DanThat'sCool!

 

 

And the award for Mrs. Ultimate Grand Supreme Vicarious Living goes to…

 

 

 

 

 

I have no clue what sexy means, but in my silver Hello Kitty stilettos I can tell I’m sexy.  And I know it.

 

 

 

 

Dude.  Hand in your Man Card. Just hand it in and we’ll never speak of this again.

 

 

 

 

 

I swear to Gawd, if I turn around and he’s still wearing that thing…it’s been like two hours.

 

 

 

 

There’s only one true Makenzie. Suck it like a Pixie Stick, bitches. Suck it.

 

 

 

 

Aloha.

From the tropical paradise known as Mississippi.

Toddlers & Tiaras finished off the season this week with a southern fried Hawaiian Luau kind of a thing, and it was everything we could have hoped for and more.  TLC ended the latest round of pageantry with enough glittered palm trees and processed sugar to keep all of us buzzing until the next SUV full of Crazy pulls up to the check-in desk later this year.

It was the Mississippi Sweet Pea Party Pageant, and everybody knows that nothing says Southern Hospitality like a luau.  Pageant Director Linda Brown excitedly got us all up to speed right away by explaining how the whole shindig was gonna go down.

This was a full on, in yo’ face Glitz pageant.  That meant mounds of that gravity defying Closer to Jesus hair and enough spray tan and aerosol mist to smoke a terrorist out of his underground foxhole.

The clothes were most likely going to be too small, and the flippers too big.  There’s probably a mathematical equation that Pageant Moms use to figure out the perfect ratio between the two, but that is way beyond my skills or attention span so we’ll have to save it for another day.

The Ultimate Supreme winner was going to take home a wicked sparkly 13″ crown for their tiny 10″ head, a 3 foot tall trophy guaranteed to tip over at some point in the living room and crush their 2 foot high body and $250 in greenbacks.

Since those crackly cupcake dresses normally start at $350 on the low end of the retail scale, it’s always nice to head into a pageant already in the hole.  That one I will never understand, but I don’t make the rules.

Our first little contestant was 7 year old Liz and her Mom Jennifer.

Hollah to Liz.  That’s how she rolls.  Everyone called her charismatic, which usually means her personality is so boisterous that she gets kicked out of movie theaters.  Charismatic just sounds better.

Initially I thought that Liz may actually sleep in an FAO Schwarz stockroom, because there were so many toys and stuffed animals packed into that one bedroom that it looked like the belly of the airplane that delivers Toys For Tots every Christmas.

A quick salute to the troops.  If you’re short one teddy bear next December, I’m sure Liz can hook you up.

Elicia, the coach, seemed nice enough…but sorry, she’s no Katie Boyer.  Shout out to Katie’s Kuties, and another troop salute to any woman who can go from coaching to the pageant to the award ceremony and not blink once.

Katie.  Is.  Into. It.  True dat.

Mom and Coach both admitted that Liz can get a little obnoxious at times, which was another synonym for charismatic, I guess.  Even Liz herself suggested that she may get a little angry if she doesn’t win Top Dawg honors.  She then proceeded to bare her empty gums, growl like one of the Twilight wolves and fling herself into a stockroom shelf full of Beanie Babies.

Next up was 3 year old Emma and Mom Hope.

Right about here is when it started getting good.

Mom was a former Mrs. Mississippi United States 2011, which I guess must be different than Mrs. Mississippi Tokyo 2011.

Seriously.  Why do they need the United States part?  There are so many rules in this world.

As soon as Hope put on own her personal crown and did that Pride Parade wave, you knew that thing was staying on her head until someone pried it out of her cold, dead, bloody hands.

Once a Pageant Princess, always a Pageant Princess.

That pageant gene was clearly in Emma’s DNA, or had been injected in vitro at some point.  Either way, Emma was in it to win it.

And so was Mom, who pointedly remarked that the haters out there are just jealous bitches.  Pageant Dad Hank could probably support that mindset as well, since he was all about it as he worked his own pretty feet and plopped a crystal crown on his head like it was his day job.

