DanThat'sCool!

 

 

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.

 

 

You mean even the burglars didn’t want to steal this chotsky (bleep) before they ran out the back door? Go figure.

 

 

 

 

Dude. Not in front of your mother. That’s just (bleepin’) nasty.

 

 

 

 

The only thing more unsettling than that punk fingering his stress ball is this 8 foot ceramic horse watching me.

 

 

 

No. Seriously. He was (bleepin’) diddling it right in front of his mutha.

 

 

 

 

How’z about I take this buttah knife, slit your fat throat and watch all the pills fall out like a (bleepin’) Pez dispenser, you clown-faced bitch?

 

 

 

Holy (bleep.) Please tell me she’s just swinging that thing around because she brought the Nutella.

 

 

 

 

Nobody even touched the fresh Brodetto. Can’t believe I stood on my bad toes all morning for this.

 

 

 

Well it’s about (bleepin’) time.

What the (bleep) took so long?

That’s right.  The sound of deadbolt locks being replaced and network censor panic buttons being activated can only mean one thing.

Mob Wives is back.

Staten Island’s Roughneck Royalty have all returned for a new season, bringing with them even more over the top drama and questionable fashion choices, as well as a few newly injected faces thrown into the mix to keep it interesting.

The last time we had all hung out at the Drunken Monkey with the Wives, Renee was still spinning from the fallout caused by Junior turning Snitch on the Mob.  His intricately wired wrist watch and dress shirt combination had resulted in her own father being dragged off to the Big House on the same night that her ex-husband vanished into the world of Witness Protection.  And no one has seen Junior since.

In the real world Junior is probably half way across the country with different colored hair and a newly laminated license by now, but on General Hospital they tend to just stick a rubber prosthetic on your face and leave you in the same neighborhood.  So you never know.  And not knowing for certain is what makes Renee a shaky hot mess.

Shakier than on a normal day, that is.  You’ll see.

Our first glimpse back into their WiveLives came when we joined Drita and Carla and their two little pocket dogs on a boardwalk stroll.

Those two little puppies do like to pee.  Almost as much as those two grown women like to gossip.  I don’t know which pair would explode first if they weren’t allowed to satisfy their needs on an hourly basis.

After discussing the status of Monkey Mama Big Ang‘s son AJ and his current 18 – 24 month stint at rehab, they moved right to the topic du jour: Renee.

Let’s just say that there is no love lost between Carla and Renee.  None.  Especially since Carla had been hearing “on the street” that Renee had a problem with her…and Homie don’t play dat.

Ok.  Hold up.  Where are these streets that everyone keeps talking about?

Seriously.  We’re now into the third season of this show, and not one person has been able to scientifically explain the Staten Island gossip phenomenon.

Every Wife says the exact same thing during every argument right before they swing that first punch.  They heard it from 10 people in 10 neighborhoods (…Spoiler Alert: Renee throws that one in Carla’s face a little later…) but they can’t say who said it or where they heard it.

I even asked Siri where to find good gossip in Staten Island, and the Bitch just said to bring an umbrella tomorrow.  I give up.

Carla explained to Drita that Renee was nothing but a (bleepin’) pill popping junk box as her tiny dog rubbed his butt on the grass and everyone headed home for lunch, temporarily drained of all gossip and water bowl bloat.

Renee’s ears must have been ringing as she met with a locksmith over at her own home.  While she was gone on an overnight trip to Atlantic City, someone had broken into Graziano Grove and trashed up both Renee and son AJ‘s bedrooms, so she needed every lock in the house changed before she lost her mind.

Not having access to the Mob Manual myself, it was a good thing that Renee explained how Payback works on the streets.  Junior had really stuck it to a number of Staten Island’s…ahem…fine, upstanding businessmen, so she was sure that the break-in was retribution for being connected to a Rat Faced Snitch.  Having your home broken into is traumatic enough, but when the brother of the wife of the son of the uncle who Junior just sent to jail knows where you live…that has gotta suck.

One.  I’m not sure I would show the world on national television what type of new lock the guy from A&S Locksmiths brought over and how easy it is to install.  One quick Google and a paper clip and someone is back in your bedroom again.

Two.  I’m really not sure I would then walk the guy from A&S Locksmiths to the back patio door and have him announce to the world on national television that there really is no way to secure that entrance except with one of those hotel sticks that always break in half when you forget your house key at work and bust back into your own kitchen.

Three.  If you can literally just walk in the back patio door, why bother armoring up the front door like Iron Man’s pants?

Just saying.

The entire time the A&S guy was drilling and sweating it out, AJ was slumped on the couch like a free loader, getting intimate with one of those Dr. Phil stress balls while Renee blew her first nutty of the season.

 It was Round #439 between Mother and Son as they (bleeped) back and forth about Junior’s decision to choose the RatPack over his family, leaving them on opposite sides of the argument.  Again.

AJ never budged from the couch the entire time, which was just as well because then he might have had to cook or clean or help out around the house.  Or pay rent.

Shlep much?  Prada specs don’t pay for themselves, Junior.  Junior Junior, I mean.

Yeah.  There was not much love at the Graziano house that night.

But there was love to spare over at Big Ang’s house.  Love Majewski.

There was a new girl in town.  And (…allegedly…) some new boobs.  But I’ll let the gossip blogs figure that one out…we’re legit news over here.

Love went to high school with Karen and Ramona, was engaged six times and involved with the Wise Guy from The Untouchables.  (The real one, not the movie one.  Der.)

She also knows Big Ang.  But then again…who doesn’t?

