Ahhh, Friday. Putting the ha! in T.G.I. Hagman. (Jesus. Why is it physically impossible for me to write a T.G.I. Hagman intro that doesn't irritate the crap out of myself? I apologize. And I don't accept my own apology.)
As of 5:18 am on August 13th (my dad's birthday! Happy birthday, you magnificent Tim Gunn-loving bastard, you!), 2010, Larry Hagman is...alive! And challenging the moon to a drinking contest, I'm sure. At least in my mind. Because that's absolutely in the top 4 on my List of Things I Would Really Appreciate Seeing One Day.
So I gave Real Housewives of DC another shot tonight and here's my official stance: I still hate it and everything it stands for, BUT! if Lynda Erkiletian wanted to be my best friend, I would not hate it for the following reasons:
1.) We're neighbors! (Not at all. Well, kind of. But not at all.)
2.) She actually lives in the city vs. McLean
3.) She has a dreamy younger, black boyfriend
4.) She accused Michaele Salahi of having an eating disorder and told her to eat a hamburger
5.) She referred to The Salahi's polo event as a "goat rodeo", which as far as snarky comments go, I'm kind of sexually attracted to?
6.) According to her website, she has a "chubby pug named Ichiban and a feisty Siamese cat." Um, are you kidding me? The entire purpose of my being alive is to one day own a chubby pug named Ichabod. It's what I told MTV made up my Five-Year Plan. And she has a feisty Siamese cat? Hello—Evie is a feisty Tonkinese cat! Lynda's like me in 27 years. And you know what? If at 52 I'm dating a delicious, younger black man, telling skinny bitches to go eat a hamburger and referring to things as "goat rodeos," that would have been 27 years well spent.
So there. 2birds1blog's official stance on Real Housewives of DC is that every single person involved with it should choke on a piece of steak except Lynda Erkiletian, who should come over to my place where we will eat soft, easy-to-swallow foods and have a pug play date. Which may or may not involve a little bit of rohypnol and a lot a bit of dognapping. But that's just the gamble you take when you become BFFs with Meg McBlogger, now isn't it?
And now onto this week's recrap of Jersey Shore: Miami, Episode 3!
So! When we last left off with America's favorite walking pubic hairs, Angelina was hitting on Pauly D with the grace and subtlety of a fat kid falling off the ropes course at summer camp and both Pauly D and The Situation were having absolutely none of it. This week's episode opens with Angelina continuing to harass Pauly D about why he doesn't like her (which makes me want to turn in my vagina and retire early, because I'm getting too old for this shit) until old J-Woww comes outside to see what all the fuss is about. J-Woww is none to thrilled when she finds out that Angelina slapped Pauly D, because Lord knows when I think of passive resistance, two names immediately leap to mind: Mahatma Ghandi and Jenni Farley. (And not necessarily in that order.) Fearing J-Woww's wrath (somewhat understandably,) Angelina vehemently denies she ever hit Pauly D until everyone just kind of loses interest and wanders away to make protein shakes, jerk-off to old episodes of Silk Stalkings and go to bed.
The next day—SHOCK!—Angelina doesn't remember a thing and doesn't understand why all the guys are ignoring her. And I call SHENANIGANS. Hardcore, Italian-American, gelato-scooping SHENANIGANS. Because it seems like every single morning on this show, there's always one person who doesn't remember whatever scandalous thing they did the night before and frankly, they never seem that black-out-drunk to me when it happens. They're substantially drunk, yes, but not forgot-what-I-did-last-night drunk. That's a special level of drunk. I know that drunk when I see it. The last time I got so drunk there were honest-to-god holes in the story of the night before, it was June 2008, I was living in New York and Jill was in town, so Ex Co-Blogger Chris and I met her and her friend Jenny at a bar on the Lower East Side. Chris and I had just gotten in a huge fight on the subway and when we got there, things were still a little awkward and tense, so I dealt with that awkwardness in the most mature and healthy way possible: by pounding double vodka tonics all night on an empty stomach. Trying to remember the second half of the night is like clicking through pictures on a viewfinder. Here's what I remember:
My, this giant pint glass of ice and vodka is refreshing. CLICK!
Hey look at me, I'm dancing! That's uncharacteristic of me. How am I doing? Yep. White. CLICK!
Did someone just say there's an Olsen twin here? CLICK!
Now I'm outside laying in the middle of the street, my knee is bleeding and there seems to be some sort of crowd forming around me. WELP, hope I'm OK because I feel a CLICK coming on! CLICK!
Huh. I'm in the back of a cab. When did that happen? Hey, I'm in my neighborhood! That's exciting! Especially since I'm about to vomit everywhere. [Parts legs, discreetly vomits betwixt them and not out the window, pulls up to apartment, throws a wad of twenties at driver and runs inside before dealing with the repercussions of what just happened becomes a viable option.] CLICK!
