DanThat'sCool!

 

 

My cosmetics line just launched Black Eye Blue and Fat Lip Fuschia, and I’m thinking of giving that bitch Ramona some free samples.

 

 

 

Yeah, it was a thong. But at least dat means she wears underwear. So dat’s kinda good, rite?

 

 

 

 

 

Seriously. But at least he works out.

 

 

 

 

Now I just got two more gigantic plastic ones to shove into the tree and then we’re good to go.

 

 

 

All I want for Christmas is a dog that will sever the artery in my neck while I’m ordering pizza for the girls.

 

 

 

Trust me, honey. You ain’t the first one to get on all fours and lick their junk when I’m around. True dat.

 

 

 

I mean…c’mon. Look at these chew toys. They’re like Staten Island-sized Snausages for really naughty Big Dawgs.

 

 

 

It was almost a Christmas Miracle, I tell you.

Like Barbie had somehow just landed on Sesame Street.

If Sesame Street was Benton Avenue and Barbie had just pulled a butter knife shiv out of the glove compartment of her convertible and cut a bitch, I mean.

This week’s episode of Mob Wives was brought to you by the Color Pink.

And the Letters F and U.

I swear.

And I know that for a fact because there was a lot of both being thrown hard and straight in our faces from start to finish this time around, in a festive pre-Christmas hour that began with a party and ended with a S.W.A.T. team fly over.

Just like any other Holiday Season on Staten Island, right?

It’s looking like Mob Wives might finally be getting their Mob Mojo back.  But Mojo…Mob or otherwise…ain’t cheap, which would explain the need for subliminal ad product placement.   And unless I’m mistaken, somebody clearly hooked them all up with that new L’Oreal Ombré hair coloring comb they sell at Duane Reade, because half the cast was totally rockin’ the latest on-trend dark to light look in every confessional shot.  Werk.

The whole thing started out at Big Ang‘s Ultra-Pink Christmas party.  Pink walls.  Pink dinnerware.  Pink table linens.  Pink wrapping paper.  And a Pink  Christmas Tree so vibrantly Pink that if you paused your DVR it would sting so bad you’d get Pink Eye.

It was like one of those Real Housewives of Beverly Hills White Parties they have every year.  Except Kim Richards wasn’t locked in the bathroom.  And it was Pink.

With just enough Jerseylicious Zebra print, of course, so as not to confuse the whole extravaganza with the little girl toy aisle at Target.  Cuz dat’s how they do on the Island.

Honestly, the only way I could differentiate between the actual artificial tree and Big Ang, all styled up in a well thought out coordinating outfit, was the size of her own ornaments as they overflowed that Pink blouse.  Love.  Her.  Especially during the holidays.

Every time Big Ang tokes on a smoke, an Angel gets their wings.

Drita, Karen and Ramona all made it to the party on time and got right to dissing about anyone not currently in the room.  Though Drita and Ramona had recently signed a peace treaty and were doing their best to uphold the terms of the agreement, their relationship was still a little awkward and it was clear that they’ll never be texting “BFF” on their brass knuckle iPhones.

Renee had chosen to skip the party to avoid any potential Carla drama, while Luscious Love Majewski had come down with Bronchitis and was also a no-show.

Bronchitis?  F’real?  Ain’t nobody got time for that.

(Seriously.  That joke will never get old.  How much do you love Sweet Brown?)

When Carla finally strolled in the door (…anyone else notice that the sun had completely gone down by the time she pulled up to the curb? Buy a watch, honey.  Lobster ain’t cheap…) it was immediately a little tense on the other side of the table.  Karen and Ramona were not big Carla fans at the moment, ever since that whole unfortunate ButterKnifeGate controversy had gone down at Big Ang’s last luncheon.

But enough with the cold shoulder.  Karen broke the ice and made certain that Carla knew Renee wasn’t at the Christmas party because of the way she had been treated at their previous get together, when Carla had played the Junky Card and swung that aforementioned butter knife all around the room like the Macy’s Parade baton girl.

Carla managed to spin the whole thing all backasswards in her head and somehow ended up proclaiming that she may have shown just the Tough Love that Renee needed, and…why yes, thank you…she probably was responsible for driving her into rehab.  So where’s the gold star?

Are you kidding me?  Karen and Ramona got all WTF?, grabbed some snacks to go, and hit the road to pack for their trip to Arizona.  Enough already.  Bitch is cray.

The food looked amazeballs, but once again Big Ang threw a party that tanked.

The next morning, Karen and Ramona headed to beautiful, hot but not humid Arizona to confront ex-boyfriend David Seabrook.  There had been a lot of unanswered questions lately surrounding Dave and his new girlfriend Rebecca, not the least of which was what the (bleep) was one of her nasty a** thongs doing in little Karina‘s bedroom?

Do NOT even tell me that you were living in the house, rent-free, and shagging yo’ girl when you were supposed to be feeding the dog?

