Anyway, for this week, I decided to crank the snark volume up to a respectable level by watching My Big Friggin’ Wedding. Sounds friggin’ awesome, don’t it? Not really. In the past year, I have realized two things: In America, we have two unhealthy obsessions. One is with weddings (and that’s all I’m gonna say about that . . . count up the number of wedding-themed reality shows if you don’t believe me). The other is New Jersey and people from New Jersey, to be more precise.
Now, I’ve never had the, um, privilege of visiting New Jersey. Technically. I’ve been to New York City, seen the signs for New Jersey. I’ve flown over it. I’ve seen maps of it. I think I studied it back in elementary school (fifth grade is hard to remember, especially since I was probably too busy coloring to think about geography). I can’t say if it’s a nice place or not, but I do know their hockey team is doing horrible this season. I just know that every single show nowadays features people from New Jersey and they honestly look like they’re stuck in a time-warp. A 1987 time warp, to be exact. They’re tanned until they’re the color of bacon. They wear gold chains. And, God forbid, the amount of hair gel they literally ladle onto their heads makes the BP Oil Spill look like a drop of vegetable oil in a frying pan.
Why am I blathering on about all this? My Big Friggin’ Wedding takes place in New Jersey. It’s from the little masterminds who created Jersey Shore. It is Bridezilla meets Jersey Shore, without Snooki. And, yes, it keeps feeding the mouth of the stereotypes of people who live in New Jersey. Fist pump.
My Big Friggin’ Wedding focuses on five couples from Jersey who are, obviously, in the midst of planning their wedding. This particular episode centered around Alyssa as she was preparing for her bachelorette party. And what do bachelorette parties need? A stripper, of course!! A hot stripper!! So, Alyssa and her girls call in guys left over from past Jersey Shore auditions who, I guess, are strippers or stripper wanna-bes (their exact occupations were never given) and “audition” them to see which one is the best. After watching these guys rip off their wife-breaters, rub their gelly hair on the girls, and, in general, act like dogs trying to hump a fire hydrant, one is chosen. I can’t tell which one, though, because I can’t tell them apart.
The night of Alyssa’s bachelorette party arrives and about 25 girls load themselves up in the so-called “Party Bus” and head out to meet The Situation hit the bars, drink, and have a good time. Along for the ride is Alyssa’s mom, Marilyn, who keeps sucking down Red Bulls and vodka like it’s her last night on Earth. The girls get tossed from the first club after a “f*cking b*tch” (Alyssa’s words, not mine) throws a drink on Alyssa, soaking her golden curls (there are blond girls in Jersey?) with gin and wilting them. I find this sort of communication rather effective and Jersey-ish. I mean, after all, nothing says love like throwing a drink on someone (Do you know how many times this happens on Jersey Shore? Let’s put it this way: If I watch that show for two minutes, someone throws a drink. No. Joke. Note to self: Must teach my students about how drink-throwing is a form of communication.). So the girls pile back on the “Party Bus” and the stripper arrives, dressed like a construction worker (Jersey style). Everyone basically gets naked and jumps around, then Marilyn runs off the bus, down an alley, pukes out about 40 gallons of Red Bull and vodka, and passes out.
Typing that last sentence was exhausting. The girls call for an ambulance, scared shitless that Marilyn is going to die and Alyssa is faced with a life-altering choice: Should she continue her bachelorette party, or, y’know, accompany her mother to the hospital? It’s a struggle for Alyssa as she talks to her fiancé, Tyler, on the phone. Through her tears and gin-saturated hair, all we can hear is, “Eeeee don go whaasst do, should I ghhhhooo too me f*cking bach . . . garble, garble . . . gewwww wifff me f*ckin' mudder . . . . garble garble.”
Riveting stuff.
Meanwhile, all the girls on the bus start arguing about who has helped Alyssa’s mom, who’s been there for Alyssa, and who has been a better friend. A bus packed full of Jersey girls screaming (while the stripper looks on in horror) . . . the only way I can describe it is this: Put together about 20 female cats in heat, then multiply their caterwauling by 500. That’s exactly what that scene sounded like (so much so I had to turn down the volume on my TV). That part ends with one of Alyssa’s girls, upset the camera crew is filming all of this, saying she wants them to stop filming, that it’s disgusting they’re filming this “sensitive moment.” She (I never did catch this girl’s name – probably because she was so drunk she can’t even stand, let alone form coherent sentences) says she’ll get the crew to stop filming by stripping!! Wow, sweetie, you are such an Einstein!! So she starts taking off her dress. Big deal, honey – the film crew just pixilated out your implants.
Concerning the other four couples, we get glimpses into how their wedding planning is going. Megin and Johnny Meatball are on the breaks and may not make it the four weeks before their wedding. Johnny is in the process of waiting for his meatball business to take off and, much to Megin’s horror, has shaved off all of his facial hair except for a mustache – with the hair gel, he looks like a porn version of Luigi from Super Mario Brothers.
And, yes, he wants to go by Johnny Meatball, which confused me for a moment with last week’s Toronto Maple Leafs vs. Atlanta Thrashers hockey game – but Ben Eager called Colby Armstrong a “Meat HEAD,” not a “Meat BALL,” so my confusion was quickly cleared up. There’s a difference.
Tammie and Danny are boring. He wants a pre-nup, she doesn’t. He buys her a five-carat rock for her ring finger. They argue about the pre-nup and how that big of a rock makes her look trashy. There’s also mention of someone stealing Danny’s snowblower and taking it to Georgia. YAWN. Tammie eventually signs the pre-nup – oh, wait!! She PRINTS her name instead. Meaning, it doesn’t count. It’s not a signature. Tammie gloats for the rest of the episode about how smart she is, a real Einstein.
Matt and Amanda are pretty interesting, though. Matt is in the process of hiring a Lady Gaga impersonator who will just pop out during their wedding, while Amanda is busting her lifted butt on the wedding itself to insure it will be a classy affair. (Does Lady Gaga = classy? WTF.) Matt also hands over several ten thousand dollar checks throughout the course of this episode – one to the reception hall, another to the jeweler, one to the caterer (How many people are invited to this wedding???). I’m almost sorry he’s getting married, because he’s rather attractive. Okay, not Derek Jeter jaw-dropping attractive, but not bad to look at – I think it’s due to lack of hair gel.
I’ve completely blanked on the fifth couple, Sandra and Joey – I don’t think they were around much in this episode due to a tanning marathon special at their local Malibu Tan.
Wow, sounds friggin’ exciting, doesn’t it? Parts of it were a friggin’ yawn-a-thon to be honest. Yes, a brain cell popped during those 49 minutes (I guess I didn’t need it anyway), but you can’t beat this memorable quote from Alyssa: “People always want to judge me. They see me out, I have this daughter who’s three-years-old, but the fact is I’m rockin’ Juicy Couture stroller, I have a Louis Vuitton bag, I drive a Benz, I have a big-ass house. We’re doin’ it grand, we’re gonna have the biggest f*ckin’ wedding you’ve ever seen, and you’re gonna be jealous.”
Keepin’ it friggin’ real, yo.
Great blog! Loved reading it! ;-) Very entertaining as I haven't seen that show, and it makes me kind of glad that I haven't. ;-)
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