DanThat'sCool!

 

 

Raise your hands if you were expecting Wendy Williams and have no clue why Dr. Drew is here today.

 

 

 

 

 

 How You Doin’…? That’s what that lady says, right? Holler.

 

 

 

 

 

Seriously? I’ve got a freezer full of Italian sausages to nibble on and I’m sitting here? Mama’s got the munchies.

 

 

 

 

Because proper oral hygiene is very important and everyone should floss once a day. And you’re a Bitch.

 

 

 

 

Go on Google, you whore. Or Amazon…and then you can buy my book at the same time. Boom!

 

 

 

 

That’s a nice story, but I’m really gonna need you to keep all your Krazy on that side of the room.

 

 

 

 

 

Dammit. I think I left my Chapstick and Newports in the cab.

 

 

 

 

Sorry, NeNe Leakes.

(Bleep) is the new Bloop.

You and the rest of your Gone With The Wind Fabulous ATL girls just got skooled by Staten Island.  Watch, and learn.

Remember that episode of Meerkat Manor where all the lady ‘kats were fighting and and gnawing and spraying on the same piece of dead carcass and you couldn’t tell which one was making all the noise?  And there was fur and sharp teeth flying everywhere while that one scrawny boy ‘kat who got left behind at the burrow just kept running in circles trying to find the escape tunnel?

I give you Mob Wives: The Reunion.

With Dr. Drew Pinsky, for some reason.

After a season full of rehab, hurricanes, wedding gowns and beat downs, everyone was back together again for one last hurrah.  Except for Love Majewski, that is.

The Divine Miss M, along with her crazy face, crazy talk and crazy boobs, were all noticeably MIA from the pseudo-Andy Cohen couches, and the Doctor addressed the issue as soon as the theme song stopped playing.

Surrounded by a whole lot of  shiny lips and sparkly eye lids, Dr. Drew explained that everyone had decided it was “Best if we part ways,” which is basically just textbook HR Code for “We fired her NutWad a** for being such a loose cannon and making our VH1 insurance deductibles go through the roof.  Bitch was cray to the umpteenth power of cray.  No thank you.”

She no longer works for the company.  We wish her well.

And then we had the first video montage of the evening:  The Best of Love.

With all your favorite Love Hits, including Bath Salt Zombie and I’ll Stab You To Death.

Order before midnight tonight and you’ll also receive a free pair of nipple pasties and a shiv as your bonus gifts with purchase.  But hurry…quantities are limited.

Two minutes into the Reunion and Dr. Drew was already more nervous than he was when all those D List celebrities were OD’ing on his watch.

Renee didn’t like Love, so it was no loss.  Big Ang, who was working some seriously reflective Captain America ballistic fish scales, is still my secret girlfriend and can do no wrong.  She was not surprised that Love had been fired, but beyond that comment didn’t really seem to be paying much attention.  For most of the show Big Ang appeared to be trying to remember if she left the iron turned on back at home.

Karen, who traded off her signature ombré hair extensions with Ramona after the show went on hiatus, reminisced about punching out Love in a parking lot when she was only 17 years old.  Cuz that’s how they role in Staten Island.

Luckily, Drita was there to explain the difference between a Semi-Mental Case vs. just Keeping It Real.  Because there’s a difference when you pop off on someone in a parking lot.

If you’re mental, you might get a reduced sentence.  If you’re just Keeping It Real, then…well…you’re just Keeping It Real on a bitch’s face.  It’s Staten Island.

Gah, I love me some Mob Wives.

And then I’m not really sure what happened.  I only looked down for three seconds, and when I looked back up Ramona and Carla were going at it like junk yard dawgs.

But that’s part of the Mob Wives Magic.  One minute they can all be hanging out getting manis and pedis, and the next thing you know the censor button is going off like Morse Code on a sinking submarine.

Carla must have wagged her finger at Ramona, because all of the sudden the two of them were going off like bottle rockets from opposite couches as Dr. Drew looked around for all that security they had promised him in the pre-production meeting.

