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7:07 a.m. - 2005-03-07


So I had this party to DJ at last night.

All I was told was that it was being held downtown in this section of town where all the homes are over 100 years old and they're huge and mostly owned by doctors and lawyers and even though they're surrounded by ghettos and projects, they refuse to move because the owners are stubborn and want to live in big old houses because it's relative to their penis size. Small penis, big ol' house.

So I find this house, and it's HUGE. Probably 6,000 square feet easily.

I find the owner, introduce myself and ask where I can start taking my stuff in.

He points me toward the four car garage and says that's where I'll be playing.


Just one question ... huh???

I kinda wanted to chuckle and then pull a wall calendar out of my pocket, point toward the date, remind him that even though it's a somewhat nice day, it's STILL FUCKING WINTER out and once that sun goes down, it's going to get chilly.

Before I can do this, he points at one of those big fireplace pits near the garage and he's already stoked that fire with plenty of logs.

Only problem is ... while it's "near" the garage, it's still about 30 yards from where I'm going to be.

Luckily, I wore one of my umpteen sweaters that Susie bought me last week (regular price: $48 ... she paid $4.80 apiece for those of you who were curious)

So I set up my stuff and talk to the owner of the house who's a really nice guy ... very down-to-earth and very accommodating.

At 6 p.m. the "party" starts.

Without going into too much detail, this is a party for a bunch of girls ... anywhere from ages 8-18.

I did a party for these girls last year and had a great time because young girls appreciate having a DJ at their parties. They're not so jaded that they stand there saying "He shouldn't have mixed The Used into Coldplay ... that really harshed my dancing buzz" with their hands on their hips and staring at me like total bitches who just need to get A FUCKING LIFE, YOU WHORES!! GET A LIFE!!!!

...Sorry ... flashback of another party.

So 6:00 becomes 6:15 rather quickly and there are no girls dancing outside in the driveway.

By 6:30, the sun has gone down and I'm still playing to an empty driveway. A few of the parents are standing around the fire pit with their hands over the fire as my nose gets very very cold.

So I'm standing there, like a cold-nosed dog in the rain, playing Justin Timberlake and Britney Spears songs for the parents of these girls who have probably wanted to smash a few Justin Timberlake and Britney Spears CDs in recent years.

Finally, about 7:00, a few of the girls show up in the driveway.

One girl walks over to the DJ "booth" which is two round tables with tablecloths on them in the doorway of the garage.

"Do you have 'Summer Nights' from the 'Grease' soundtrack?" she asked.

"No," I said. "No, I'm a fucking piece of dog shit who has no idea how to fucking DJ a fucking teen party. What the fuck is 'Summer Nights' anyway? Is it a fucking rap song? Because that's all I brought with me ... fucking hardcore rap shit. Hope you like it, you fucking idiot."

That is what I said in my head.

"Sure," I said out loud. "I'll play it next!"

So I played the song and they all just stood there.



I got on the microphone.

"Scientists have proven that if you're cold, dancing will make you warm," I ad-libbed over the sound system.

The girls stared at me like I was some kind of dweeb spouting off actual scientific facts rather than focusing on the lovely strains of John Travolta and Olivia Newton-John as they relayed the story of their first date to their respective friends with Olivia's version being all romantic and John's version making it sound like he spent the evening dry humping a whore.

They didn't dance.

This called for desperate measures. I had a group of girls standing in front of me who obviously wanted to dance, but who were also trying to deal with thinning blood from the cold night air.



Usher's "Yeah" was the biggest dance song of last year. It never fails to shake a booty. I've seen grown heterosexual men hit the dance floor together to dance to it.

I put it on.

One girl put her right foot behind her ass, grabbed her ankle with her right hand, threw her left hand behind her head and did some dance that looked more like a double-jointed epileptic seizure than an actual dance.

So while I'm frantically searching for a spoon to shove in her mouth, she stops as suddenly as she started and the girls all head back inside to the house.

Feeling like a dismal failure ... a COLD dismal failure ... I turned the volume level back down and decided to play for the group of about a dozen parents shivering around the fire pit.




The parents ATE THAT SHIT UP.

They were all singing and dancing around the fire like a bunch of drunken, well-dressed Indians.

Finally, the lady that hired me came over to me.

"You look bored," she said.

"I just ... feel like a failure," I confided in her, which was really stupid considering she was about to write me out a check with a few zeroes at the end of it for my services and if I say something like "I don't really deserve all the money you're about to pay me" then she may feel the same way and I can say "Goodbye zeroes!" because she can say "Well, you were good but nobody danced, so let's knock a few hundred off the bill, hokay?"

"Nooooooo..." the woman said. "The girls are all inside watching a video of (something they did yesterday which I don't want to talk about because there's way too many locals reading this site now who I don't know and who may actually have something to do with these girls and it's really starting to make me paranoid to talk about local people on this site because I'm starting to have to second-guess every goddamned thing I write here which really fucking sucks, THANKS A HEAP YOU ANONYMOUS LOCALS). That's why they're all inside."


Well that made sense. The girls did something yesterday that was a big accomplishment for them and they had it on video and they were watching the video.

So I'm not such a failure after all.

I'm merely dealing with a bunch of narcissistic teenage girls who would rather watch videos of themselves than come dance in the driveway on a cold Winter's eve.

By 8:30 the party was over.

I got paid the full amount of money, handed out about six business cards, was told repeatedly that I did an awesome job and brought back memories for a lot of parents and blah stinkin' blah blah blah.

Even the girls came out and thanked me for the ten minutes they spent in the driveway, shivering to the beats of my phat mixes.

So there's a moral to be learned here.


Here's the moral.

Right here.

Coming up in the next little sentence thingie.

"When you think that you really suck at your job, remember ... it's just cold out, you're standing in someone's garage, and people would rather be inside talking about themselves than grooving to your tunes."

Aesop ain't got shit on me, G.

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