Mr. Rogers,Captain Buzz Kill & the Vietnam War:

Two Saturdays ago, I went out to the Lot on Washington with Mr. Rogers –bullshit, bullshit, bullshit – we had an overall good time and the whole night we were surprisingly pleased with the level of ghetto mixed with throwbacks that the DJ was playing.  ODB, Pac, Juve, Lil Wayne etc.   Fantastic.

FFWD:  My girlfriends actually were across the street so Mr. Rogers and I decide to join—because a random birthday girl was NOT keeping her “long story short,” and The Drinkery was on the way back to the car. Just go ahead and call us Logic & Reason.

Well, this is where it all goes to shit:

1. The girls are fairly shit-canned (SC#1 & SC#2 from this point forward).
2. Dbag encounter.  This dude I think hates me.  To the point that– on this night, he claimed (like a girl) to “not remember” me…here’s why:

After spending a full day out on the lake last summer, the following conversation transpired:

Sasha:  I quit my job and travelled all over Taiwan, New Zealand, Vietnam and Australia for 3 months.

Dbag :  So, basically all of the countries that didn’t do so “hot” in the War with the U.S…

Sasha:  New Zealand?  Wha? *polite/discreet laughter*

POP QUIZ:

1.  Did the U.S. ever enter into a war with New Zealand or Australia?

2.  Was the Vietnam War a “win” for America?

Answers:  NO.  NO.  And NO.  The first 2 are gimmes, and the 3^rd is just shit.  I tend to think that it wasn’t a “win” by either side.  But it definitely wasn’t a “win” for America.  It was fucking horrible. I’m ok with him not remembering ME – as long as he remembers:

Don’t make asinine comments that are unfounded and historically untrue.

You never know when a little ngggo will call you out on it and make you take it back in front of all of your friends.

3.  Dude with a lisp.  Stares us down and I somewhat confrontationally say “what’s up?” which of course, backfired.  It also led to Mr. Rogers lying about the two of us being from Victoria, TX – which of course, also backfired.

Lying is never the answer.  In this particular case, because this dude happened to be a giant fucking wrestling fan–and OF COURSE:

Stone Cold Steve Austin or some shit is from Victoria, fucking Texas. WHO KNEW?

Not us…

Well, after the kindred ‘wrestling fan’ spirits were finished exchanging phone numbers, birthdays and astrological signs,  Logic rejoined Reason we got that:

“we need to remove ourselves before we ARE ourselves; and things get real”– type of frantic feeling, and we convince the girls to go BACK to the Lot, by luring them with the promise of good music.

Irrespective of Dbag & co., we were on a mission to shake the post-wrestling-fan-stress syndrome; and we all find our way onto the dance floor—with Stellas in hand.  At this point, I am beyond thrilled, because the girls are wasted and lemme tell you… Mr. Rogers is one, tall-drink of SPECTACLE.

Fact:  I don’t dance with boys – except for a few friends that I know can keep up, but generally I keep it very subdued.  Call it a survival mechanism, call it whatever, but no joke:  I’ve got about 5 minutes of full-out dancing before I find myself getting dry-humped by a black dude.  Because black dudes are the only ones that are confident enough to even try I guess…? Black is not the point of that statement, it’s simply the status quo, and to be honest, I don’t care what color you are:

Dry humping is IN-A-FUCKING-PPROPRIATE.

Well, apparently the DJ sees how much fun we’re having dancing to Imma B or whatever the fuck was on – and takes that as his cue to play:  TECHNO FUCKING HOUSE MUSIC.

You know what I hate? TECHNO. It seriously makes me want to go ape-shit on whoever is unfortunate enough to be standing next to me.  I just don’t get it.  Which leads me to wonder if that’s why a lot of people are…oh jesus…disclaimer:

Of course a parallel can be drawn between me “not getting” techno and the people who’s ignorance of certain lifestyles/cultures/dumb cunts who double check Excel on their 10-key calculator/languages/skin color, etc. leads them to be intolerant.  How they often find it easier to “hate” the aforementioned… rather than learn about them or at the very least, accept their existence, is not a direct parallel.  I do “get” how it might sound at first, that I am close-minded or ignorant, but I can assure you…

httpv://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hnn0yc0o1_E

I hate techno and so should you.

The reason I feel comfortable saying that I do in fact “hate” techno and that I don’t in fact feel that I am at risk of being categorized with people who hate anything that mighta come from anywhere further than the 3^rd branch of their family fucking tree– is because I actually DID listen to techno for a significant period of time.  You know, during the ‘transitional period’ when you’re over 18 but under 21…

when you can’t drink, but you CAN take a lot of ecstasy… OFTEN.

I guess it’s a memory association thing.  I’d rather listen to rap and take the trip back to 7^th & 8^th grade dances at Washington Jr. High–than be reminded of me “dancing” as the sweaty girl in a baseball cap and paratrooper pants–rolling balls.  And “dancing,” for this purpose, could easily be equated with the first 10 workouts of P90X…but in one night.

So, anyway – back to techno.  My theory is this:  people who like techno and aren’t on drugs, are either ex-E-heads, perpetually attempting to re-live the chemically enhanced euphoria they were on when they listened to that type of music and liked it (to no avail; because no time, is like the first time..).

Or, MORE REALISTICALLY:  The people that dance to techno are obviously so drunk –that they’ll dance to ANYTHING.  I mean literally, these drunky-drunkertons will dance to anything.  Please note that I admit that the recreational drug factor isn’t applicable for the majority, but also that it is not mutually exclusive…

So fuck you DAYTA w/ Nana Chill p.s. your site sucks.

I asked for your card so I could tell the 4 people who read my site how you purposefully ignored a cute white girl* when she asked you to play “Swing” by Savage instead of your futuristic club-kid-bandana- wearing-fucking-teddy-bear bullsh*t.

httpv://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XStGpetKnsA

It’s not like she asked for the Chicken Dance or the Mambo fucking Number 5.  Jesus. 

*Group huddle resulted in SC#2 making the request, because he was Asian and I was in ‘kid-sister zone’ and SC#1 was in drunky-drunkerton land…not productive.

And now for the diatribe portion **cue podium**:

I know you think you’re an artist, but really, you’re just trying too hard.  I’ll be the first to admit that I’ve been around the club scene and beyond…so I know the type.  Certain DJs just play a mishmash of music and they don’t really feel the music, let alone understand it.  They’re just “DJ-ing” to try and appear “hip” and “progressive” with the hopes of becoming a drunken-skank- magnet.  You know, so they don’t have to rely on their looks or personality to actually pull any pussy.  Pussy.

It’s never more apparent than when one of these fuckers goes from playing a chart-topping club jam to rave music quicker than a 911 Turbo can downshift and hit 100mph going from 60 while driving downhill. Some of these fucking idiots have absolutely no segue between their music genre playlists.

What the fuck, Captain Buzz Kill?

You’d be better off to stop.  Change records.  Make an announcement regarding the impending change of song, followed by a brief teaser of the new band’s discography…THEN dropping the needle.

At least if you did that, we could appreciate the fact that you actually put some thought into it. Or at the very least, we’d have a solid cue to leave the dance floor vs. fighting through those awkward couple of transitional seconds of hoping for the best…

I mean this is a nightclub where drunk people are trying feel the music and the vibe, not an episode of Family Guy.