I poofed my hair for this?

Today is going to be a grab bag of a post. Because I'm so fucking hungover. Probably going to vomit. Hope nobody's in the bathroom when I do. Hurts to make sentence structure. Want hug. But not too hard. Or will vomit.

- First things first: remember last Friday when I jokingly asked somebody to make me a ringtone of The Situation whispering "That's a lot of pickles" from Jersey Shore? Well reader Candace M. actually did. BOOM! So, thank you Candace. Give me your address and I'll send you my first born child.

- Re: my job—I got an email this morning from Boss #1 and #2 saying that we need to sit down and have "a talk" this afternoon. This does not bode well for me. I'd go into how I called my mom crying and how my stomach feels like a 300-pound man is breakdancing inside of it, but where's the humor in that?

- Instead let's talk about what a bust J-Woww and Pauly D's appearance at McFadden's last night was. What the fuck was up with that, you guys? Dan, Andrew V (not Andrew of The Great Juno Debate fame) and I got Gudio/Guidetted up (seriously, check out Andrew's Pauly D hair. It was a work of art,) drained my Jäger tap and headed over to the bar at about 10:30ish. First of all, there was a line to get in. STEEERIKE ONE! I have a theory that any establishment with a line, cover charge, or raffled happy hours is probably about as cool as a pair of Bugle Boy jean shorts. So, basically speaking, my theory is that McFadden's is probably about as cool as a pair of Bugle Boy jean shorts. HOWEVER! You don't get the opportunity to fist pump with J-Woww and Pauly D everyday and I'd do just about anything for a good story (or a free t-shirt,) so we got in line. Then we found out that the cover charge was $40. STEEERIKE TWO! 40 fucking dollars?! Are you kidding me?! I was ambivalent when I thought it was five! I don't think I'd pay 40 dollars to get into a burning house to pull a family member out, nevertheless gawk at two reality TV stars across a crowded Bro bar. We briefly considered pulling a "I'm somewhat-borderline-almost-kind-of-just-a-little-bit-of-a bloglebrity. Wanna knock a zero off for me?" but I think the only person impressed by that is my mom ("impressed"..."upsest"...semantics) and it probably wouldn't pull that much weight with the bouncer. Plus he point-blank told us we were asking him too many questions and to go away. That was also a nice little clue. Suddenly cameras started going off in front of the entrance, as J-Woww and Pauly D had shown up and were doing a TV interview with Christ only knows who on the saddest little cat fashion show of a red carpet I have ever seen. I took a picture with my digital camera but it wasn't nearly interesting enough to justify searching through my closet to find the USB cord to upload it onto here. Sorry about that. After a few minutes the dynamic duo went inside and we decided to take advantage of the line of people and promote the blog. And when I say "we" promoted the blog, I mean Andrew V and Dan promoted the blog while I awkwardly lurked by the trashcans playing with my hair because self promotion makes me heinously uncomfortable. And then we ran out of stickers. And started sobering up. STEEERIKE THREE! We were outta there. We hopped in a cab and went over to Big Hunt (where our ironic Guido outfits were no longer obviously ironic) and drank our dissapointment away.

Final summation: Jersey Shore night at McFadden's was a total bust and in no way worth the 10 dollars I spent on the powder blue cheetah print hoodie and matching bra strap headband I wore to it.


(Turn up sound!)

Welp! Off to go have my meeting with The Axis of Evil. I'm going to channel my idol, Kelly Cutrone, and utilize some of her many words of wisdom: "Be brave and always tell the truth. And don't take any shit" and considering what's probably about to happen, I will specifically be utilizing: "If you have to cry, go outside." Will do Ms. Cutrone. Will do.