So Photobucket and I spent the majority of the day in a vicious fight re: bandwidth and my credit card balance (HA HA, oh...poverty), but then I went with Photobucket to get The Pieta tattooed on its ribs and I held its hands and it realized that I am, and will always be there for it. Now we're stronger than ever. Which sucks for me because I went to painstakingly great lengths to find a way to post a non-hosted T.G.I. Hagman image for today, which is now all for naught. Damnit. Welp! T.G.I. Hagman!
Today is a classic case of good news/bad news. The bad news is that last night's episode of "Jersey Shore" was a repeat. But the good news is that it was a repeat of the episode I blatantly didn't watch Sunday night because a family issue cropped up and I'm sorry, but some things are just more important than watching a stupid reality show for the blog. (Read: I got Chipotle with Alex. Not only did I let you down, I let myself down.) (Slash, no I didn't. It was delicious and I got to hear all the wacky details about Alex's grad school bonding camping trip. HA HA! Trust falls.)
"Jersey Shore", Episode 8: Sloppy Seconds
OK, this actually doesn't have anything to do with Sunday night's plot, but is it just me or is The Situation always cooking something? But like, always. I think we've seen that man cook more in the fraction of time he's been in Miami than I've cooked since living here period. I can legitimately count the number of meals I've made in this apartment on one hand:
1.) A few weeks after I moved in, I went to Trader Joe's and got food all, "Staring at the blank page before you, open up the dirty window, you're going to cook for yourself now on because you're an adult and that's what adults do, FEEL THE RAIN ON YOUR SKIN!" Which means I boiled pre-cooked pasta, made a salad, poured a glass of red wine, took a picture, sent it to at least five people all, "LOOK AT THIS GUY!!1" and didn't do it again for six months.
2.) I made dinner for my book club twice.
3.) I boiled pre-cooked pasta (kind of my specialty, no big deal) and grilled pre-cooked sausage to serve at my ironic Barack Hussein Snowbama party.
4.) I baked cut and bake cookies once when Helena came over.
And that's the ball game. Five times. Do you know what's in my oven right now? Coffee. Just bags and bags and bags of coffee. If I weren't grossly overprotective of my genitals and their contact with Syphilis, I'd probably marry The Situation right now. But, I am. And I digress.
SO! The house is a tizzy, you guys. A TIZZY! Why? Uh, because Angelina and Vinny totally smooshed last episode and she's got a boyfriend who she won't put out for and she and Vinny hate each other, duh. Although I must say, it's kind of nice to know that everyone else in the house is as equally appalled by Angelina reinforcing the stereotype that women like to be treated like shit, or "The Ho Equation" as it's apparently called. I don't know why I got all analytical about it last week when Snooki really sums it up quite nicely: "It makes no sense and you look like a fucking whore." Man, what happened to all of my Writing for Mass Comm skills? Keep It Simple, Stupid. Keep It Simple.
The morning after The Smoosh Heard Round the World, Angelina wakes up when she hears the house phone ringing. She crawls out of Vinny's bed to get it and it's Vinny's mom, of all people, asking for her son. "Sure thing, Mrs. Guadagnino. Let me just crawl up my birth canal and get him for you." It turns out Vinny's mom is calling because she's in town for a visit! And she brought an entire suitcase of deli meats, t-shirts and bottled water for Vinny with her! And Vinny's cousins! And his Uncle Nino! From what I heard about Uncle Nino in the commercials for this episode, I was completely prepared to fall in love in love with him. He's described as an "old G", or an original Guido. He looks rotund and jolly, like a switchblade-wielding Santa Claus in a Lincoln. In actuality, Uncle Nino kind of made me feel...very much molested. Again, not unlike Santa Claus! If I could turn back time, I would do the following two things:
1.) Watch baby Chrislet mourn the loss of Surge whilst cupping his groin, of course
2.) Not watch the Uncle Nino hot tub scene. Shudder, shudder. Although, I think my favorite party of this entire episode was when Ronnie looked outside at Uncle Nino in the hot tub with J-WOWW and said in the most genuinely disturbed tone: "That looks like a really creepy scene right now..." From your mouth to god's ears. And speaking of that, I'm also completely fascinated by how you can't understand 99% of anything Uncle Nino says. Which is just accepted, like "Oh Uncle Nino!" Well, technically you can understand about every fourth word Uncle Nino says. "oiwejfoiwejfowijefwjef KEEP THE FUCKING CAR!" "wapqowiejfowijef STOP HAVING SEX aoweifjowiefj STOP DRINKING woifjwoeifjowif STOP TAKING DRUGS aoiwjfowiejfowif SO I SWITCHED DOCTORS!" It's fascinating.
Sorry to go off on another tangent, but while we're on the subject of not understanding a god damn thing these people say, Pauly D and The Situation are the clerb one night assessing which girls they want to take home and they keep talking about which girls are "DTF". Over and over and over again, "Is she DTF?" "Ask her if she's DTF because it's Saturday and we can't waste any time." I was like, drawn...to...fawns? But then I realized it means "down to fuck." .... That's it. There's no punch line. I'm just proud of myself for figuring it out on my own and not having to to look it up on Urban Dictionary because I don't understand the young kidz and their "haps". THE AND!
