Jersey Shore is ruining my life!

My apartment was burglarized recently (stole my MacBook and iPod…bastards…living, learning and hopefully moving soon). Anyway, my mom let me borrow her laptop, and in the wake of my trauma I discovered that you can stream Jersey Shore on Netflix Instant Watch, one of my favorite things ever. I get addicted to shows easily, particularly ones that are so bad in such a good way. I haven’t had cable in years, but my friends and colleagues with DVRs will frequently compare notes on what happened on Jersey Shore that week. I can only nod and say that I’ll probably get around to watching it in a year or two… and when I do, the experience is intense. So far, it’s been anesthetizing my open emotional wounds of losing years worth of photos and writings, and is consequently knocking points off my IQ with each episode, and impacting my ability to do anything else. Even as I write this blog, Netflix is taunting me in the other tab with a partially-viewed episode of salacious, dare I say–Jerseylicious(!) drama.

I catch myself speaking in a Long Island Italian accent at work, even though I’m from New England and don’t have a trace of Italian in my blood. A customer today asked me where I’m from and I had to just come clean. It’s really hard to control. Snooki’s “wah!” is infectious, as is “t-shirt time” and of course…GTL. It’s been many moons since my ivory skin has seen a tanning bed, but every now and then the bronzed “goddesses” of JH make me go a little thick with the bronzer and crave acrylic nails (also a phase I’m proud to have outgrown).

I have never, ever been the type to go for hard-bodies guido dudes. The fellas on the show are only after one thing of course, but if you happen to not be a “grenade,” you could get some pretty special treatment. The Situation is obviously a sleazeball, but I have a pretty deep soft spot for Vinny and an on going crush on Pauly D and his hair. Why? Only God really knows the answer to that question. Normally I prefer pale skinny rocker boys, softspoken poets or nerdy savants. Maybe Jersey Shore appeals to all our base desires to eat loads of pasta, strap some leopard print over my lady parts, do body shots till 5 in the morning and find an anonymous hard body to “smush.”

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