everybody wants to be italian?

Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to be on the arm of a my-new-haircut club going douchebag with hair spiked up into a perfect vertical line... with wax of course... going to the gym together, taking supplements... drinking wheatgrass shakes sometimes... driving around in a car, always shiny... going tanning, showing our midriffs... blasting Tiesto no matter what streets we're on... doing everything together and walking around with our hands in our respective back pockets... falling asleep to MTV's NeXT, knowing all the words "Shake It" by Metro Station... knowing when the new Ed Hardy line is gonna drop... doing Jager bombs or walking into a bar and the dude behind the counter already knows that I want a Red Bull and Vodka... our idea of culture being a night out at Caesar's casino... knowing all the bro bars in Philly, calling Philly the 'delph... going to Deptford... or Cherry Hill... wearing white after Labor Day... fitted hats... stilettos... Coach brand sneakers... Juicy Velour Jumpsuits... my man wearing Juicy for Men... I'd carry my dog in my purse, douse him in Juicy dog perfume... all of us will smell so fragrant that we'll leave a trail behind us... always having my nails done, pretty much unable to do anything with my hands... both graduating from community college... having my Grandfather call my boy Paisan... getting mistaken for Eurotrash...








then I come to my senses and wonder what the fuck I was thinking