Oooh, Child.  Karen smelled blood in the water.  And Ramona loves that shizzle, as she egged her on during the entire limo ride to the house.

When they finally arrived at Karen’s AZ home, it was like one of those quaint suburban houses where the family had been sucked into the TV set or through the back wall of the bedroom closet, leaving only a stray dog to wander around the kitchen and wonder what happened to his owners.

The place was empty.  No Dave.  No Dave’s clothes.  No Dave’s Playstation 3.  Not even a nasty a** thong hanging on the microwave handle.

Only Ozzie the Dog, who had to pee a manic mean streak by the time Karen showed up at the front door.

It didn’t take long for Karen and Ramona to do the math and realize that Dave wasn’t even living in the structure anymore, which meant that Karen had been paying a redoinkulously high mortgage on a dog house all these months.  My psychic powers told me that Karen was going to blow a nutty before next week’s previews hit the screen.

But we let that pot boil for awhile as we switched limos and drove up to Anytown, CT with Love, Big Ang, Drita and Renee in search of a brutally savage attack dog.

Since returning from rehab, Renee was finally sleeping in her Big Girl bed like a Big Girl, but was still terrified that someone might break into the house while she snoozed.  And she had already installed Best Buy video cameras and the same state of the art security system that laser beams the Hope Diamond.  But she was still stressing.

So the only thing left to do was buy one of those slobbery attack dogs that they leave in Nissan car lots after closing time.  (Trust me…it’s a fact, Jack.  Whatever you do, don’t try and stick your nose through the chain link fence at midnight to see if they still have that Turbo Z you test drove the morning before, unless you want to go home with wet pants and a dog on your face.  TMI?)

Now I’m not really sure why they had to drive 3 hours away just to watch some gigantic black dog maul a guy’s padded foam arm, but they did.

And it was totally worth it.  At least for me, because the whole scene was an odd cross between Cujo trying to get in the car window and that episode of I Love Lucy when she got a vase stuck on her head.

A lot of screaming and panic and bumping into each other.

Big Ang had enough fur on her body to pass for one of the attack animals if she wanted to try chewing on the dude’s wrist.  Drita pretty much laid a patch of yellow snow and ran as far away as possible.  Love the Dog Whisperer somehow managed to give the dog a bone, as we say in the porn biz.  And Renee ended up changing her mind and driving another 3 hours back home with no puppy in the backseat.

Six hours, people.  That’s gotta suck.

But not as badly as being in Arizona and walking blindly into a house full of hostile Karen and Ramona hormones.  Dave didn’t stand a chance.

Before his arrival, Karina had already shown up and given her Mom some serious 13 year old ‘tude.  The Duh You’re So Lame kind of ‘tude that somehow genetically and magically manifests itself when a girl hits that age.

You know exactly what I’m talking about.  It can hit anywhere.  She can just be walking down the street and it hits.  Or in a fitting room.  Granted, she’s usually directly in front of me in a Burger King line OMGing on her cellphone, but it can be anywhere.  Bitch.

Needless to say, by the time Dave walked into the Karen Trap, he didn’t stand a chance.

And it didn’t help that Dave’s kind of a DoucheBag.  Or at least his gum chewing is.

He has that Chump Dbag way of chewing his Nicorette that is truly an art form.  I can’t explain it.  But there’s just a certain way to chew your gum that just shouts to the world that you’re a DoucheBag even louder than any Affliction tee shirt ever could.

It’s like the way tough girls can crackle their gum in one bite so it sounds like Pop Rocks.

That’s an art form, too.  And probably code for F*** You Up, because as soon as one chick Pops the Rocks there are like 5 more girls surrounding the picnic table.  They’re like bad a** seagulls or something.  Whatever you do…don’t feed ‘em.

Anyway.  Dave fesses up to not living in the house and Dbags his gum and excuses all over the place.  He didn’t tell Karen because he didn’t feel like it.  And then he told her to stop trippin’, which on Staten Island immediately makes someone start trippin’.  And then the whole Whoa Is Me I Was In Prison thing started, which prompted Karen’s What Did You Think I Was Doing Out Here While You Were In There thing to kick in, which in turn took Dave’s gum chewing to a whole new level.

Yeah.  This one ain’t over yet.

Back on SI, Drita showed Carla where her new Just Me Cosmetics store was going to be located.  Nothing much to see yet, since the whole thing was still under construction and all.  But it did give Drita a chance to go on Twitter after the show and pimp out the website, so at least Mama can start making some money.

And Carla had a strange Mardi Gras mask-themed birthday party in an empty VIP room with two friends from Brooklyn, where Drita showed us all how she dogged a huge hoagie during labor contractions.  Don’t ask.

Finally, back in AZ it was nothing but full on MobStuff for the remainder of the show, which was probably a little slap in the face for those of you who keep forgetting that these are actual people involved in The Lifestyle.  And possibly a little disconcerting for anyone thinking about writing a snarky, though HIGHlarious blog on a television show about real life Mobster types who could probably find you if they really wanted to on their way to The Wendy Williams Show.

