Honestly, it’s Snooki’s Fault.

In an effort to reclaim my life/sanity, I am making a sincere effort to watch more adult programming during the day.  By adult, I don’t mean porn star, rated X pay per view (Honestly, me watching porn would be as cruel as dangling a steak just out of a starving man’s reach) , but rather, programs that don’t involve the words “Nick Jr., PBS, or Disney”.  Ideally, the  5 o’clock news would be nice,  or perhaps, Jeopardy, Magnum PI, or something along that line.

That is, until a friend lent me “The Jersey Shore“, Season One on DVD.

OK,  so I’m hooked.  I can’t help it.  Having spent a good portion of my life in the NY/NJ area, I know the Ronnie’s,  Paul D’s and Snookie’s of the world.   Like an addict reaching for her beloved crack pipe, I hit “play” every day around noon when the kids have settled down to watch  a wide-eyed grown man in orange spandex jump around on ” Yo Gabba Gabba” in the adjacent room.   I can see them, they can see me.   Awesome.  Cue music, opening scene of the shore house with the Italian flag on it, a hot cup of coffee in hand, let’s go!

Loving life, I start to get into it.  Ronnie and Sammi are fighting.  I hear a noise.  Its the little one.  She opened the freezer and is pulling everything out of it.  @#$$% I think, and get up to go investigate.  In the 6 seconds it took me to walk there, she managed to take everything out.  She is sucking on an icepop.  @#$% I mumbled again.  Frozen pizza, lean cuisine’s,  and an entire jumbo bag of crinkle cut fries, all over the floor.  Rats.

I clean up, wishing I paused the DVD, and retreat back to my place in front of the boob tube (pun intended).  The Big One is watching Snooki whining about wanting a pickle.  Crap.  How long as she been watching this?

“Mom, what’s her name?” She asks, pointing at Snooki.

“Uh….it’s Snooki. Why aren’t you watching Yo Gabba Gabba?  They are singing “Dont bite your friends.”  Go in the other room.  I try to usher her out.

“No,  WAIT. ” She stops short.  “Whats wrong with her hair?  Why are her boobies so BIG?”

Oy.  What could I say?  “Nothing is wrong with her hair, it’s just poofy.  And her boobies are big because God forgot to give her a brain, so he gave her extra boobies.  Now go play. ”

The doorbell rings.  Its my dear friend Sheila.  We’ve swapped kids a couple of days this week.  I take hers, then she takes mine.  It’s sweet that the girls get to play, and even sweeter that we get some time without them.  The girls love each other, so it’s good.  Her child is so much nicer than mine.

They are bouncing around the house, and its clear they need to get out and burn it off.  Not to mention, I am not up for another freezer redecoration incident, so I decide to take them over to McDonald’s to play and eat lunch. They have a large indoor play place, and I figure that in terms of bodily harm, the sanity I maintain having them run around, cancels out the disgusting food I’m about to consume .  They won’t eat anyway, not when there is indoor play equipment and we’ve been cooped up with snow/rain for 3 weeks straight.

We get there, and of course, its lunchtime packed. Why on God’s green earth would single, corporate people choose to eat at McDonald’s?   The place is loud, and the “cuisine” is dog food for people.  I realize I should have went potty before I left because trying to tinkle in a public bathroom with 3 kids on the loose wont be fun.  I can hold it, I vow.  I stand in line and order, and naturally the kids are going bonkers, high on being anywhere but inside the house.  They are running around chasing each other, circling the line of people waiting to order their “Alpo” burger.  In between ordering, I whip my head around to see where they are running, trying to keep my eye on them.  The customers don’t seem to mind, many of them are smiling,  remarking that they are cute.  And they are, each of them in a different shade of pink, bright blue eyes, giggling, hair bobbing and smiling as they run.  100 percent pure  joie de vivre.  I,  on the other hand am sweating already, have an achingly full  bladder, and my arms are burdened with coats and purses,  I am trying to figure out the least toxic thing on the menu to order for them.  I decide on some yogurt and apples for them.

“And for you?”  the hip Latina clerk asks. I notice she has a pretty french manicure.  I do not.  I have ragged bleeding cuticles and a hang nail.

“Uh….I’ll have a have a McVodka”  I reply, smiling nervously.  Over my shoulder  I notice The Little One pushed The Big One down, and I know this situation can blow up faster than you can say “Mayor McCheese“.

“EXCUSE ME” she says, giving me “the look”.  I’m familiar with that look.  I’ve got it many times before.  I glance over at the person at the register next to us, hoping she found it funny.  She did not.  It’s an old coot, and she shoots me daggers with her eyes as well.

“I’ll just have coffee, thanks. ”

I pay and go to step away.  The guy behind me smiles, points at the girls and says   “Daughters are such a blessing, aren’t they?”.  Tall, lanky, with such an honest face, and a slight southern drawl,  he looks like he could be a Pastor.

Not wanting to burst his bubble, I just smile and say “Indeed they are”.   I’m guessing he missed the McVodka comment.

We take a seat.  I get out their food, and The Big One starts the inquisition. “Where are the fries?”  She eyes me suspiciously.

“They were out of fries.”  I say.

“Want fries”  The Little One shouts.  I look up and see the Pastor sitting down near us.  He has fries.  Crap.  So much for being out of fries.

“No fries,”  I say,  ” Apples.  Look they are yummy.  Lexie likes them.”   Lexie is the only one happy.  She is smiling sweetly and eating her apples.

“WANT FRIES!!! ”  she repeats.,  louder this time.  Gosh, my bladder hurts. I wished I peed before we left.

“No.”  I shake my head and try to distract her once again with the apples.

The little one isn’t buying it.  She slides off her chair, bulldozes over to the Pastor, and  before I can stop her she grabs a handful of his fries.  I’m horrified.

Precious, you say?

I apologize profusely, and he is actually very understanding. He  made a joke about admiring her determination.  I made a mental note to put a little extra in the collection box at my own church this Sunday,  just for karma’s sake.

I shuffle the little curly-haired Hamburglar back over to our table,  but she doesn’t go quietly.  She is flailing.  I pick her up.  She kicks and fists fly.   She nails my bladder with one solid foot.  “HOLY DEPENDS!”   I silently cry. Pain. More pain. I thank  God for good bladder control.  By now they really don’t want to eat,  and I’ve had it with making scenes so we head into the play area.  They run, play and burn it all off, without incident for about a half hour.  I actually get to enjoy my coffee, although I would be lying if I said I didn’t still long for the vodka in it.  It’s time to go.  My girls are hemming and hawing but Lexie agrees.  She comes thru the door back into the restaurant following me and the other two have no choice but to trail behind.  We get back to our table and put our coats on.  The Pastor is still sitting reading his newspaper.  He looks up and smiles.

“I will NOT get my coat on.”  The Big One proclaims. And thus starts the argument.

“Yes you will.”  I reply, calmly at first.  She and I go back and forth with  “Yes you will”  on my part, followed by  ” No I wont”  on hers.  Frustrated, I grab her arm to put her coat on.  And then it happened.

“GET OFF OF ME YOU DRUNK!” she screeches at top volume.

The Pastor looks up from his paper.  The old coot from the line next to me is staring at me again.  The urban-chic latina at the cash register is shaking her head and rolling her eyes, as if to say “Oh no, she didn’t“.   No doubt  she is replaying the McVodka event in her mind.   Shame and humiliation seem to come naturally now.   I turn purple with embarrassment and just want to slither under the table.   If I didn’t have an arse the size of  “The Grimace“‘,  I might have.  Where the hell did she hear THAT…..???????

Oh wait….Snooki.

No more daytime TV for me.