Now I’m all for Dads supporting these kids, because most father figures are probably more apt to be tossing the pigskin out back with the nearly ignored little brothers than showing their girls how to pop a hip when you reach the painter’s tape “X” on the carpet.

But Hank seemed to already know his crown size and wore that thing like his lodge buddies wear their John Deeres.  Let’s pause, scratch our chins and just go Hmmmm.

While Hank was tilting his crown slightly askew, someone had been hunting, because 5 year old McKenzie’s house was full of dead animal faces mounted on the walls.

This was McKenzie, like the hamburger.  Not Makenzie, like the Ni-Ni.

I know that the blogs and the boards were getting all excited that the Princess of Meltdowns was coming back this week.

Psych.

Not doing it.

Hopefully T&T can figure out a way to sneak the original Mak Attak back in one more time before she outgrows the cute meltdowns and starts getting called a beeotch by the Mean Girls in the cafeteria.

Love you.  Miss you.  Mean it.

Golden Arches McKenzie was competing in Mississippi for the first time, so she and Mom Michelle weren’t sure what to expect.  They just knew that Big Hair = Big Scores, so they hit the salon to get McK’s hair did for the pre-game practice session.  They were planning to tease that ‘do into the military No-Fly Zone.

Elsewhere, rehearsals with pint-sized Emma were proving to be an effort in futility.

Between Hope still latching on to her fading pageant dreams and Hank matching tomorrow’s cowboy shirt to his crown, Emma was holed up in the closet waiting for a bribe.  Seems that money and ranch animals are the only things that get this little kid to practice nowadays.

I’m not certain if anyone has ever done any long term research studies on the subject, but I can’t imagine that begging your 3 year old child to dance for a dollar won’t come back and haunt you later on in life.  Mom and Dad have even gone as high as $20, which after taxes probably makes for a pretty good night at Hooters.

Luckily Emma has standards, and preferred horses instead of tips.  Hopefully she won’t be riding that new pony while wearing her new silver high heel shoes.

That’s right.  As part of her Marilyn Monroe costume for Outfit of Choice (…during a Hawaiian Luau theme, of course…) Emma was going to be wobbling across the stage in little Louboutins.  Since she can barely balance her head at 3 years of age, adding heels into the equation was proving a little challenging.  But she’s gonna make it work.  Or make it Werk, Girl.  Because she’s sexy and she knows it.

And she said it.  Not me.

Apparently nobody in that house had been keeping up with TMZ to see how well that statement had worked out for fellow contestant Isabella Barrett.

Yeah.  Just saying.

In one of the odder moments in television history, after Emma’s salon bleach highlighting and more practice on her hoochie shoes, Hope got all misty eyed about how kids grow up so fast.

I know, right?

I’m thinking the 3 year old girl next door who still blows snot bubbles while she watches Teletubbies reruns isn’t growing up quite so quickly.  But I’m not here to judge.  Or at least not so blatantly.  This one is too easy.

To make up for all the makeup and stiletto strutting, and to keep Emma stunted at 3 years old as long as possible, Hope still lets her sleep in the bed with them at night.  Another chin scratch and a Hmmmmm.

So if I’m doing the math correctly, that’s three people and three crowns all crammed onto that one mattress.

Again…too easy.

Pageant Day arrived with all the usual prep panic that I adore.  McKenzie must have sold bootleg tickets to all her relatives, because half the audience was all in neon green t-shirts to show their support.

Emma spent most of the pre-show process with her head cocked back like a Pageant Princess Pez dispenser while Hope literally poured Pixie Stick crack down her throat.  At one point Dad even poured it out into his hand and let her suck it up like a DustBuster.

(Not gonna lie.  Part of me wondered if she was going to snort it when he first made the line.  Another part of me wished that she had, because then this would have been the best blog post evah.  But she just licked it up like the reindeer at Santa’s Village and then went SugarSpaz.)