Ramona wanted Carla to sign a paper that she wouldn’t sue or call the cops if Ramona laid some smack down on her gossipy head.  Carla started flapping her hands and fingers around like she was bringing in aircraft, which sent Ramona off on a “Cop Caller” chant until Dr. Drew finally had to stand up and block Ramona’s view with his doc crotch.

Seriously.  Did he really think that would work?  Has he ever even watched this show?  Ramona just bobbed and weaved around his body like a heavyweight boxer getting ready for a KO until her face got uncomfortably near the good Doctor’s pinsky.

Yeah.  Rizzo was a little too close to the medical bag for a Bride-to-be.  Just saying.

As the two of them screeched at each other behind his back, DD tried to introduce the next montage:  Drita’s Birthday Party.

The one with the big Love vs. Carla beat down and all those bald guys running around trying to pull them both apart while people threw drinks in their faces and went off like banshees.  That birthday party.

Then it was back to Ramona and Carla, who were still having the same fight they were having when we last saw them.

Ramona called Carla a Racist, because she allegedly refers to every single person of color as “You People,” which I believe the Rev. Al Sharpton frowns upon.   A modern day KKK was pretty much how she described the situation.  Yeeouch.

Karen quickly mentioned that Carla was rude and snippy.  Carla then did some more hand signals and went in for the kill by bringing up Family.  Yes…with a capital “F.”

Oooh, Girl.  You do NOT bring up Family.

You don’t do it on The Real Housewives of New Jersey with that Manzo lady, and you certainly don’t do it when you’re Daddy’s in the Mob.  Karen even tried to make the point clear one more time before she finally blurted out that Carla wanted the Gravano Family to save her own father back in the day.

Carla claimed to not know much about what Karen meant, because she doesn’t talk “Mob” like the rest of “These Girls.”  Karen pointed out that she could easily go on Google and find out what the F*** she was talking about, and then Google changed the locks on its corporate headquarter offices.

At some point there was a lot of shizzle being tossed around regarding Ramona’s ex stealing money from her own father, but I forget exactly when Carla lobbed that fast ball at Ramona’s head.  There was so much shade being thrown at every turn that it doesn’t really matter, so you can pretty much just stick that zinger in wherever you please and it will fit like a CSI glove.

The tension was so thick you could cut it with a knife.  A buttah knife.

That’s right.  They went there.  They brought up the buttah knife scene again, where Carla had flipped a switch on Renee and threatened to cut her throat and let all her junkie pills spill out onto the table.

Dr. Drew asked Renee if she had felt threatened by the buttah knife.  Seriously.

Have you ever tried to spread butter straight from the refrigerator on a piece of toast?  If you can’t even do that, how are you going to cut someone open?  Dude.  Please.

Carla admitted that she may have overstepped her bounds by calling Renee a Junkie, but that the man she once dated had not been 100% married, whatever that meant.  Even Karen got a little WTF with that statement.  Nothing like a WTF Mob Wife Face.

Ramona countered by declaring that her ex-husband had been officially separated from his wife when she had started seeing him, which I guess would make her relationship come in somewhere around 99% when compared with Carla’s situation and ultimately make Ramona the winner for that Round.

MobMath is hard.  Luckily, before I had time to do tally the calculations, Ramona went off on Carla again.  And this time she wanted to jump her, sit on her, break off a rib and use it to pick her own teeth after eating Carla’s face like prosciutto luncheon meat.

Don’t try this at home, kids.  It’s strictly for role models.

To lighten the mood a little, Doc then gave us all a little history lesson on the Drita, Karen and Ramona triangle.  Today they all get along.  As of noon today, anyway.

That’s about as far out as I’ll commit to that one.

The next video montage was all about Renee’s Addiction.

We relived some of her time in rehab, got a grocery list of the pills she used to ingest and then welcomed her son  AJ to the couch.  Bro was still a little on the chillaxed, whatever dude side, but AJ has always stuck by his mom regardless of any bad choices she may have made in glitter blue eye shadow or sedatives.

AJ still didn’t really agree with addiction being an illness, though.  Just Stop.  Stop and then go play video games.  It’s that easy.  From the mouths of babes, I guess.

But the guy loves his mom and was headed to Miami, because it was time to move on and get a real job.  And Prada makes some sweet sunglasses.  That, too.