Awkward.

Karen took Ramona on a little tour/TV montage flashback to where her Dad Sammy “The Bull” Gravano was busted by the Feds.  We also saw the stop sign where his enemies had planned on blowing him up with a bomb.  Karen even opened up about all the bad life choices that she had made throughout the years, not the least being that hair style she was showing off in her mug shot.

Whoa.  Seriously?  Sorry, K.  Love you.  Mean it.  But I just can’t.

We finished the whole thing off on a remote, undisclosed mountain top location.

Seriously.  They said it, not me.

These people know they’re on a TV show, right?  Even if they arrived separately in two black Escalades like Destiny’s Child (…one for Beyoncé and one for what’s her name and the other one…) they can still see the camera guys, right?

Honestly, sometimes it’s better to just go with it.  I mean, if you can watch Superman and believe that a man can fly, then I think we can all overlook the fact that they probably didn’t blindfold the sound tech before dumping him in the trunk.  And that’s why I love me some Mob Wives.

Karen and her brother Gerard wanted to be cautious and meet somewhere secluded to discuss new developments in their father’s case.  Developments that could potentially have him back out on the street by next week.

Again.  Great for the Family.  Not so great if you still plan on writing that snarky, yet HIGHlarious blog for much longer.

Gerard had discovered a discrepancy in the plea deal their Dad had made with some legal mumbo jumbo about Upward Departure and living in The Hole.  Google it.

Then a Black Ops helicopter buzzed overhead, and Karen knew it was a sign.

We Go To War.

It’s on.

 

 

What is that smell? Don’t even tell me I left the Cacciatore in the trunk again.

 

 

 

 

Why, yes. They are spectacular. These girls got me six engagement rings and a rap sheet, thank you very much.

 

 

 

 

Those things can NOT be real. And how the hell did that chick not float away during the storm?

 

 

 

 

I don’t got no power yet, but my hair still looks pretty freakin’ awesome, right? Fuggedaboutit.

 

 

 

 

Oh. My. Gawd. Bronx Boyz are so hot. I would totally knife that so hard his knock-off Gucci shades’d fog up.

 

 

 

 

I’m like totally blind without my glasses, but even I can see that bitch is crazy.

 

 

 

 

 

So then I open the door, and it’s like…BAM! Mama’s gettin’ some tonight.

 

 

 

 

That was kind of a bummer.

Most of the Mob Wives were on clean-up duty this week as everyone tried to put differences aside and come together to help with Hurricane Sandy relief, and it’s always a bit of a downer when Reality TV is forced to stick its big toe into the flood waters of actual…ummm…Reality.

Remember the whole Russell Armstrong crisis over at Real Housewives of Beverly Hills when they couldn’t decide whether to address the issue face on or just replace him with a potted plant during dinner party scenes?  How awkward it was when Russell was clearly edited out of conversations until someone could finally make a decision on how to handle the whole thing?

Well, it would have taken a lot of Home Depot topiaries to hide all the devastation unleashed by Hurricane Sandy last October, so the producers chose to just hit the streets with CNN and show us how bad it really was in their Staten Island ‘hood.

I’m sure that somewhere there was one shameless television executive in some corner office doing the Reality TV Gold Dance when this unscripted storyline came roaring up the East Coast, packing sustained wind gusts of 115 mph like a Sweeps Week gift from the Weather Gods.

Because you know there’s always somebody in the biz more concerned with show ratings than soup kitchen rationing.  True dat.

But for the rest of us, Hurricane Sandy was real.  And as it turned out…so are the Mob Wives.  Who knew?

As Drita and her daughters packed up bag after bag of clothing to bring to shelters, it was a reminder that not only are these ladies actual real-life Staten Island residents, but that they also have way too many clothes in their closets.

Seriously.  Way too many.  The place looked like a HazMat holding area.

Either chill on the trips to the Woodrow Mall or start buying stuff in my size.

Karen and Ramona were doing their part as well, helping out a friend down the street dig through what remained of her home.  These neighborhoods were leveled.

Meanwhile, Big Ang figured she should stick with what she knows best and got to cooking up a mean streak of Costco-sized Chicken Italiano Sumthin Sumthin for the local shelter while Carla wandered around the kitchen in the same furry boots that those Vikings wear in the Capital One commercials.

In my head I picture Big Ang’s basement looking like some gigantic walk-in freezer filled with nothing but deli meat and fur coats dangling from ceiling hooks, because she seems to always be able to get her hands on raw beef, chicken and a chinchilla muff at a moment’s notice.

She lost her brand new salon in the storm, but gained about a gazillion Twitter followers by putting out a plea to drop off hurricane donations at the Drunken Monkey.  Single handedly she probably did more to rally Staten Island into action than all the TalkRadio stations combined.  Mess wid da Island, you mess wid Ang.