The Beauty portion was all finger kisses and cupcakes.  The usual.  Liz’s flipper kept falling out, but she managed to keep it in her skull while she was on stage.

In between numbers Mom and her entourage worked some MacGyver magic on Liz’s palate with pink stuff from Home Depot and a french fry.  For realz.  No clue how it worked, but somehow it kept the rubber teeth from falling out during the rest of the show.

Outfit of Choice and the actual Hawaiian part were pretty low key aside from a few nuggets.

McKenzie was a naughty referee, complete with a sequined football and moves that would make the Dallas Cowboy girls blush.  Liz did a Saturday Night Fever number while Emma did something or other on a complete sugar high.

During the luau, Emma finally started to come down from her sugar buzz right when they popped in the wrong CD.  The Perfect Storm as they say in the biz.

She froze and almost made the show go 90 minutes over.

If there really are any Gods of Reality TV, they will immediately give a 13 episode commitment to Pam the Judge.

All rise, if you know what’s good for you, because Judge Pam was in session.

Part Mississippi librarian, part knuckle rapping nun in street clothes, Pam was deducting points right and left anytime one of the contestants lost eye contact with the judges.

Every time we went back to Pam for her play by play on the last tackle, she said the same thing.  Every.  Time.  It was Mississippi déjà-vu and I loved it.

Granted, half of the little niblets on the stage haven’t even mastered full control of both eyes at that age, but that don’t matter to Judge Pam.  Homey don’t play dat.

She can put up with that soft spot in a baby’s head, and maybe even some puréed Gerbers on the onesie…but get those eyeballs under control or you just lost yourself another tenth of a point.  At least one of those wandering orbs have to be focused on the judges at all times, or you’re going home empty handed.

By the time the crowning took place, both the Moms and the kids were cranky.

Liz got a Mini Supreme, which I guess is like the 6 inch grinder at Subway.  She always seems to get that crown, and she’s sick of it.

Sick of it.

Meltdown #1.

McKenzie got Grand Supreme and was pretty darn happy, and yet that still wasn’t enough for Mom who stomped her feet and justified it by stating “That’s what we do.  We win pageants.”

Second place is the first loser, as they say.

Adult Meltdown #1

Emma scored the 6 inch grinder for her age category, and Hope had to sit on her own hands so she wouldn’t swipe the trophy and crown for her private display case.  Mom pretty much got the vapors and let the glory of the moment pretty much take her to church.

And then the season was over.

As I pack up my gigantic tupperware container of crap and drag it back to the tour bus, I’ve gotta give one more shout out to all the great/crazy pageant peeps I’ve met since I started this mess.

Thanks to Paisley and Wendy and Blake and Katie and Mama and anyone else who didn’t try to sue me this season.  You guys rock.

Until next time, as Hank would say…

Sparkle, baby.

 

 

 

I got two words for you. Stupid. Hair. Yeah…I went there.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Mia? Whatchoo talkin’ ’bout, Willis?

 

 

 

 

 

 

You do not want me to get all Miami Gotti on your a**, blondie.

 

 

 

 

 

 

They said never cut your own bangs. But did I listen? No.

 

 

 

 

 

 

You only get one chance to throw the cookie in his mouth. One chance.

 

 

 

 

Careful what you wish for.

It took 7 and a half episodes…but we finally got the kind of meltdown that would make even  Abby Lee Miller proud.

That’s right.  Dance Moms: Miami finally lived up to its namesake Birth Mother with a veritable meltdown potpourri of screaming, yelling, tantrums, slamming doors, crying children and the kind of telenovela drama usually reserved for recipients of a Daytime Emmy.

And it was over the top.  Season Finale over the top.  Fiercely over the top, in a Season Finale kind of way, bitches.

I think you get my point.

After basically boxing up and bringing home every trophy possible from their most recent competition, Team Stars was back home in their military line up to get this week’s work orders.  Even rockstar dancers need a splash of cold reality in their face to keep them grounded, so nothing ever starts without The List.

This time around all the Moms were present, which meant they were once again one chair short.

