Jersey Shore Hook-Up: Week 5

When we last left Jersey Shore, Snookers had just taken a shot to the jaw. It was beautiful, until MTV cut it. Weak. It was nowhere as tough as the LaGarrett Blount Falcon Punch . Really, those are the two moments that will always stick in my memory when I think of 2009, Snookie and the Blount. Kind of shows what a bleh year 2009 was, that two white bitches getting socked are my defining memories.

Anyway, I know that I am late with this, but I was still so drunk/hungover when this episode first aired that I was incapable of drinking (and I also had to report to work on New Years), and I didn't want to rob you of my drunken opinions of the only greatest reality TV show there is (I wanted to say only, but I have started watching two others. Before you judge, realize one focuses on CSU and the other features some clown from CSU. Maybe more on the latter, later). So without further adieu, here are my snap reactions to episode 5:

-Honestly, how in the world did the Situation not beat some ass. Just one or two swings, even half-hearted and that guy is dining on pussy the rest of his life. He would be a hero for standing up for girls everywhere. Instead he froze like someone shot by Schwartzenager in that awful Batman movie (insert more current reference here). I also like how Ronnie acts like Mike is a bitch, but he didn't do shit either. None of them did. That is weak.

-Mike "El Situation" creeping still after Snooks got blasted was maybe the most hilarious moment of 2009. Just absolutely no class. That is like stealing a man's wallet after he gets jumped, lays bleeding to death, and not calling 911. And yet he still comes off better than some of the other cast-members at the close of this episode. This cast is more shallow than a kiddie pool.

-The cops make Snookie walk home. Jersey Shore Po-Po need to step up. You even make the Bonedale Police look lazy.

-Everyone decides they actually like Snookie after she gets KTFO. As if that is some sort of badge of honor.

-Even Ron-Ron's parents are shallow and all about themselves. Or, as Vinnie calls them, good people. (Wa-Wa-What?)

-Ron, to his mother: "Drink your Mimosa, smoke another cigarette and take it easy." Ron, your mother just wants to get her cancer tan on, don't make her get her cancer smoke on.

-Vinnie is like a fucking lost puppy so far in this show, just tagging along. For fuck's sake, do something. If anyone is playing my game and drafted Vin, you now know how Detroit Lions fans have felt about every draft since 1989 (Barry Sanders, fyi).

-J-Woww's advice to Snook. "Let's drink heavily." Based on that line alone, I want to marry her. She is a woman after my own heart. Every situation can be solved with shots and rapid chugging of beer.

-Snookers, on killing Lobsters: "I don't like to eat anything that is alive when you kill it." Good thing it is a well-known fact that cows are born dead, or else hamburgers would be off my personal menu as well.

-DJ Pauly D, on the strength of his hair gel. : "I'm not sure my hair is bulletproof, but I'm not about to test it." I am willing to bet there is a significant portion of Americans that are willing to test this for you. "I'll play the part of the barber and put a part up in your hair. Sit inside of my barber's chair, I'll let the four-fifths clippers clip a ni--a" Gratuitous rap lyric supplied by Ray Cash- Killa With the Flow (prod. by the Kickdrums

-Pauly D on some girls: "They aren't whores. We might have to see them once or twice." Vinnie piles on. "Some girls will come in and jump into the hot tub. Some girls you have to treat like human beings." I hate bitches that I have to treat as human beings. I want to fuck alien bitches. Mainly illegal alien bitches. You have to pay less that way. And you can beat them up without paying extra.


-FIGHT, FIGHT, FIGHT. Chick fight and Snookie didn't even get a fresh one in the kisser. J-Woww done Guido Windmilled some bitch. Then, she had to adjust her boobs, because they were pointing completely different directions. Like googly-eyed Jason Ibanez from my high school soccer team (or Stuart Scott, for you non-Carboners)

ASIDE: I see a whole shit load of boob jobs out here in Cali, and all I can say is, girls, go the whole ten yards. Don't half-ass a boob job like J-Woww. I appreciate all boobs, real or fake, but when they look like they are trying to separate like Jon and Kate (whoo, totally out of date reference) it kinda grinds my gears. Make sure you go under the muscles, the over-the-top treatment just doesn't work. Boobs should work together, they should not be trying to avoid each other like the polar sides of magnets.

