DanThat'sCool!

 

 

Just keep talkin’, Renee. I’ve got five friends right here that want to meet your face.

 

 

 

 

Forget Ramona’s jewels. The Feds should confiscate these weapons as evidence, bitches.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I do not like Mob Rats and Ham.           I do not like them, Sam I Am.

 

 

 

 

 

 

(Bleep) that. I can’t even see my belly. How’m I doin’?

 

 

 

 

 

And then I lookz in my imaginary mirror, and I’m on Desperate Housewives and it all goes away.

 

 

Oh, those crazy Mob Wives.

Love. Them.

No matter what side of the law they are working, or what side of the bed they get up on…them girls definitely know how to throw punches and parties.

After the last few weeks of drama surrounding Junior and the selling of his soul, his family and his personal radio frequency setting to the Feds in a plea deal that brought down a hefty chunk of the Staten Island Mob, the Wives certainly needed to unwind a little.

Lucky for them, not only was it the Holiday Season, but also the highly anticipated launch of Karen’s Mob Daughter memoir.  And nothing says ‘party ‘ like dishing out family dirt around the Christmas tree.

Renee had slowly begun pulling herself together after discovering Junior’s Ultimate Betrayal (…you can tell it was a really big deal because it’s all in caps…) and started picking up the pieces of her life.

Regardless of which side you’re on in that Right vs. Wrong online forum debate over everything that went down with Junior’s wire wearing, you still gotta admit the whole thing must have sucked big ones when it happened.

Nobody likes getting boned by a loved one.  At least not that kind.

But trust me, I know, there is only so much food in the refrigerator and so many hours of Bravo on the DVR.  Sooner or later you gotta get a comb through all that mess and leave the house.

And I love me my Wives, but I’ll be the first to admit that as I grabbed my snacks for this episode, I did mumble a silent “Pleasepleasepleaseplease don’t let her be crying on the couch again.”

We get it, Renee.  Now put on some lipstick and get last week’s newspapers off the front lawn.

After neurotically losing almost 33 pounds (…233 if you count Junior…) Renee took a shower and met up with Ramona, who was no doubt coming back from another of her weekly teeth bleaching appointments.

The two discussed Junior’s actions, and how it played into Values, Morals and Ethics in regards to raising children in this “Lifestyle.”

Yeah.  They said that.

And don’t look at me.

I’m not touching that with a ten foot pole.  Call in to Dr. Drew or something if you want to go into a deeper discussion on that gigantic can of worms.

Ramona was a little wired, but not in the Junior way, because the Feds had confiscated her jewelry collection and she wanted it back.  The bling was snatched during a raid on her boyfriend’s home after the two of them were arrested back in that roadblock on the Expressway fiasco a few months ago.

Even though a lot of time has passed, we still don’t know anymore then we did on the first day about why their cowboy wagon was circled by Federal Indian Agents.

Nor do we know what the dude’s name is…and it’s becoming somewhat of an obsession for way too many internet lurkers.  Finding out Mr. X’s real name is starting to cut into the time that these people should be spending on World of Warcraft and watching cat videos on youtube.  Just pick an Italian name and move on, people.

While Ramona went on and on about her $200,000 worth of earrings, Karen was meeting up with Anessa the Event Planner, to prepare for the Book Launch Party.

Caps again…take note.

The venue was one of those fancy multi-level joints, with spots for both the shy celebrities and the camera whores.  Karen explained that this was going to be a really big deal with family, press, movie people, television people, Barnes & Noble people and who knows who else all invited to shmooze and mingle with former and current gangster relations.

The way she went on and on about the guest list, I pretty much assumed that Brad and Angelina would swing by on their way home from H&M, accompanied by Cornelius and Zira from The Planet of the Apes.

Remember when the apes crash landed in New York City?  Apes know how to party.  Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.  Hell yeah, they’re invited.

As that gala was being planned, another bash was already in progress.

Time for my new favorite holiday movie: Christmas with Big Ang.

In what can only be described as The Real Housewives of New Jersey meets Pixar, Big Ang had crashed her sister Janine’s house for a party that I would have sold my own organs to attend.

I say RHONJ because the house was one of those gigantically gaudy Teresa Giudice houses that probably use 10 dollar bills as toilet paper.  And I say Pixar because Big Ang was dressed like that big blue guy from Monsters, Inc.

You know the one.  The one that sounded like Rosanne Barr’s TV husband.

I.  Love.  Big.  Ang.

I question her fashion sense on a regular basis, but I worship at her furry vested feet.

When I close my eyes and imagine what Heaven looks like, it looks a lot like that party.  It was wall to wall Big Ang look-a-likes drinking, eating, searching for their misplaced smokes and getting so loud that you knew the cops would show before midnight.

Renee also showed up, kissed anyone she could get her hands on, and then posed like Melissa Gorga on the winding staircase.  Thank you, Baby Jesus.

By the time Drita showed up, I swear the Christmas tree was even taller than when the party started, and random Big Ang nephews were running around in Staten Island iParty Chippendale bow ties getting the women all horned up.

There were so many Big Angs in the building that I didn’t know where to look first.  There were little ones, and big ones and some that were still growing into their Big Angishness.

