It’s taken me a while to officially say this, but… I had a dream about Jersey Shore last week.
My friends, the bros who occupy my old college’s dorm, were in tight with the cast of Jersey Shore. This friendship was to the point where they were friends with cast when they weren’t putting on reality show airs. They were friends with Jenni, Paul and Nicole – not their characters.
They are hosting a fancy dinner party at my sister’s house in Pittsburgh for Ronnie’s birthday. It is nowhere near a shore. No one is shouting or slapping each other because, in actuality, they are all decent human beings.
My friend and I are sitting on the stoop, talking and sharing a cigarette because the weather was nice. Paul walks over and leans on the railing; he starts talking to us, and then he invites us into the dinner party. I ask whether Jenni would mind because, you know, we’re chicks after all. He brushes off my concerns and says not to worry because he’ll take care of it before walking inside. My friend, turning to me in shock, accuses me of flirting. I steadfastly deny; as hostess and steward of my sister’s house, I am being polite.
We attend the dinner party. The chandelier hangs overhead and the food is delicious. My sister, for whatever reason, is not present in her own home. There is a white cat, however, and we discuss the importance of spaying your pets.
I woke feeling like Bob Barker.