I know, I know, my name ought to be part of the title, but I was just a zygote when the show was in development, and I kinda got screwed on a few of the contract deets. The good news, though, is that I’m getting a percentage of the back-end, so I’m pretty sure I’ll have enough money to emancipate myself by the time I’m 11.
Okay, so I should warn you. Not a whole lot happens on the season premiere: My mom tells my grandma that she wants to move out into her own place and “cut the umbilical cord” (a phrase that, naturally, makes me feel skittish). Then there’s a discussion about the definition of the word “Kosher,” and unfortunately at the time of filming, my mic pack wasn’t working so I couldn’t correct my mom that it doesn’t mean “organic, healthy food.” Literally, I am going to have to teach that woman everything.
Aunt JWoww (FYI, I just cahhhhhhn’t with her name), meanwhile, talks about how her thirtieth birthday is on the horizon and how she’s got three years to make a bucket list. Her boyfriend Roger wonders what that means and she’s all “We gotta do what we gotta do,” and then he’s all “one last hurrah?” and she’s all “not a gang-bang hurrah” and threatens to mount his penis above her fireplace, and I’m like “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, maybe I’ll get switched at the hospital and end up with a nice boring couple with nice boring friends in South Orange or Maplewood or something.”
So pretty much the rest of the episode focuses on hunting for apartments in scenic Jersey City, NJ. Mom and the realtor are late, so Auntie JWoww has to wait on the freezing-cold stoop and fret about not having access to a potty. She finally gets inside and realizes there’s no toilet paper, asks my mom to dig through the bag of breakfast treats she brought, and my mom drops one of her classy bon mots: “Can you not wipe your vagina with my bagel?” If mom were a congresswoman (I know, that’s a funny idea), she’d totally be censured.
My mom then says something about the “railroad age” (her scripted-dippy riff on the term “railroad apartment”); Auntie JWoww asks the attractive male and female realtors if they’re doing something that rhymes with “ducking” (hey, I made a vow not to swear before I’m out of diapers); and then they find a nifty apartment that used to be an old firehouse. I want a Dalmatian! Can we get a Dalmatian! Can we get 101 Dalmatians? Can we? Can we?
Nobody is listening, of course, since my mom is telling Auntie JWoww that she just got engaged and that she’s pregnant. “I feel like I’m in the Twilight Zone,” says Aunt J, but she’s not so much shocked that my mom is creating a human life, it’s that she thought her boyfriend would be the first one to put a ring on it. (Yeah, it’s a little old, but that Beyoncé jam gets me every time.) My mom, naturally, hits the confessional and ends the episode with yet another zinger that’ll haunt my waking nightmares till delivery day: “Instead of life throwing me a curveball, it threw me a spermball. Obviously.” Oh man, grade school is going to be just one giant shame-spiral for me.
OK readers, I’ve got nothing else left to say. Can I let you take over from here? Hit the comments with your thoughts. I’ve got some Zzzzzz’s to catch before the inevitable development of Snooki & JWoww — Baby Makes Three.