Then it was nothing but ManTalk and DirtyTalk for the rest of the Reunion.

Drita had let Lee back into her home now that he was out of the Halfway House.  She has guilt about what they put their children through over the years.  Lee, on the other hand, still didn’t have any guilt about cheating on her, so I wouldn’t be adding any other names to the mortgage paperwork just yet, honey.

Carla then got a quick moment to snark on Joe and his Carla 2.0 girlfriend Raquel before Dr. Drew introduced Karen’s Dbag ex Dave Seabrook to the couch.

At least this time he wasn’t chewing gum at the very front of his mouth like they do at Sports Bars when they’re checking out chick’s hooters.  But he’s still Dave.  And he’s still dating ice cold Cyborg Rebecca, who Karen has come to except but still not really understand.

Dave kinda sorta admitted that he might have been wrong for either not telling Karen about Rebecca earlier, or for leaving one of Rebecca’s thongs hanging from Karina‘s Hello Kitty bedroom ceiling fan.  It was a rather forced apology, so it wasn’t really clear where he was going with it.  But better than nothing, as they say.

Karen confirmed that she was still with music mogul Storm, and that he was just fine.

Oh yeah.  Just fine.  Big Daddy fine.  Single and Ready to Mingle fine.  With a lip lick.

MmmMmm.  Mama likes.

And then it was on to Ramona’s wedding.  If that ever happens.

Despite all the other women rolling their eyes and trying to explain how tough it is being a Prison Wife, Ramona was still dead set on marrying the incarcerated Joe Sclafani, whether he could be make it to the chapel or not.

It might be at the federal prison.  It might be at the Elks Lodge with paper cups.  It could be this year.  It could be this afternoon, so excuse me if I have to cut taping a little short and scoot over to city hall.

They have no idea when this is all going to go down.

But as for getting down…never.  Because you can’t do the nasty in a federal prison.  It’s a law.  So no conjugal visits.

After the camera crew all breathed a sigh of relief, the horny talk got Drita a little giggly and she tried to explain why she had compared Lee’s return home to having a freezer full of fresh, hard, ready to eat produce in the shape of a man’s nibblies.

According to the Food Pyramid, a person should have 3 to 5 servings a day if you know what I mean, and Drita was ready to go down on those things like a starving rabbit.

It was right about here when Big Ang finally woke up and Karen swallowed her gum.

Seriously.  I don’t think even I’m old enough to be watching this show anymore.

And that’s that.

Hurricane Sandy.  Hurricane Majewski.

Trust me.  Staten Island will rebuild and come back next season, bigger and stronger and louder and blingier than ever.

Bloop.

I mean…(Bleep.)

 

 

Don’t even tell me that old man taped over my Flock of Seagulls album.

 

 

 

 

And then I was all like Pew! Pew! Pew! Zowie! Pow! with my Renee Superhero Wrist Rockets on that sorry bitch.

 

 

 

 

Seriously? So you’re telling me I built you this whole Broadway Bedroom theater and you won’t sing 42nd St.?

 

 

 

Honestly lady, the last time I saw a balloon like this it was taking James Franco to Oz.

 

 

 

 

You know I’m totally jealz of that kid’s bedroom. I could do my whole Las Vegas magic act up there.

 

 

 

 

I swear. All a guy has to do is put on a Pee Wee Herman tie and I turn to warm spreadable buttah.

 

 

 

 

 

Greetings, Earthling. We are BeccaBot. Mission: Assimilate.

 

 

 

 

Attention Staten Island Mall Shoppers.

We have a lost little girl who has not been seen for over a week.

If anyone finds Carla Facciolo, please bring her to the nearest cashier.  And while you’re at it, feel free to let her know that Love Majewski is talking some serious shizzle behind her back.

Seriously.  Carla’s missing.  I didn’t see her anywhere.  Did you?

If it wasn’t for the opening credits and Luscious Love’s non-stop Carla bashing, I’m not sure that anyone would have remembered Joe‘s Ex used to be one of the Mob Wives.

But there’s a storm or two brewing, one of which should blow her back into town fairly soon.

