Mob Wives: Corsets And Cassettes. It’s The Calm Before The Desert Storm. Oh…And Yo Mama Does Krav Maga.

March 19th, 2013

 

 

Don’t even tell me that old man taped over my Flock of Seagulls album.

 

 

 

 

And then I was all like Pew! Pew! Pew! Zowie! Pow! with my Renee Superhero Wrist Rockets on that sorry bitch.

 

 

 

 

Seriously? So you’re telling me I built you this whole Broadway Bedroom theater and you won’t sing 42nd St.?

 

 

 

Honestly lady, the last time I saw a balloon like this it was taking James Franco to Oz.

 

 

 

 

You know I’m totally jealz of that kid’s bedroom. I could do my whole Las Vegas magic act up there.

 

 

 

 

I swear. All a guy has to do is put on a Pee Wee Herman tie and I turn to warm spreadable buttah.

 

 

 

 

 

Greetings, Earthling. We are BeccaBot. Mission: Assimilate.

 

 

 

 

Attention Staten Island Mall Shoppers.

We have a lost little girl who has not been seen for over a week.

If anyone finds Carla Facciolo, please bring her to the nearest cashier.  And while you’re at it, feel free to let her know that Love Majewski is talking some serious shizzle behind her back.

Seriously.  Carla’s missing.  I didn’t see her anywhere.  Did you?

If it wasn’t for the opening credits and Luscious Love’s non-stop Carla bashing, I’m not sure that anyone would have remembered Joe‘s Ex used to be one of the Mob Wives.

But there’s a storm or two brewing, one of which should blow her back into town fairly soon.

Maybe not the Arizona dust storm that started spinning around this week.  That one was confined to Karen‘s old neighborhood and almost took down a few trees and a Fembot.

But Storm Love is growing larger every time we check the map, gaining strength as it pulls in anyone who will listen.  So things are definitely about to go down in town.

We started the latest episode back in Arizona, where it was clear that we were going to max out our frequent flier miles jumping back and forth between the desert and the island this week.

What I first assumed was a Target distribution center warehouse actually turned out to just be a ginormous U-Haul storage unit with shiny red doors where Karen and her brother Gerard had stored about 374 boxes of State’s Evidence against their Dad, Sammy “The Bull” Gravano.

As you’ll remember, Gerard had come up with a possible loop hole in the court case against Sammy which could have him back out on the street in less time than it’s gonna take me to change my front door locks and get a new license.

(Umm.  They know this website is all just in fun…right?  Tell me they do.)

But first, Karen and Ramona needed to sort through mountains of legal paperwork and old beta VHS tapes (…whoa…acid flashback…) in hopes of finding some information that might help Gerard prove his point that Dad had received more time in The Hole than originally agreed upon.

Whereas most normal storage units would be full of old school clothes and action figures, this one was packed floor to ceiling with the kind of stuff that I thought should have probably stayed in a police evidence locker.  Boxes and boxes of blurry television news reports and scratchy taped conversations between Sammy and anyone who would listen were piled up behind the doors.

Did anyone else find this a little odd?  Or is it just me?  I mean, if the Feds were taping their phone conversations, why would they turn around and hand the cassettes back to the family in a Zappos box?  Isn’t that something that should be on a shelf with those crown-shaped Latin King dashboard air fresheners and ziplocked bricks of cocaine?

I swear.  If Karen’s book goes on second markdown at Barnes & Nobles, I’m going to have to finally give in and pick it up just so I can figure out what’s really going on here.

Armed with a trunk full of boxes, Karen and Ramona headed back home to pop in a cassette and do some research.

Yes.  Pop in a cassette.  If you have to ask, then you’re too young to be watching this show anyway.  Go txt ur BFF.  I’m sure Bieber just had another meltdown somewhere.

You’re only allowed to finish reading this if you remember holding your tape recorder up to the radio when your favorite song came on so you could make a mixtape for your girlfriend, which was a lot of wasted work considering that should would dump you over the summer between 7th and 8th grade and leave you with no date for the junior high prom that year even though you already had your Chess King suit picked out.

Bitch.  TMI?

Back in Staten Island, Renee was continuing her post-rehab recovery.  Turns out that a few of her counselors felt that she may still have some anger issues that needed to be addressed when she got home.

You think?

To help release some of that aggression, Renee had decided to enroll in a Krav Maga class, which is a fancy name for Israeli self-defense.  And she thought it would be a great mother/son bonding opportunity, if she could figure out how to get AJ off his bed.

Good luck with that, Mom.  Somebody needs to take that kid in to have his blood sugar levels checked.  Dude is always tired.  And mopey.  Tired and mopey.

