Saturday night double teaming.

This was the main part of my weekend. These people spent a ton of money on this wedding. In addition to me, they also hired an irish band, tons of bartenders, and hella good food from Hutch's Barbeque in Pasadena. They rented out Pasadena City Hall and the gorgeous rose filled courtyard inside the main veranda. I wanted to have shit to talk about this wedding, but in all honesty the people were mellow and treated me with respect. They put together a pretty decent program of songs for me to play, and although there were some mis-steps (Chemical Brothers? What the fuck?), the majority of the dinner music they gave me was excellent and I couldn't have picked better myself. The irish band was two hours late, but they were able to get people dancing in one of those wacky irish-dance-circle situations:

As I prefer to bathe myself in as much stress as possible, I made the decision to leave this wedding when it ended at 10 pm and go play a friend's house party across town. I split DJ duty with my roommate, who did an excellent job and dropped all the hyphy hits. I think people had TOO much fun.

The fallout came with the bullshit I came home to the next morning. After the party I had gone to crash at my girlfriend's house, and the roomate came back to the pad with another friend of mine. The cereal bowl pictured below was filled with vodka + milk. Our cat had thrown up on my sheepskin rug in the living room. There was weed all over the kitchen table, and one of our kitchen chairs, sans seat and seat cushion had been repositioned over the toilet.

I know the jams were tight, but damn, G. Keep the party at the party.