Seriously? Eight weeks later?  Can someone please get Angel a calculator when you pick up his Rosetta Stone DVDs?

I’ll cut Angel some slack and give him the benefit of the doubt this time.  It is possible that the studio was recently robbed, and the burglars only had time to lift one Mom chair and a tube of Victor’s FreezeItUp hair gel.

Did you see Ms. Smalley’s ‘do?  What was that all about?  All that finally sculpted Closer to Jesus hair had collapsed and was flopping all over the place.  Shameless, I tell you.

An insult to choreographers everywhere.

After dramatically brushing hair off his forehead like a dog that just won at Westminster, Victor got rite down 2 bidnezz.

Topless Lucas was at the top again.  He had taken 1st Place in his category and a stash of special awards last week,  so that got our little one legger prime seating on The List.

Lucas was psyched, and said it made him feel like “Hell on Wheels.”  It also made him rip his shirt off like a 65 pound Incredible Hulk and do that Club MTV shoulder swagger thing he always does.

Cutting back on carbs paid off for Hannah, and she found herself in the second spot.

As we’ve already discussed, the Boys are not big on math, so they made it clear that Hannah was in second place because…duh…she got 2nd at the competition.  That made it easy to figure out, and Angel didn’t risk getting his third ice cream headache of the day.

Sammy nailed her solo last time, and really improved on her artistry.  Victor flashed his Addam’s Family manicure and confirmed that she was indeed stunning last week.  But she had to be in the third hole because the first two were already filled and he had used that kind of foam tape that really sticks to the mirror.

So like any good girl, Sammy stopped at third base.

Slurpy Kimmy was next to the bottom in fourth place.  Luckily a couple of jiggly mess ups in the group number won’t adversely effect her Mensa score, so it will still all work out in the end.

But Kimmy and Mom Ani tend to put the O in OCD, so they immediately made plans to use this as a lesson in humility that they would both discuss in depth tomorrow at 4am while Kimmy downs her 3rd cup of Joe and completes the footnotes on her Molecular  Dynamics thesis.

I love Kimmy.

Speaking of hot coffee…Susan’s pot was just about to boil over when Jessi landed at the bottom again.  Jessi had touched the floor during her off balance extension, which is not cool.  You either cover up your wobble like a pro, or crack your head open and learn from your mistakes, missy.

Susan was destined to set off the building sprinklers today, you could just tell.  Someone was overheating her engine block, and it was only a matter of time.

Based on The List, Lucas and Kimmy were dueting again, while Sammy and Hannah were doing solos.

Jessi?  Well, thank for playing.  If you leave now you won’t miss the bus.  According to my finely honed psychic powers, this just ain’t gonna be her week.

But this is the week for Tulsa, Oklahoma…and the iHollywood Dance Competition.  Yippee I Ay, I guess.

When I saw it spelled like that, with the little “i” and the big “H” I got all excited thinking that Apple had their own dance competition where everyone wins iPads or iPhones or iPods, but no such luck.  Turned out it was just another normal competition with frames and trophies.  Wah.  Wah.

But this week there was a surprise! A surprise for all!  Drumroll, please.

In came Star’s 10 year old Elite Dancer Extraordinaire Mia Diaz!

Insert the patented Dance Moms HyperSpaz here: ________________!

The kids went completely Nutella and got their group hugs on while the Moms all ground their back teeth into chalk dust.

If you follow the activities of young children anywhere outside of the NBC Dateline Internet Chat Rooms, then you know that Mia is a big dealio in the dance world.  She brings with her years of experience, years of trophies and years of being a mini-celebrity in the competition industry.

She also brings with her a mother who I swear is Victoria Gotti from Celebrity Apprentice.  Or at the very least, her DNA cloned Miami replica.

Even if she’s not previously married to the mob, she will cut you.

It was clear the second that Susan unleashed her laser beam stare and Brigette swallowed her gum that there was no love in the room for Leo as she hustled in behind her daughter.  You would think she was an iHollywood handler making sure her SuperStar client got to speak with Ryan Seacrest on the Red Carpet they way she shoved Mia into the crowd.