If nothing else, we learned that only boobs that freakishly enormous could possibly contain a heart as big as Angela Raiola’s.  We love you, Big Ang.

Down the road Karen did double duty and accompanied Looney Love Majewski as she tried to help out another friend.  Everywhere you turned there was devastation.  And cleavage.  Lots of both.

Except in Miami, where Renee was getting close to finishing up her stint in rehab.

Since Renee refused to watch the news anymore, Ramona called with a progress report and all I could think of was the lucky VH1 camera crew that got the beach gig instead of hurricane duty when they drew straws back at the office.

Suckahs.

Renee’s phone must hold a serious charge, because the next thing you knew she was back on the cell again with Big Ang, letting her know that AJ was on his way down to Florida for a session with Mom.  Ang was busy cooking even more Chicken Italiano Sumthin Sumthin as Renee gave her all the details, until the food came out of the oven and it was time to pack the trunk with another 97 tin foil casserole trays.

Nice talking to you, Renee, but my breasts are getting cold.

I really need to see that basement.

As time went on and the Staten Island clean-up progressed, there was a little more free time to get back to family business.  And that meant Drita could discuss Lee‘s upcoming prison release with daughter Aleeya.

Aleeya.  She’s soooo not gangstah.

She’s like a cross between Blossom and Urkel and the girl who always gets picked last for dodgeball.  But we love her…and her Kids Week Jeopardy glasses…even though I can’t quite figure out if she’s just oblivious to some aspects of “The Lifestyle” or if she’s totally sly like a fox and knows exactly how the game is played.

Regardless, she has the best WTF face of all the little Mob Kids.

Like when Drita explained how Daddy Lee was a neat freak, and that when he comes home with nothing but a manilla envelope full of personal belongings and an OCD twitch the house better be spotless.  Because you know how he gets.

And you expect me to clean it, Mom?  WTF?

Love.  Her.  If this isn’t already a sitcom, then Jennifer Gravano better produce one asap, because I already have the first two verses of Aleeya’s theme song in my head.

Right about now we also had the weekly Mob Wives Head Scratch Moment as Drita explained that Lee’s Dad was killed by the Feds when Lee was only 7 years old.  And that is why Lee probably turned out the way he did.  And that it was all the Fed’s fault that Lee turned to crime.  And that it had nothing to do with his own Dad and whatever it was that he was involved in that got him killed by the Feds.

Because it’s always the Feds’ fault.

Now I’m gonna have to ask Aleeya for clarification, but I’m fairly certain that the Feds don’t actually kill you unless you do something pretty bad.  And when I was 7 years old I couldn’t figure out which shoe went on which foot, much less decide if I wanted to turn to a life of crime.

But every week one of the Wives has to blame something on the Feds, so at least we got this one over with early.

WTF Mom?

Finally, we got some comic relief when my new mob crush Looney Love went dog walking.  In red leather pants.  And a fashionably silk screened coordinating top that featured dueling red pistols fighting it out on her substantial Majewski Jewels.

Like that PBS Battle for the Alamo documentary.  But in IMAX 3D.

Gah.  I can’t get enough of this chick.

Love was taking pudgy Winston out for a tinkle as she talked with ex-boyfriend Joey on her iPhone, and I’m pretty sure the dude just put this show way over it’s Joe Quota.

Joey (…not to be confused with Joe or Jo Jo over at Carla’s place…) is Winston’s Doggie Daddy, as well as a previous recipient of the business end of Love’s L.L. Bean army knife.  And he has the scar tissue to prove it.

Yeah.  She stabbed him.  In front of his Mutha.  Hand to Gawd.  In front of his Mutha.

I can’t even do the conversation justice.  Bitch is just cray cray.

She’s also been engaged six times to a collection of car thieves and home invaders and robbers and attempted murderers.  Can you even imagine her Match.com profile?

But no matter how many times you’re always a Bridesmaid and never a Bride, it’s all good if you can laugh about it.  And she did, until I thought her two pistols would ricochet off a mailbox and take out a streetlight.

Then, in case you missed any of that hilarity due to DVR issues or bathroom breaks, Love met up with Drita to retell the whole Mutha story one mo’ time.

And yes, I was once again captivated.  Especially when Love was late because a pair of brass knuckles fell out of her bra and chipped her pedicure before she even left the house.

Hand to Gawd.

I had to rewind to the Hurricane Sandy part again just to remind myself this show was really about actual people.  You can’t make this s*** up.

At first I wondered why anyone would keep their iPhone in their bra cup, but then I remembered that Ramona is the one with the brass knuckle cell phone cover.  Love just stores plain old phone-free knuckles in her DDs.  Then it all made sense.

It turned out that Joey and Lee have a history, too, if you can call a baseball bat to the face history.  Back in the day, Lee tried to hit one over the fence so hard that the bat broke when Joey’s face got in the way.  But it’s all good if you can laugh about it.  And the girls did.

Joey…not so much.

