That’s Amore Is Vergognoso! (AKA: Really, Really BAD)

My TV watching habits are pretty well documented. You guys know that I watch at least two (pretty bad) reality shows and that I never got into “Sex and the City.” But I do like good shows with real writing, like “Lost”, “South Park” and “The Daily Show.”

Do I have any right to declare that a show is so terrible that even I cannot watch it? I think so. I mean, I’ve seen episodes of “Ice Road Truckers.” Freaking Ice Road Truckers.” I am aware that I watch crap.

And given that love for crap TV, it might surprise you to learn that I never watched “A Shot at Love” when it was on MTV. For real. It was too fake for me and I never thought that a show would come along that was too sh*tty and fake for me. I mean, this is ME.

Now enter “That’s Amore.”

Domenico, il uomo who was rejected by Tila-not-really-bi-had-a-boyfriend-the-whole-time Tequila, apparently grew such fan base on her show that he got his own.

And this show is the suckiest suck that ever sucked. Vergognoso means disgraceful in Italian.

I am Italian; like my parents are off the boat. I’ve been to Italy and I’ve been exposed to the accents and the men enough to know this: Domenico is probably some kid from Jersey named Dominick whose grandparents are from Brooklyn and who’s trying to see how far he can take this reality shows scam.

It takes a lot to offend me and I mean a whole lot. Like you really have to try in order to get under my skin. When all of those Italian American groups were protesting “The Sopranos” and my un-Italian friends asked me what I thought about it, I shrugged my shoulders. I wasn’t insulted.

Stereotypes exist for a reason; I’ll be the first to admit it. When I was in high school, if people asked me if my dad was in the mafia, I lied and said yes. It made them wary of me and I liked that. But so what if you think that we’re loud and we talk with our hands and whatever else? I don’t care. I’m loud and I talk with my hands. I’m cool with that.

But THIS show – I cannot effing take it.

I watched the first episode – not on purpose. But my husband, who is so not Italian, heard some Italian music while I was channel surfing and was curious so he asked me to go back to MTV. I obliged.

The girls were riding in a red, white and green stretch escalade. When they pulled up to it, the house was illuminated in three parts using red, white and green light. The foyer was done in marble or some faux-marble finish since we greaseballs looooves us some marble. Oh, you know what else we love? Hanging cured meat. It was featured next to the girls’ heads while they were being interviewed.

I didn’t say anything as I watched the first fifteen minutes of this show; my husband did all of the reacting. He cackled and through the laughter would say things like, “Did you see the car?…Look at the lights on the house…Your parents love marble…I’ve seen the meat hanging in that room in your parents house.” Then he’d laugh some more.

Unblinking, with sort of wide eyes and a mouth that I couldn’t close, I looked at my husband sort of dazed. As the fake ass un-“Tarantella” played in the background he said, “I’m insulted for you” and I changed the channel.

My husband watched another episode where the girls had to pose like sculptures while holding bunches of grapes. I heard that cackle again when I was in the shower; he again was so insulted for me. Liar.

And I would probably find this to be so hilarious and re-capable if I didn’t doubt the kid’s authenticity regarding his Italian status. Because these tramps are fake (are there any girls left in the state of Pennsylvania or are they all on this show?) and the drama is hilariously forced but Domenico, oh my God, can you show me your immigration papers or your passport? Because until then, I declare you a faker.

When I was in Milan over the summer, people didn’t understand how I could be married for over a year and not have children. Because there they seemed to have the kid and then decide to get married. Any sense of traditional values that these girls think are embodied in their “Domenico” – well, go to Italy yourselves and see that it’s not happening over there, girls.

…And his hesitation in touching the breasts that one of the girls presented to him in the kitchen (please don’t ask because I don’t know) – that was fake. I don’t know an Italian man from Italy who wouldn’t have jumped all over that.

So yeah, this show sucks. Please don’t watch it. Or if you do, would you please pretend for me that you won’t?


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