It was that kind of entrance.

As all the Moms were herded into their cage, the kids got to rehearsing.  Leo sized each Mom up and down like she had an infrared x-ray spy scanner implanted in her skull while Ani teared up.

Since Kimmy and Ani are the only two people in the studio who can do math in their head, they had both already figured out that one of the kids was probably going to get cut now that Mia had arrived.

Ani left the room to commiserate with crazy Mayra, who was rocking some seriously new hair from the Jaclyn Smith Wig Collection.  And who says you can’t get a good curl with synthetics?

Leaving Stars Dance Studio for a few minutes, we got a chance to meet Brigette’s family for the first time and spy on her her home life, which was not pretty.

Lucas’s brothers, Lex and Logan, not only have two of the coolest comic book names evah but completely support their dancing sibling, as long as it doesn’t conflict with Dad’s football plans.  Brigette’s husband, or at least the top of his head that was buried in the Sports Section of some Miami rag, wasn’t really feeling the whole dance thing and it’s taking a toll on their marriage.

You could have turned off your television right here and been able to figure out how that is all going to work out in the end.  Sad.

As the competition grew closer, everyone was pretty much a hot mess in rehearsals.  Having Mia breathing down their necks was taking a toll on their focus, and Victor was not happy.

He was definitely happy that he had found his missing gel and gotten his hair mojo back, but the kids were another story.

To get the party started, he gave Mia a solo on the spot and sent Mayra into the cage to let Gotti know she needed to pay for the spot in competition.  Debi and Abby were not going to stand for that, and stormed out to have a meeting with whoever they could snag in the lobby.

I love when Moms storm out and take their purses with them.  After all these years of dance they still think that the other Moms are going to go through their stuff and steal chapstick or something.  I get great joy out of those moments for some reason.

To rub more salt in the wound, the duet was now a trio as Mia moved in on that turf as well.  Lucas loves his ladies, so he wasn’t too upset, but Kimmy gets some janky nerves when she’s put up against another dancer.  Victor made note of that fact that Kimmy has trouble with anything Fierce, and then spent the rest of the episode fully demonstrating his own skills.

Snap.  Pivot.  Work It.  Own It.  Learn from the Master, bitch.

Hannah’s solo rehearsals were about the only thing going well.  She managed to represent for the Big Girls again, and had amazing focus considering the uncomfortable manner in which Angel kept grabbing the front of his plaid Gap shorts.  Take it outside, dude.

The pressures of Dance 24/7 were starting to wear on the Moms as well.  Abby had taken to sleeping with one eye open since she had known Gotti for some time.  Debi had a tearful one on one with Hannah while Brigette finally cracked over her impending divorce to the Sports Section Guy.  Susan clinked and rattled to the point where you knew it would only be a matter of time before those pipes burst and everyone got scalded while Ani worried about…well…pretty much everything.  O to the C to the D.

Finally it was iShow time.

This competition must be a bigger deal than some of the others, because they had invested in an actual backdrop instead of rolling hotel tarp.  Keeping with the Hollywood theme, there was a gigantic Old Time movie projector graphic in the middle of the Dance Dance Xbox 360 artwork, but all I could think of was the Muppet Beaker and his beady bug eyes.  Rewind and check it out when they were giving out awards.  It was like Beaker had fallen into a vat of nuclear goo and gotten really, really big and now he was watching all of us over the MC’s shoulders.

The group number was all about Celebrity (…better known as Let’s All Dance Around Mia!…) and didn’t turn out so well.  Jessi fell out of her turn and Lucas had no shirt on again.

Blah.  Blah.  The dancing isn’t really important.  It’s the After Party where it got good.

Backstage, the whole Mia thing was out of control.  I missed who scooted all the kids out of the room, but luckily they were in the Safe Room when it all went down.  Brigette and Leo got all up in each other’s grill, chest to chest screaming about who is jealous of who.  (Whom?  I never get that right.)