-Ronald dispenses some great advice, on J-Woww's boyfriend Tom, who is a biggity-bitch: "I would send her a picture of my dick and some bubble gum." If I ever were able to have an ex-girlfriend, I would send her this. I should send this to a bunch like my one hook-up. Look out, (radio edit). This would actually be a nice present since Trophy Wife's mother said I had a nice looking penis once upon a time. Again, this would mean I would have to have a girlfriend, and that will probably never happen, until I am more whipped than Ron-Ron.

-Vinnie finally breaks out. Stealing the bosses bitch. What a way to finish. It only took him five episodes to finally shine. Is he a Chauncey Billups, a late-bloomer who became captain clutch, or is he a Kenny Anderson who teased us with potential and never amounted to shit? The jury is out.

Next Week: Is only two days away. The best part about procrastinating is that you shorten the waiting time. Right?

P.S. The Real World features some kid from CSU. I will update on him as well, but the AZN summarized him best after one episode, and when I can steal material, I do (Ignore her bad grammar):

"thanks to RW23 and Andrew, Colorado is represented as a nerdy, hilarious lying, sexually active but not really at all, racist, retarded, stuffed animal lovin, kind of creepy, kind of awesome state... HEY RAMMIE, way to rep your C-STATERS."

Why the fuck wasn't I on the Real World? Bullshit!

Why I can't sleep at night: Random thoughts not really about sports

I get a lot of jokes made/questions asked about my nocturnal patterns (Leonard has dubbed me a vampire). People don't really get why I will stay up past the sunrise doing nonsense instead of dropping off to sleep like a normal person. Obviously my hours bouncing throw me off, but even before I always stayed up way too late, even if I had a dreaded morning class or work in the AM.

Partly it is my biological clock, but mostly it is the fact that I can't shut my brain down at night to fall asleep. Insomnia is kind of a bitch, but to put it in perspective here is a list of things I remember consciously thinking about two nights (mornings?) ago before I could fall asleep (this is just a partial list). Keep in mind I was dead sober for this, so imagine what thoughts run through my head when on any mind-expanding drug, and you can see why I avoid them:

-I start by thinking about Mad Men, which I just watched, and if I would be a cheating asshole like Don Draper, especially if I had that much random ass thrown at me.

-I start panicking about how I am wasting my life by working as a bouncer and staying up so late. I wonder if I would ever find a job I truly enjoy that actually pays. One that isn't NFL wide receiver, which I appear to have missed.

-I start thinking about my plans for the next day, what I have to do, what I want to get done. I get frustrated that every minute without falling asleep means another minute wasted the next day, but I know I can't rush the process.

-I realize I am only 24 and I have six years until I am 30 and really have to make something of myself. I look at how much I have changed in the last six years and realize I have a lot of growth ahead. I laugh at how stupid and awkward I used to be, especially since I am still awkward and stupid.

-I hear my roommate get up for work and I wonder if I could physically do labor at this time in the morning, day after day.

-I think about religion, and what my beliefs were. I thought so long about this I was able to basically come up with a new mission statement: "With all the horrible things carried out in the name of organized religion I find it impossible to follow one and I feel that any sort of rational God would see the enlightenment of a person choosing to live by their own personal moral compass rather than any religion created and moderated by anyone else."

-I begin thinking about death, and what it means and what will happen. I have been asking this question as long as I can remember, fearing the unknown. I literally have to force myself to think about something else or I become enveloped in fear.

-I start thinking about why the Broncos are playing like shit. I get angry at Chrissy Simms (Sports is my escape).

-I decide that I will mock the Chargers fans at work this week, as I can't go into this weekend's game lying down.

