2003-09-04 - 11:08 p.m.

all conversation below is paraphrased to protect the guilty, and because i have a shitty memory.

i was sitting in the basement of Lit on second ave. chatting with holly, waiting for her friends' band to come on. i was terrible company tonight, antihistamines dulling the blade of my usual wit. i didn't want to put alcohol on top of my meds, so we're just crouched in a corner, watching younger girls with tiny dogs smoke furiously. a guy strolls by that holly had been chatting with earlier. out of nowhere, she tells me "that guy? he's a total douche bag".

i started cracking up. "it's not every day i hear someone called a douche bag!".

"but you know exactly what i mean. its different from calling someone, say, an asshole. he's the kind of guy who won't even stop to chat with you if you see him on the street."

"then i might be a douche bag, because when i see people i know on the street, i always say 'hi', but i'm usually too shy to chat them up and then i feel like i'm being rude and i look all awkward and..."

"no, you're not a douche bag. i know that guy. it's for other reasons, too. he's just a douche bag."

i did know what she meant though. i could almost sense it when he was sitting with us. a kind of uneasy sliminess. i didn't like him right off when he started bitching about not being on the list. even something about the way he smoked his cigarettes spelled 'douche bag'.

later, after i almost got holly's purse stolen and the first band had created an impenetrable wall of feedback and distortion, i stepped onto second avenue and hailed a cab. i was a shitty sidekick tonight. but i don't think i'm a douche bag.