When Gotti turned away with one of those Jersey Talk to the Hand flips, Brigette grabbed it like a dog grabbing a bone which snapped Angel into action.  Somehow he swooped down at her, almost knocking her to the ground like a crazy homeless woman.

In eight episodes, I can honestly say that was the fastest I have ever seen the guy move.  That knit poncho/cape button-up contraption he was wearing made Angel pretty aerodynamic.

Nobody lays a hand on nobody, though, and Victor kicked Brigette out of the room…and potentially out of Stars.

Just like any good DayCare, when one baby cries they all cry.  Susan started in on the Boys about favoritism and Mia and Leo being a bitch and the next thing you knew, she was kicked out of the room by Angel who momentarily morphed into some bats*** crazy gay Phantom of the Opera.  I don’t know how else to describe it.

Victor was picking them off like ducks at the State Fair.  Who’s Next?  Who’s Next?

There was so much fierce drama that I expected RuPaul to burst through the door and tell them all to just shut the f*** up and sashay away.

Susan walked a sobbing Jessi out of the building, vowing that she was done with Stars.

Brigette hugged a sobbing Lucas as he begged her to not tear him from his Stars family.  (Now is probably not the time to mention that you’re leaving Daddy.  Just saying.)

Everyone was clutching their pearls and fanning themselves like a hot July in Miami, child.

It was like the season finale of Dance Moms: Oprah.

You get to cry!  You get to cry!  You all get to cry!

No doubt about it.  Abby Lee Miller would be proud.

 

 

And by that, I mean these bitches are Goombalacraycray.

 

 

 

 

I can crack a safe and a jaw before the first round of drinks even get here. Badabingola.

 

 

 

Trust me. The strip club paycheck ain’t the only thing this size that Mommy’s bringing home tonight, honey.

 

 

Sing along, girls. Tequila makes her clothes, and boxing gloves, fall off.

 

 

 

And by that, I mean more Goombooty cushion for the Mobista pushin’.   Go Bears!

 

 

 

My kind of town, Chicago is…

My kind of town, Chicago is…

My kind of razzmatazz

Where all the Wives go total spaz.

……………………………………………..

And suddenly with absolutely no warning, and apparently no apologies whatsoever to the estate of Frank Sinatra or anyone else out there who had set their DVR for the wrong date…someone gave us Mob Wives: Chicago.

A week early.

There was barely time to freshen up our cocktails after the Staten Island contingent wrapped their Reunion Show before this cloned spin-off bitch slapped everyone in the face.

After promoting the premiere of the Chicago edition with only a random start date and one looped clip of the Wives strutting out of that warehouse looking like elderly Pussycat Dolls, complete with back lighting and wind machine of course, it was a bit of a surprise to see it land on our TV sets a little early.

But VH1 ain’t no fool.  They knew we’d all be basking in a Staten Island after glow, and they wanted to swap out the Wives while we were all still a little light headed.  They probably hoped we wouldn’t even notice until it was too late.  Well played, VH1.

Just like the Mob, they suck you back in again.

I’ll make it easier on myself, and everyone involved right from the start.  Since this was our introduction to the new windblown women, we got a lot of backstory.  And a lot of “alleged” this and that.

So everything that follows is alleged.  How’s that?  That should keep the legal people out of my email, and the Mob people out of my house.  Just insert “alleged” whenever you feel uncomfortable and we’ll all live to see the Holidays.

Renee Fecarotta Russo was the first Wife to hit the screen.  As she drove around Chicago in her big Titanic hat and Paris Hilton sunglasses, we learned that she was the niece of “Big John” Fecarotta, an alleged enforcer for the Mob.

(The first “alleged” was a gimme…you’re on your own from now on unless I spook myself or hear people outside my front door.)

Big John was gunned down by a Mob friend who set him up, which explained Renee’s distaste for Snitches and Rats.  The irony of her having the same name and similar rat story as Staten Island’s Renee Graziano didn’t go unnoticed by this eagle eye.