Back in Miami it got heavy again as AJ arrived for his session with Mom and her therapist Vernon, who was a quirky little guy who could totally have been a stand-in bartender on The Love Boat if he was wearing a different shirt.

AJ has always had some issues with his Mom’s addiction, and in a Gangland PSA Moment he stated that there is no reason to do drugs.  Ever.

I think AJ and Aleeya should go to lunch, because I’m starting to think that they both have the same outlook on The Lifestyle.  AJ is definitely mopier than Aleeya.  Maybe rightfully so given all the wire tap drama last season.  But he’s pretty on the ball when it comes to what Mom has been up to over the last year or so, and it surprised Renee to hear him blurt out some zingers.

Then she lost it.

You know someone really loses it when the Honey Boo Boo subtitles come out.

AJ forgave Renee for the hot mess she’d made of everything over the past two years and they hugged it out like champs, though I’ll never understand how a kid who shares the same emotional car wreck DNA never even flinches under pressure.  It’s like he’s either born without tear ducts or has just gone numb.

Remember Data on Star Trek: The Next Generation?

AJ’s like that.  But with Prada glasses instead of a brain chip.  Google it.

Back up north in Staten Island, an 18 wheeler full of hurricane relief and hair gel pulled up to the Drunken Monkey and Big Ang couldn’t have been more excited.

The Bronx Boys all showed up in a trailer packed to the roof with enough supplies to rival the Red Cross, all thanks to Ang’s Tweeter.

Yes…she called it Tweeter one time, and now I can’t get it out of my head.  She’s not a big fan of punctuation when she twats, either.  Just sayin’.

But how much did you love The Bronx Boys?

I can’t.

Even in a blizzard the dudes were all rockin’ sunglasses and major league DJ Pauly D hair.  Like I always say, whatever product those boyeez were using to spike their hair should immediately be sent to NASA to keep the shuttle tiles attached, because that was some serious freeze shizzle fodizzle.

And shouting “Fuggedaboutit “ every time they tossed a box of baby wipes from one truck to another pretty much gave me life.  GTL, you freakin’ grenades.

Then we made one last trip to escape the snow and headed back to Miami for Renee’s graduation, where all her group buddies got to stand up and say a little something before she headed back home all new and improved.

The Renee 2013 Model just rolled off the assembly line, bitches.

Then everyone screamed one last time.

Back on Staten Island, like any good soap opera, there was just enough time for the Friday cliffhanger.  Except it was Sunday.  But you know what I mean.

With Carla and Big Ang hanging on her every word, Drita tried to explain how she had just returned to her house and opened the front door and…wait for it…saw someone inside her house.  And do you know who it was?  You’ll never guess.

Wait for it…wait for it…

Give up?

Lee!  Lee was (bleepin’) in her (bleepin’) house and she almost (bleeped) herself!

Now what?

Be here next week and find out.

Same Mob Time.  Same Mob Channel.

Thinking of DVRing it and watching it later?

Fuggedaboutit.

 

 

 

This was totally worth waiting in line for two days and cutting that bitch. Ain’t that right, Siri?

 

 

 

 

Even in a flashback I can still kick your a** like a boss, honey.

 

 

 

 

 

Shoo Bop Doo Wop. Make me pop off. Skiddle Dee Dee. Don’t go to war with me. Doo Waaaah.

 

 

 

 

Well that’s where you’re wrong, Dbag. Murder She Wrote was a classic, and you bowl like a girl.

 

 

 

 

No No No! Stop her! She’s got the new white iPhone and she knows how to use it! She’s crazy!

 

 

 

So maybe I gave a prison dissertation on fault based divorce retention and how it creates an acrimonious process…for a carton of cigarettes. Whassamattah?

 

 

Alrighty then.

Let’s just get this one out of the way early.

Ramona Rizzo has a brass knuckles iPhone case.

A gigantic, shiny f*** you up set of brass knuckles soldered to an iPhone that you wouldn’t be able to take on a plane.

I’m thinking the chances are pretty good that this bitch doesn’t know how to post-edit her kid’s birthday video in iMovie, but I’m willing to bet she could split your skull open with that thing after downloading the clip to her laptop.

Love her.  And it just needed to be said.

Mob Wives was back this week to celebrate a couple of birthdays, break up a whacky old geezer bar fight and prep their Hurricane Sandy emergency kits.  All in the same episode.  Surreal much?

As a matter of fact, there was so much going on that there wasn’t any room for much actual Mob stuff, which was a little odd for a show about Mob stuff.

So this week, I give you The Real Housewives of Staten Island.

We started right out with Ramona and all ten knuckles squeezed into some crazily patterned (…jeans? leggings? jeggings?…) fancy pants as she met up with Karen and Big Ang at one of Staten Island’s seemingly endless supply of jungle print boutiques.

To cut down on trips to iParty, Ramona had decided to combine her two daughters’ birthdays into one big totally OMG LOL themed extravaganza and needed a new top for the occasion, so it was a good time to hang with the girls and catch up on some gossip.