But really, who could blame him for never wanting to leave that room?  Did you see that set up?  WTF?  It was like a Kids From Fame wet dream.  Please tell me that was not his bedroom, or he’s going to need way more than just one Krav Maga class to protect himself in gym class.

It was like his own personal jazz-handed Broadway stage.  Newsprint curtains.  Red velvet drapes and a big black box that said “Times Square” for some reason.  I can totally see AJ in his boxers and Prada specs re-enacting last week’s episode of Glee after Mom has gone to bed.

Don’t Stop Believing, kid.

Seriously.  Whoever decorated that room must have found Renee’s meds in the trash while she was in Florida.  Needless to say, AJ wasn’t going anywhere.

But cut him some slack…he probably had a sold-out matinee performance.

So Renee and Drita hit the Krav Maga mats on their own to learn the correct way to jam the flat part of your wrist into someone’s throat.  And the pointy part of your elbow into someone’s throat.  And the boney part of your knee up into someone’s junk.

It’s truly a shame AJ missed the opportunity to share in that mother/son moment.

Then we were off to the Billiards Bar for a quick Carla bashing, even though she was still technically MIA.

Though Love had yet to actually meet Carla face to face, the infamous Five Borough gossip mill already had her hatin’ on Mama Facciolo.  And Drita was already getting sick of hearing about it every time they all got together.

Renee, on the other hand, will always be Renee so she couldn’t get enough of the gossip.  As for me, I just couldn’t get enough of Renee’s craft glitter eye shadow and sweatshirt combo, so I wasn’t really paying as much attention to what was actually being said.

Martha Stewart was right, though.  Glitter does make everything Better.

Next, we left the pool hall and headed back to Arizona, where Karen was finally going to meet up with Dave‘s new girlfriend Rebecca.

Since the only thing that Karen really knew about Rebecca so far was that she had a tendency to misplace her thongs after sex, it was anyone’s guess as to how this meeting was going to go down.  Dave had only given Karen a few details, so most of her info had come from daughter Karina, who had been intentionally teeny bopper vague.

This should be good.  Karen meet Rebecca.  Rebecca meet Karen.

Oh, hell no.  Bitch stole my ombré.

Yup.  Rebecca was rocking the same new tonal fade that Karen was trying to trademark.  Dave never mentioned that.

He also never mentioned that Rebecca may, or may not, be a robot.

Expressionless.  No optical dilation.  Not impressed or threatened by Karen’s scary Mob background.  We are not programmed to feel emotion.

From what I could tell, it looked like Karen spent the entire meeting trying to figure out which side of Rebecca’s head housed the latch that swings open when her computer chip software needs an upgrade.

Like they used to do to Data on Star Trek: The Next Generation.  How cool was that?

Since she couldn’t get a rise out of her, Karen figured the next best thing would be to invite Rebecca back to the house for a get-together with all Karen’s Arizona friends.  No robot could overtake that many people at once, right?  So now there would not only be safety in numbers, but also more people available to try and figure out why Rebecca never blinks.

And speaking of artificial intelligence…and boobs.

Back home in SI, Love and Big Ang took all their saline goodness to the lingerie shop because the mysterious Fate was arriving from Las Vegas soon, and Love wanted some new unmentionables to impress her ex-boyfriend, in case…you know…just in case.

Bow chicka bow wow.  Time for your bra fitting, girls.  Pop those tops.

Using the same industrial strength tape measure that civil engineers use when they construct bridge trestles, some brave sales girl figured out that Love was a 34G/H.

And that Big Ang was carting around a pair of 38Js.

Yeah.  J.  As in Jesu—–!  Lawd have mercy!  It made my back hurt just to watch.

After a little more Carla bashing and pastie swinging it was finally date night, and Love was a nervous wreck.  Until Fate arrived at the restaurant.

Then it was just Reality Gold.  Hot Mess Reality Gold.

It appears that Mr. Fate likes to dress up, because there was a lot going on over on the other side of that table.

Studded Michael Jackson hat.  Pee Wee Herman tie.  Miles Standish big white pilgrim collar.  Steve Urkel suspenders.  America’s Got Talent goatee and eyebrows….pick any magician from last season, it doesn’t really matter.

Dude was a human Build-a-Bear.

Love could barely contain herself.  Or her womanly bosoms.  Did you see those things trying to cannonball into her salad bowl?  Simmer down, girls.

Throughout the evening we learned that Fate was into music and having babies with other women, that Love ran away from him and was upset that he never chased her, and that together they both wrecked a Vegas hotel room while knocking boots like wild animals.

