DanThat'sCool!

 

 

What the (bleep)? If I’d known this was a costume party I would have dressed up. Dammit.

 

 

 

 

Mission Control: Initiate bat s*** crazy launch sequence in 3…2…1…

 

 

 

 

 

 

We have lift off.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Whatever. Mama needs a cigarette. This way, boys…

 

 

 

 

 

OhMyGodOhMyGod! Did you see? It’s Big Ang. I Love Her!

 

 

 

 

 

I’m buggin’! Didn’t anybody read the (bleepin’) invite? It said costumes!

 

 

 

 

 

I know, right? Trust me…I’d rather be smashing this vodka bottle on your face.

 

 

 

Seriously.

Why do these women keep having parties?

Haven’t they learned anything in three seasons?  Parties = Fat Lips.

And not the Big Ang ”Boop Boop” good kind.

The Season Finale of Mob Wives was everything that we’ve come to know and love about Staten Island over the years.  Big hair, big earrings, big attitudes and big throw downs with even bigger bouncers swooping in from seemingly nowhere to break it all up before anyone loses an eyeball or an extension.

The Mob Wives we know and love was finally back.  And just under the wire, thank you.

All season long, the gossipy Love vs. Carla train had been threatening to careen out of control, taking down any innocent bystanders unlucky enough to be standing on the platform when it jumped the tracks.  It just needed a catalyst.

And nothing gets a Mob Wives party going like…well…like a party, I guess.

Whenever these women all gather together, it’s asking for trouble.  Big trouble.  And Drita‘s 1980′s-themed birthday party was no exception.

They may be living in a Material World, but trust me…Love is a Battlefield.

(And that, kids, is called a smooth as buttah segue.  The More You Know.)

We started out with Ramona and Karen on a search for some vintage ’80s Wear, which didn’t look much different than anything from the Spring 2013 Staten Island Collection.

But whatever.  We don’t judge here.

It was their first time together since the infamous Pre-Nup Party that Karen had arranged, which had either been an innocent chance for the women to collect valuable financial information or an opportunity for Karen to sneak in a couple of pokes at Ramona’s upcoming nuptials.  Nobody was really sure what that whole evening had been all about, if you asked around.

But thanks to loose cannon Love Majewski, nobody had much time to worry about any potential ulterior motives because they were all too distracted by her going completely Cray Cray on one of Ramona’s friends who had just happened to look her way from the other side of the bar that evening.

I mean Crayola Cray Cray.  Full Box of 64 Cray Cray.  With a built-in shiv sharpener.

I’ll Stab You To Death Cray Cray.

And now Love had been invited to Drita’s party.  The same party that Carla had been invited to.  Both of them were invited.  You might want to get out your brass knuckle iPhone, open the calculator app and do the math on that one.

Needless to say, both women were a little on edge thinking about how the whole thing could go down, but Karen felt that she could tell Love to simply chill out at the party and it would happen, in much the same way I can will a herd of Pamplona cattle to come to a dead halt during the Running of the Bulls.  Because I can do that, you know.

Good luck with that, Karen.

Speaking of Carla.  She and soon-to-be Ex Joe met up for some pizza and legal talk.

Divorce.  The least of her problems, as she quickly stated.  Turns out that even the end of her marriage was less stressful than the ongoing Majewski gossip mill, and now that Love was publicly accusing Joe and his Dad of stealing the Angel Wings logo right off of her wrist tattoo while she slept, the whole thing was just about to boil over.  You wanna come at me?  Come at me.

Next we hit the highway with the Birthday Girl herself, cruising around town, talking hands-free on her cell and experiencing a mash-up of black & white Film Noir flashbacks as she prepared for the arrival of husband Lee, who was due to be released from the Halfway House in a matter of weeks.

Hearing him on the other end of the phone always messed with Drita’s head a bit, and this time was no different.  Lee knew it was time to make a change, and Drita was willing to risk it all one more time for the sake of her family.

Granted, she risked it all ‘one more time’ the LAST time he came out of jail and then ended up back in the slammer after approximately 2 1/2 hours of freedom.  But maybe second time’s a charm, because he sounded pretty sincere.  And Drita really wanted to get some ManCandy back in her house before she lost her mind and chewed through all the throw pillows.  So they both agreed to give this whole thing one mo’ try.

As Drita was getting all giggly and distracted on the road, Ramona and her white teeth were across town trying on gowns for a wedding that may or may not actually take place.  And even if it does, there’s no guarantee that there’ll actually be a groom in any of the album photos.