Angelina just seemed way too coherent and not covered in blood and vomit to be that level of "ohhh, LOL how did I get to Brooklyn??" drunk. (Side note: Puking in the back of that cab and bailing is probably the most shameful thing I've ever done. Every now and then I imagine that poor cab driver hosing out the back of his cab at 4 o'clock in the morning instead of heading home to curl up next to his wife and/or gay lover in bed after a hard night at work and I just want to punch myself in the ovaries. A few months ago, I was drunk in a cab in DC coming back from Christ only knows where (NOT BECAUSE I WAS THAT DRUNK; I just have a horrible memory. There is a difference.) and I had the most uncontrollable case of the hiccups known to man. After like, 8 minutes of this the driver was like, "Look, if you have to puke, please tell me so I can pull over," and I opened up to this man like we were new friends at our first sleep over. I was like, "I WOULD NEVER PUKE IN YOUR CAB. [Hiccup] BECAUSE I DID IT ONCE. [Hiccup] AND I RAN AWAY. [Hiccup] I JUST RAN. [Hiccup] AWAY. AND I'M SORRY. [Hiccup] I WAS SO DRUNK. [Hiccup] WAY DRUNKER THAN I AM NOW. [Hiccup] I SLOWED DOWN MY PARTYING AFTER THAT YEAR. [Hiccup] I WAS IN A REALLY BAD PLACE. [Hiccup] THAT'S NO EXCUSE. [Hiccup] BUT I STILL THINK ABOUT THAT CAB DRIVER AND HOW I NEVER GOT TO APOLOGIZE AND I NEVER WILL. BUT NOW I CAN APOLOGIZE TO YOU. [Beings tearing up] I'M SO [sniff,] SO [hiccup,] SORRY." I have such an odd history of opening up and baring my soul to cab drivers. Drunk or sober. I'd say I'm what Taxi Cab Confessions dreams of, but truthfully I don't think they dream about girls who tell stories about the missionary position and motion-sickness.
But, I digress. The Situation lets Angelina in on all of her bad behavior from the night before, she apologizes to Pauly D, and Pauly D is basically like, "I accept your apology but don't really want to hang out with you anymore. L8R." Angelina doesn't get it. I mean, she apologized. Shouldn't everything just go back to normal now? According to Pauly D, no. And this plagues Angelina. So she asks Pauly D if she can just get a "Get Out of Jail Free Card". That seems like a ballsy order to me. I mean, Get Out of Jail Free Cards are appropriate when you break a glass at a dinner party or take the last beer without asking. Not when you physically assault your friend for not wanting to marry you or hang out with you at all. It's like the time at work when a guy asked if he could get a discount on a box because it wasn't the right dimensions he needed. Sir, why the fuck would I give you a discount for that? Why do people think they should get special treatment because The Way It Is is inconvenient for them? Christ. I hate everyone.
Everyone except Lynda Erkiletian and Vinny, that is. Vinny, or Vincenzo, as Enzo, the owner of the gelato place, calls him, really came out on top on this week. First he and Ronnie go on a delightful, if not slightly racist, comedic romp through "the hood" to get hair cuts and the results were hilarious. You see, Vinnie has thick Sicilian hair that much like himself, can not be tamed, so he figures a "hood barbershop" will know how to work with it. This would be all fine and dandy except he and Ronnie essentially walk around said "hood" with their giant film crew being like, "HAHAHA—NIGGERS! WE'RE OUT OF PLACE!" the entire time and 'ehhh. If the neighborhood was as rough as they kept insinuating (real quote: "I feel like we're in the neighborhood in Bad Boyz II!"), it's a miracle they both survived. And with damn fine haircuts, too!
Vinny gets double-points with me this week because he was all over the ladies of the house, and as Laura's upper thigh remembers, I get incredibly excited at the prospect of housemates falling in love. (Upon re-reading that, that sounds super, duper gay. To clarify: I got really excited last season when The Situation and Snooki
hooked up smooshed, so forgetting how dainty Laura is, I repeatedly smacked her upper thigh really hard while screaming, "THEY'RE GOING TO FALL IN LOVE!" and she ended up with a giant bruise the next day. And then I went down on her.)
That night, Vinny marvels at how good Snooki looks (which it did not go unnoticed, I should say, that he did in his confessional with the "Nobody's ugly after 2 a.m. in Miami" graphic in the background. Oh, MTV. You slay me.) and talks about how Einstein should come back and "re-write the laws of gravity around J-Woww's boobs." Now, truthfully I did drop AP Physics after AN single class, but I'm 99.9% sure the laws of gravity don't really apply to giant, man-made, silicone, torpedo breasts. So of all the things worth Zombie Einstein's time coming back from the grave for, I think studying the "mystery" of J-Woww's gravity-defying breasts should probably be at the bottom of the list.