But there’s only one Big Ang.  And she loves her mimosas, even though it seemed that most of the guests had no clue what actually goes into the cocktail.

When the mimosas were complimented, one of the second string Big Angs agreed, and stated that it was like “Christmas in your mouth.”

Best line of the night.  Period.

I almost turned the TV off and went to bed early, because nothing else was going to compare for the remainder of the evening.

Open up.  It’s Christmas in your mouth, bitch.

There are so many dirty Santa jokes running through my head right now that I may have to lay down for a minute.

After the party, Renee finally met up with Carla to get to the bottom of all this She Said, You Said, They Said You Said gossip that had been blowing around the Island.  After weeks of hearing that Carla had supposedly said that Renee knew about Junior cooperating with the Feds, it was a time to find out the truth at yet another of Staten Island’s seemingly endless string of diners.

The scene itself was pretty uneventful, except for the actual menus at the table.  Seriously.  Please tell me someone else noticed.

For only two people, they were like the Holy Bibles of Diner menus.  Massive.

And I swear the booths were yanked from an old McDonald’s.  But otherwise, nothing to report on this scene.  They talked and kinda sorta made up like they always do.

Besides, there were more important things to watch.  Like Big Ang belly dancing.

Ramona had taken Karen, Big Ang and Big Ang’s inflated boobs to a belly dancing studio, and I’m willing to bet that more than a few pervs out there are keeping their DVRs on pause mode until the sight is burned into their screens.

As some tiny instructor shouted “All in the hips! Boom! Boom!” Karen and Big Ang wobbled all over the rehearsal space, each in their own world.  Ramona used the time to preach to us again about her Arabic heritage and how she married some blah blah blah…while Big Ang tried not to face plant like a former dictator’s statue in the public rotunda.

Telling someone who has not seen her hips in 20 years to ‘work them’ is pretty pointless, honey.  Save your breath.

Then it was time to launch that book.

Karen arrived at the hotel and had her own little “I’m King of the World” moment on the balcony outside her room.  Except it was only one of those tiny jut outs that the firemen use to rescue you when the building is burning down…she made it sound like it was the Trump balcony.  But she can have her Moment.  She worked hard.

Then it was hair and makeup in the hotel room.  Picture Toddlers & Tiara gone Gangstah.  Except the Pageant Moms are meaner than the Gangster Moms.

Ramona showed up and Karen presented her with an autographed copy of her book.  It appeared that Karen must have spent all the advance money on this party and now couldn’t afford a decent pen, because she scribbled inside the book with one of those Sharpies that you use when you can’t find the shoe polish.

C’mon lady…you’re (kinda) famous now.  Those pens are for frat party Solo Cups and first day of school backpacks.  Get it together.

But I’ll give Karen her props, and not just because she scares me.  That party was packed.  Full house.

There were so many people that I couldn’t tell if Brad and Angelina had shown up.  The apes definitely no-showed, but I couldn’t make out all the other people.  Her brother was there for sure.

They even had one of those photo opp backdrops on the way into the launch.  If Joan Rivers and the Fashion Police weren’t there, they should have been.

I mean really should have been there.  Does anyone in Staten Island know their actual dress size?  I don’t think even the Feds could put that kind of squeeze on the Mob.

Badabing!

Hopefully the press liked the book more than Drita did, because she didn’t have too many nice things to say about it over the episode.  She did make a delightful truck stop hand job motion with her fist at one point, but I’m not certain where that falls on the Thumbs Up/Thumbs Down scale.

Karen and Ramona got on the mic like two chicks at Spring Break and the room loved it.  Show us your T***!

All in all, a good night for Karen.  You go, girl.

But the glow was short lived, as the next day another round of Mob busts were made and, thanks to Junior, even more friends got dragged into the fingerprinting room.

On her way to meet up with Karen, Ramona put a call into Big Ang over at the Drunken Monkey to let her know what just went down.

My secret crush Big Ang was wearing some redoinkulously oversized zebra star shaped earrings that I swear I saw once on an episode of Jem and the Holograms, and they got me so distracted I forgot what Ramona told her.

Ramona then scooted over to meet Karen and tell her the same story, but I was still in my hologram daze and didn’t pay attention again.  Sumthin sumthin about the bust and Junior and who to trust and more of the same stuff they talked about last time they were together.

This week ended with Renee driving around while talking to Big Ang on the hands free.

And by ‘hands free’ I mean not holding the phone or the wheel, all while blinded by a rear view mirror decorated with so many dingily dangly chandelier crystals that they literally blocked one of her blind spots.

Like I needed another reason to steer clear of Staten Island.

Renee was on the way to her Dad’s first status hearing, again…thank you Junior, and was checking in with Big Ang on the latest deetz surrounding the Mob bust.

Big Ang was walking her little spaz dog Louie, and looked like she was taking a break from filming the next Mission: Impossible sequel as she chilled on the park bench.

I had one more of my hologram black outs, so you’ll have to go online to see what they talked about…or wait until next week.

Sorry.  I don’t know what holiday it was.

But it was definitely in my mouth.

 

 

 

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.

Anyway.

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.