The whole thing is a little iffy.  Boyfriend “Joe Boy” Sclafani was still working on getting permission for his quickie release (…get your mind out of the gutter, please…) which would then trigger a domino effect wedding extravaganza that would need to be pulled off within 48 hours or so.  Which, as has been noted previously, is barely enough time for the caterer to thaw out any of the good stuff.

But Ramona was determined to find a dress and get married, even if Joey had to Skype the whole thing in from the prison’s workout yard.  Not an ideal situation, but if worse came to worst at least you know the groom’s party would be seriously jacked-up.  Like on HBO.  Just don’t get me started on the Bachelor Party, if you know what I mean.

Ramona took her BBFF (…Boy Best Friend Forever…duh…) Sammy to Bridal Reflections and forced him to sit through more costume changes than a Celine concert until she finally found the perfect gown.

Despite not having the solid support of friends (…I’m talking to you, Gravano…) or family (…I’m talking to you, la Rizzo famiglia…) Ramona loved Joey and couldn’t wait to marry her man.  Sammy just smiled a lot.

Then it was time to get ready to Par-tay.

I guess everyone had their own interpretation of what the ’80s were like, because I’m not really sure where they were all going with their costume choices.  Big Ang hit the salon for some big hair, and then wrapped herself in white leather and a fur coat that I swore she wore last week.  But she’s Big Ang.  She can do no wrong.

While Karen and Ramona were getting their hair and makeup applied, no one had yet heard from Love.  Was she still coming to the party?

Karen had received a text earlier in the day, and in it Love casually mentioned that she may have broken her hand when she slammed it through a wall and hit a steel beam after imagining that she had seen Carla’s face appear in the sheet rock.  The way Elvis or Jesus faces always show up in bags of Cheetos.

Except it was Carla’s face.  And it was in sheetrock.

For all you mathematicians out there…Cray to the umpteenth power of Cray.

Karen hit Love up on her Sidekick, who instantly picked up and already appeared to be sharpening another box of Crayolas with her good hand.  She had broken six bones, but didn’t give a F*** and was more than ready to unleash on Carla if she so much as pointed a finger in her face.  Love then proceeded to ramble on in some language that I’d never heard before and then hung up on Karen.

Ramona blurted out that she was afraid Love and Carla would start fighting like sea urchins, which made such little sense that I had to get up and walk around for a minute just to decompress.

Sometimes, I tell you.  These women.

Finally…the party!

Carla and Big Ang showed up first.  As in…nobody else was there yet.  Apparently all the traffic lights worked in their favor that night.

Ramona and Karen arrived next, all Material Girl-ed up and ready to get their MTV Veejay on.  Hey…at least they looked like they were in costume.

I’m still not sure who Carla and Big Ang were channeling.  Carla kind of looked like she was wearing Cher‘s Turn Back Time bodysuit, but you couldn’t see her butt cheeks and she wasn’t straddling a warship cannon.  But I think it was Cher.

Drita was late to her own party, but she had a ton of bracelets to put on…so cut her some slack.  Right behind her were Renee and BFF Nikole.  Renee’s ginormous hair and Nikole’s exposed boobs actually arrived first, followed shortly thereafter by the rest of their costumes.  Just.  Whoa.

Renee didn’t really want to be there with Carla, but she was taking one for the team as they stood on opposite sides of the room and watched each other like it was a turf war.

Or stray cats in heat marking bushes.

And then the Crazy Plane landed.  Put your trays in the upright position and pray that the oxygen masks fall from the overhead compartments.

Love was in the hizzle.  In a cast.  And already losing her shizzle.

Before the first appetizer, she announced that she wanted to rip Carla’s face off like a Bath Salt Zombie.  And then eat it.  Maybe some birthday cake would have taken the edge off, honey.

Drita and Big Ang then suddenly decided that they needed a smoke and left the building.

Really?  Now?  Let’s review.  A couple of things you should never do:  Leave a candle unattended.  Leave a baby in the car.  Leave relaxer on your hair too long.  And leave the building when Love Majewski and Carla Facciolo are in the same room.

Karen tried to play Switzerland and complimented Love on her behavior.  Wrong.  Love wasn’t behaving.  She was waiting.  Because she demands respect.  Expects Respect.

R-E-S-P-E-C-T.  Find out what it means to me.

For whatever reason, Karen then decided that she should sit Carla and Love down at the same table to discuss their issues.  Nice work, Gravano.

Boom.

Love loses her shiz, cracks Carla across the face with her cast and then the whole party went total Mob Mosh Pit in under 7 seconds.