Wrecked it.  Even the front door and the television set that isn’t supposed to be able to come off the top of the dresser.

All I could picture was that scene from the new Planet of the Apes when the mean zoo guy tasers the monkeys and shoots a water hose in their faces and they all go completely Rachel Zoe Ba-na-nas in the cage.

But it was at The Bellagio instead of the zoo.  And one of the apes was a 34G/H.

Check, please.

We finished off the episode with a scene from MTV’s Real World: Arizona.  Or at least that’s what I thought at first.  Karen’s got some cray cray friends.

They were booty popping on the coffee table and getting their 15 minutes of Mob Wives fame like the whole thing was getting posted on Facebook.  Everyone except the BeccaBot, that is, who stood motionless off to the side as if she was drawing power from the fluorescent lighting above the sink.

Finally Ramona couldn’t stand it anymore and pulled Rebecca aside to try and break through her force field.  She tried all the tricks that Karen had tried, but nothing seemed to shake Rebecca’s stare.  Nothing spooked this chick.

Not threats of gang violence and retaliation.  Not ghetto slams.  Not RuPaul shade.

Nothing.  It was a draw.

Dave finally took the BeccaBot home so she could recharge overnight, but the party went on without them for awhile longer.  Karen and Ramona weren’t about to join the Rebecca Fan Club, but they did salute her balls of steel with a toast at the end of the evening.  So I guess that counts for something.

And the search for the missing Carla continues.

The girls are all getting tired of listening to Love go on and on…and on…so they think it’s best that Love and Carla meet face to face and get to the bottom of all the gossip.

I dunno.  Feels like that storm is getting closer.

Better board up your windows and hide the buttah knives.

Just in case.

The Rachel Zoe Project: It’s Fashion To The Maxi. Those Long Hemlines And Short Bangs Are A Lot Of Work.

March 15th, 2013

 

 

Bozhe Moi Tovarish. The calming powers of my secret stress-relieving Russian Spy hat have yet to take effect it seems.

 

 

 

OhMyGod. These bangs are confusing me. It’s literally like one day both of my eyebrows are right there…and then the next day I can’t find them anywhere.

 

 

 

 

OhMyGod. Blah Blah Blah Blah Blah Blah Blah Blah So Tired Blah Blah Literally Blah Blah Blah Blah Puppy Blah Blah…

 

 

 

 

OhMyGod. Dude. That hair. I just can’t.

 

 

 

 

 

You know that’s BabySquawk for “OhMyGod. I need those heels” right?

 

 

 

 

 

OhMyGod. I literally close my eyes at night and can still hear that little Goy crying like he just got eliminated on Project Runway.

 

 

 

 

OhMyGod. Don’t look, SkySky. It’s too scary. Some of the crew are actually wearing Mall clothes.

 

 

 

OhMyGod.

Literally, if I hadn’t already died a little last week, I would totally be dying right now.

But if I remember the rules, I don’t think you are supposed to do it twice in a row unless you’re actually in the Biz.  If you are, then it’s ok to literally die a little every time you turn a corner and see a rack of shoes or a full Starbucks cup.

Because that’s how the fashionably fabulous do things.  But only if you’re in the Biz.

Being dramatically over the top is not for rookies.  Someone could get hurt.

The Rachel Zoe Project was back for another round, trying to come down from a Mercedes Benz Fashion Week high that could put any heroin addict to shame.

Shield your eyes.  Designer Detox ain’t pretty.

Now that the runway shows were done and all the superficial backstage air kissing completed (…love you, mean it…) Rachel and Rodger had returned home to regroup and get ready to push some goods down a few buyers’ throats.  As stressful as putting together a 2 minute show may be, getting that same merch on a Nordstrom rack is even tougher.

Sitting outside on one of those New York City terraces that I’ll never be able to afford, Rach And Rodg immediately tried to outdo each other as to who was the most exhausted after having to suffer through an entire week of sitting in chairs and watching other people walk down runways in fancy clothes.

Rachel claimed to have not slept for 4 weeks.  Which, if you do the math, is a month.

Besides being totz amazeballs, it also validated my assertion that she is either an alien life form or part giraffe, since aliens only snooze when they go into those smoky freeze dry chamber tubes and giraffes only sleep for 5 minutes at a time standing up.

It’s true.

The giraffe part at least.  Look it up.  Five minutes at a time, up to six times a day.

With one eye open.

The More You Know, kids.

Roger’s new coffee house hair had a few issues every time the breeze from the Hudson kicked up, but he managed to keep it out of his mouth long enough to convince Rachel to fire up the MacBook and read the online reviews.  Though she claimed to not be the least bit interested, her laptop was already drawing enough juice off the neighbors wi-fi to allow the InStyle website to load in record time.

Everyone seemed to love the show, if I understood Rachel’s interpretation of the English language.  She was only reading every other word out loud like you do when you have to skim Catcher in the Rye 30 minutes before the book report, so the whole thing came across a little like an onscreen communication from Starfleet during an asteroid shower.

But I think I got the gist of the thing.

After scrolling through a few more sites, Rachel was either giraffe-sleeping again or so happy that she was frozen in place as Rodger showed off his goosebumps and stated that now they just needed to sell some of the shizzle.

And that’s where Mandana Ba-nan-as came to save the day.  At least until Rachel showed up with little boy/girl SkySky, who appeared to be so overly hormonal this week that I was afraid he was going to need a Burberry inhaler.

While SkySky squealed and wandered the room, Rachel’s VP tried to maintain some semblance of order with all the pretty people from Nordstrom and continued her attempt at filling up some square footage in their Designer Departments.

The buyers appeared to like the new season better than they did the previous assortment, but there was still some nose scrunching when it came to the über long Maxi dresses.

They also questioned whether some of the loose fitting pajama dressing would be too difficult to get in and out of for a normal customer.

Really?  Since I somehow manage to wake up every morning with my Batman PJ bottoms completely MIA and a tee shirt wrapped around my face, I’m not really sure who these people are that have so much trouble dressing themselves.

But whatev.

By the time the next model came out in a pair of shorts and inspired some dude in the room to instantly perk up, lick his lips and say that leather was “something they were definitely into this season,” I realized that Mandana and I both needed to leave the building asap.  Taxi!!

On the other side of town, Rodger and Rachel dropped by yet another one of their new ventures: DreamDry.

Though the building was basically a gutted out shell with about 37 visible code violations, it was a work in progress.  When construction was completed, it promised to be the best new Blow Dry Bar in NYC.  Because God forbid that anyone in NYC blow dry their own hair before they go to a Macy’s One Day Sale.

And apparently there’s room for one more of these bad boys in the highly competitive world of round brushing, at least according to Rachel and her partner Robin Moraetes.

Unfortunately, work on the building was falling behind.  Way behind.  And in case anyone couldn’t look at missing sheetrock, dangling wires and non-existent illegal immigrant workers and not figure it out on their own, Rachel explained that the whole hot mess was the Opposite of Done.  Literally.

(Spoiler Alert:  DreamDry did actually finally get its act together by Valentine’s Day, which opens so many romantically inappropriate blow…out…jokes that I don’t even know where to start.  So we’ll just have to pass on this one for now.)

After brushing off the spackle from our Louboutins, we headed back to Rachel’s swanky new offices where, I’ll admit…I died a little again.

The places was Gorg.  Throw up in your mouth a little Gorg.

Seems that at some point during her 36 months of Super Pregnancy, Rachel’s company had put on some sympathy pounds and grown to 32 employees and 5 divisions.  And just like they say on a stranded Carnival Cruise…all that overflow has to go somewhere.

What?  Too soon?

So now all the Zoebots are in some pretty sweet digs.  And I was totally jealz.

Rachel’s newest Styling Associate Eileen came from a New York fashion background, presumably in the days when you had to blow dry your own hair to go to school, and she seemed really nice.  She was one of those calm on the outside/ready to leak some spaz on the inside types who maintained the best poker faces ever as little Goy SkySky continued his reign of terror around the building.

Rachel thinks that Eileen is Maj.  Not to be confused with Madge, for those of you who keep messing it up and clogging my email.

One is Major.  One is the manicurist from those old Palmolive commercials.  Google it.

And speaking of Skyler Morrison Berman, I didn’t actually see any DayCare signs anywhere on the floor, so I’m thinking that where ever the little Goy lands during a mini diva fit…Tag.  You’re It.  Babysitter.

When he momentarily went missing, Rachel took advantage of the silence and asked Mandana if she wanted to Download.

Because that’s how they talk in the Land of Zoe.  They don’t Catch Up or Talk About Stuff.  They Download.  Except that while Mandana was trying to download, Rachel was going into overload.  Dramatic overload.

But cut Rachel some slack.  Her bangs were confusing her.  Like, totally OMG…is my hair shrinking or is my head getting bigger?  That kind of confusion.

And quite ironic when you stop and realize that the woman who can’t figure out where her own bangs came from is now teaming up with the husband who looks like he just finished working a booth at ComicCon to open up their own hair place.

Stop the madness.  Just.  Stop.  It.

Those that can’t…do, I guess.

