I'll admit that I'm not very well traveled. Considering my extreme fear of airplanes (aka fiery tubes of death), I don't travel very far. I will, however, be facing my fear come September, but that's another post for another day. Stay tuned.
So, only crossing the state lines of a few northern and mid-western states and the majority of the southern states, I've never had the opportunity of witnessing the glorious beauty of New Jersey first hand. When I say beauty, I mean the hilarious train-wreck of Jerseylicious/Shore/Housewives/Couture. I actually scour my Tivo box looking for all shows with the keyword Jersey. Why, you ask? Because all Jersey shows are incredible. It's like being transported to another planet - a planet of orange, oompa-loompa-like guidos and giudettes with Snookie-high hair, gold hoops the size of cantaloupes, fist pumping at da club, pasta and gravy, muscles and boobs, hooker shoes and horrible accents. What's not to love?
I've made a mental note of the thoughts I have while watching all of these trash-tastic Jersey shows.
Wow, people like this really exist?
Yo, 1992 called, they want you to retire their style now.
It's actually possible to be that orange? Wait, people think that's attractive?
I wonder how often these girls are propositioned as street walkers.
"Yo, woman, get me some pasta" is not exactly a term of endearment.
Is fist pumping the Roger Rabbit of the 2000s?
How short is too short?
How annoying is too annoying?
How much make-up is too much?
Boundaries, they have no boundaries.
It's all delicious. It's one hour of mind-numbing and hilarious entertainment. I'm being introduced to a portion of the population that I never even knew existed.
Small bath updates
48 minutes ago