Screaming.  Yelling.  Hair pulling.  Ramona chanting ‘No Fighting No Fighting’ like that would make a bit of difference in the grand scheme of things.

Full disclosure:  I’ve watched that scene about 100 times so far, and I have no idea where all those security guys came from so fast.  Trap doors?  Ceiling panels?

Backwards down the wall like Batman and Robin used to do?  BAMF-ing out of thin air like Nightcrawler did in the X-Men movie?

No clue.

But there were a million of them.  And mostly all bald for some reason.  All pushing and shoving and knocking over all the skinny VH1 sound guys who were just trying to keep their wobbly microphone sticks in the air.

Karen lost her nutty when some big doof wouldn’t let her near Carla.  She didn’t want Carla to think it was a set up and needed to find her.  (Wasn’t this the same script from the time everyone pounded on Drita?)

Carla’s hand was bleeding like a mutha.  Drita and Big Ang came back in from having a Newport and thought they were at the wrong party.  Then Drita lost her nutty.

There was a lot of nutty losing going on that night.

Finally, one of the bald guys managed to pry Love off of Carla’s face and separated the two of them.  Drita took Carla to a meeting in the ladies room while Karen went outside and jumped in Love’s getaway car to lay down some smack.

Love.  Is.  Insane.

End of story.

Back inside, it was Renee of all people, who came to Carla’s aid before she bled out on the carpet.  Before her time at Transitions, Nurse Renee knew that vodka could numb anything, so she doused Carla’s hand with liquor and patched her up in a snap.  It was almost like they kinda sorta bonded and made up in an emergency triage tent.

Deep down, Renee is a good person, and she proved it to Carla.  They let the building happier than when they arrived.

Drita stuck around to have her cake and pretty much set the building on fire with the biggest sparkler candle evah.

Love and her bag full o’ crazy squealed off down the highway, never to be seen again.

(Spoiler Alert:  Love just got fired from next season, and un-invited to the recent Reunion Show taping.  So see ya, wouldn’t wanna be ya.)

Karen left, more determined than ever to get her father out of prison.  Ramona set her sights on a Summer wedding, with or without a groom.

And Big Ang?  She likes the Wise Guys, but not the drama.

Staten Island just survived Hurricane Sandy and the Mob Wives.

That is (bleeped) up.

See you at the Reunion, bitches.

 

 

Sorry, Doc. I don’t really remember the accident, but when I came to my air bags were a little sore.

 

 

 

 

OMG. They’re like totally adorbz! Like little prison cell bars made out of candy!

 

 

 

 

 

 

Yeeesh.

 

 

 

 

 

True. Your head almost went through the windshield. But your equilibrium is off because those things are freakin’ out to here, honey.

 

 

 

Looks like you’re in luck, ma’am. These white orchids are in season, and this vase is bullet-proof.

 

 

 

 

Let the Bitch try and come after me. Have you seen her run? Those things are freakin’ out to heah.

 

 

 

 

 

It’s obvious, girls. The chambermaid did it. In the library. With a wine glass.

 

 

 

Ladies and Gentlemen…hide your buttah knives.

Carla Facciolo is back in the building.

That’s right.  After being noticeably MIA during last week’s episode, Love Majewski‘s arch nemesis has returned.  And just in time.

Word on the street was that Carla had been too busy talking s*** about Love to show up for any restaurant tapings lately.  But, of course, that is just alleged hearsay based on a random sampling of Love’s friends from each of the five Boroughs.

Carla says No.  Love says Yes.  Over.  And.  Over.

And you know what everyone else says.  Gossip is all fun and games until someone loses a big, dangly earring.

Love’s short Stab-A-Lover temper is the thing of legends.  Known to bring more than one grown man to tears, it is something that would normally only manifest itself in someone who was dropped on their head as a baby.

Or in Love’s case, hit by an 18 wheeler in their adult life.

As we tuned into MobBiz This Week, we found out that at some point in the past Love had suffered a traumatic head injury as a result of a freak automobile accident and that the injury may now be partially to blame for her noticeably short fuse.

Turns out that when her car was hit, she somehow flew out the window to safety, only to be hit a second time by a passing transport vehicle and its trailer full of whatever.

Wait.  What?  If this was a Warner Bros. cartoon, couldn’t you just picture Love being flattened like a piece of paper and becoming the inspiration for the invention of the Naked Mud Flap Girl?  You know…the one that you always see on the back of Costco trucks when they blow past you in a snowstorm and cover your windshield with two inches of brown slush on the one day you forget to refill the washer fluid.

