No, not the kind of woo that you pitch — Chuckweasel’s pretty much whipped, I don’t have to be sweet to his ass anymore (love ya, baby!). I mean the kind of woo that is used to express one’s appreciation for something… the kind that is generally followed by “hoo.”
Lordamercy, I have hollered like a redneck so much this weekend that I actually gave myself a sore throat! But I am truly my Dear Sweet Mama’s daughter, and if I don’t scream and holler, no one would know I was having fun. Besides, that’s kinda my role in our DJ business — if I woo-hoo and dance and in general make an ass of myself, other people feel comfortable having fun of their own. So it’s a PUBLIC SERVICE.
I have learned a few things, however… For instance, when we did a middle school dance on Friday, we discovered that wee children do not understand the concept of song requests… they seem to see them more as song DEMANDS. Also, Chuckweasel is much more of a saint than I am, because he remains sweet to the precious snowflakes, whereas I eventually start responding to all their questions with “WHAT?” or the variation, “What NOW?”
Fastly forward to Saturday, when we worked a charity chili cookoff… I learned that green chili is not as nasty as I had initially thought. I also learned later that the green chili remains green throughout the entire digestive process… and beyond, if you catch my meaning. Which is weird, because regular red chili doesn’t retain its original color…
Other than that, we simply reconfirmed that drunk girls fucking LOVE me, and will continue buying me shots til the cows come home… I guess in the hopes of getting me drunk and taking advantage of me? Chuckweasel could tell them that A) Getting me drunk is a lot harder than they think, and B) It usually results in me acting belligerent and/or falling over. Of course, I am often belligerent and/or collapsible while SOBER, too, so it may just be my personality.