Here's the Situation (15 page)

In all honesty, the only thought running through my mind was “no fucking way.” It's one thing to imagine those kinds of scenarios but quite another when you find yourself in one and start to game plan the logistics of pulling it off. From that moment of silent acknowledgment forward, I watched the rear bathroom like a barn owl with my head turned practically 180 degrees. Just my luck, I was on a flight where everybody and their grandmother had bladder control issues. I had this chick ready to go for over an hour of flying time and the clowns on my flight were lined up in the rear like they were waiting for the one Porta-Potty at Woodstock. I was getting pretty frustrated and impatient. And my neck hurt. Finally, the compartment was unoccupied for an extended period and I was confident that this was our one shot. I made a show of getting up and she got the message. I strolled to the back of the plane with her a few steps behind and, just as I entered the restroom, some fucking tool stood up and boxed out the chick as she tried to enter in behind me. This fuck-nut wasn't even doing anything. He stood to blow his nose and stretch his legs. Meanwhile, I left the door ajar waiting for the chick, who was unable to get past the guy positioned as a human cock block between her and the restroom. Then, he noticed me leaving the door open while I'm standing in the bathroom. He started gawking at me like
I
was the idiot.

I responded with a facial expression that communicated, “Dude, are you serious? Why are you preventing the chick standing next to you from making her way into the bathroom? Open your eyes and get the fuck back in your seat, asshole!” (Remember that I'm from Jersey, and can therefore easily convey multilayered fuck-you sentiments like this by merely raising an eyebrow.) As it dawned on him what was happening, he smiled at me and sat back down. The girl made her way into the restroom and we did our best to accomplish a very awkward and challenging task. This is another instance where being organized and prepared pays off. I always travel with my little black bag in my carry-on that contains certain essentials, such as condoms, because I never know what sort of curveball life will throw me. Earning my membership into this exclusive club that meets only in the clouds was an extremely difficult process that should not be underestimated. I say it's worth it for the experience and the novelty aspect, but don't expect it to be one of your most memorable sexual encounters. It's more about the story and doing something few people have had the balls to pull off. And we're lucky we didn't hit any turbulence, or my balls literally would have been pulled off.

Some haters say that I'm Machiavellian in the way I insinuate my infectious catch phrases into conversations. They're convinced I come up with all my best lines ahead of time. Allow me to dispel this falsehood. First off, I don't mack any vellians—whatever those are. I only mack chicks, either between sets at the gym or when I'm creeping at the club. And further, everything I say comes straight off the top of my well-tanned head. Period. Emoticon.

Whenever you attempt to do something extraordinary in your life, whenever you put yourself out there in an attempt to succeed and in turn risk falling flat on your face, there are going to be people on the sidelines second-guessing you and making fun of you as a mechanism to disguise their own fear and envy for the life they're watching you achieve. Those people are called haters.

Attention, haters: It's been a lot longer than fifteen minutes.

A hater is weak, jealous, insecure, and preoccupied in an unhealthy way with tearing down the accomplishments of others. What a hater should really be worried about is himself. Rest assured that when you get your own situation, you will be vilified by the haters. That's because they want what you have, whether it be looks, money, fame, your girl, your abs, your T-shirt wardrobe, or what have you. In fact, being positive and confident is like kryptonite to haters. But the good news is: Hater juice is best served cold.

I think the best way to think about haters is this: If somebody's talking about you, that means you're doing something right. If they're jealous of what you have and are projecting their venom and their miserable attitude in your direction, that must mean you're pretty important. For some reason they can't properly articulate, you're on their mind. And even though a hater would never admit it, in some way they are holding your life up as a standard for their own that they have not yet attained. People who are comfortable with their own personality and circumstances don't have the desire to hate on others. If somebody is hating on you, I think you should be flattered. It means you're out there kicking it hard-core.

I don't ever want to forget about the haters. The haters have worked tirelessly, in a thousand different ways, to make
Jersey Shore
, and myself, worldwide sensations. So I would be remiss if I didn't send a great big shout-out to all the haters. Thanks for all your efforts; they have been wildly successful. Keep it up, dawgs!

D
ear readers, thank you for spending some time with The Sitch. In this unabridged and definitive guide to the GTL lifestyle, I'm pretty sure I have emptied out the entire contents of my brain. Wait, let me double-check . . .

Yes, I have.

And I did it for you. You are the reason The Sitch keeps kicking it hard-core, 24/7. Every morning when I wake up, I go straight to work to make this a grenade-free world for the freshest of the fresh. Right to work, that is, after I kick out whatever chicks are still lingering from the night before. And after I have my protein shake and hit the gym, of course. And get some color, if needed. Quick stop at the barbershop for a touch-up on my tight fade. Thread the eyebrows. Then it's across town to pick up my dry cleaning—but you get the general idea.

You are the wind beneath my abs.

As a special gift, I leave you with this exclusive pattern to sew your own Sitch ab-pillow. Something to gently fondle while you watch me Thursday nights at 10 p.m. on MTV, or just to lay your head upon at night as you dream your Jersey dreams.

The first step is arguably the most difficult: Select a fabric that closely mimics my radiant skin tone. (Tip: Bring home swatches from the store and hold them beside the television whenever I'm on screen. For best results, use HD technology.)