But this is real life.  Sorta.  So instead of being pressed topless into vinyl like Silly Putty on the Sunday comics (…Google it, kids…) Love now suffers from some form of Post Traumatic Face On The Windshield or something.  I forget exactly what they called it.

And according to Dr. Igor Stiler, the physician she checked in with at the start of the episode, it could be a key piece of the puzzle as to why she is so irritable and short tempered.

Irritable and short tempered to the point where sometimes she doesn’t even know how she ends up back home in her own bed after a night of clubbing, wearing only one stiletto and clutching a fist full of bad Staten Island weave.

As Love relived a few violent blackout episodes where she came to just in time to find herself holding some poor drunk chick’s head in a toilet bowl, Dr. Igor scribbled what I believe were the words Help Me on his notepad and nervously adjusted his Kris Kringle eyeglasses.  And you wonder why he kept his door open the entire time.

Less traumatizing were the Arizona goodbye hugs as Karen and Ramona got ready to head back East.

Karen and Karina and Baby Daddy Dave had found some middle ground on the whole long distance parenting thang, though Karen still hoped to bring Karina back to SI at some point.  But for now, things were running a little smoother, though she had yet to figure out if Dave’s new girlfriend Rebecca was a cyborg or not.

Rebecca seemed nice enough, even though Karen had never actually seen the woman blink during a conversation.  But it was time to leave Sweet Home Arizona, so the Mystery of the BeccaBot would have to wait for another day.

There was a lot of Love Said/Carla Said action going on this week.  The first round was when Drita dropped by Carla’s place to rehash the gossip again and it was revealed that Carla had never actually met this Love person.

Carla knew ‘of her’ from the one month that Carla’s old boyfriend had been bangin’ her before he started bangin’ Carla.  But that was it.

Sloppy Seconds was their only connection.

Yeah.  The whole discussion was pretty much Klassy Like Dat.

Carla felt that Love was jealous of her, just like every other woman on Staten Island.

I know I was totally jealz of all those HomeGoods snowmen Santas that Carla had cluttering up every corner of the house.  Holy Seasonal Hoarder Fire Trap, Batman.

And then there was Jiton.  Girl, pleez.

Half Sicilian.  Half Black.  One Third Basketball Wives.  Two Thirds classic hip hop Vjay from back in the day.  And 100% sassy with no frizz or fly aways.

Renee‘s friend basically just fell right off one of the archive photos in the VH1 lobby and started running her own shoe store.  And now Renee wanted in on the action.

In the past they had tossed around ideas about creating a Graziano shoe line, but at the time Renee was in her Hot Mess Phase and footwear had to go on the back burner while she focused on sedatives and meltdowns.  But now that we’re talking the new and improved Renee 2.0, it was time to finally get MobCandy shoes up and running.

Jiton knew people who knew people, and was going to help Renee get started in the shoe biz.  Cuz there’s no business like shoe business, right?

Yeah…old joke.  But you still read it in Ethel Merman‘s voice, didn’t you?  Suckahs.

And speaking of putting on a shoe…or a show…

Ramona and her two little Ramonettes headed over to the Coral House Banquet Facility to start planning a potentially shotgun wedding.

Regardless of how everyone else on the East Coast felt about them moving forward with their nuptials, Ramona was determined to marry her incarcerated fiancé “Joe Boy” Sclafani.  Even if he can’t get that 7 day release from prison.

It’s not like the groom really has to show up, right?

Ramona and Joe Boy are clearly juggling a lot of What Ifs with this one, and nobody really knows how it will all play out by the summer.  If Joe Boy even gets approved for a release, it will only be with a 48 hour notice, which doesn’t really give anybody much time to thaw out the appetizers or make party favors, much less shine up your ankle monitor and press a tux.

Add to that a court ordered pair of armed guards and all those petty house arrest regulations, and it clearly doesn’t make for your typically faaaabulous David Tutera wedding extravaganza.

But Butch The Wedding Impresario (…no lie…his name…) ain’t no David Tutera.

He specializes in this kind of stuff.  Weddings and Security.  Don’t ask.  Just pick out your flowers and your place settings and nobody gets hurt.

It was like that.  And they did.  Even down to what color tablecloth was going under the lace overlay.  Blue.  Joe’s favorite color.  Just in case he actually shows up.

All that excitement called for some pizza, so Karen headed to her cousin Rena‘s joint for some pepperoni and cheese.  And our weekly Mob Wives Head Scratch Moment.

