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Man.

I'm STILL tired from last week.

But hey ... I could sit here and type type type about how tired I am and you guys would sit there and go "JESUS, WE GET IT. YOU'RE TIRED. MOVE ON, ASSWIPE" and then I'd feel stupid for typing about how tired I am and you'd probably think "GO BACK TO BED, ASSWIPE" and I'd just keep typing about how tired I was and then words would be exchanged and feelings would be hurt and I'd go back to bed in a huff.

Soooo ... enough about me being tired.

Friday night was ... shit ... lemme try and remember Friday night.

Hmmmm ... boring?

I did a large party before going to the club. 500 people at the party. People bitching about how loud my system was, which I tried to pretend like "Gee willikers ... I'm sorry my system is soooo loud" but secretly I was beaming with loud system pride.

I was told the party would end at 7 because every time they have one of these parties, everyone's gone by 7.

The party kept going until 9.

The manager of the facility said it was because of my work and that usually they had a DJ in there that ran people off, playing only what the DJ wants to hear.

Wrong move, future DJs of America.

You play what you feel the CUSTOMERS want to hear and play what you want to hear on the way home in your car as you count your money, dumbass.

(Yet another job tip from MC Fatass ... my new, hip moniker)

So that ended at 9 and I switched over to the club which was right next door to finish out the night.

I honestly don't remember much of the night. I remember there were about 10 men to every woman which meant my dance floor quota sucked.

So yeah.

Saturday, Andrew and I played outside all day.

He was lucky enough that I remembered to put sunblock on him.

I completely neglected to sunblock myself.

So now Red Lobster keeps calling me wanting to hire me as their new mascot.

Went to work Saturday night for the first time the club has had a Saturday night DJ in about a year.

People aren't used to having a DJ in the club, so they really don't frequent the club on Saturday nights.

It was 9:00 before we got anybody in the damned place.

By 10, we had about 30 men in the joint and two women who were sporting that always popular bull dyke look that men seem to fawn all over.

Not.

Then, a miracle happened.

Three beautiful blondes walked into the bar.

I know ... it sounds like a set-up to a joke but it's not.

After they had sat there at their table for ten minutes and had all the men staring at them but too scared to approach them, I came up with a brilliant idea.

I got a bar stool.

I propped my feet up on the counter of the DJ booth, grabbed the microphone and sat back on the stool.

"I'm bored," I said in the microphone as I turned off the music.

Silence.

"I feel like you people don't appreciate me," I whined into the microphone.

People stared at me, hoping they were about to witness an honest-to-goodness nervous breakdown.

But I had a plan.

"Therefore, I'm not going to play any more music tonight."

Silence.

"Instead, I want one of YOU to come up here and finish out the night for me."

Slight murmur in the crowd.

"How about you, Blondie?" I said, gesturing toward the beautiful table.

One of the gals got up and walked over to the DJ booth and slapped my feet off the counter.

"I'll DJ," she sneered, grabbing my songbook and scrawling down names of songs. "But I will NOT talk on the microphone."

"You have to," I said. "All DJs talk on the microphone."

"I'll just write out a list of songs you need to play and you play them," she said.

Putty. In. My. Hands.

After a few minutes, she had written down 12 songs she knew would liven the place up.

Granted, they were the same 12 songs I play every night to liven the place up and I would have played them all anyway.

But now, the blonde felt special.

And the psychology of the situation kicked in.

The men knew the blondes wanted to hear these songs.

The men knew they would dance to these songs.

The men then knew that if they approached the women to dance, the women would gladly dance with them.

Problem solved.

And it worked. Just like that.

All three women were asked to dance, and each woman had 2-3 guys dancing with her at a time because apparently that's how it's done in military bars.

Drinks were then bought for the women.

And then a funny thing happened.

More women came in to the bar.

And the men, who were now bold in their attempts to talk to women, struck up conversations with the women.

Soon, we had almost 100 people in this bar that normally has 20 people frequent it on Saturday nights.

And they were all having a blast.

All because of my "guest DJ" who, after a few drinks and after meeting several of the people in the crowd, decided that maybe she could talk on the microphone now.

And talk she did.

That girl was all over the microphone, yelling at the crowd to dance and hollering and injecting a level of energy into the room that I wouldn't have even tried to do.

I was scheduled to get off at 11.

I finally shut down the music at 3:30 a.m.

And there were STILL about 30 people in the club who protested my decision to go home and go to bed.

So my guest DJ went out to her car, and with my blessing, finished out the night with her own discs under the watchful eye of our bartenders.

Who were more than happy to watch her shake her ass in the DJ booth.

I got a rare call yesterday from the club manager at home.

At first, I thought I was in deep shit for letting a drunk customer DJ in the booth.

Instead, I was told that they had broken sales records for a Saturday night, they were open until 5 a.m. and whatever it was I had done ... keep doing it.

I briefly tried to explain the psychological role that a DJ plays in the success of a bar's level of excitement, but then decided it was best to keep that information to myself.

It's all about the customers.

That's what it all boils down to ... you have to provide great customer service and give each customer a sense of belonging.

Okay.

I'm making very little sense now.

Back to bed for me.

("JESUS! WE GET IT! GO BACK TO BED ASSWIPE!")