I do?" kind of heart stop. Though I didn't have the basis for comparison at the time, I realize now that Chokehold looked like Paris Hilton, only without the lazy eye and the Down-Syndrom gaze. Chokehold merely has a slightly dopey expression because she is ... slightly dopey. And also a lot more busty than Paris Hilton, which is probably what got me in that mess in the first place.
With growing horror, I realize that this woman is in my house with no vehicle and I have to listen to her blather on about ridiculous nothings and make long-term plans with me. Shitshitshit. We immediately start making arrangements for her to get home. She calls a friend using my cell-phone while I hide in Eric's room, claiming that I had to do... something. I really don't recall what it was, but I remember leaving her in the living room by herself for quite a long time. Long enough, in fact, for her ride to arrive. I said "goodbye" and she was gone and out of my life.
Yeah, right.
Two minutes after she's left, while I'm receiving a healhty and well-deserved ribbing from both wiser and more learned roommates, I notice that she has left her belt at my place. A series of metallic rings linked together to fit around her anoerexic waist. Oh, fuck. I'm going to have to see this woman again. In fact, she calls me at work that very night.
I don't want to see her again. Ever. I arrange for her to come by to pick up the belt. Now, this, I think, is the funniest goddamn part:
I have the belt prominently displayed on the coffee table. I ask Jeremiah to answer the door when she arrives, hand her the belt, and wish her a Happy Christmahaunakwanzika and Fuck you, very much. I go hide in the bedroom. But I think "What if she sees me in the window through the blinds as she's walking past?" So I hide in the closet. But then, and I don't know what kind of paranoia-inducing drugs I was on at the time, I thought "What if Jeremiah gives her a tour of the apartment?" I hid behind the hanging pants in the closet,so that if one were to open the door, they would see neatly-folded pants and finely-pressed shirts on hangers from left to right and, underneath them, my feet.
I hear the knock, the exchange, and the close of the door. Jeremiah comes in to the bedroom, opens the closet, and pulls me out. How he knew I was in there, I'll never know. He's got like radar, or something. He's a cop, now. Go figure.
Which segues to the end of the Chokehold saga. One night, I'm kicking it at mi casa with Eric and Jeremiah and my friend, Bo. We're chilling and talking and having a wonderful time. We'd just picked up some dinner from the drive-thru burger joint down the street, Whataburger. Yes, named after the phrase one would exclaim after taking a bite of this juicy masterpiece of a sandwich: "What A Burger!" Spirits are high and appetites are being satiated when there is a knock at the door. It is Chokehold and Surly Guy. They were in the neighborhood and wanted to see what we were up to. Chokehold was all smiles and big teeth, cuddling up to me and asking to go out and have fun. Surly Guy was following his usual modus operandi: arms folded, mouth a straight line of discontent. I'm guessing she had the idea to stop by and he'd much rather oblige her than say "No. Fuck that and fuck you! I'm not driving you to shit!" and lose what ghost of a chance he had of taming this wild mare and making Surly-Chokehold babies. So, here they were.
We make stunted conversation and then Eric, who was and still is a cop, pulls his badge out of his pocket and sets it on the table next to his burger.
Chokehold goes white and yells "You're a fucking cop?!?"
Eric says yes.
"You're a fucking cop?!?"
It was the exact same tone, speech pattern, intensity, and pitch. It was as if she were a Paranoid Crackhead Malibu Stacy and someone had pulled her string twice. She asks him what he'd do if she told him that she had some cocaine in her pocket. Without pausing to think or even swallow the bite of burger in his mouth, Eric calmly says "I'll haul your ass to the station and throw you in a cell."
As if she were operated by remote control, she roars into movement, making a b-line for the restroom. The door closes with a slam and panicked, constant flushing is heard from within. Eric, Jeremiah, and I excuse ourselves and go into Eric's room for a conference. Surly Guy is left standing in the living room with Bo on the couch, eyeing him suspiciously. What I later learned is that while the roommates and I were in Eric's room, Chokehold emerged from the bathroom and took the world's largest and most ambitious bite out of Eric's burger which still sat on the table. Bo witnessed this and retold the events with horking sound effects to go with her gluttonous bite.
We come out from our conference and are immediately overwhelmed with "Well, bye now. It was good seeing you again. So long. Don't write. Happy Christmahaunakwanzika and Fuck you, very much." Then Chokehold and Burly Guy were out of my life.
Yeah, right.
Over the next year or so, Chokehold would frequent my restaurant, more often than not with Burly Guy in tow. After the first year, she seemed to forget who I was, which was fine with me. I wanted to forget who she was or that I ever had come into contact with her at all.
This was five or six years ago, and I've grown up a little. Enough to know that one-night-stands are seldom truly about one night and they are almost always a very bad idea. Stay in school kids, and don't end up with a buxom blonde in a chokehold one moment and then a skeezer bitch flushing coke down your toilet and bogarting your roommate's Whataburger the next. Advice from a wise and well-learned dickhead.

7:57 p.m. - 2004-12-24

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