Ramona’s daughter Melina was begging that Drita‘s daughter Aleeya be invited to the tweeny bopper par-tay, but just the thought of being in the same room again with Mama D’Avanzo had Ramona a little twisted.

As you’ll recall, the last time they got together in a social setting, one of them got a fat lip and one almost went over the balcony as Renee ran in circles screaming No No No No.

That was also the same night that Derek Tobacco (…or Marty Marlboro or whatever his game jersey name was…) had to pry Ramona off of Drita’s face with one hand while trying to prevent Karen from pulling out all of Drita’s pricey extensions with the other.

It was a roof top hot mess of double cray.  And that was before Karen started throwing plates across the ballroom like they do at Greek Weddings.  Opah, bitches!

Needless to say, the possibility of having to relive that moment had Ramona slightly on edge.  And if she was being totally honest with herself, probably a little tingly, like Mike Tyson gets right before he bites off someone’s ear.

But for the sake of all the kids at the party, she was willing to take “Use Drita’s Mouth As A Urinal” (…yeah, she said that…) off her Bucket List and kiss and make up.

For at least one night, anyway.

So now everyone can go to the party.  And I can never use the bathroom again at Uno’s without thinking I just saw Drita smiling back up at me from that little blue cake inside a pee splatter screen.  No wonder her line of Just Me lipsticks are water-proof.

Mob Wives is why I now hold it until I get home.

To try and get that visual out of our heads, we then headed down to Miami to check in on Renee at the rehab clinic.

Let’s just say that if she didn’t need therapy before she got there, she’s going to need it by the time she leaves.  Because that place was right out of Central Casting.

Sitting in Anger Management 101, Renee was surrounded by an assortment of characters, some of whom I swear I recognized from the old Bob Newhart Show.

None of them seemed very impressed by Renee’s attitude, or her mouth.  Especially one blonde woman who appeared to be wearing her bathing suit top under her maxi dress.  Maybe they get pool time in-between sessions or something, I don’t know.  But this chick don’t play.

Blonde Woman was not a big fan of anyone with a petty, gossipy 16 year old mentality and Renee did not appreciate the subtlety of that jab.  And then Blonde Woman didn’t appreciate Renee’s (bleepin’) drama.  And then Renee accused Blonde Woman of talking about her off camera, and that she shouldn’t put her in her mouth if she doesn’t know her.

I know, right?  What does that even mean?

Ten minutes into this week’s episode and we’d already had two rather orally fixated references?  Gross.

Honestly, by the first commercial break I was so confused as to what someone can, and cannot do, in someone else’s mouth that for the time being I’m just gonna stick to shoving birthday cake in there, thank you very much.

And speaking of.  With the party looming on the horizon, Ramona had to finally suck it up and call Drita to invite her kid.  Because the more kids…the more presents.  Der.

I know it’s only an ADT home security camera monitor that’s plugged into Drita’s kitchen counter, but I always pretend it’s one of those high tech spy screens at a hospital nurses’ station or Level 4 nuclear plant.  It’s just a little game I play, and it makes the boring scenes seem more exciting.

They both agreed to meet up at a restaurant and hash out any issues that hadn’t already been covered at the last Reunion Special and then we scooted off to Karen’s latest business venture.

During a meeting with a financial planner a few weeks ago, Karen had been given the suggestion to diversify her investments and start shopping at Marshall’s if she ever wanted to save any money.  And since the latter ain’t never gonna happen, Karen had decided to buy into a studio run by Producer Storm and his boyeeez.

Please, Lawd.  Not another Tardy for the Party moment.  I just can’t.

You know you thought it.

Luckily, Karen is capable of breaking every bone in your body but doesn’t have a single musical one in her own, so this was purely for daughter Karina (…who could suddenly sing.  Who knew?…) and their Get Out Of Arizona bank account.

It was the usual VH1 (…or is it VH+1 now?…) white girl in a hip hop world hilarity.  If you squinted it kind of looked like when Mariah Carey went through that phase and was always awkwardly hanging with her homies.

What’s that for?  What does that do?  Why’s he looking at my big booty like that?  Why yes, I am single.  Send me the papers.

And then Karen put her baseball cap on sideways, made a Bboy sign with her fingers and left with two phone numbers.  Oh…and a new investment.  Almost forgot what she came for.

 

 

And then she wrote “I’m going to live with Dad, and white iPhones are for Eurotrash and the Shahs of Sunset.”

 

 

 

Somewhere around the second bottle of Percocet was when I started hanging out with Manti Te’o and his nice girlfriend.

 

 

 

Whoa. Whoa. Slow down there with all the indictments, Slick. I’m running out of ink here.

 

 

 

 

Trust me. Those things were so small I couldn’t have shot ‘em with a (bleepin’) laser scope.

 

 

 

 

I’m dying. I can’t live my life surrounded by this Douche Bag Darkness anymore.

