wedding tale, part 3
A wedding tale, part 3: Hang the DJ
(when I say "DJ" in this post I am referring not to my son, but to the tacky man who played some really horrid music at my wedding)
We had gone through the trouble of making a playlist. We burned three cds. We talked to him on the phone and told him what we wanted and what we didn't want. Little did I know that in the end, it doesn't even matter.
I assume he was being condescending when he said "yes, mmhmm" to all my requests. Meanwhile he was probably doodling the lyrics to YMCA in his notebook.
I understand that we had to entertain the guests. I know what a party is. And I would have been ok with the occasional disco song and the 50's doo-wop and the 70's novelty songs.
I also understand that the guests did not like our choice of music. The over-50 crowd was none too pleased by Faith No More and Butthole Surfers. Which leads me to believe that people just fear the unknown and automatically dismiss wha they don't understand. Because those over-50 people were sure smiling and grooving in their seats when AC/DC came on. I guess it has to be popular to be entertaining.
I could have lived with all that, honestly. He did manage to get a Jay-Z song on for me, which raised a few eyebrows, and some Radiohead, which raised Chris's eyebrows. But there were moments of utter disbelief.
The Electric Slide was one of them. I specfically said no line dancing songs. But the DJ pointed out to me how much the whole crowd (read: 5 dancing aunts and some cousins) was enjoying it so much.
The Macarena was unforgivable. I noticably cringed when I heard the opening strains to the song. I almost cried when about twenty people got up on the deck and danced, proving that the DJ knew what was best for the crowd.
I started playing a little game with myself. Do a shot of tequila every time the DJ plays something I asked him not to. Do a shot of tequila every time Chris and Nancy looked at each other with that "I am so blogging this" look. Now you know why I was completely shitfaced. Blame the DJ.
At one point we were sitting at a table, enjoying pleasant conversation among our guests when we (and all the neighbors) heard blaring from the speakers:
I was mortified. Horribly, completely mortified. This deserved a double shot. Chris and Nancy looked at Justin and then looked at me and I in turn looked at the DJ as if to say "You think this is ok, Biz Markie isn't??" So a couple of people got up on the deck and shook their butts and I said out loud that perhaps Spinal Tap's Big Bottom would be next. And there was Natalie next to me, giggling that she requested Sir-Mix-A-Lot. I chased her around for about one minute before I remembered that drinking and running don't mix.
Believe it or not, that was not the lowlight of the afternoon. Not by a longshot. The ultimate moment of despair came in the middle of the party, when the first few notes of God Bless the USA. Not even the Shania Twain or J-Lo selections could have caused me more distress than the refrain of that song did.
The drunker I got, the more I enjoyed the 80's brand of disco and rock the DJ started spinning after Justin threatened him with castration. We grooved to Kiss and The Vapors and Devo some other things that are a bit fuzzy in my mind right now. I think, and I can't be sure but I bet one of my sisters or Bonnie will be happy to tell you if I'm right - that I did dance to the YMCA. I blame the tequila, I blame the DJ, I blame Justin for making me so damn happy that I could dance to anything.
We still have our 3 burned cds - one slow, one medium and one a bit heavier. I'll post the track listings later and if anyone would like a copy of one of them as a sort of wedding favor, just let me know. My thanks for not laughing at me.
Because you're not laughing. Right?