Love dropped by to check on my girl Angela and see how she was doing after some toe surgery.  Our Hostess with the Mostess (…and the Biggest…) was recuperating from some gnarly ingrown toe/bone breaking thing that resulted in her feet looking like those Mexican Wrestling thumb puppets they sell on the Boardwalk.  Poor Ang’s little piggies were all individually wrapped up in gauze and decorated with magic marker smiley faces.

It was Classic Angela.

As was her new home, which was now fully furnished and decorated in so much pink and white and black that it made my eyes sting.  I always wondered who manufactured this stuff, and who buys it.

Now at least half of the mystery is solved.

Since we know that all the Wives like to eat, Renee and Drita hit up Hotel Z for some snacks, wearing identically enormous Jersey Shore hoop earrings.  Thankfully, you could still tell them apart because Renee was the one wearing the crazy psychedelic 1960′s Laugh-In dress that made my Big Ang kitchen eyes water up again.

The two Wives gossiped and noshed while discussing the break-in, complaining how the man who had lived a life of crime and then gone RatFace on them all had just caused a crime to be committed on them in retaliation.  And that wasn’t cool.  But the life of crime that led up to it and paid for the furs and the house that had just been broken into…was…well that is…umm…

Sometimes it’s better to not even attempt any in-depth analysis of this show and just move on to hardcore Carla bashing.

Renee called Carla a Sewer Whore, which I’m going to assume is worse than an above ground whore, and denied any neighborhood rumors that she had chopped up her own body in a futile attempt to look like Carla.

Just the idea that Renee would go through a life-threatening medical procedure to look like some horse faced subterranean whore who sleeps with married men was laughable.

So Renee laughed.  And got crazy eyes.

She then unleashed the season’s first “You Wanna Go To War With Me?” and life was good again in Staten Island.

Across town, the producers must have had some Go Kart tickets left over from last season because Ramona, her kids and her freshly whitestripped teeth were all back at the track doing a few laps on Family Fun Day.

Ramona’s Mystery Boyfriend Joe (…remember, you can’t do an authentic Mob show without at least two Joe’s on the payroll…) was still in jail from that unexplained traffic violation which had somehow ended in a 20 cruiser road block, and the whole soap opera was taking a toll on both her family and her mortgage check.

Because she was running low on cash and couldn’t count on ex-husband Daddy Done Diddly to cough up any child support, it was time to downsize everyone into an apartment building.

With a name like that, you’d think that Triple D would have been able to help out with cash from a gig at some Soho Jazz Club, but I guess not.  Maybe I’m just misinterpreting the nickname.  So it was one more lap around the track and then back home to check out Craig’s List.  Time is money.

Speaking of saving time and money.  If Drita could just hook up everyone on speaker phone, it would certainly save her the time of cruising all around town spreading gossip.

No sooner had she finished up one meal then she was sitting down with Carla repeating the conversation she had just had with crazy eyed Renee.  It was pretty much word for word, so if you didn’t leave the room during her lunch with Renee you already know how the scene with Carla went down.

Carla referred to Renee as a junkie and then they both ordered appetizers.  The End.

There was just enough time for one more pub crawl before brunch, so Renee, Big Ang and Karen met up to rehash the same gossip…one mo’ time…in case you missed it the first 27 times.

Side note.  Entrepreneurial Karen had apparently used some of her Mob Daughter residuals on one of those QVC Beachy Wave hair curler things, because Girlfriend was rocking a sassy new ‘do as they all sat down to dish.

Unfortunately, they didn’t get very far before newbie Love joined them at the table.

Lesson #1 in Restaurant Hosting:  You might not want to seat the woman who allegedly had gotten intimate with another woman’s husband at the same table with the scorned woman.  Especially when that woman is a time bomb like Renee Graziano.

Wha–?  Renee had heard that Love had knocked some boots with Junior back in the day.  On the streets they call it Gettin’ Intimate.  Love denied it.  Junior was no prize, thank you very much.  Oy, the dramz.

They settled it pretty quickly because everyone had to go to home and rest up for Big Ang’s brunch, which was basically an opportunity to have multiple mimosas and force Renee and Carla into hugging it out.

Good luck with that.

By the time Carla showed up at the brunch, the majority of Renee’s personalities were already busy eating.  Manners don’t matter when you’re waiting for a horse faced sewer whore, I guess.

Carla sat down.  Renee looked at her.  And then it all just went (bleep.)

Renee called her the Go To Girl.  (The one you go to at the end of the night right before the flourescent lights come back on.  Before the lights is key.)

Carla called Renee a junkie.  Everyone had a heated discussion on Webster’s definition of junkie vs. addict.  Carla was still a whore.

Renee swore that Carla had been sniffing after her cousin’s man.  Carla called Renee a junkie.  Renee declared that Carla liked to (bleep) married men.

Next thing you knew, Carla was swinging around a butter (…buttah…it’s the Island…) knife like Luke Skywalker and Drita’s eyeballs popped out.  Big Ang even tried to distract everyone with her boobs by taking off her poncho in the heat of the battle.

When Big Ang’s boobs can’t even stop traffic, then you know it’s getting ugly up in here.

Carla called Renee a junkie.  Renee (bleeped) a bunch of smack talk.

Big Ang didn’t like Twitter.  Who knew?  She’s on it enough.

And then they just stopped and had soup.  Really.  Just like that.

Like it was over and had never happened, even though Renee and Carla both claimed it wasn’t over.  Not even close.

And one is still a whore and one is still a junkie.  They said so.  Plus I heard it from 10 people in 10 neighborhoods.  So it’s gospel.

You can’t even make this (bleep) up.

They’re back.

Thanks For An Amazing 2012!

Stick Around….The Party’s Just Getting Started.  2013 Will Be A Hoot.

Mmmkay?