 

 

 

 

 

You can’t change the Devil, Renee. Come with us and you’ll live forever.

 

 

 

Hope you packed your overnight bag and had the Staten Island Post Office hold all your mail, because the Mob Wives were putting on some frequent flyer miles this week.

With Buffalo, Pennsylvania and Florida all mapped out on their AAA TripTicks, Renee and Drita crisscrossed the East Coast while the remaining Wives stayed home and ate their way around the city.  It was an adventure no matter where you turned.

Think Dora the Explorer: Gangland Edition.

The journey started out locally as Drita, Carla and Big Ang hit the downtown nail salon scene for a Buff & Bitch session, where Ang got to show off her new temporary curls and Carla got to slam Renee a few more times.

Despite going through the hassle of changing the house locks and installing a new state of the art security system to replace the previous state of the art system that had worked so very well, Renee had decided that she could no longer live in an environment that reeked of RatSnitch and Eau de Home Invasion and recently moved into new digs just around the corner from Carla.

You heard me.  Out of the entire city, Renee ended up with a crib in the same ‘hood, and Carla was not down with the vibe, yo.

As the nail techs all pretended to not speak English while actually memorizing every word of the gossip for later that evening (…”she in salon today, and they huuuuuge“…) the Wives discussed Renee’s decision to enter rehab and compared notes on other famous rehabbers.

Big Ang’s sanitation worker husband Neil had done 28 days for drinking beer, while her son AJ was currently 5 months into his spin-off series court ordered cleanse.  Drita and Ang fully supported Renee’s decision to leave for Florida, while Carla was just happy to have her out of the neighborhood for a month.

Next summer’s block party should be a hoot.

While Carla was slapping on a few coats of sparkle polish and top coat, husband Joe Ferragamo was across town getting ready to slap her with some not so sparkly divorce papers.

Now that he was out of prison and had somehow miraculously found enough cash for a new three story home, Joe was looking to finally cut himself loose from Carla and begin his life with girlfriend Raquel.  And the easiest way to do that was to meet up with his lawyer at some diner, because public places are always the best spots to draw up legal documents and get waffles.

As long as we’re talking shop, I’m just going to go on legal record and say that I hope Lawyer Dude’s cases are tighter than his tie knots, because that was the loosest, sloppiest example of a Half Windsor I’ve ever seen.  It was like that tie you had in high school that you only wore once a year to the prom that you kept hanging in your closet, already looped up and ready to go, and just pulled it over your head because you’d never remember how to tie it a second time.  It was like that.  But for grown ups.

And on top of his bad tie, the poor guy’s food was getting cold as he scrambled to write down every indictment that the courts had thrown at Joe over the years.  Seems as though Joe got “pinched” quite a few times, and Lawyer Dude was having a hard time keeping up with the checklist.  This whole process could take awhile.

They called it “unfinished business.”  Check, please.

Next, it was off to Florida.

As the other AJ and his girlfriend Sydney tried to lasso his Mom and trick her into getting in the car like you do when it’s Vet Day and your dog is spazzing out, Renee was already melting down and she hadn’t even made it out the front door yet.

Karen and Ramona were accompanying her to the airport, and since they were 47 seconds late, Renee was losing her marbles.  Not one by one.  The whole bag.  All at once.  And some had rolled under the refrigerator, never to be seen again.

Did you ever see that famous I Love Lucy scene where everyone is trying to get out of the house when Lucy goes into labor with Little Ricky?  Suitcases flying everywhere, people bumping into each other and everyone freaking out?  Remember that one?

It was like that, but with waaay more F Bombs and Newport Lights.

And for some reason, when you are going to rehab they don’t really approve of you taking pills before you get there, so Renee was having a rough time getting out the door before Karen and Ramona finally showed up, looking like Secret Service agents arriving to escort the First Lady to her limo.

There was some additional drama trying to get the Nissan hatch closed, a few more nasty F Bombs and then one last swift kick to AJ’s butt before they finally pulled away from the curb.

I’m not sure I would have put Renee behind the wheel in her present mental state, but I guess that guaranteed she wouldn’t jump out the window and run off into the woods before they got to JFK.  Somehow they made it to the airport in one piece, said their goodbyes, and Renee and AJ jetted off to Florida.

Speaking of losing a few marbles…two, to be exact…

Over at Karen’s apartment, my exceptionally bosomy new Mob girlfriend Love Majewski showed up to practice her makeup magic and drop a few bombshells at the same time.

After a little ManBashing between the two women, Love let us know that back in the day her ex-fiancé Ray Merolle had been arrested in Arizona, which was kind of ironic considering that Karen’s (..ex?…) boyfriend Dave was currently squatting in her house in that same state.

When Love found out that Ray had cheated on her, she took a 9 millimeter gun and shot him.  Or more accurately, around him.  She made him think that she was aiming for his marbles, but she only shot around him to prove that she still loved him.

