So today I watched the first episode of the Jersey Shore. Don’t freak out – I have been watching this season, yet I foolishly didn’t immediately jump on the bandwagon for this society-changing series. Jersey Shore was more than a television show – it was a movement, a show that blew up bigger than Ron Ron’s head in the Reunion episode. A native New Jersey girl, I’ve always felt the Garden State was misunderstood. No sales tax, no pumping your own gas, yet, no love. Now however, we are getting more love than Jwoww gave Pauly D the first night on the dance floor. The situation out here on the west coast is this – they love the Jersey Shore! It doesn’t matter that the only time I went to Seaside Heights was after prom and I slept in a car rather than the raunchy cheap hotels by the boardwalk. Or that Jews and Asians outnumbered guidos is my high school class 350 to 1. A Jersey license out here is grounds for a commotion. The portly bouncer at a bar reacted to my ID by grabbing his stomach and saying “I’m the situation…the situation!” No one knows that I’ve never “beat up a beat” before. If I’m from Jersey, I must be the fist-pump master, house music maven, they see on TV. When the technician from Time Warner came to install my cable he told me with glee about his recent trip to visit his girlfriend’s parents, who are from New Jersey – “I was at Newark airport and I saw one (a guido)! It was freezing out but he was wearing a wife beater!” Everyone out west, is talking about life back east. The other night as I left a bar, a flaming guy turned to us and said in a mocking tone, “Omg! Are you from the Jersey Shore?” I was utterly confused. One, was that a compliment or an insult? And two, where did he even come to that conclusion? I’ve never seen Jwoww or Snookie out in jeans and a white tee shirt – my boobs were 99% covered! I shrugged it off though – it was getting late and all I wanted to do was get home to eat some water and ham. Ham.
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