I Think I’m Turning Into A Douchebag

I Think I’m Turning Into A Douchebag

We all have our flaws. Some are small enough to let slide, others can be enough to make someone not want to hang out with you. What is a flaw to one person may not be to another, and vice versa. You may look at something you do as a bad habit, but someone you know may look at it as a deal breaker. Perception is everything. You get it.

They say that you’re a combination of the five people you spend the most time with, and I believe that. Everyone changes over time, and the people you spend the most time with change over time. So your flaws—or at least, the way they’re perceived—will more than likely change with them. It’s inevitable.

I’m bringing all of this up because something happened to me a few weeks ago that’s stuck with me. I was running a Spartan Race with some friends from the suburbs, and one of them made a comment about how it’s obvious that I live in the city. I’m paraphrasing, but I think it went something to the effect of, “Dude, we get it, you live downtown.”

It caught me off guard. As far as I knew, I was the same that I’d always been. Sure, I might walk a little faster and make snap judgments about people based on the neighborhood they live in, but I had already been doing that. Maybe I was just a little bit more open about it now, I thought. But even so, this comment stuck with me. Is it possible that I had changed so much and not even realized it? I took some time to really break it down and think about it, and honestly, I think I’ve started turning into a douchebag without even realizing it.

I use dope/rad/tight/killer instead of “okay.”

This was pointed out to me by the girl I’ve been seeing for a while. We were talking about whether or not we would watch Big Brother or Million Dollar Listing that night. As a person who just recently dipped their toe in the reality TV game, I was completely indifferent. She decided Million Dollar Listing and I said, “Rad, let’s do it.”

“Rad, huh?” she said.


“Oh, you’re just onto ‘rad’ now.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, last week it was ‘tight.’ The week before that, it was ‘killer,’” she laughed, “Just very bro-y of you.”

I’ve been described as a lot of things. Bro-y was a first. Tight.

I’ve been name dropping the bars and restaurants I go to.

Over the last few weeks, these are a few quotes I’ve caught myself saying verbatim:

“We went for tacos and margs at Tuco and Blondie, and then made our way over to Lange’s just up north. Oh, Lange’s? Yeah it’s just this dive bar.”

“I’m really hyped to get a carafe of mimosas with my mom at Hutch tomorrow.”

“Oh, shit! That was the day we went to Castaways and then hit up Lion’s Head and I won the dance off at The Apartment. I got the best hotdog at Red Hot Ranch that night.”

“Now that there’s a Shake Shack across the street from Federales we’re going to have to start having happy hour there instead of Twisted Spoke.”

As a person who hates when people name drop, I hate myself for this.

I got back into reading and won’t shut up about it.

I go through spurts of reading a ton and then taking a break, but I made it a goal for the second half of the year to start reading more consistently. There are so many books I could have started with. The Game of Thrones series, something by one of my favorite authors, or the Bruce Springsteen biography that my dad lent me, just to name a few. What did I jump in with? A Fucking Farewell to Arms by Ernest Hemingway.

Not only that, but I’m consistently taking snaps and posting Insta pics of this shit. What’s worse is that I’m not even making it the subject of the photo. Just sliding it in on a shot of my breakfast. An extra detail on the picture of my patio. It’s my way of letting everyone know, “Hey, look at me, I’m cultured,” and I can’t stand myself because of it.

Change is inevitable. What’s interesting about it is that even though we all know that, it sucks to have your changes pointed out to you. You can deny it all you want, but at the end of the day, you might not be the same person you were a year ago. As for me, I’m going to get to work on transitioning out of my douchebag exterior.

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Using sarcasm as a defense mechanism since 1993. At any given moment I'm either tired, drunk, or stressed out. Get at me at or whatever.

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