So I went to 7th St. Entry Tuesday night to get away from My Fuckin' Father. He was busting my balls because he wanted me to call the garage door company in the morning, before I had woken up. He wasn't pissed when he came home and say it fixed -- he actually had this hand-dog, kind of stupid attitude he cops sometimes -- but I wasn't going to fall for that in case he wanted to start in on me for sleeping late or some shit.

Besides, it was a good excuse to see the Vivian Girls, a Brooklyn trio of chicks whose song, "Who Do You Run To" I really dug after I tripped across it on satellite radio. Well, color me disappointed. Not only did they (and the two opening acts) play what basically was a fast garage rock song over and over again, they didn't even play "Who Do You Run To." Why the fuck wouldn't you play the song that's being spun on satellite radio?

Worse yet was this idiot who stood by me for the main act. The entry has an open pit in front of the stage, but then there's this stand-up rail where you can lean on and lay your drinks on. From the beginning of the show I had staked my claim at this particular spot so I can gain a couple inches in front of anyone who wanted to stand in front of me. (Thank Buddha no one 6' 8" was there.) And I was leaning my right side on this rail and sticking out my right hand. I was listening to the Vivian Girls drone on when suddenly I feel something pressing on my hand, hard. I look over to see this short chick press herself, and her purse, onto the rail right next to me. She didn't look like she noticed that she was invading my space since she didn't say excuse me or move her purse or anything. This bitch just leaned there as she was choking off circulation to my hand.

Yes, I could've moved. I swear I would've gotten bored standing at that position and shifted; if she wouldn've waited, like, two more minutes she would've had that space all to herself. But no, she just thrusted herself right there, with no regard for hand. But I'll tell you what: What finally did it for me, what eventually made me decide to stand my ground, is that this stupid bitch was on her fucking Blackberry texting someone half the time. And the other time she rested her head on hand, like she was bored and wanted everyone there that she was bored. So fuck her, I ain't movin'.

She was shifting positions from time to time, adjusting to check her texts or to switch resting hands. But my fist was still there, not relenting one inch from her onslaught. And yet she didn't move either. This oblivious fool didn't look down to see my hand, or look up and see me. No, she kept swinging either my purse or her body against my hand. For a good five minutes my balled fist was wedged between her purse and the rail. I tried unballing my fist and making her notice my fingers jabbing into her. Some points I tried shaking my fingers to the beat. Shit, I even coughed in her direction a few times. But this self-absorbed dumbass kept choking the circulation to my right hand all the way through to the end of the show.

I feel like I failed for not making her move, and yet I'm proud of myself for not moving myself. A wash. ...