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5:54 a.m. - 2007-05-07



It's me again.

Plain to see again.

Please can I see you every day?

(Tell me what song starts with those lyrics and I'll give you absolutely nothing)

We're sitting at the dinner table last night when Andrew climbs into Susie's lap.

He then proceeds to start feeling her up.

Granted, she's in a tank top and those bad boys were practically spilling out of it anyway.

"Andrew!" Susie gasps. "That's not nice!"

"But I wanna touch 'em!" he says.

"Little boys don't do that to girls," Susie says.

"But I like 'em," he says with a smile.

"You should have seen 'em when she was 21," I mumble, shoving another forkful of General Tsu's chicken in my mouth.

Needless to say ... I didn't get any sex last night.

Let's see ... what's been going on since Friday ...

Did two parties on Saturday.

Drove over 250 miles on Saturday to do both parties.

The first started at 7 a.m. and was almost on the Florida border.

Which meant I got up at 3 a.m. to drive down there.

It was a 5K run and I served as little more than a public address system.

At the end of the thing, one of the ladies in charge came up to me while I was packing it up.

"Nobody danced!" she pouted.

Ummmmm ....

It's now 9:30 a.m.

Probably 83 degrees outside.

People ran for 5 k's which is like 32 miles in real people measurements.

Did you REALLY expect them to get back to this parking lot, hot, sweaty and exhausted and then bust a fucking move?

Because ... and here's a revelation for you, Einstein ... I did not.

In my own infinite wisdom, I thought it'd be funny to play "Chariots of Fire" when the race kicked off.

So I downloaded it off iTunes.

Didn't listen to it ahead of time.

So they're all "On your marks, get set, go" and take off.

I hit the button to start Chariots of Fire.

And wait.

And wait.

And as it turns out, there's like a 45 second intro before the familiar part comes on.

Here's something you may not know if you've never DJ'ed a 5K run at 7 a.m. on a Saturday morning ... the people are LONG FUCKING GONE 45 seconds into the race.

They were up a hill and around a corner before the "Dunh dunh dunh dunh dunh" part started.

That was a complete waste of 99 cents.

It's not like I'll ever have a request for that shit.

Finished that, feeling bad that I couldn't build a dance floor under the hot sun at 9 a.m. with a bunch of exhausted hillbillies, and drove back to town.

I got to the place where the second party of the day was going to be held.

A wedding.

And while it's a nice place that I'm at ... it's just on the cusp of the bad part of town.

So I set up my stuff. Takes about 20 minutes in the hot sun. But it's under a tent. With no real ventilation. No breeze sweeping through.

So I'm a bit sweaty is what I'm trying to tell you.

My plan is to set up, go home, shower, sleep, get up, go back to the party and rock some freakin' socks off.

I'm done setting up my stuff when the owner of the place comes over.

Super nice guy. Worked with him a couple of times now.

"Wow!" he says. "You're already set up!"

"Yeah," I said and explained my idea of my itinerary to him. "Will my stuff be safe here?"

"I don't know," he says glumly. "We've got lots of crackheads and whores around here and I can't keep an eye on the stuff all day."


Fucking crackheads and whores gotta ruin EVERYTHING!!

So I had to tear my stuff down, load it back in the van and go home which meant I had to get to the wedding early to set up.

The wedding was at 5:30.

Which meant I had to be there by 4:30 to unload, set up and then hide my sweaty ass somewhere so the guests don't see me all sweaty because brides have some kind of bizarre superstition that the guests can't see a sweaty DJ before the wedding.

So that's what I do.

By 5:00, I'm all set up and running around with my tux, trying to find a place to cool off and change.

I ask the owner if the wedding's still at 5:30.

"Oh no," he said "It's at six."


Somehow I misunderstood (go figure) and now I'm here like two hours earlier than I needed to be.

So I change, find a room to just sit in and try to suck in as much air conditioning as possible before I have to go back in the Tent o' No Ventilation.

Ten minutes later, I'm ushered outside by one of the employees who says nobody besides staff and the wedding party are allowed in the house.

I protested that technically I am staff because I'm working here but I could pretty much understand that they didn't appreciate my fat bloated carcass sweating all over an antique sofa.

So I went back out to the tent.

And waited. And waited. And waited.

Apparently, I found this out afterwards ... but the bride was like 30 minutes late to the wedding.

On the list of "Smart Moves You Can Make On Your Wedding Day", making your guests wait in the sweltering heat for 30 minutes while you take your time arriving to the big gig is pretty near the bottom of the list ... right above calling the bride a "pig fucker" in front of everyone as she's saying her vows.

Anyway, that made the reception 30 minutes late.

By this time, my shirt's plastered to my skin, my coat is soaked with sweat and weighs about 10 lbs more than usual, the bottles of water that they're giving out have about 1 oz of water in each one, which is barely enough to get your tongue wet before the water evaporates in your mouth like cotton candy and ... I'm hot.

So people leave the reception and I'm kind of in the dark because I hadn't served as the reception director in this wedding.

Normally I do that ... I plan out the reception in 15 minute increments and we follow my schedule to a T and everyone gets to see everything because that's how I plan it and that's why I get paid the big bucks ... because I'm a fucking wedding professional, bitch.

But at this particular location, the owner of the house takes that role away from me.

And ... she's not as ... ummmm ... precise as I am.

For instance ... if the cake cutting's supposed to take place at 7 p.m. and it's 6:55 p.m. ... I'm shoving a bride and groom in front of a cake ... any cake will do ... and they're cutting the shit up like it's the Alabama Wedding Cake Massacre.

Whereas, this wedding director says "Hmmm ... cake cutting at 7 p.m. ... I think we'll just do that around 8:30 now because I'm the director."

But, by 8:30, most people have heat exhaustion and have left for the comfort of their own homes.

Which means you've got a bride and groom with 320 pieces of cake to take on their honeymoon with them.

Anyway, I rock and everyone else sucks when it comes to planning a wedding reception.

And since it's now 6:30 a.m. and I have a kid to wake up and throw in front of a television while my wife and I get ready for work, I will bid you adieu.

Adieu, bitches.

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