May I suggest the mussels?

With the cold weather comes nostalgia for all things New England. The glory of pretentious apple picking, designer flannel, and yelling at cows is sorely missed. Granted I do live near Amish country, but they would judge the stale scent of natural light and failure I radiate on weekends.

This morning I got ready for the beach with Danielle so she could art direct a sand castle for her book design project. G-d I love not having a real major.
After I got dressed and took a look at myself in my fabulous IKEA mirror, I realized three things:

a) all of my fall clothes are currently stashed in garbage bags four hours away
b) my mother could possibly donate or throw out said clothes again and I would be doubly fucked
c) I had put on a Michael Stars tee and Juicy hoodie without prior thought, which screams "jewish suburbanite" louder than any cheerleader without a gag reflex.

After some black coffee and Trader Joe's blueberry oatmeal (they were out of apple oatmeal yesterday, for shame) we headed off to the delightful land they call South Jersey.

I had never been to Cape May before, and it looked like a far less affluent version of a Rhode Island beach town. I could also be prejudiced against anything Jersey, but that goes without saying. On the car ride down we realized that any senior trip we could possibly afford would involve sitting in a beach house with copious amounts of liquor and mollusks. Seafood goes down best with friendship and a high alcohol content. Out of our circle of friends only the designers and med students are graduating this year, with the latter going off to more schooling, and the rest of us poor schmucks are thrown kicking and screaming into the real world.

However, such an event is unavoidable and I am getting sick of going to generically procured theme parties. When I was asked why I didn't dress up for the jungle themed party last night, my immediate response was, "I'm too old for this bullshit" and then, "you know I look like a cougar anyway."

I want my MTV

Teen Mom returns next week, let there be rejoicing throughout the land.

Since Jackass and Wildboyz became out of trend, MTV has since lost its magic for me but these video-taped high school drop-outs and degenerates are pretty much the only thing that got me through finals week. I vainly sought out alternatives and opportunities to feel better about myself while knee-deep in codes and pantone colors. Questioning my chosen major and coming to the sobering realization that my advertising final was a series of Vera Bradley advertisements geared towards bitter and alcoholic soccer moms was frightening. At the very least I was in my twenties and couldn't boast a C-section scar. Just that inter-sorority knife fight scar.

Granted these girls and their dead beat boyfriends and "fiancees" are the very epitome of white trash (with the exception of Ryan who is extremely attractive white trash) but you figure they should know better. There is no better way to ruin any potential for a career-driven successful life than going into the work force with a mullet and twins.

At the very least the hot mom whose name I can't recall ended up sleeping with the douschebag from Jersey Shore. I think his name was Mike, but imagining the process of googling this is emotionally draining. However I believe MTV deserves golf claps all around for bringing two such beautiful and thoughtful people together. If we're lucky they might perhaps spawn another joyous offspring, bringing this whole charade full circle. G-d bless America.