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7:48 a.m. - 2004-10-12

MY VERY FIRST HOEDOWN


Vagina.

Sorry. My fingers have Tourette's.



So yesterday I had to meet with this ... hey ... have you ever noticed how many of my entries start off with "So yesterday ..."?

Dammit. Stay focused, dude.

Anyway ... so yesterday I had to meet with this girl whose wedding I'm DJ'ing this weekend.

Naturally, she's a total basket case because she's getting married in five days and her face is breaking out and her fiancee (sp?) is all laid back like most men would be.

She brings her fiancee (sp?) and ... oddly enough ... male cousin to the meeting.

Now ... I don't mean to be mean because these people are paying my mortgage for me this month.

But I get the feeling that this wedding reception is going to have more than its share of guys named Bubba, Cooter and Jim Bob at it if you get my drift and if you don't ... they're big time rednecks.

They want a mixture of country music and rap.

Ahhhhh ... country rap. You just don't hear enough of that these days, do ya?

I guess I could play "The Devil Went Down To Georgia" all night long to appease them.

I tried to explain to them that I've been doing this for 20 years and have a pretty good idea of what the average wedding guests want to hear.

They then explained to me that these aren't your average wedding guests.

The groom asked me if I could fight. I swear on the Bible ... he asked me if I could handle myself in case a fight broke out.

Apparently, their families and friends don't get along. Maybe one stole the other's moonshine still or something. I dunno. Didn't bother asking.

I laughed when he asked because I thought he was kidding.

I gulped when I realized he wasn't.

I told him that it was not in my contract to break up or participate in any fussin' or fightin' and that they were on their own with that one.

The guy told me they were probably going to hire at least one security guy. I guess so there'd be at least one guy there with a gun who was actually sober.

The bride wisely wrote me a check for the rest of the balance due so now I'm obliged to do the wedding rather than calling in sick on Saturday.
Her hand was shaking as she wrote it. I figure she's either strung out on crystal meth or trying to figure out a way to back out of this wedding without getting her throat slashed.

The groom told me I didn't have to wear a suit because there were going to be lots of people in t-shirts, shorts and flip-flops.

I told him that's okay ... I'd still probably wear a suit.

He also told me to drink as much alcohol as I wanted because they were getting six kegs of draft beer.

I explained that I really don't drink while I'm working.

He stared at me.

Something tells me I'll be guzzling a cup full of Pabst Blue Ribbon at gunpoint by the end of Saturday night.


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