Don’t even try to process that one.  Just go with it.

But now Love was starting to regret not picking off those two jawbreakers like tin cans under a post, because she had just found out that Ray had been hiding 3 year old twins somewhere, which were products of a little sumthin sumthin he stashed away before going off to prison.

I know, right?  When Suze Orman says get your affairs in order, she ain’t kidding.  I always thought she meant find your proof of  jury duty letter and put it in a box, but she meant freeze your boys.

And it appears that Ray froze them in two different Tupperware containers, because now there were two baby mamas running around out there with Ray #1 and Ray #2.

I’m not really sure how twins ended up with two different baby mamas, because she didn’t really get into it before finishing Karen’s eyeliner.  Plus, I was so surprised that they actually let you Ice, Ice Your Babies in prison that by the time I realized how odd the whole story was, we were already over at Drita’s place.

The day was finally here.  It was time for Drita and her two daughters to go see Daddy Lee in prison, and everyone was having their own I Love Lucy moment as they dragged pillows and stuffed animals into the car like they were going to a sleepover.

I’m not saying that crime pays, but it sure seemed as though bank fraud might be an easier, faster way to get into that prison than actually driving there.

It took them For.  Ever.

And that was just to get to the hotel.

As the gang registered at Heritage Suites for the night, Renee was finally at Transitions for the introductory Freshman Hazing portion of her own check-in.

One by one the counselors and doctors grilled her on subjects ranging from remembering the extensive list of drugs in her system to über personal information that I would have just lied about.  It was pretty intense, and made you realize that rehab is the real deal.

Right about now was when the producers must have realized they had forgotten Carla, because all of the sudden we got to see her walk her dog.

Exciting stuff.

Then it was back to Drita as she and the girls all piled into what looked like one of President Obama‘s bullet proof vans for the long drive to the Pennsylvania prison.

For.  Ever.

One.  Was that suitcase full of the dollar bills and quarters that she had mentioned she was bringing to Lee for the prison vending machines?  Why else would they need to bring a suitcase for a 5 hour visit when they would be turning around and going right back to the hotel?  I know Lee said he needed underwear.  But that would have been a ton o’ Hanes.

Two.  That little pipsqueak Gizelle is so freaking cute that I just want to slap something.  I mean, redoinkulously cute.  I wanted to rescue her from the “Lifestyle” and ship her to TLC for a pageant.  She’s already got the hair accessories.

Redoinkulous.

Back home, Karen and Ramona managed to find the noisiest restaurant on the entire Island to meet for lunch.

Karen had just received a text from her daughter Karina, who announced that she was staying in AZ with Dave.  Karina also asked her Mom to not confront Dave on why and how a random thong had ended up on her bedroom floor.

Eeew.  Just the thought of her Dad doing the Nasty with his new girlfriend in his tweenage daughter’s bedroom.

And then imagine them going at it while Justin Bieber watched from a Tiger Beat poster taped on the wall with hearts and unicorn stickers.

Double Eeew.

Ramona’s answer to every problem is usually to hurt something or somebody, so you already knew her response to all that mess.

Then it was back to Pennsylvania.  Five hours later.

The visit with Lee went amazeballs, and Drita and the girls couldn’t have been happier.  During a pit stop at Kelly’s Diner, Drita hit Big Ang up on her Sidekick and rambled on and on about the day like she was in a Lifetime movie.  They even had the same music.

And yes, I got all excited thinking they were at the same Kelly’s Diner that’s in Port Charles, but then I remembered that General Hospital isn’t real.

Bummer.

Back home, again, my girl Love dropped by Big Ang’s house for no reason other than to let us see she really is crazycakes, and that Ang was rocking a very on-trend side part.

Fashion tips, too.  You’re welcome.

You knew Karen wasn’t going to be able to just sit back and go with the Dave Flow, so she got him on the phone and confronted him about his new girlfriend.  Every single conversation that she has with Dave starts and ends the same, so you didn’t really miss anything if you walked away for a moment.  She did say that she had always been the “Most Loyalest Person” which kind of made my head hurt, and then I don’t remember much after that.  She likes to dramatically throw her phone into the pillow after she hangs up.  I noticed that last time, too.

Since the visit with Lee had gone so well, Drita couldn’t keep her head screwed on straight now.  She loved him.  She hated that she loved him.  She loved the old Lee, not the new Lee.  But what about the jail-free future Lee?

Oy vey.

We finished off back in Florida with Renee’s first group therapy field trip, where everyone sat on a picnic table and tried to shake off their personal demons in the woods.

Once everyone got past the hideous tie the group leader was wearing (…not a good week for neckwear…) they stood Renee up against a tree in front of them and ran an impromptu mini Redneck Intervention.

Carla wasn’t a douche bag.  She was the Devil.  And you can’t change the Devil.

Cast her evil powers away.  Begone, Bitch.

OhNoTheyDin’t.  They went there.

…27 days, and counting.