Went out with Katie Morgan and her fiancee tonight to Dust, because she asked and because I needed to get out of the house. I'm fighting a bit these days. I've got my gloves on, anyway. I'm ready for a fight, at the very least.

So after an hour or so of Jack and Cokes, I saw someone I know from my past. It's not very interesting, our connection. He was my boss for like, a minute, at the big evil advertising agency. At least he was supposed to be. Due to a restructuring, he inherited me, but I am very difficult to manage, and he knew it the minute he met me. So he forgot about me for a while, and by the time he figured out he was supposed to remember me, I had already given my two weeks notice.

I walked up to him and smiled, and I knew instantly he didn't remember my name (did he ever know it in the first place?), though I remembered his. We chatted for a few minutes after he kissed me on both cheeks. I recalled silently that he told me once, on a cigarette break, he was a bouncer in Connecticut for several years before he started working on the web.

He told me he was, "consulting." He had left the agency after nearly four years there, and now he was doing just fine on his own.

"Wow," I said. "I'm surprised. So few people have work these days."

"Well I can't worry about anyone else. I can only worry about myself."

Which I thought was an odd response.

He asked me what I was doing for work. I told him. He seemed impressed. And then he said, "Yea, so we should definitely hang out sometime," as if I had made that suggestion initially, which, if you've been following along so far, I clearly hadn't.

"So do you have a card?" he said.

"No. I don't have cards."

"Well I'll give you my card, but I need to go --" He motioned to the pool table. It was apparently his turn.

"OK," I said.

I didn't know why we would bother. We hadn't seen each other in three years. But whatever.

I'm all about the whatever these days. More so than ever.

As I was leaving, about an hour later, I went up to him to say goodbye. Again with the double kiss. Again.

"Yea, so why don't you take down my number," he said.

It took me less than five seconds to determine that I had no desire to open up my bag, find a pen, and waste my beautiful journal paper on writing down a number that I would never use.

"Ah, why don't you just give me your card?" I said.

"You know, I don't think I have one," he said. He made the effort to pull out his wallet and feebly pulled out a credit card, or some such bullshit. "Yea, I don't have one."

We found ourselves at an interesting place: the phone number Mexican standoff.

I smiled and said, "Hm. Perhaps we'll just run into each other again sometime." I knew what the odds were of that happening again, as did he.

And then this odd machismo came out, and I found it inappropriate, and then amusing. With a sour tone he said, "Well you were the one who was all wanting to get my number."

"Take care," I said, and walked away.

Moments later, Katie and I stood at the door, waiting for her man. We watched a couple dressed in business clothes make out, a bleached blonde chick and an obviously Jewish man. I made up a little dialogue for them for our entertainment.

Her: We shouldn't do this. We work together. But you look so good in that French blue shirt.

Him: You're such a hot shiksa.

We giggled and left. In the cab home I explained to my friends that I don't hand out business cards because I don't like most people I meet.

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