Maybe not the Arizona dust storm that started spinning around this week.  That one was confined to Karen‘s old neighborhood and almost took down a few trees and a Fembot.

But Storm Love is growing larger every time we check the map, gaining strength as it pulls in anyone who will listen.  So things are definitely about to go down in town.

We started the latest episode back in Arizona, where it was clear that we were going to max out our frequent flier miles jumping back and forth between the desert and the island this week.

What I first assumed was a Target distribution center warehouse actually turned out to just be a ginormous U-Haul storage unit with shiny red doors where Karen and her brother Gerard had stored about 374 boxes of State’s Evidence against their Dad, Sammy “The Bull” Gravano.

As you’ll remember, Gerard had come up with a possible loop hole in the court case against Sammy which could have him back out on the street in less time than it’s gonna take me to change my front door locks and get a new license.

(Umm.  They know this website is all just in fun…right?  Tell me they do.)

But first, Karen and Ramona needed to sort through mountains of legal paperwork and old beta VHS tapes (…whoa…acid flashback…) in hopes of finding some information that might help Gerard prove his point that Dad had received more time in The Hole than originally agreed upon.

Whereas most normal storage units would be full of old school clothes and action figures, this one was packed floor to ceiling with the kind of stuff that I thought should have probably stayed in a police evidence locker.  Boxes and boxes of blurry television news reports and scratchy taped conversations between Sammy and anyone who would listen were piled up behind the doors.

Did anyone else find this a little odd?  Or is it just me?  I mean, if the Feds were taping their phone conversations, why would they turn around and hand the cassettes back to the family in a Zappos box?  Isn’t that something that should be on a shelf with those crown-shaped Latin King dashboard air fresheners and ziplocked bricks of cocaine?

I swear.  If Karen’s book goes on second markdown at Barnes & Nobles, I’m going to have to finally give in and pick it up just so I can figure out what’s really going on here.

Armed with a trunk full of boxes, Karen and Ramona headed back home to pop in a cassette and do some research.

Yes.  Pop in a cassette.  If you have to ask, then you’re too young to be watching this show anyway.  Go txt ur BFF.  I’m sure Bieber just had another meltdown somewhere.

You’re only allowed to finish reading this if you remember holding your tape recorder up to the radio when your favorite song came on so you could make a mixtape for your girlfriend, which was a lot of wasted work considering that should would dump you over the summer between 7th and 8th grade and leave you with no date for the junior high prom that year even though you already had your Chess King suit picked out.

Bitch.  TMI?

Back in Staten Island, Renee was continuing her post-rehab recovery.  Turns out that a few of her counselors felt that she may still have some anger issues that needed to be addressed when she got home.

You think?

To help release some of that aggression, Renee had decided to enroll in a Krav Maga class, which is a fancy name for Israeli self-defense.  And she thought it would be a great mother/son bonding opportunity, if she could figure out how to get AJ off his bed.

Good luck with that, Mom.  Somebody needs to take that kid in to have his blood sugar levels checked.  Dude is always tired.  And mopey.  Tired and mopey.

But really, who could blame him for never wanting to leave that room?  Did you see that set up?  WTF?  It was like a Kids From Fame wet dream.  Please tell me that was not his bedroom, or he’s going to need way more than just one Krav Maga class to protect himself in gym class.

It was like his own personal jazz-handed Broadway stage.  Newsprint curtains.  Red velvet drapes and a big black box that said “Times Square” for some reason.  I can totally see AJ in his boxers and Prada specs re-enacting last week’s episode of Glee after Mom has gone to bed.

Don’t Stop Believing, kid.

Seriously.  Whoever decorated that room must have found Renee’s meds in the trash while she was in Florida.  Needless to say, AJ wasn’t going anywhere.

But cut him some slack…he probably had a sold-out matinee performance.

So Renee and Drita hit the Krav Maga mats on their own to learn the correct way to jam the flat part of your wrist into someone’s throat.  And the pointy part of your elbow into someone’s throat.  And the boney part of your knee up into someone’s junk.

It’s truly a shame AJ missed the opportunity to share in that mother/son moment.

Then we were off to the Billiards Bar for a quick Carla bashing, even though she was still technically MIA.