But this Renee is the blond one, which made it easier to differentiate which rat was which since they both were done wrong by men in their lives.  This one had two daughters from two baby daddies, both of whom are currently in jail.

The daddies, not the girls.  It’s called Mob Wives…not Mob Moms.  Der.

Renee lives by the Code.  Don’t associate with rats.  Don’t be friends with rats.  And most importantly, never let them cook your food.

Mob Rats, that is.  Ratatouille Rats are ok, and are actually very good chefs.

Shout out to Pixar.  Buy it in 3D.

Next up was Nora Schweihs.  Besides being labeled the neighborhood Krazy right out of the gate, Nora was also a hot mess mix of Bravo’s Bethenny Frankel and one of the blonde comediennes from Saturday Night Live whose name escapes me at this moment.  Since I’m too lazy to Google it right now, we can make it a game and see who comes up with her name first.

Go.

Nora is just back in Chi Town after living anonymously in Florida for 10 years.  She packed up all her whackadoodleness into a steamer trunk and came back home to deal with some loose ends.

And by loose ends, I mean her Dad’s missing body that is lying around Chicago somewhere.

Frank “The German” Schweihs was allegedly (…I’m sticking that one in because he’s dead and he still scares me somehow…) one of the most notorious hit men for the Mob, and has been linked to the death of Marilyn Monroe.  The dealio is that as soon as Frank died, the Feds swooped in and took the body somewhere and Nora has never been able to give her Dad a proper burial.

Nora needs closure, and has created such a conspiracy theory on her Dad’s mysterious remains that I’m starting to believe he could be on ice in Roswell with all those UFO aliens.

She’s verrückt.

That’s German for crazy.  That’s right.  You just learned something.

The more you know.  Stay in school, kids.

Since NeNe Leakes is rich now, bitch, there is a noticeable shortage of exotic dancers on my reality shows.  Luckily Pia Rizza is more than happy to preserve the art form, all in the name of good parenting and keeping the lights on.

Pia not only slides down the poles for all the boys, but she is also blessed with a mouth like all the boys and could easily put a blush on any trucker’s cheeks.  She was born with no verbal filter and a seemingly endless mental dictionary of dirty sailor catch phrases.

The only thing she won’t talk about is her crooked cop father Vincent Rizza.

Do.  Not.  Ask.

After working for the Mob, Vincent flipped and testified against them and then vanished into the Witness Protection Program, leaving Pia to slide down poles and live with the shame of having a rat for a father.  They haven’t seen each other since, and she could care less.

Rest assured, though.  Wherever Dad is now, I’m pretty certain he can still hear her mouth, so it’s almost like they’re together.

Speaking of together.  Now that everyone is all back in Chicago, Nora wanted to get all the girls together for a night out, since we all know how well that always goes down.

Hold up.

Nicole Sullivan!  That’s who Nora kind of reminds me of, along with Bethany.  And it was MADtv, not Saturday Night Live, so I hope you didn’t put too much effort into running down a list of every woman who has ever appeared on SNL.  Nicole is the new Jenny Craig girl, too…that must be why she was fresh on my mind.

I swear.  If you put Bethany and Nicole in a blender and spiced it with Tweety Bird’s Looney Tunes grandma…Bam!  Nora.  Sorry to interrupt the flow, but it had to be said.

Since all Mob Wives, regardless of locale, need to have some parenting issues and smack talk time, we got our first glimpse into Renee’s world.

Renee’s 20 year old daughter Giana had just gone to visit her incarcerated Dad, who is spending his entire life in prison.  Brutally murdering someone seems to have that kind of result in the judicial system.

Mom obviously wanted Giana to have nothing to do with her father, but since none of us should be expected to invest 100% of our heart felt compassion on two people we just met 25 minutes ago, it was pretty much just filler this time around.  Maybe once we get to know everyone better I’ll care more about the kid.

Side note:  Are Newport cigarettes now the official sponsor for everything Mob related?

