1.) Oh, you know, I got the fear of Christ put in me when I thought I was getting fired. My bosses never had that TALK with me yesterday, by the way. It was so anti-climactic. They were in meetings all day and every time they'd come out, I'd tense up and prepare for the Dynasty-style cat fight that never came. (And this has nothing to do with anything, but remember last August when I said I wanted to bring back Dynasty inspired nude pumps? Well according to Piperlime they're the hottest thing since sliced J-Woww. And WTF? This is like the time in 10th grade when I wore a long, powder blue sweater coat to the homecoming football game and everyone shamelessly made fun of me because it "looked like I was wearing a bath robe" and then six months later you couldn't swing a dead cat without hittin' a bitch wearing one. Looking back, they might have been making fun of me because it was powder blue, but still! If stick pins and narwhals blow up, Imma be rull pissed. But in the mean time, sexy can I?:
August's mission: accomplished. Crystal Carrington would be proud. Those puppies are just neutral and bland enough to match any flashy pattered shirt dress appropriate for lunch at the St. Dennis club.)
Anyways, what was I talking about before that obnoxiously cocky little fashion rant? Oh, yes my obnoxiously dramatic little emotions. (God you want to have sex with me.) So I'm not fired, but this entire ordeal has sent me into this huge tailspin about the direction of my life and what I should be doing with it right now. Which I completely don't appreciate. I feel like last summer (when I wasn't busy predicting Spring '10 shoe trends) I was having the same freak out but managed to cool my jets for a while. Now after this week, I'm feeling all Antwerpy again and I don't know what the fuck I'm doing and I just want to run away, learn Dutch and not have to make a decision ever again ever. But not in that order. Logistically speaking, it would probably make more sense to learn Dutch first. Unless it's hard. Which I hear it is. In which case I plan on getting by with my big boobs and
2.) The Jersey Shore ended last night. And it was the WORST. EPISODE. EVER. I honestly don't even know if it's worth recapping. It felt like one of those Golden Girls midnight clip shows where the girls pour into the kitchen one by one (—"Sophia! You can't sleep either?"—), break out the cheesecake and reminisce about all of the shitty men they've dated. Except last night's episode was 90% less interesting and 100% more redundant. I expected more from you, Jersey Shore, I really did. I'm not mad at you, I'm just dissapointed. Now go to your room without dinner or a recap and think about what you did. (Lolz. Just kidding. I'll half ass a recap later.)
3.) I am slightly weirded out by my own emotions regarding tonight being Conan O'Brien's last Tonight Show. I'm just taking the situation entirely too hard for someone not related to Conan or one of his staff. I don't really know what else to say besides I just really love him. He's a bit of a hero of mine and I've been watching his show since the (somewhat turbulent) beginning of Late Night. Teresa and I used to have sleepovers every Friday night and get hopped up on Pepsi and pixie sticks so we could stay up until 12:30 and watch. Because even at the somewhat innapropriate age of eight years old, we still knew that man was the tits. I have also spent many a restless and anxious night in middle and high school falling asleep to Late Night and I took extreme comfort knowing that Conan, my little self-deprecating electric blanket, was always there to comfort me. In 2003, the Late Night tickets we requested finally arrived and Teresa and I were fully prepared to skip the first day of our senior year of high school to drive to New York and see a taping. We even had the bright idea of making t-shirts that said "Bonin' 4 Conan" to wear in the audience. Unfortunately, not only were our tickets for the first day of school, they also overlapped with some Republican convention that had recieved numerous bomb threats, and in a very post 9/11 New York, this hadn't become old hat yet. In the end we (and by we, I mean our parents) decided that two 17 year-old girls probably shouldn't drive into New York City alone with t-shirts ensinuating we hooked our way there when terrorists and Republicans are running around wild. Looking back, I just have this to say: pussies. We should have gone. T-shirts and all. Because now we'll never get the chance again and it fucking breaks my heart. Seriously, everytime I think about tonight being the last show my throat closes and my eyes well up with tears; a fact so disturbingly embarassing, I'm not quite sure what to do about it. My plan for tonight is this: meet Helena and Alex at Little Miss Whiskey's after work -> drink to the point of being good and emotionally drunk, but not sloppy. "Wedding Toast Drunk," if you will. -> Go to Andrew's apartment with eye makeup remover and a box of tissues -> Watch the show and cry. And cry and cry. Overall, pretty par for the course for a Friday night in the world of Meghan McBlogger.
But even on sad, sad days like this, there's always something to be grateful for. And today, I'm grateful for our last Jersey Shore recap. But, of course, mostly...I'm grateful it's T.G.I. Hagman.
