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6:34 a.m. - 2005-02-28


My Oscar predictions are as follows: "Fahrenheit 9/11" wins everything except Best Supporting Actor which will go to that guy on the other roof in "Dawn Of The Dead".

I'm usually pretty accurate at this shit, so watch and learn.

I did this party on Saturday night for an older singles club.

When I say "older", I mean ... hmmm ... I guess ages 40-60.

I guess singles younger than 40 can go to bars and still feel comfy. It's when you get to age 40, and you find yourself still single and desperate, you join a club. Not necessarily to get laid, but to hang out with other people who haven't quite mastered the technique of the successful pick-up line.

Anyway ... they're all dancing and having a somewhat good time when two of the youngest women in the place hit the dance floor and beckon me to come dance with them.

I make the universal hand signal that says "I can't dance because I'm working here and plus I'm a pretty stiff dancer anyway. I mainly just try to bend my knees on the downbeat and clap my hands on occasion. Please don't ask me to dance again".

They keep yelling at me to come dance with them.

I get on the mic and tell the crowd that it's a crying shame that I've got two beautiful women on the dance floor and a roomful of men who are letting them dance by themselves.

The men just sit there and stare at me, not willing to dance with these women.

Then, I start thinking that maybe these are the Single Club's whores.

Maybe they've got the bad reputations as being the mankillers who are only after one thing ... the man's wallets.

Maybe all the other women hate them because they're young and still have some decent looks hidden behind the makeup and wrinkles. And if a man dances with them, then that man is ostracized from ever gettin' any old lady ass from any other female member of Da Club.

Then again ... and what turned out to be the truth ... the women outnumber the men 2-1 in this club.

So the two continued to dance by themselves.

Toward the end of the night, we're down to like 15 people still hanging out, mostly women ... probably still a 2-1 ratio there.

I'm playing that "Cotton Eyed Joe" song because I'll be goddamned if people still clamor to hear that obnoxious piece of shit.

These two OLD women are drunkenly trying to do the dance that accompanies the song ... picture two old women with really funny hats on, kicking and stomping their way around a big imaginary circle.

One keeps dancing dangerously close to my makeshift DJ booth and flashes me her best smile every time.

I mix into Dead Or Alive's "You Spin Me Right Round Baby Right Round Like A Record Baby Right Round Round Round" because it's a natural mix from "Cotton Eyed Joe" in my opinion.

The grinning old lady stumbles over behind the table that separates me from the dancers.

"Come dance with me," she slurs.

I flash my best "helpless" look.

"I'd love to," I say, while trying to decide if I should punctuate the phrase with "Granny" and deciding at the last second not to do so, "But I'm working here."

"I'm the only one dancing," she says. "And I say it's okay. Come dance with me."

I look around and sure as shit, folding chairs and tables are being folded up and stacked neatly in the corner of the place as everything's winding down quickly.

"I have to go to the bathroom," I said. "When I come back, we'll dance."

I went to the bathroom, urinated, washed my hands and went back out to my DJ booth.

Thus, successfully avoiding having to dance with a woman old enough to be my Mom to a techno version of a bad 80s song.

Minutes later, I nabbed the lady in charge and asked her when I should stop playing music since we were down to me and seven people from the Club.

"Go ahead and stop," she said.

Thank God.

I thanked all seven of them for coming and told them to be careful getting home and started packing it up.

That's when Smiling Hat Lady decided to make her move.

She walked over to my "booth" and said "Give me your hands".

I figured this couldn't hurt. I had Hand Sanitizer in the van in case her hands were covered in sneeze germs.

I held my hands out as she closed her eyes, tilted her head back ... and went straight for my ring finger.

Upon her fondling of my wedding band she slowly opened her eyes and said "Shit!"

"Why are all the good ones taken?" she asked.

"I'm not really a 'good one'," I informed her. "In fact, I'm probably about as close to a 'bad one' as one can be without actually crossing that well-defined line."

"Look at you," she purred, ignoring what I said like I was just some slab of meat.

At that moment, her friend came over and started touching my neck.

"Oooooo ... I love a man with a thick neck," she said.

Naturally, I'm terrified that I'm about to be strangled by a drunken single grandmother. So I back up a step.

"And look at that dimple in his chin," the Hat Lady says, rubbing her finger in what was probably dried chili on my chin because I certainly don't have a dimple there.

"And look at the dimples in his cheeks when he smiles," the other woman said, rubbing the back of her hand lightly against my cheek.

"Yeah," I laughed nervously, trying to find the right words to say. "My wife loves them!"

"Quit talking about your wife, baby," the one with the hat says. "You're ruining the moment."



I'm trying to load up my shit and collect my check so I can get home in time to watch "Blind Date". That's the only moment I'm aware of.

These two ladies are getting their panties steamed while running their hands all over my head, which by the way, is one of the most unsanitary things a person can do to another person.

"You didn't dance with me," Hat Lady pouts. "You said you'd dance with me."

Here was my "in".

"Next time, Helen," I purred, because at the beginning of the night Helen introduced herself as the lady in charge of this party. "Hire me again and we will dance all night."

(Y'see?? That's called "suggestive selling".)

Helen stood on her tippytoes to give me a kiss.

I leaned down and turned my head slightly so she got the picture that she wasn't going to be kissing me on the mouth.

She grumbled and settled for a peck on the cheek.

Her friend, eager to get her some crazy man lovin', did the same and kissed the other cheek.

They locked arms and walked out of the place as I finished packing my stuff up.

It was at that moment that I realized ... I am a whore.

A dirty, stinkin' whore.

I will let women fondle me and kiss me while I do nothing to fend them off.

All for money.

Granted ... it's money going to my son's college fund and I think that's a noble cause and all.

But still.

Uncle Bob's a fucking whore.


I'm so humiliated.

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