Seriously.  Giana walked out onto the balcony clutching the same carton of smokes that were always sticking out of Renee Graziano’s face.  What are the chances?  Just saying.

The blonde Renee then headed out to nosh on some deep dish with crazy Nora, who really wanted to get the ball rolling on Girls’ Night Out.  Not only was it a great chance to shovel down some carbs, but it gave Renee a chance to smack talk about Pia’s chosen career, and wonder out loud why she didn’t just close her legs and go work at Kohl’s.

Across town, the ringing in Pia’s ears wasn’t just Renee talking s*** about her…it was her cell phone.

Pia’s cousin Anthony hit her up on her Sidekick to not only give her some dirt on Nora, but prove that you can’t have a Mob show without at least one Tony or Joey.

Turned out that he had run into Nora out at the Klub, and she was all up in his shizzle about Pia.  Blah Blah Whore Blah Blah.

Oh snap.  No she did not.  That girl can’t hold her liquor.

Pia made a mental note and then went to do whatever pole dancers do when they’re not pole dancing.

Then we paused for some things that make you go hmmm.

Christina Scoleri barreled onto the screen with her raspy Walmart voice and fist pumping attitude, proudly displaying her Hit First, Ask Questions Later bumper sticker for all to see.  Honk if you love knuckle sandwiches.

The daughter of Raymond Janek, who was pretty small beans in the Mob skillet scheme of things, Christina probably even smelled like a TomBoy if my TV had smell-o-vision.

While most kids were cutting their Barbie’s hair, Christina was learning how to audibly crack a safe like they do in the movies and could probably still break into Citibank with just her ears and a knitting needle.

Though she had recently just gotten divorced, her ex-husband was still beached on the couch, which must make for some great date nights.  He has not moved out yet, and Christina’s 9 year old daughter is blindly going through each day thinking that everything is great with Mommy and Daddy.  Considering that it has been almost one full year and the guy hasn’t packed one box, it doesn’t look like he is going anywhere soon.

Besides a Joey or a Tony, every Mob show should also come with a Big Ang.  But since there is only one of those voluptuous delicacies out there in the Free World, the next best thing would have to be Big Attitude.

I give you Leah Desimone, daughter of Wolf Desimone, and apparent Love Child of Jennifer Lopez and Broadway’s Bernadette Peters.

For realz.  You can’t make this stuff up.

Big and loud and proud, Leah came right from Central Casting’s Little Italy branch and has the Goombazongas to prove it.

Every other sentence she paused to give us the Italian definition of what she was talking about.  See the dog?  It’s Goombadabeagle.  That pack of gum?  Goombabazookajoe.

Granted I had to turn down the volume on my set, but I loved her like I’d known her for Goombalike4ever.  With hand motions and finger waving included free of charge.

She’s a mess.  Love.  Her.

The only thing bigger than her personality are the butts of the boys she dates.  Leah wants some big and chunky trouble, so find dat juicy double.  Baby like back.

Unfortunately, Leah had to take a trip in search of unchartered fat a** so she couldn’t attend Nora’s night out, which was just as well with that big head of hair.  She wouldn’t stand a chance in the first Chick Fight Night of the season.

The other four Wives hit the club and seemed to be ok for the first few rounds of shots.

Until Christina raised her liquored up Bingo voice and started in on Nora’s hit man father.

Somehow that veered off course into a comparison of hooker shoes and cousin Tony’s gossipy phone call.  Nora wanted a wire tapped recording complete with transcripts before she would even have a discussion about Anthony, so she and Pia decided to put the gossip aside and make up even though it was pretty much a non-fight from the beginning.

Christina wasn’t buying the quick resolution, and then…

Well.  Then the whole thing went all Mob Wives.

Pia and Christina got all up in each other’s grill, with crazy Nora stuck in the middle like filling in an Italian Oreo.

After wailing and threatening to cut somebody, Christina threw a drink…and you know what happens when you get a Mob Wife wet.

Everything went GoomBOOM!!

Yes.  Chicago is definitely my kind of town.