As of 1:38pm on January 22, Larry Hagman is...alive! Thank god for small favors.
And now, our final Jersey Shore recap— Episode 9: That's How The Shore Goes. (Sticking to last week's resolution, Laura and Andrew joined me as my spotters this week and I felt 100% better having them there. Also, per my notes, Andrew looked "amazing" last night and I need to apologize to Laura for physically assaulting her when I got overly emotional at the thought of Snooki and The Situation falling in love. We seriously had to put a pillow on her thigh because I couldn't stop slapping it when I got emotional. Completely normal things that happen in a friendship.)
So! As we recall from last week, Ronnie got arrested for punching some schmo in the face with his mighty crab claw and scuttling away and back into the sea. (How many hits does it take to the get to the center of a Guido Pop? JUST ONE HIT BRO, JUST ONE HIT!) Unfortunately for Ronnie, he can't get bailed out of jail until 6:30 the next morning, which means he has to spend a brutal three hours in Ocean County jail, which I imagine to be something like Beach Blanket Bingo except gayer. Which is neither here nor there. The next morning the Sammi begrudgingly hauls her ass out of bed and goes to pick up Ronnie from the clink. They have an emotional reunion because, you know, this is the first time she's had to sleep alone without Ronnie by her side since getting there. 27 days ago. And Haiti thought they had it rough...Overall I'm impressed with Ronnie's post-jail look. His faux-hawk is still perfectly in place, he looks well-rested and doesn't even need to take a shower. Whereas I come home from sitting on my ass watching Hulu at work all day and look like I've just pulled a truck eight miles with my teeth in the hot sun. So, well played Ronald. Well played.
It being Labor Day weekend, the gang wants to go out with a big bang. Which is a great idea, except they all stink like AIDS and nobody will touch 'em with a 10-foot pole. Sucks. I'd say the only interesting part of this episode was when Snooki has a very B. Spears-esque emotional breakdown after being blown off by Cowboy O'Hoolihan and her ex-boyfriend, whom she's still in love with, in the same day. The ex-boyfriend thing was rough, I'm not going to lie. She sees him on a balcony, blows him a kiss and he flat-out looks down and says, "No." Snookers can not catch a break. At a certain point, you just gotta assume that god must just really hate that girl. (Am I right or am I right??) Snooki then does what I think we'd all do in that situation and freak-dances by herself on the boardwalk, attracting the likes of old men, skeptical grandmas, hobos and drifters. It was like Intervention: The Dance Remix and I was in no way mad. Shockingly, when this doesn't make her feel any better, she goes home to cry on the roof like some kind of emo blogger, where The Situation gives her a nice little pep talk.
That night the boys go to the boardwalk to play arcade games, which I mention only because Andrew, feeling inspired, decided that his new pick up line from now on is going to be "Wanna play with my skee balls?" and I feel like that's worth mentioning. After that, the boys go home and decide to stay in for the night and cheer up old Snooks. (A gesture that is so touching I punch Laura in the face and stab her in the kidney. At this point I also drunkenly shouted, "I LOVE YOU GUYS!" to which Andrew asked, "Are you talking to us or the TV show?" and I genuinely didn't know the answer.)
The gang then reminisces about the past "summer" (read: past 27 days) for the next 30 minutes and it's boring as fuck all because they each just repeat the same thing over and over again in 90 different ways. It was the most bizarre thing. Thank god The Situation and Snooki make out in the hot tub for a few minutes and break up the RemFest. Which can be summarized as:
- I can't believe this is our last night.
- It was a crazy summer.
- I don't regret anything.
- I didn't expect to fall in love at the Jersey Shore.
- I hope we stay friends.
- We are like a family.
- I can't believe we made it.
- We did it.
- We made it through it.
- We did it without not not making it through it.
- Man, I got so much pussy.
- Remember when part of the plot was we had to work at the boardwalk?
- Me neither.
- I like summer.
- We should do this next year.
- Ok, see you then. And at promo work. And paid appearances. And in the real world.
- Ok, bye.
Our season ends with The Situation standing on the roof, wistfully looking out across the boardwalk as he dramatically raises his arms in the air like a prize fighter and proclaims, "I DID IT!"
...Did what, asshole? You just got paid to party at the beach for a few weeks; you didn't survive 'Nam. Maybe be a little less dramatic next time, [scoff] am I right? Aaaaaaaaand with that, I'm going to go watch Late Night clips on youtube and cry hysterically into an Italian flag because good television as we know it is over and thus life is not worth living. I leave you with one of my favorite Late Night sketches of all time. It's been a pleasure to recap the J.S. for you, thanks for dealing with my drama this week, have a great weekend and we'll see you back here on the blog Monday morning. Buh-bye.