I did a quick stop by at the Panera for coffee and a scone. As I walked in, a young girl in a VW pulled into the parking lot. She parked and ran in, car running and purse left open on the front seat. I was so disturbed by this open invitation to robbery that I had to say something. “WHAT THE FUCK! YOU KIDDING ME WITH THIS SHIT!” is not what I said. I explained the numerous incidents of cars similarly parked being robbed. She thanked me and informed me that she’s not from here and had done that all the time back home. I replied with, “This is Jersey, honey. You can’t do that.”
On the drive home I pondered if I was perpetuating Jersey’s negative image to this visitor. Jersey has a bad rap. With Snooki and the Turnpike, I get that. But two things to remember: Snooki was from Westchester and the Turnpike by Newark is trash, but drive a little south and it’s gorgeous. I like my state. We have it all, the mountains in the north, beaches in the south, cities in the east and farms and forests covering the west. I feel that I have the forum right here to be an advocate for the Garden State. So humor me as I clear up some misconceptions about red-headed step child of the Tri-State area.
Let’s start off with the idea of a Jersey Girl. We have two standard examples of this lady: Tom Waite’s over-worked single mother from the Asbury Park region and the big-haired, big-earringed, fake-tanned and fake-boobed loud mouths. I’ve lived in Jersey my whole life no one I know fits the first example and, okay quite a few fit the second. But the majority of the girls and women I know are far from the stereotypical “Jersey Girl.” I’m certainly not one. I have very flat hair, pale skin and (unfortunately) my boobs are real. I don’t know if I have a big mouth because it is quite rare that I use it.
I’m from the hills of northern New Jersey. My home town, West Milford is 80-square miles with 40 lakes and narrow roads the, according to the town’s website, “crisscross along scenic valleys and ridges.” When I was a girl, I didn’t spend my summer days on the board walk, but in the woods. My neighborhood was surrounded by them. We had deer in the backyard. And bear. A bear killed a cat in our driveway. So yes, there was crime, but mostly bear-on-cat. For those of us who grew up in those hills and moved away, the smell of skunk stuff in the summer air still reminds us of home.
This wooded, tranquil setting is hardly the breeding ground of the Jersey Girl. It spawns girls like me.
Now let’s move onto another misconception: the stench. Most visitors to New Jersey just fly into Newark Airport and then head to NYC. The only image they have of my state is the NJ Turnpike through Newark. That is the armpit of my state. It smells and is congested and loud. And it just represents only a few miles. My state can be beautiful. Don’t believe me? Here are some photos that are excellent depictions of all seasons and locales, from the hills of the north to the beaches of the south. This place is not so bad.
Okay, what about the attitude? This is something that may be real. I was told by a fella from Ohio that he could tell I was from Jersey. He could tell anyone from Jersey and that most non-Jersey residents can pick a Jersian out of line up. He never told me how, but I assume it’s the attitude. But do I have an attitude? No, you tell me. I believe that I don’t, but could be wrong so need your opinion.
I think we do have an attitude, but this is the most densely populated in the state; there is traffic everywhere. Some places are worse than others, but forfuckssake it took me forever to get here. And if we miss the turn, we can’t just make a left. We have to take a jug handle and then another jug handle to make one U-turn. You’d have an attitude too. The attitudes do vary, from Chris Christie bully to Barbara Morrison pansy. I do have an uncomfortable amount of friends who do tell-it-like-it-is, though. The attitude is real, but necessary.
My parting words for you are don’t believe the Jersey hype. This is a great place to live. You can ski, hike, fish, surf, pay HUGE takes and sit in traffic. But I love it and don’t plan to leave anytime soon. But seriously, don’t leave your running, unlocked car in the parking lot. That’s just effing stupid.
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P.S. I failed to mention Wilco or my current crush Raúl Esparza in this post. So here is my mention. Wilco and Raúl. There ya go.
The Barb Wire 