Though Love had yet to actually meet Carla face to face, the infamous Five Borough gossip mill already had her hatin’ on Mama Facciolo.  And Drita was already getting sick of hearing about it every time they all got together.

Renee, on the other hand, will always be Renee so she couldn’t get enough of the gossip.  As for me, I just couldn’t get enough of Renee’s craft glitter eye shadow and sweatshirt combo, so I wasn’t really paying as much attention to what was actually being said.

Martha Stewart was right, though.  Glitter does make everything Better.

Next, we left the pool hall and headed back to Arizona, where Karen was finally going to meet up with Dave‘s new girlfriend Rebecca.

Since the only thing that Karen really knew about Rebecca so far was that she had a tendency to misplace her thongs after sex, it was anyone’s guess as to how this meeting was going to go down.  Dave had only given Karen a few details, so most of her info had come from daughter Karina, who had been intentionally teeny bopper vague.

This should be good.  Karen meet Rebecca.  Rebecca meet Karen.

Oh, hell no.  Bitch stole my ombré.

Yup.  Rebecca was rocking the same new tonal fade that Karen was trying to trademark.  Dave never mentioned that.

He also never mentioned that Rebecca may, or may not, be a robot.

Expressionless.  No optical dilation.  Not impressed or threatened by Karen’s scary Mob background.  We are not programmed to feel emotion.

From what I could tell, it looked like Karen spent the entire meeting trying to figure out which side of Rebecca’s head housed the latch that swings open when her computer chip software needs an upgrade.

Like they used to do to Data on Star Trek: The Next Generation.  How cool was that?

Since she couldn’t get a rise out of her, Karen figured the next best thing would be to invite Rebecca back to the house for a get-together with all Karen’s Arizona friends.  No robot could overtake that many people at once, right?  So now there would not only be safety in numbers, but also more people available to try and figure out why Rebecca never blinks.

And speaking of artificial intelligence…and boobs.

Back home in SI, Love and Big Ang took all their saline goodness to the lingerie shop because the mysterious Fate was arriving from Las Vegas soon, and Love wanted some new unmentionables to impress her ex-boyfriend, in case…you know…just in case.

Bow chicka bow wow.  Time for your bra fitting, girls.  Pop those tops.

Using the same industrial strength tape measure that civil engineers use when they construct bridge trestles, some brave sales girl figured out that Love was a 34G/H.

And that Big Ang was carting around a pair of 38Js.

Yeah.  J.  As in Jesu—–!  Lawd have mercy!  It made my back hurt just to watch.

After a little more Carla bashing and pastie swinging it was finally date night, and Love was a nervous wreck.  Until Fate arrived at the restaurant.

Then it was just Reality Gold.  Hot Mess Reality Gold.

It appears that Mr. Fate likes to dress up, because there was a lot going on over on the other side of that table.

Studded Michael Jackson hat.  Pee Wee Herman tie.  Miles Standish big white pilgrim collar.  Steve Urkel suspenders.  America’s Got Talent goatee and eyebrows….pick any magician from last season, it doesn’t really matter.

Dude was a human Build-a-Bear.

Love could barely contain herself.  Or her womanly bosoms.  Did you see those things trying to cannonball into her salad bowl?  Simmer down, girls.

Throughout the evening we learned that Fate was into music and having babies with other women, that Love ran away from him and was upset that he never chased her, and that together they both wrecked a Vegas hotel room while knocking boots like wild animals.

Wrecked it.  Even the front door and the television set that isn’t supposed to be able to come off the top of the dresser.

All I could picture was that scene from the new Planet of the Apes when the mean zoo guy tasers the monkeys and shoots a water hose in their faces and they all go completely Rachel Zoe Ba-na-nas in the cage.

But it was at The Bellagio instead of the zoo.  And one of the apes was a 34G/H.

Check, please.

We finished off the episode with a scene from MTV’s Real World: Arizona.  Or at least that’s what I thought at first.  Karen’s got some cray cray friends.

They were booty popping on the coffee table and getting their 15 minutes of Mob Wives fame like the whole thing was getting posted on Facebook.  Everyone except the BeccaBot, that is, who stood motionless off to the side as if she was drawing power from the fluorescent lighting above the sink.

Finally Ramona couldn’t stand it anymore and pulled Rebecca aside to try and break through her force field.  She tried all the tricks that Karen had tried, but nothing seemed to shake Rebecca’s stare.  Nothing spooked this chick.

Not threats of gang violence and retaliation.  Not ghetto slams.  Not RuPaul shade.

Nothing.  It was a draw.

Dave finally took the BeccaBot home so she could recharge overnight, but the party went on without them for awhile longer.  Karen and Ramona weren’t about to join the Rebecca Fan Club, but they did salute her balls of steel with a toast at the end of the evening.  So I guess that counts for something.

And the search for the missing Carla continues.

The girls are all getting tired of listening to Love go on and on…and on…so they think it’s best that Love and Carla meet face to face and get to the bottom of all the gossip.

I dunno.  Feels like that storm is getting closer.

Better board up your windows and hide the buttah knives.

Just in case.

 

 

Swear to Gawd. Turns out all those drugs were also hardcore appetite suppressants. You gonna finish that?

 

 

 

Girl OhNoSheDin’t Miss Thang Werk It OhHellNo MmmHmm Bitch Please Snap OhHeyGirlfriend.

 

 

 

 

I’m totally getting those huge ones that bounce up and down at stop lights. And then if there’s any money left, I’m buying tires, too.

 

 

 

One is way up here, and the other one is so ratchet it’s way down here. And Lee really hates that s***.

 

 

 

 

Me? I’m just chillin’ with my grill in…looking for some Gucci cootchie.

 

 

 

 

Seriously. Not that I was looking, but it looked like it was THIS big. Let’s just say that they don’t grow ‘em like that in Arizona. Dang.

 

 

 

Pardon me, Joan Collins, but Dynasty Dress-Up Day was last week. So you might wanna take off that big a** fur coat and buy a bra that fits, capisce?

 

 

Looks like the Mob Wives are slowly getting their Mojo back.

Or at least their appetites.  And some of their sass.  Baby steps…but I’ll take ‘em.

After last episode’s slow news week where the highlights were going for a haircut and shopping for lightbulbs, it was nice to see the Wives start swearing again.

I’ll cut them a little slack, since Hurricane Sandy did force them to all play nice for a bit until the power came back on.  And Renee‘s stint in rehab didn’t really lend itself to much hair pulling and plate throwing.

But now everyone has returned to Staten Island and hopefully we can get back to what made Mob Wives such an inappropriately guilty pleasure in the first place.

And maybe they’ll even talk about Mob Stuff once in awhile.  Since the name of the show is…well, you know…Mob Wives.

We started right out with another stop on the seemingly never ending SI Restaurant Tour, as Renee and Drita met up at the local brick oven pizza joint to shovel it down and dish the dirt.  Renee was still a little behind on her gossip after her Transitions sabbatical, and you know how Girlfriend hates being out of the loop.

Renee showed up rocking one of those Toddlers & Tiaras Mob Princess logo tees that the Pageant Moms always like to wear when they jump up and down behind the judges table.  I’m not lying.  The only thing missing was some puffy glitter glue and a big homemade round photo pin of Junior‘s face.

Sparkle and Turn State’s Evidence, Baby.

Drita got Renee up to speed on Lee‘s surprise return home last week and pledged to give her husband another chance when he’s released from the the halfway house, because she believes he can change his wandering ways.

That, and the fact that Mama really needs a booty call.  Big Time.

You could tell that the old Renee was slowly rising from the ashes like a (bleepin’) phoenix, and it was (bleepin’) nice to see after all this (bleepin’) time.

She’s back, bitches.  And she’s hungry.

Meanwhile down the street, Big Ang and Carla were hanging out at the Drunken Monkey getting caught up on their own gossip.

While that odd assortment of riff raff was once again positioned way down at the other end of the bar (…this time one of the dudes was wearing an ASPCA tee instead of a Drunken Monkey souvenir shirt.  Who are these people, anyway?..) Carla relived that last meeting with Joe when he had thrown big fancy prison words, and his new girlfriend Raquel, all up in Carla’s face.

Big Ang was so captivated by Carla’s overly dramatic rehashing of the story that her only response was that she had already completed her Christimas shopping.  Focus, honey.

Carla had also heard (…in all five Boroughs again, natch…) that Luscious Love Majewski had been talking shizzle about her, and that kind of behind the back shizzle made Carla want to pull out her buttah knife again and cut that bitch like a stick of warm Land O’ Lakes.

Which in turn reminded her of Renee.  And then we all relived the whole dinner party scenario again.  The one where Carla had threatened to slit Renee’s throat so deep that all her pills would pour out like Tic Tacs.  That one.

You think maybe Carla has a hard time letting some things go?

Occasionally, a Mob Wife or two will actually cook instead of head to the restaurants, so Karen and Love hit up the local Italian grocery store for some rations.  It had the word “Italian” in the name somewhere, which Love really enjoyed, and the place was full of olives and pasta and those giant dangling sausages that hang from the ceiling like juicy weiner piñatas.

As they wandered the aisles of the Italiano de Piggly Wiggly scooping up stuff that I’ve only seen on the Food Network, Karen revealed that she was headed back to Arizona to close that chapter of her life.  Which was code for giving her on again, off again ex-con ex-boyfriend Dave the final kiss off.

Love was honestly a little disappointed that Karen couldn’t actually kill him since that’s her shtick, but understood that since he was legally the father of their child, little Karina would probably not be a big fan of dragging the Verde River for her Baby Daddy.  So flying out and kicking the bum out of his rent-free home was a good second choice, all things considered.

While they were comparing notes on Arizona, Karen’s cell phone rang.

And it was Barry White.  Or maybe the guy from Soul Train.

Or maybe it was just Storm, the record producer.  It was hard to tell.

Whoever it was, he was all like “Hey baby.  How You Doin’?  Me?  Just chillin’.  I love Italian food.  We should totally go eat Italian food someday.  You know I can’t get enuff of your love, Babe.  Deep, Dark and Delicious.”

She literally made a date for dinner, wet herself and then went outside for a cigarette.

No, you hang up first.  No.  You.  Ok, on three.  1…2…3.  OhMyGod you didn’t hang up.

It was like that.  Somebody’s got a crush.  Like, totally.  OMG.

Back in adult land, Drita and Big Ang went to the auto body shop to pick up the new custom rims for Drita’s car.  If Lee was gonna be riding this thing, she had to pimp it out.

She got herself some massive rims with the words “Lady Boss” stenciled in the center, along with her signature.  They were bad a** dope.  Like the kind those Dbag guys always have that reflect those Dbag neon lights that are screwed in underneath the chassis that change colors everytime the bass cranks Smack My Bitch Up and sets off a parked car alarm at freakin’ 2am.

That kind.

And since Lee was also going to be doing a lot of riding when he wasn’t in the car, so to speak, Drita was going up on the lift as well for a new set of boobs, because something was going on with the right one that freaked her out a little.

Honestly, after living in a halfway house and working full time in a funeral home until his release, I’m pretty sure Lee would be all over that even if she looked like a unicorn.

But Drita gets what Drita wants.  So new boobs, it is.

Then Karen and Storm went on their first date.

She was all nervous and giggly and knocking over drinks.  He was all Gangstah Gucci and more blinged out than his date, wearing a silver/diamond Flava Flav grill on his bottom teeth, which must have made him drool a lot if those things fit anything like my retainer did in junior high.  Trust me.  There’s like no place for your tongue to go and you end up sounding like you either took a shot of novocaine or you’re having a stroke.

After some awkwardly unintentional dirty jokes, they both chilled out a little and talked about their kids over dinner, but the cameras shut off before I could figure out how someone actually chews food with those grills in your face.  I’m so not gangstah.

The next morning, as Karen was writing about her date in a Hello Kitty diary, Ramona was over at TD Bank picking up her engagement ring.

As you may or may not yet know, her incarcerated boyfriend Joseph “Joe Boy” Sclafani (…YES…finally…some info on this dude has leaked…) had purchased the ring right before he was snagged by the Feds after someone implicated him in helping to facilitate a cocaine trafficking ring.

