For quite some time now I’ve wanted to learn to DJ. Not like one of those Celebrity Rockstar DJs that just plug in their MacBooks and hit the button on a premade playlist. No! I’m talking about a real DJ who can actually mix and spin and all that magic.
I think I’d be a natural. On more than one occasion, boys whom I’ve invited to come over make a note of what I’m playing beforehand and ask me to send it to them. And I really get a thrill from encouraging my friends (and even complete strangers sometimes) to have a blast. Plus, I’m pretty confident in my ability to make cute boys dance. After all, music makes the people come together, no?
The first time I ever expressed my DJ daydreams to anyone was the night of my 21st birthday party. I had rented the back room at the Lakeview Broadcasting Company and massively invited everyone I’d ever come across at school. I was young and overeager and really wanted to be “cool.” To my surprise, a lot of these acquaintances ended up showing up.
Shortly after midnight and several birthday drinks later, I found myself up against one of the cherry-colored wooden walls in the back with only the soft red lights shining from above. In front of me was a dirty blond boy with piercing gray eyes and in a turquoise t-shirt with a small graphic of a cassette tape. Caught between a guy and a wooden wall, I got hard as a rock.
I’d never seen him before, and when I asked him, he confirmed that he wasn’t there that night for my party. He said it in this kind of smug tone, suggesting, “No, birthday boy, the world does not revolve around you.”
I have a thing for confident-verging-on-cocky guys; it’s a flaw. So I continue talking to this guy. Eventually, we go to the crowded patio to smoke a cigarette. After sliding the heavy, steamed-up glass door, we make our way past the drunken girls holding 40s in brown paper bags, talking loudly to one another and leaning on their boy friends.
We get to the bench by the corner and sit down as close to each other as possible. I light his Parliament first then mine and continue the conversation we spontaneously (and not so soberly) started inside.
“So all these people here are your friends?” he asks.
“Well, not really. Some of them I’ve just met tonight. Friends of friends, I guess. I’m actually not sure how all these people found out about it,” I explain trying to make myself come off self-effacing.
“Maybe you are very well-liked at school,” he suggests.
“Maybe it’s the three-hour open bar.”
“Haha, that’s more like it. So why LBC?”
“Well, I’m not really a big fan of those huge megaclubs. Had about enough of that when I was in Madrid. Besides, I have a huge crush on the DJ here tonight.”
“Yeah, he’s great.”
“Ok, wanna know something I’ve never really told anyone before?” I’m obviously on the “It’s My Birthday, Let Me Talk About Myself” train with no signs of getting off anytime soon. But he looks at me intrigued so I continue, “Recently, I’ve really been wanting to learn to DJ.”
“Really?” he responds.
“Silly, I know. I don’t even know how I would go about doing that!”
“Well, I can teach you,” he blurts out. “I DJ sometimes, for like small parties and stuff. I have all the equipment at my place. You should stop by sometime.” I’m immediately delighted by this revelation, and dude-now-DJ gets a lot cuter just sitting there smoking my Parliament.
“What about tonight?” I throw it out there thinking I’m being suave but then instantly feeling silly for being so forward.
“Tonight’s good,” he says and stomps his cigarette out. I start feeling suave again. Most of my friends have already left, the open bar started way earlier, so I finish my vodka Redbull, say my goodbyes to the stragglers at the bar and walk out with DJ Dreamboat.