Two of them actually, if you want to count the fact that Tony’s Pizza still takes Discover.  Is that card still around or was that just an old sticker on the counter?  I can honestly say that I don’t know one person with a Discover card in their wallet.

Karen and Rena are pretty tight.  Which is oddly impressive considering that it was Rena’s Dad and Peter Gotti who travelled to Arizona all those years ago to try and kill Karen’s Dad Sammy “The Bull” Gravano.

You heard me.  Kill him.  Like with guns and exploding stuff.

And you thought your family was F***d up during the Holidays.

The whole killing your own family thing was a little out of my comfort zone, but Karen and Rena didn’t seem to have any problems getting past it.  They actually seemed a little more concerned about which topping was their favorite after all these years.

Anytime you feel like scratching your head is fine by me.  Whenever they cross that line into being irritated because someone got caught doing something ridiculously illegal and/or criminal and yet somehow the Feds are the Bad Guys, I just wait for the moment to pass.  Or for the judicial system to make crime legal and set all the Wise Guys free at once like when everyone escapes from Arkham Asylum in the Batman video game.

I just can’t.

I did like the cartoony tee shirts all the pizza guys were wearing, if that counts for anything after all that awkwardness.

Then all the Wives really started winging it.  As in Angel Wings.  Or AngelWingate, as CNN will soon refer to it on their screen crawls.

Carla was first.  She dropped by ex-Joe‘s Dad’s Day Spa for a quick buff.  The place was called Angel Skin.  Remember that for later.

Joe’s Dad used to be a highly respected Gyno kind of guy who actually saw Drita‘s junk when he delivered her two babies, so when he retired from all those lady parts he decided it would be nice to tighten everyone up above the neck for a change.

So Dad opened up his own Day Spa.

That’s about all that really mattered in that scene.  Hope you paid attention and noticed the upside down Angel Wings on the store window, because there’ll be a test at the end.

Next up, it was Drita and Love’s turn to wing it.

They barely had time to sit down at a nail salon before Love started in on some more Carla bashing, letting Drita know that Carla had somehow stolen the wings from Love’s wrist tattoo and given them to Joe’s Dad for his spa windows.  Bitch.

See how it’s all coming together?  The Circle of Life.

Turns out that Love had personally designed her tattoo, so it was clear that Carla had stolen the wings, right?  Because they looked exactly the same, and they were clearly right up there on the spa window and business cards.  Even though Carla was already on record as saying that she had never met Love, much less snooped around her wrists trying to steal an apparently copyrighted doodle.

Plus I’m pretty sure that Victoria’s Secret and the Bible were using angel wings long before Love even thought about hitting up a tattoo parlor.  But whatev.

But Love swore that Carla stole her wings.  And Love’s still got a serious case of windshield head, so I’m not messing with her right now.

And then randomly, Renee and AJ went rock wall climbing.  That’s really all I have to say on the matter, except for mentioning that Renee kind of looked like a backwards 1960′s Batman when she was trying to walk down the wall on a rope.

Three Batman references in one blog post.  A new record.  Now I’m done.

Renee had to hurry and get down off that thing so she could go meet Jiton again and check out the progress on MobCandy.

Who knew that Elton John and Liberace were Jiton’s shoe designers?

Just.  Whoa.  Sparkles and stilts and feathers and crystals and chandelier dingles and something on the toes that looked like you stuck the front of your shoe in a container of 14K gold Ben & Jerry ice cream jimmies.

The screw-on/screw-off spike heel was a nice touch, too.  Just in case you lose your ice pick and need to make someone pay back a racing bet.

Gah.  I love me some Mob Wives.

The only way to finish off the evening was with some wine.  Wines by Wives, actually.  A holiday wine tasting event with a logo that looked exactly like a TV Guide ad for the old That Girl show.

And what are the chances that Carla would join the one wine club that hosts all their events at the mansion pictured on the box cover of the Clue board game?

Seriously.  Did you see that place?  I was waiting for some hysterical maid to run in at any moment, screaming that someone had just found Colonel Mustard’s dead body in the conservatory.  And a wrench was missing from the tool shed.

Wine, anyone?

As Big Ang and Drita got tastefully liquored up, the whole AngelWingate controversy broke and Carla flipped a major nutty.  And swore.  A lot.

Carla wasn’t scared of Love.  Bring it on.  You come for me?  I’ll come for you.

And a Mob Wives holiday classic was born.

Every time Carla swears, a Day Spa gets its wings.

 

 

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.