Jersey Shore Meets Italy

Excerpt from Girl, Wasted:

“Since no one wanted to go out with me on that fateful Sunday night, I flew solo. I walked into the first bar that I saw. I waited at the bar for an Italian native to buy me a drink. Then, I migrated to a table by myself. Literally, five minutes later, I saw three enormous cameras, followed by three bright lights, followed by the entire cast of the reality show Jersey Shore. I nervously shifted my body position to mimic an air of confidence. I hastily combed my fingers through my hair and readjusted my bra to accentuate my cleavage.

I made direct eye contact with Mike “The Situation” Sorrentino, one of the stars of the show. He did a modest double-take and proceeded to sit directly next to me. His eyes kept deviating from left to right as if he were admiring all the onlookers. I initiated small talk and instantly realized that this guy was not normal. He could barely cultivate a two-minute conversation without inadvertently complimenting himself. You could tell that he revered himself. He loved his glued-back hair, his beefy muscles, and, of course, his overly bronzed four-pack. He was quite the package. At least he thought so. His eyes bore a blank stare that matched his flaky attitude. His demeanor and his detachment implied that he was in space. He was not on this planet and neither was I.

The Situation was a new and improved version of Shrek. Apparently, I was attracted to these characters. The Situation was the same height as Shrek. The only stark difference between the two was that Shrek was green and The Situation was orange.

      The lights, the cameras, and the crowds of people were intoxicating. In that moment, I lost sight of any worries that plagued me. I also lost partial consciousness. I would have to wait three agonizing months until the show aired to witness the details of that first night with The Situation. All I could recall was signing a million pages of consents before I could enter the cast’s posh apartment. By the time I finished signing contracts with producers, I was virtually sober.

When I climbed up the wide staircase, a sense of panic overwhelmed me. I was only half drunk and progressively becoming more cognizant of the situation that I was confronting, pun intended. I whispered to myself, “What am I doing?” and “Am I making a mistake?” I knew the answer, but the alcohol reassured me. Alcohol’s persuasion was credible and convincing. It had an extraordinary power over my mind when it came to decision-making. In that moment, it pushed me right through those doors into an environment not suitable for a broken girl like me.

On that same night, I felt degraded. I remember laying in Mike’s bed for hours waiting for him to return from an argument he was having with Snooki. He was cooking chicken cutlets, smoking cigarettes, and conversing with everyone in the house, while I was sitting in a room with no phone, no TV, and no windows. If this was “real life” I would have stormed my happy ass out of that door with steam coming out of my ears. Instead, I lay there in docility, like a dog. I was obedient and inferior, merely because of his fame.

The Situation gave me explicit instructions to stay in the bed. He made demands, and I followed them. This lack of respect was disgusting. I waited for over an hour. I was a puppet with no self-worth or voice to speak up for myself. He barked at me like a chauvinist. I don’t know if it was because I was a female or because I was a regular person, but I feel like that wasn’t an uncommon occurrence. I wasn’t a celebrity and he knew I was a pushover.

      Society perceives famous people as having net worth and value. Therefore, we somewhat worship celebrities. This idolization gives certain famous people an arrogance and an untouchability. Consequently, they feel as if they can behave any way they desire toward others. They are conditioned to feel important. Importance breeds assurance for most celebrities and pretension and vanity for others, particularly reality TV stars.”

Buy the book:

Girl, Wasted. Brittany Taltos

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: