Posts Tagged ‘Angela “Big Ang” Raiola’

Mob Wives: So Did Youz All Hear The Rumours? All Of Staten Island Reacts To The Ultimate Betrayal As Junior Flips Sides And Renee Flips Out.

Monday, April 2nd, 2012




And I was all like “Girrrrl, pleez. I smell a rat up in this hizzle fo’ shizzle, bitch.”





And I was all like “OMG Junior! WTF and stuff. Duh.”






And I was all like “Ooooooh. You can talkz about banging …but never about snitching!”






And I was all like “Man Up! Go to prison and take it like a man. Any questions?”






And I was all like “Oh. Hell. No. They did not just wire up Renee’s Baby Daddy. MmmHmm.”




And you thought wiring a router into your modem was big drama?

Try running microphone cable up a mobster’s pant leg and see what that gets you.

In a nutshell…it get you a new Social Security card courtesy of the Witness Protection Program, a sloppy mental breakdown and so much drama that this week’s episode of Mob Wives should have been a two hour special hosted by Wendy Williams wearing her big wig.

That’s what it gets you.

Hold up.  I need to splash a little water on my face and compose myself before we get into all this chaos.

This week kicked off right where we left everyone last time.

The Wives were all reeling from the news that Junior had turned himself into the police, leaving Renee with nothing but a sink full of dirty dishes, loads of unanswered questions, crumbs everywhere and more Newport smokes than I’ve ever seen at any Cumberland Farms convenience store at one time.  Ever.

With only a little yellow school note explaining what was about to go down, Junior had left the house and surrendered to the authorities for whatever that last crime was that got him busted, and Renee had flipped out.  It was during that initial flip out that she found out her Father had also just been picked up and taken back to jail.

She then flipped out in capital letters.  Flipped.  Out.

Clutching one of those souvenir filled Bibles that you would expect Taylor Swift or your grandmother to have in their bedrooms, Renee fumbled through the contents while talking to her BFF Nikole about isolation and how rude the Feds were to arrest people before the holidays.

A’ight.  Let’s just get this one out of the way early and then we can move on with the good stuff.

I love me my Mob Wives.

And I loooooove me my Big Ang.

But I’m beginning to question whether they realize that crime is…I don’t know…a crime, maybe?  Somewhere along the way they seem to have lost the concept of Good vs. Evil, Cops vs. Robbers and Batman vs. The Joker, because this week everyone was all up in arms that when you rob a bank you don’t get Thanksgiving dinner before they cuff you.

I’m not here to judge.  I’m just here to point out the facts.

There were a couple of those head scratching moments in this episode, which I’m more than happy to point out…then you judge, mainly because I’m really not in the mood to go swimming with the fishes.  I’ve got a busy week ahead and sinking to the bottom of the Long Island Sound isn’t on my Bucket List.


It looked like there was a piece of a yellow ballon or something in the Bible, with a family portrait rubber stamped on it, which was a curiosity.  Since they never discussed it after she slipped it back into the Bible, in my head I made up a story about a Birthday Party that was riddled with gunfire and all the balloons popped and little AJ cried.  Feel free to use that one, or create your own balloon fantasy story.

While Renee was pressing her balloon pieces, my new favorite female singing group Ramona & The White Strips were hanging out at Big Ang’s Drunken Monkey Bar dishing about the whole Junior thang.

Is there anything better in life than Big Ang?  And maybe ice cream?

I mean, c’mon.  Look at her.  I just want to hang out with her in the bar all day.

Not like those two pervy dudes (…please tell me you noticed…) sitting in the background checking our Ramona’s junk, but belly up to the bar eating peanuts and getting my eyebrows steamed every time Big Ang lets one of those Big Ang laughs rip.

Big Ang lamented the loss of Real Men in the current batch of mobsters.  She missed the days when men were men, took it like men, ate it like men, and knew the meaning of loyalty and respect for other men.

Before you get all skeeved out, she was talking about mob loyalty, not anything dirty.

Clean it up, this is a family site.

The news about Junior had, of course, started all the rumor mills cranking and everyone was trying to decipher real from made up, in much the same way some of you may feel when you skim my brilliance.

Word around town was that Junior had sold out to the Feds, worn a wire while talking to his Father-in-law and generally turned RatFink on the mob.  Luckily, the drama of selling out to the Feds didn’t seem to hurt anyone’s appetites, because we still got our weekly Mob Wives Restaurant Tour.

Carla and Drita shoveled down cake and random bakery goods while trying to decide if Drita should bring her children to prison to see Lee.  The big concern was not really the long lasting effects on a kid’s psyche, but whether or not Drita would throw down with Lee over the divorce papers.  They never said if the prison sits them across from each other at a table like they do on General Hospital, or whether Drita would have to pull Lee’s head through one of those holes in the glass divider wall and strangle him with the intercom cord.

I chose the glass wall, to go along with my balloon story.  It’s way cooler.

Drita digested that meal quick enough to head over to the Drunken Monkey for another snack and another discussion about Real Men and how they never age in prison, which I attributed to really good bar soap in the showers.  Probably Olay or something.

No wonder nobody wants to drop it on the shower floor.  If it’s really the Fountain of Youth, I’d hold onto that s*** with both hands, boys.

Speaking of prison secrets, next we went to the Roller Derby with Carla and newly exonerated Joe.

It was like a bad acid trip back to the ’80s as Carla rolled around in her fringed Cher knock-off under the disco ball, while the kids wobbled like Labradoodle puppies.

I’ll give a Bro his props.  Joe and his baby face (…thanks, Olay…) were pretty fly on the wheels, considering he just got sprung from the Slammer.

Last week we learned that his jail apparently educated him in Speed Dating etiquette.

This week I’m thinking that Joe may, or may not, have done a little after hours roller skating in the yard once the dogs went to sleep.

I’m starting to wonder if Joe did hard time in Xanadu.  (Google it, kids.)

Interspersed throughout all this revelry were a few more Renee meltdowns.  One took place at Ramona’s, where she and Karen were attempting to not only prove they could actually eat a meal at home, but get Renee to be thankful for what she had left in her shattered life.  As Karen tried to say Grace, Renee blew Nutty #576 and stormed out of the house.

Finally, one of the Wives figured out that nothing takes the edge off another 7 years in prison like a Drag Show, so despite Big Ang’s prior trip down Memory Lane, they all headed out to where the men were not so much like men.

To say it was like the Mother Ship had just touched ground and Big Ang was going home again would be an understatement.

For the first time in the series, someone had bigger hair and bigger bazoingazz than Big Ang.  It was something that you can tell your grandchildren about years from now.

Trust me…I’m already saving up my allowance for the Director’s Cut DVD.

Right on the heels of RuPaul’s Mob Race, by the time they got home and wiped off the glitter the press was reporting Junior had indeed sold out to the Feds.

Flipping, as they call it.

Not the Jeff Lewis buy a house, organize the closet, fix up the bathroom and sell it for mo’ money kind of Flipping, but the tape a wire to your stomach and start naming names kind.

This news leaked out right after the Drag Show, so that probably explains why I initially thought Drita was talking about GangBang News.  But it was GangLand News, and the reporter Jerry Capeci is an authority on the stuff.

(Side note…yes, full disclosure…I did try to immediately go on the website and it had crashed already.  Don’t you people wait for commercials anymore?)

Later on, Big Ang shared some munchies with her gal pal Linda and unleashed even more Yoda-isms regarding proper gangster behavior.  She needs her own Learning Annex seminar.  I would totally pay cash.

There were also a couple more Renee meltdowns here and there, accompanied by a few more of those head scratching moments.  One was Karen declaring that a MobRat was the scummiest of all low lifes, which I guess if you do the math would put them lower than the people who actually commit the crimes that the MobRat rats out.  I dunno.

As the news spread, the drama and the outfits got wilder.

Karen and Renee shared a meltdown while Ramona sat by and watched.  Since Karen had already lived through the MobRat process with her dad, she had a good group cry and then presumably began coaching Renee on how to get a book deal.

Big Ang, in possibly the best Big Ang Ensemble yet, strolled into her sister’s boutique to take a look at the newspaper headlines.  In some whackadoodle mashup of a PTA dominatrix meets Janet Jackson meets Jackie O, Big Ang was styling in head to toe black pleather (…were those spaceman gloves…?) as sis Janine spread out the morning’s headlines on the cash wrap.

In that one scene I grew to love Big Ang even more.

Everywhere you turned it was scandal.  And Flipping.  And RatFink.  And MobRat.  And ManUp.

The only place where Renee could go to escape was church, where she went to light a few candles and have another meltdown.  I felt bad for anyone else in the pew trying to pray for a sick pet or the next MegaMillions.  Seriously.  She was going off like one of those old wailing women in the black veils who fall on the caskets in the movies and have to be carried back into town on horseback.

Girlfriend wore me out this week.

Crime seems like a lot of work.

Mob Wives: Scratch & Snitch Addition. Drita Has That Single Girl Itch, Renee Has A Major Breakdown Twitch And Junior…Well, Junior Is Just Wired.

Monday, March 26th, 2012


He has a scar over his right eye and possibly a long extension cord sticking out of his shirt. Find him!





Spoiler Alert.  This can’t be good at all.





Jail vs. Renee. I feel your pain. Take your time deciding, dude.





He’s a hottie, but I think it’s just his battery pack wires overheating.





Smoke ’em if you got ’em. Eat ’em if you have to, honey. I know you’re having a bad day.



Oh no, he din’t.

Hector “Junior” Pagan just unleashed a whole briefcase full of unmarked CrazyBills on us this week, and the Mob Wives will never be the same.

Get some munchies.  This one’s super-sized.

After what seemed like endless attempts at fixing their on again/off again, in jail again/outta jail again relationship, both Renee and that sloppy relationship completely unraveled this week.

In a series of events that pretty much sent Renee over the edge and guaranteed at least four DEA officers shiny departmental commendations, the show that questionably appears to make crime seem ok spun out of control.

But in that good, pop some popcorn and text OMG to your BFF kind of way, I mean.

The whole thing started off pretty low key as Carla and Drita went out clubbing.  Since filing the divorce papers against Lee, Drita has been on a kinda sorta ManHunt.  But she is painfully out of practice, having been loyal to Lee for years, even during his unfortunate incarceration(s)…single or plural…I forget who has been in and out of the Big House the most.

Seriously.  This show is a lot of work.  I need to figure out how to do Excel on this laptop so I can create a spreadsheet.  Like a bookie racing form, or that Dance Moms cheat sheet they always seem to have in their purse at every competition.  I know all the guys have been in jail, but I never know who gets my annual Holiday card.

So the two Wives hit the New York City club scene in an attempt to release Drita back into the Wild, much like they do with seagulls after they wash all the BP off of them on National Geographic Television.  Except this seagull is still completely covered in olive oil, and will violently peck your eyes out if you cross it.  I’m not so sure this one is ready to be released quite yet.

After fist pumping and chest pounding a string of horny city boys into a bruised semi consciousness, even Drita herself began to realize that maybe she needed a refresher course on the singles scene.  Dancing on the speakers with sparklers might have gotten Snookie preggos, but on Drita…not such a good look.

By the time a Juice Head named “Anthony from Connecticut” tried using Lee’s name as a pick up line, Drita cracked a few more unsuspecting sissy boy ribs and then hit the road.

The Mob Wives Restaurant Tour continued with Karen, Ramona, Ramona’s blindingly white teeth and Reality Goddess Big Ang all hitting up a local snack shack.

Big Ang was rocking her new bangs, which only made me love her more.

I mean, really.

Extra long bangs, those delightfully crazy eyes poking out from underneath, glossy lips that look like they could inflate during an airplane crash and those Wise Guy funded boobs.

I didn’t even know where to look first.

And you wonder why I love me some Big Ang so much?

(Now that you mention it, I’m not even certain if she has a nose…I’ve never noticed.)

The three of them sat around reminiscing about the Good Ol’ Gangstah Days when men were men, Wise Guys were Wise Guys and women could sneak pork chops into the prisons under their boobs.  Those were good times.

Big Ang even flashed back to her own earlier arrest when a friend, who was secretly wired with a surveillance mic, let the Feds listen in on Big Ang while she was takin’ care of bizness in the ladies room.

Now I love me some Big Ang.  Well documented.  And every week I say that having a Big Ang ring tone would make me the coolest kid at recess.  But I think maybe even I would draw the line on that sound bite.

Unless you can find it for me, of course.  I’d have to hear it first I guess, before I jump to any conclusions.  I mean.  It’s Big Ang for cryin’ out loud.

Am I the only one who thinks she laughs like Herman Munster?  Love.  Her.

Before we all started wondering how many prison meals Big Ang could sneak in under those mamajamas, it was time for the weekly Renee vs. Junior head butt confrontation.

Standing behind the kitchen island and THREE packs of Newports, Renee was trying to keep Junior’s parole affairs in order and keep him on track for a smooth transition back to prison in a few weeks.  What started out as an exercise in calendar tracking quickly turned into yet another ReneeSpaz as she went on and on about trying to fix their relationship and how she wished he wouldn’t go back to prison.


1. It’s pretty much a done deal, honey.  It’s not really a go if you’re in the mood kind of decision.  Maybe you should have wished for Junior to get a job at the Staten Island Gap all those years ago if you wanted to keep him out of prison.

2. You know how cows can sleep standing up?  I swear Junior can sleep with his eyes open.  That pretty much sums up their recent interactions.

For a little comic relief before the heavy stuff went down, Big Ang and Drita headed to Little Italy to get some authentico meatio at the marketo.  (That’s all the Italian I know.)

It was basically a crash course in why you should only buy top grade prosciutto and never marry a sanitation worker, as Big Ang finally gave Drita a quick glimpse into her personal life.  Seems that her attempts at a non-Wise Guy courtship didn’t go so well, and Big Ang had booted her husband of 2 1/2 years out of the house.  He was going out all night, drinking and cheating on her and the whole thing was a “Disastaaaah!”

Disastaaaaah.  (Insert a big Herman Munster right here.)

The Big Ang Dating Rule Book now clearly states that your man should be younger, richer, pay all the bills and not empty your neighbors’ garbage cans every Tuesday morning.

Seeing Big Ang get all NeNe “MnmmHmm” Leakes and talk about getting herself a new man was comedy gold.  Two pops, Girlfriend.  (That’s Gangstah for Two Snaps.  Der.)

We also got a quick scene with Carla and her newly released ex Joe discussing Speed Dating.  Let’s just say that for someone who just spent a whole bunch of years sealed up in a men-only prison, the dude sure knew an awful lot about speed dating.

But I’m not here to judge.  Or get my knee caps broken.

Carla used that new found knowledge to join Drita on a Firemen Only Speed Dating Night, and by the end I think it was safe to assume that Engine Company 69 would rather risk burning to death in a backdraft than take their chances on a night out with Drita.  She definitely still needs a few more lessons before she can fly on her own without hurting somebody.

Right now, though, would be a good time to make certain that your seat backs and folding trays are in their complete, upright positions because Mob Wives Airlines is just about to crash and burn.

After spending a sleepless, untouched night with Junior, Renee woke up to find him already gone to what she mistakenly assumed was a meeting with his parole officer.  Still depressed over their last discussion, Renee pretty much spent the day in bed.

When she finally made it out of bed, Renee found a note from Junior written on that same kind of bright yellow notepad paper that you used to use when you asked someone to the Junior High dance.  (And you’d make a box for “Yes” and a box for “No” and then the bitch would check it off and break your heart.  You know what I mean.  And now she’s fat with a million kids and she doesn’t know what she’s missing.)

But I digress.

Anyway.  Turned out that Junior had left to turn himself into the Feds for armed robbery and brandishing a pistol, and had no plans on returning home for another 7 years or so.  And now Renee had no idea where he was, what precinct he was at or how to get ahold of him.

So that left Renee all alone in the house with nothing but wine, cigarettes, her meds and a cell phone.

You do the math.

Wait for it.

Boom goes the dynamite.

Renee melted down.  The first of many to come.

She called everyone she could think of to try and track down Junior.  Friends, cousins, jail houses.  Everyone but Ghostbusters, to no avail.  She was calling friends like she was on that Regis game show.  It was craziness.

Junior’s note stated that he hoped Renee would find someone else and move on, and the whole thing just got messy.

For those of you who don’t read books anymore and know what I mean…it was another one of those Reality TV moments similar to Russell Taylor’s suicide on Real Housewives of Beverly Hills when you realize that someone is having a real life breakdown, and it’s not just television anymore.  But you keep watching it and filming it anyway and thinking about all those great ratings and counting how many hits the website will get on one hand, while the other hand is putting 911 on speed dial.

You could almost hear the VH1 interns bolt out the front door.

Finally Karen and Nikole (spelled like a Toddlers & Tiaras girl, natch) showed up to try and talk her off the ledge.

Nikole kind of looks like Cher during one of her curly blonde phases, but not really.  She managed to fake out a corrections officer on her cell  and found out where Junior was and that he was ok.  But the whole thing just kept getting stranger and stranger when only bits and pieces of info would trickle out as Renee cycled back and forth between chain smoking and getting car sick.

She was a mess.  A hot one.

Then in a questionable show of friendship, Karen and Nikole both left Renee alone for the night, which was probably not in anyone’s best interest.

Well into that third pack of Newports, Renee tracked down her cousin who just happened to be over at the home of Renee’s estranged father.  Before Renee could get two sentences out, she heard the stampede of federal officers storming her father’s home and taking him away.

Renee snapped like the leg of someone 6 months late on his gambling payment.

Spoiler Alert:  The final scoop.

If you don’t want to know wassup until next week’s episode, simply scroll lower in this blog where you will find enough other brilliance to keep you occupied while the rest of us dish.  You’ll also need to unplug every television and radio in your home, hide your computer and don’t go near any CVS magazine rack.

By now it’s pretty much public knowledge that Junior went FBI informant and worked out a deal to avoid jail time.  According to Renee and the internet universe, Junior was wired with a mic during meetings with Renee’s dad Anthony “TG” Graziano and helped gather enough evidence to put his former father-in-law behind bars.

The Ultimate Betrayal.

Junior is now allegedly in the Witness Protection Program (..please don’t be in my building, please don’t be in my building, please don’t be in my building…or at least have a sense of humor…I’m funny, right?…) and has not been seen since he gave over the information to the Feds.

If you’re keeping score, that’s one mob informant and one sanitation worker that haven’t been seen in some time.

And Drita thinks she has Man Trouble.

Mob Wives: Warning! Cover Your Ears And Cover Your Eyes. It’s Mob Target Practice. Tin Cans, Spray Tans And Some Really Big…Guns. Fire Away.

Monday, March 19th, 2012




I’d like to thank all the Wise Guys who made these two Wide Guys possible.





Seriously. Carrying a sawed off .38 snub nose would be less dangerous than running with those.






Look at me when I’m talkin’ to you, Mister. This goes into this.






Next week on VH1. Toddlers & Tiaras: Where Are They Now?







My eyes! Just poke them out. Poke. Them. Out. Now!




If there was ever a Public Service Announcement for why all weapons, regardless of caliber or cup size, should be handled with the utmost care…it was this week’s episode of Mob Wives.

For a show whose (bleepin’) legacy is built on (bleepin’) chick fights and the ever present possibility that (bleepin’) Staten Island strip mall restaurant gunfire could erupt at any minute, they may have outdone themselves on this one.  Everywhere you turned there was another reason to duck and cover.

There are some things in life that just can’t be explained.

One.  Why I love this show.  Dunno.  I just do.

Two.  How Renee hasn’t had an aneurysm yet.  Dunno.  Must be the medicinal unfiltered smokes.

Three.  Big Ang.  I can’t explain her.  I don’t even think that the Laws of Physics could really explain Big Ang.  She just exists, even though her existence seems to disprove the Laws of Gravity.   But the world is a much better…and bigger…place because of her.

And I love me some Big Ang.

This week the Wives, minus Drita, were still landlocked in the Poconos.

After a bit of a heated rumble during Karaoke Night at Shenanigans Bar & Rough House, everyone woke up the next day feeling a little more relaxed.  And what better way to chill out after going head to head with a backwoods drunkard with one nibbly than shooting guns?

As Renee, Carla, Ramona and Karen headed off to the local rifle rang to take out their aggression on some empty soda pop cans and a disoriented squirrel or two, Drita was back home checking in on our Reality Queen Big Ang, who had just undergone some thyroid surgery.

Poor Big Ang.  Turns out that when you have thyroid surgery they require that you wear the same brace that you wear if you snap your neck hitting a tree during a ski trip.

Between the foam neck brace and bulky sweater, it would have been less cumbersome if someone had  just strapped Big Ang into one of those Don’t Lick Yourself Petco collars that you shove on a puppy after you clip his junk.  I wanted to go online and order an Edible Arrangement I felt so bad.

But our girl was taking it all in stride.  Let’s be real.  In all honesty, it’s not like she has ever looked down and seen anything besides boob since puberty, so she was handling her situation pretty well.  Not being able to move her neck didn’t really cut into her daily routine, and most of her shoes have got to be slip ons.  I mean, really.  Do the math.

What Big Ang was lacking in mobility, she made up for in hilarity as she kept Drita in stitches with hospital stories.  I’m pretty sure that milk came out of Drita’s nose at one point while Big Ang did her stand up shtick.

Did I mention that I love me some Big Ang?

Then it was back to the shooting range where the Wives were getting their Gun Moll on.

As poor Billy the GunBoy nervously went over the rules of firearm warfare, Renee listed off the name of each weapon like she was at a Flea Market buying Beanie Babies.

Seriously.  Girlfriend knows her sniper s***.

Renee probably can’t remember to turn the iron off when she leaves the house, but she rattled off every street name for every pistol on the table.  I give Billy credit for not just running in the opposite direction.  Would you want to hand over a weapon to Renee Graziano and then stand in front of her while she tried to load a clip without flicking her Marlboro?  Show of hands?

I give him credit, but you know the field smelled like wood chips, ashtrays and nervous pee.  I wasn’t sure if he was going to last through the whole practice session.

For all her (bleep) talk and artillery knowledge, Renee couldn’t hit the side of a barn.  As the other Wives sat back looking like something out of L.L.Bean’s Fall 1995 woodland gangstah catalog, Renee shot out every gopher hole in the field until she finally hit a target.

As they piled into the Mercedes and headed off to Staten Island clutching their target sheets, I’m fairly certain I heard one last lone bullet go off back at the range.

Billy.  We hardly knew ya.

I’m betting that Renee’s son AJ wished he had one of those guns when Mom came home, because Renee felt it was time for The Talk.

Yeah.  That Talk.  About girls and stuff.  Gross.

AJ has started seeing Sydney, and things are getting fairly serious with this girl.  She seems like a nice enough kid, and looked pretty tame.  She kind of has that Sorority Sister look with the whole straight blond hair/headband thing going on, until she opens her mouth and then she’s all Staten Island Orange Julius at the Mall Girl.

But Sydney is pretty…and a girl…so Renee wanted to get a jump on the Birds & the Bees before AJ tried anything behind the bleachers.

While AJ squirmed in his seat and texted “Help Me” on his iPhone, Renee discussed the various forms of contraception available to teenagers at Cumberland Farms and how it doesn’t take a trained Bloodhound to smell some Nasty on a girl.

Again.  Gross.

I mean.  She’s his mom for crying out loud.  It was a boy’s worst nightmare.  Fresh off her trip to the Poconos, Renee wanted to make sure that her son’s little pistol stayed in the holster as long as possible.  Probably until it was shooting blanks, if she had her way.

But when it turned out that AJ couldn’t even spell the word “sex” without stumbling (…for realz…check it out…) I don’t think that Renee needed to worry too much just yet.

Besides, there were more important things to worry about.

Like spray tans.

Drita’s cousin Jackie, a real cousin for a change and not the “Girl…you’re like a cousin to me” cousin everyone in the Mob seems to have, was launching her latest swimwear line and had asked Drita to model for the catalog.  So that meant that Drita needed a tan before she slipped into those website bikinis, and lucky for us it was Big Ang to the rescue.

Complete with a garbage bag spray tent and Maaco paint compressors, Big Ang had rearranged her living room into a disturbingly grown-up, jungle printed version of the Ramada hotel rooms where those crazy pageant moms hose down their baby girls before the Glitz portion of the competition.

And speaking of grown up…

Big Ang.  Bikini.

Close your eyes and imagine.

It was everything you could possibly hope for, and more.  Like something that flies over the Superbowl at halftime.  Times two.

Literally, when I came back from the kitchen after getting a snack I honestly thought someone had broken into my house within the last 30 seconds, stolen my plasma television and replaced it with a brand new Sony 3D.  No lie, I had to move my chair back another 18 inches so I wouldn’t get that hysterical blindness they always get on General Hospital.

And she has a tattoo.  Under all that boobishness, waaaaaay down there.

Yeah.  And it’s not a temporary one.  So that means that somebody had to stay down there long enough to create that masterpiece.  I’m kinda jealous if you really want full disclosure.

Did I mention that I love me some Big Ang?

Every week I swear I’m going to make her laugh my new ring tone.  This week I mean it.

No pun intended, but everything else after the tanning tent just paled in comparison.

Drita unleashed her newly tanned torso for the photo shoot, which was an odd mix of Speedo meets Soft Porn and created a catalog portfolio worthy of any prison wall.  When she’s mad, Drita has no verbal filter.  When she poses, she has no body fat.

Bar fights and Boxing are paying off.  You go, girl.

Carla’s ex Joe was finally released from the halfway house, and he came over to hug the kids and eat pasta.  Other than that, you didn’t miss much.

There was also a downer of a scene with Ramona and her daughter Melina.  The only thing that cute little girl wanted for her birthday was to be able to go visit Ramona’s boyfriend in prison, and Mom finally caved and took her to the Big House.  I’d rather have a pony.  But she’s a Mob Kid, so I guess they have different priorities.

I’m starting to think that when the elusive boyfriend was pulled over by the cops a few weeks back it must have been for more than a broken tail light, because Ramona had to explain that he was in a really rough place.  Unless he’s still in line at the DMV then he must have done something really bad, though they always gloss over exactly wassup with this dude.

Melina got really bummed and cried, and the whole thing got a little real.  This is the Mob.  The real Mob.

I wanted to slap Ramona and tell her to grab her White Strips, scoop up that kid and go work at Kohl’s or something to give that little nugget at least a chance at a normal life.

Later on Ramona, who I’m also starting to think might be a little bit of a manipulator, managed to get Renee so tightly wound over Carla’s connection to Drita that I thought we might finally see that aneurysm.

After hashing over the details of yet another one of Drita’s she said/you said/she said emails, Ramona had her shaking so violently that Renee almost set the couch on fire with her cigarette.

It wasn’t even a slow boil.  Renee just popped and suddenly started screaming to the heavens that Carla was a beeotch.  A (bleepin’) beeotch, of course.  This is Mob Wives.  Der.

As Renee melted down, Ramona smirked, threw in a few more Carla digs, poked at Renee and licked her glossy lips like she was hungry for some fresh Drita blood.  I swear if she had a Snidely Whiplash mustache Ramona would have twirled it like she was tying someone to the railroad tracks.  (Again, if you have to ask…you’re too young to be watching this show.  Go find you library card.)

The last thing we saw was a crazy eyed Renee bolting out the door, as Ramona sharpened her claws and whispered “Be well.”


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