Speaking of the more enjoyable men of the house, The Situation is concerned, you guys. Because his abs aren't the only muscles he likes to exercise; he also likes to work out his heart. And right now it's breaking for Angelina. He feels badly that she basically doesn't have a single friend to her name, so he calls the house together and asks the girls to go easy on her. And the girls are open to that idea—if, and only if, she admits that she talked shit about them. Which she does! So everyone's cool! That worked out well!
If Vinny came out on top this week, Ronnie definitely came out on the bottom. The very bottom. Ronnie was a real weiner this episode and I'm convinced that he's secretly a 13-year-old girl going through puberty. Because not only does he "need to feel pain" to deal with his emotions, walk around with bandages on his wrists and generally just treat everyone like crap, I noticed this week that he also has a petite diamond stud in the cartilage of one of his ears. Seriously? If we follow the timeline of my youth, that means next he'll start smoking Parliment Lights, fight with his sister all the time and sneak out to a party one night only to get tracked down and picked up early by his dad because he didn't fold his laundry that day like he said he would. (Happy birthday again, dad! Thanks for stressing the importance of prompt laundry folding to me in my youth!)
That night at the clerb, Ronni and Sammi are actually out and having a good time until Sammi looks over and notices that Vinnie is sloppy wasted, which she doesn't really "love," per se. Ronnie goes over to ask her why she isn't having a good time and ends up calling her a "fucking bitch" and tells her to leave. Yeesh. In the end Sammi goes home crying, Ronnie stays to "get creepy" and some girl makes out with The Situation's abs, an experience which I imagine being on par with licking the toilet seat of an busy airport bathroom. Snooki, who also decided to stay, sees Ronnie making out with a random Cuban girl, so she walks over and asks if he's sure he wants to do this. Feeling cockblocked, Ronnie tells Snooki to mind her own business and physically pushes her out of the way. Double yeesh. That's when The Situation and Mike step in and physically pick up Ronnie and remove him from the clerb and they all decide to call it a night and go home.
BUT THAT'S NOT WHERE THE DRAMZ STOPS!
When Ronnie gets home from his night of debauchery at the clerb, he crawls into bed with Sammi again and asks if he can "smoosh" her, which I'm not sure if it means kiss or sex, but either way, it doesn't sound Christian and I'm uncomfortable.
But then, the most magical thing happens. Vinnie passes out on top of the phone area, so when Snooki goes in later to call her boyfriend, she kind of has to lay next to him. Vinnie eventually wakes up and while Snooki is still on the phone with her boyfriend, she and Vinnie get a vicious case of the giggles and end up hanging up on her boyfriend and knocking over the entire phone area. After that they go back to their rooms, which is when Vinnie shouts at her, "Come. Lay down. I want to touch you. I need companionship." "Like a dog?" Snooki asks. "Meh. Yeah." So Snooki crawls into bed with Vinnie and they lay there spooning until Snooki asks, "You wanna fuck?" To which Vinnie replies, "Sure." WHAT? This episode is a real case study in things escalating quickly. "Hey, you look drunk." "YOU'RE A FUCKING BITCH! GO HOME!" "We have a case of the giggles!" "LET'S FUCK!"
The next morning Vinnie wakes up, rolls over, sees Snooki laying next to him and his clothes on the floor and wonders if he did the unthinkable—did he have sex with Snooki? Truthfully, I don't think they did, but they did leave it a little open-ended and ambiguous. THE AND?!
Vinnie's not the only one having a rough morning, though. Sammi wakes up and just doesn't know what to do about Ronnie. I mean she loves him so much but he's kind of giving her mixed signals. You know, what with the you're a fucking bitch talk, and all. Luckily that afternoon they bond over the angst of scooping gelato and Ronnie sneaks into conversation that Sammi is his girlfriend and they start making out. And then the camera pans to same random-ass gelato worker who's nodding his head like "YEEEEEEEEAHHHH." (?)
That night, the house decides to go out and shoot some pool, but Mike, Vinnie and Pauly D decide to have a "MVP night" instead and go out to chase some tail. Angelina decides that she wants to go with them (despite not being invited,) and after numerous attempts on the guy's part to subtly drop the hint that they don't want her there, they're basically like, IS THAT A TORNADO?! and run out the front door when she's not looking. And yet she still doesn't get that they don't really like her. Bless her heart.
Christ, I'm exhausted. What happens next? Angelina goes to play pool but is bored as shit; the guys take a bunch of "grenades" back to the house and one of their fake boob bra inserts pops out in the hot tub and floats around like a chicken cutlet and I want to die out of third-party embarrassment; The Situation tries to drum up business at the gelato shop by standing outside shirtless, because there's nothing more appetizing than a half-naked man outside of a food establishment; Snooki mounts the giant ceramic dog/camel outside of the shop and says it hurts her vagina, The Situation offers to help her down but she says no, she likes it, World laughs; Ronnie and Sammi have lame fight and nobody is shocked. FIN.
And now I'm going to bed. Have a great weekend and we'll see you right back here Monday morning!