-I try to focus on nothing. I clear my mind completely. I see dark holes that come and swallow me up. I cannot physically move, when I try, but I am still somehow awake, aware that I am awake and not sleeping. My eyes twitch involuntarily and my body seems disconnected, yet I still am not asleep.

-A dog barks and I blink, shocking myself back into actual thoughts and anger that I am awake. I wonder if I will ever get to sleep. I imagine the possibility of never sleeping again and I roll over, readjusting my pillows.

-I wonder what is real and if I am maybe always asleep. I realize this is just stupid.

-I try to think about how upset I feel in the morning, as soon as my alarm goes, and I try to recapture that sleepy feeling that makes me hit the snooze button 6 times.

-A few minutes later, I believe, I actually fall asleep. I don't remember what I was thinking about then.

The moral of the story is that no one should wonder anymore why I spend so much time jotting down thoughts on my blog or doing stupid shit til all hours of the morning. I have to clear my mind and really feel dead tired to fall asleep in less than 30 minutes. Any thought unexplored that pops up or that I feel is important I have to sort out, or else it will drive me mad all night. Especially any guilt, fear or nervousness. I could drink until I pass out or take some sleeping medication but I refuse to do so on a consistent basis.

Entering my mind is kind of scary, right?

Bonus: A Special Rant/Epic Fail story that prominently features SuperCuts

So yesterday I got a haircut. I don't like getting haircuts and really have a problem paying some lady $20 plus tip to run a clipper over my head for five minutes. It isn't because I'm cheap (yes, it probably is), but it is more the fact that I think that I could do it better myself and I really feel that every haircut looks like shit. I could pay for a good haircut, but giving some fruit $50 to style my hair sounds like about as much fun as ripping off a fingernail. Instead, I get the cheapest haircut from one of the national chains and trust that my hair follicals will regenerate at their usual warp-speed (suck on that those of you losing hair in your early 20s).

Unfortunately this haircut was so piss poor I couldn't even do that. I just asked to buzz the top with 5, the sides and back with a 3 while blending it a little. Instead, the lady insisted it would look better if I had the front longer to style. For some reason I hate being too upset about a cut with the ladies at the salon because I imagine that they go home at night to get beaten by their drunk husband, so I usually thank them and leave thinking I will like it better after I shower. I don't, but by then I have moved on.

I dealt with my shitty hair for about 24 hours, but after a run and workout got my hair all sweaty, I realized that my hairline was fucking lopsided. One side was about 1/2 an inch long in places, and very straggly, and the other side was about a 1/3 of an inch, all cropped short. My balding friends have said a receding hairline wasn't too bad because they could still hide it most of the time, but how the fuck do you hide a crooked hairline.

Well, I figured I'd bust out some scissors to even it out. I was doing good for a while, taking care to "measure twice and cut once," as my dad always instilled in me, but then my lack of patience got in the way. "I'll just use my new all-purpose beard trimmer, that should work." (It has four different heads and a number of attachments, including one perfect for Man-tenance.)

You can guess what happened next. Yep, everyone either knew, or was, the little kid who failed miserably to give themselves a haircut, and laughter at their expense taught us all not to do that. I should have learned this then, and that time in middle school when my sister convinced me I was growing a uni-brow and I shaved off half and eyebrow.

But some people don't learn, and while I tried to make sure I was over the toilet, so it could collect the hair and save me some cleaning time, I took out a big-ass chunk on the right side of my hairline. PIIIIIIIIIIIISSSSSSSSSSS.

I am due to begin working at a fairly upscale club in San Diego in about 48 hours. I could fix the crooked hairline with gel and hair wax, but not this. I really had two choices, admit failure completely and get another haircut, or try to level the front myself.

If anyone knows me (which you all do), I have a remarkable ability to put myself in dumb situations. I will almost assuredly spill food on myself at a meal. If I can get lost, I will. If I throw something, it will break something. I get myself into a ton of stupid situations, but doing so has allowed me to learn many skills necessary to alleviate my embarrassment. This served as another one of those, as I now have confirmed that I can cut my hair better than that bitch at SuperCuts.