While we basked in that hilarity, Collection Manager Lauren met with some high profile boutique owners to try and sell some goods.  Just as their big buddy Nordstrom had done, they also questioned the practicality of the Maxi, which was Rachel’s baby.

The legitimately female baby, that is.  Not the other one that was rehearsing dramatic entrances from behind a chiffon office curtain.  Ta-daaaa!  It’s Celine!  In a diaper.

Nobody wanted to be the one who had to let Rachel know that most buyers were not feeling the Maxi Love this season, so they figured a group intervention would be easier, with Lauren leading the charge.  The Maxi was a risk.  People didn’t get it.  And…

Too late.  Rachel thought the whole thing was Fashion BS.  How could people not get it?

And more importantly, nobody wants a Mini that’s gonna flash your HeeHee while you’re playing with your SkySky.

(Wasn’t that was a song on The Wiggles PBS show last year?)

And where a weaker person might have turned to alcohol under such duress, Rachel turned to her magic stress-relieving fur hat.  Because she didn’t know what else to do.

When Rachel is freaking out, she tends to put on hats.  Fur ones.  And we all know that when you’re at a loss for words and about to lose your nutty on someone, it’s always best to just dress up like you’re Natasha from The Bullwinkle Show or Lisa Vanderpump at a ski lodge, right?  Must kill Moose and Squirrel…and Adrienne.

At some point in the all the chaos, Roger was back in his office chatting it up with the Other Rachel.  Rachel “SILBS,” whose main job at RZ Inc. appears to be nodding and smiling while Rodger rambles on and on.

And on.

Kind of like that girl at the bar who fakes it out with some Dbag until her friend comes back from that restroom.  That kind of blank nod and smile.

They talked about dogs and picture frames and a whole bunch of other stuff that eventually sounded like Charlie Brown’s teacher.  Muwwwaaah Muwwwaaah.

Lest you think that you wouldn’t get your stylist fix this week, Rachel was all over it with a Coach music video starring the duo group Karmin.

Prior to the shoot, Eileen had stripped a local store down to the bare walls and sent 99% of their on-hand inventory over to the studio in poorly marked UPS boxes.  So you knew before it even happened that something was going to go missing in the middle of Amy‘s Jingle Bell rap.

Naturally, Rachel brought Girl Scout Tagalong cookie SkySky to the shoot, and at least three of the camera guys contemplated stuffing the cry baby into one of the sweater boxes before singer Nick‘s missing brown one with the elbow patches finally showed up.

(Told you they’d lose something.)

Since Rachel was under additional stress to produce the perfect Winter Wonderland video before the actual holiday came and went, she immediately dove for another magic fur hat to calm her nerves.

And it worked.

The video was a big hit.  Done.

Karmin rocked the fashions and the tunes.  And Joey Maalouf was even there doing his makeup thang again.  He didn’t talk, but it looks like he’s finally back from burying Jeremiah‘s body behind the Crate & Barrel on Melrose.

Blast from the past!

Now it was time to wrap it up and hit the office to try and move some merch.  If only they could all get a handle on what customers really wanted this season.

OhMyGod.  I swear.

Retail…and new bangs…are literally beyond my comprehension sometimes.

I can’t breath.  Where’s my Bullwinkle hat?

The Real Housewives Of Atlanta: Girl, Don’t Be Tardy For The New Party. It’s Gone With The Wind Fabulous. Ok?

March 14th, 2013

 

Who am I?  Who are YOU?

Girl, pleez.  Fix yo’ face, tighten that weave, figure out how to do arismastik and put on your red bottoms…because we’re going dancing.

It’s time to get Gone With The Wind Fabulous, you Hood Rat Bitch.

The Real Housewives of Atlanta 2013 Anthem has arrived, and it is a veritable potpourri of Fierce and Fab and Freaky Deaky.

Who knew that one little patio throw down between Kenya Moore and Porsha Stewart would give birth to the next great auto-tuned dance tune?

Drag Queens, Gospel Singers, Toddlers, Beyoncé (…Keyoncé?…) and Lil’ Dick werkin’ his gas nozzle all collide in the just released Official Music Video.

And it’s a Kenyapalooza.

Step aside Kim Zolckiak and let Miss Kenya show you how it’s done.

Hold onto your synthetic wig as Key Key sings, poses and grinds her stuff all over the screen just like the true Diva she keeps saying she is…and still finds the time to poke a few of her fellow Housewives in the eye.

Oh, yeah.  She goes there, Phaedra.

Because she’s Gone With The Wind Fabulous.  And you’re not.

Twirl.

Trust me.

There’s enough Fabulousness in this video to keep you busy for a whole year.

All 265 days.


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