Later that night at the clerb, The Situation lays down some ground work with a blonde, but ultimately ditches her to seek out bigger and blonder things. Never too good to swim in his wake, Vinny steps in and starts dancing and flirting with her. Upon seeing this, The Situation decides to teach Vinny a lesson by swooping back in and taking the blonde home for himself and her friend for Pauly D. Unfortunately this backfires when it turns out they both have boyfriends and leave one make out session into the evening. I guess they weren't DTF after all. (SEE?! SEE WHAT I DID THERE?!) Not deterred by the fact that it's 6:30 in the morning, the boys crack open their little black books and start dialing numbers. Luckily for them, the 900th girl actually picks up and agrees to come over, because nothing will prove to daddy that dropping out of UCF to pursue motorcycle modeling was a good life decision more than an early morning booty call cameo on reality TV.
Homegirl comes over 45 minutes later in her pajamas, puts out her 900th cigarette of the evening, coughs up a small houseplant and breaks the news to The Situation that she didn't bring a friend for him because "all my friends are total grenades." Soooo...here's hoping none of her friends watch the show, read blogs or talk to other human beings. Ever. In the end, Pauly D and the girl smoosh while Mike watches from his bed and eats an egg salad sandwich. Which I don't get, by the way. People in this house seem to always be openly watching their roommates hooking up and having sex. And I'm not putting on airs here—I have both hooked up when a friend was in the room (and a random English gentleman two beds down in a shared hostel room in Amsterdam, but Europe: FREE PASS!) and been in the room when a friend is hooking up. We can't all party at the Spelling mansion, I'm terribly sorry. But the thing is, if you're the friend not hooking up, have the common courtesy to at least pretend to be asleep, you know? The Situation literally offers Pauly D half of his sandwich mid-coitus. I just don't get it. My sister and I were once having one of our "less than sober, but let's not get specific because one of us works and one of us doesn't" conversations and somehow the subject of three-ways came up. Of three-ways my sister said, "I don't know man. I just have no desire whatsoever to see my friends climax." Although the word "climax" makes me want to crawl out of my skin and die, she had a damn good point. I'll admit I'm kind of curious about my friends' sex lives, but I wouldn't want to plop down with popcorn and a Surge (huh? HUH?! FULL CIRCLE?!) and be like, "ALRIGHT! LETS GETS TA FUCKIN'!" you know? I don't know. Maybe it's a Jersey thing. (Laura...)
When The Situation isn't sketching Pauly D laid out like Kate Winslet in Titanic, he's playing Morality Police with Angelina. Because he's just such a good bro, The Situation tells Angelina that if she doesn't tell her non-consummated boyfriend that she cheated on him, he will. When she doesn't and is still all up on her man that night at the clerb, The Situation walks up to Jose and says, "I got to tell you something if she doesn't." Angelina is pretty much then forced into telling Jose about what happened with Vinny, but stresses that she's not into him and they only "hooked up," which can be interpreted however you and your god see fit. Luckily for Angelina, Jose interprets that as kissing and is pretty much like, "Meh, don't do it again. Let's get churros," and that's that.
That night at the clerb was truly magical not only because Angelina miraculously got away with cheating, but also because Pauly D and Vinny fell in love. Not with each other. Surprisingly. They both met girls who they can finally take home to their mothers. "Wifey types." Girls not to be smooshed and discarded, but girls who deserve to be "wined and dined and wifed." Because naturally, nothing screams wife material like "Ramona, the go-go dancer from Tantra" and an ambiguously Latina girl.
But the heart wants what it wants and Vinny's heart wants Ramona and Pauly's heart wants...Ambiguously Latina Girl who's name I didn't catch because I was too busy trying to figure out her ethnicity. The ladies agree to go on a double date with the boys the next night, and the boys prepare by getting haircuts, new shirts, khaki pants, a load of laundry and a trip to the florist to buy them flowers. Classy moves. Classy moves all around. Too bad Ramona calls Vinny a few hours before the date to tell him she doesn't want to go anymore. WAMP, WAMP. Pissed off, he hangs up on her and storms out to the lanai to sulk in a lawn chair. (Which is when a stray cat scampers past the pool skimmer and nobody reacts, which makes me think drinking a glass of wine from the bottle that's been sitting out on my counter without a cork for a week and a half might have been a poor decision. But that's neither here nor there.)
Determined to win Ramona's heart, Vinny calls her back, apologizes for hanging up and literally begs her to come to dinner. Like, the phrase "pretty please" was tossed around multiple times. Eeesh. Moved by his
shamelessness dedication, Ramona finally agrees and Vinny skips off to the shower the happiest boy in Boy Town. A few hours later, Ambiguous Latina Chick shows up but alas—there's no Ramona to be found! Vinny and ALC go to dinner and have a charming conversation about regional accents and Vinny faces facts and that he's been stood up by his dream girl. On national television. After breakdancing when she agreed to go on the date. Also on national television. And then she doesn't pick up when he calls to ask where she is. And Angelina invites him to dinner with her and her boyfriend out of pity. All on national television. OOOOOF.
It's like I always say, "Never fall in love at the Jersey Shore. Even though you're not at the Jersey Shore, you're in Miami. Which doesn't really make any sense given the title and concept of the show, but the entire world seems OK with it, so go with god."