“We don’t pump our gas, we pump our fists!”*

*lyrics from a Jersey-type dance song I heard recently. How fabulous are those lyrics, really?

I went to a Jersey Shore-themed party this weekend, and for those of you living under a rock, or perhaps behind it, there is a show on MTV about American-Italians who go to the Jersey Shore every summer. Let’s be polite: they have a distinct “look”.

There’s a great deal of hair care product and bronzer and tattoos and drinking and steroids and lasagna and house music. This show became insanely popular. So there were spinoffs, like Jerseylicious:

And Jersey Couture:

And suddenly these orange Oompa-Loompa people took over the world. So, many people have had Jersey Shore-themed parties this summer, and I went to one of them. And Lordy, I went all out. I got a Bump-It for my hair, and four-inch-high gold stilleto heels (I wore them for a total of 300 feet, from the car to the front door, then those shoes were OFF). I got bronzer to make my face all roasty-toasty-brown, and… well, see for yourself.

Cricket took that while we were stuck in traffic on the Cross Island Expressway with no air conditioning. And people in the other cars were laughing at me. I took a slightly better picture about fifteen minutes later, but you can’t appreciate the poofy hair.

I found it rather humorous how much, in the upper picture, I resemble Ursula from The Little Mermaid. Apparently it’s my destiny.

One Response to ““We don’t pump our gas, we pump our fists!”*”

  1. snorth says:

    No, really, I shouldn’t read this at work!!!

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