That would probably explain why all her jewelry was confiscated as potential evidence, as well as that 27 car roadblock that she and Joe Boy drove straight into last year.

He’s looking at over 10 years in prison.  But they both insist on going through with the wedding, and a bride needs a ring.  And not one that is being held by the judical system.

Turns out that the ring was bought with actual honest cash, so Ramona had finally gotten the legal ok from Regis & Kelly to pick it up from the safety deposit box at TD Bank.  She even removed her iPhone case before she went to retrieve it, so if a diamond can’t even fit through the hole in a brass knuckle than you know it’s gotta be a big piece of stone.

Spoiler Alert: Wait till next week when I fill you in on the wedding plans at Coral House on Long Island.  Cray Cray.

She hit up Karen on her cell and asked her to meet at the apartment, where she was going to finally spill the beans on her wedding and watch Karen squeal with joy.

Yeah.  That didn’t happen.

Karen had been down this road already, and knew what Ramona was getting into.  She pretty much burst her bubble before Ramona even got to the part about Joe only being let out on parole for one week, due to the fact that he would require an armed guard at all times.  And then the whole thing just spun out of control in a Dr. Phil meets Mob Wives kind of way.  Haters gonna hate.

Like I said.  Mojo’s coming back.  Slowly.  But it’s coming back.

Ramona’s living in a bubble.  A (bleepin’) nightmare.  Karen waited for Dave for over 10 years…for nuthin.  Say it.  Say it.  Say it.  Whaddayou want me to say?

And then Karen got all Bada Bing on Ramona’s a** and called her either stunod or stunatu or a dialectish variation thereof (…yeah…I’m clearly not gangstah OR Sicilian, can you tell?…) and then they just pissed each other off with their Italian hands.

Mojo.

After that we all needed some fresh air, so we headed out to Love’s front porch where she received a call from one of her 200 ex-boyfriend fiancé types.

This one was named Fate.

For real.  Like when Love tempts Fate.  You can’t make this s*** up.  And you know he has at least one tattoo and uses hair gel.  You could just tell by his voice.

Of all her many stabbing victims, Fate is the only one she would ever commit to long term.  She even said it on the phone.  But he lives on the West Coast, and she lives on the East Coast.

So for right now, it’s just dirty talk on the phone and dog walking for Ms. Majewski.

Then the whole thing just went straight up Real Housewives of Staten Island.

Alisa Maria, fur & handbag designer and Halle Barry wannabe, threw a dress-up party at her home for all the Wives and some Staten Island randomness.

The only way I can describe it is if you can imagine a leather handbag trunk show taking place at RHONJ Teresa Giudice‘s house and then someone else shows up with about 20 of those Garment District rolling racks packed full of the massive fur coats that they used to wear on Dynasty.

Because that’s exactly how it went down.

Everyone was trying stuff on and running around like they were going to push each other into the koi pond before Blake got home from the office.

And like every good Real Housewives episode, it all ends up with a fight in the kitchen.

Somehow Renee managed to get liquored up on bottled water, and was all loud and hysterical as she captivated the audience with her stories about Men and Loyalty.

At some point during the hilarity, Karen tried on one of Alexis Carrington‘s fur coats which Ramona said made her look like a snow bunny that should be shot, gutted and hung on the shed door and then one misunderstanding after another caused Ramona to believe that Renee was talking about her impending marriage.

I know, right?  Cuz it was a secret.  Which no one but Karen knew about.

So she must have leaked the news.  And then Ramona got pissed, because nobody else should be shining on her parade.  Which was so redoinkulously opposite of what the saying really is that I had to pause the DVR for a moment to just process what happened.

Then it was all out in the open.  Just like Ramona’s boobs.

(Seriously.  Did you see her outfit?  Bazoinga!  Mob Wives in IMAX 3D.)

Boom.  Show them the Ring.  You’re the Grim Reaper of Engagements.  Karen’s in the Twilight Zone.  You should get married.  You should stay engaged.  You should either pay for that fur or stop sweating in it.  Who are all these other people?

Total misinterpretations and absolute chaos.

Somehow at rehab, intentionally or not, it appears that the Transitions staff managed to not only sober up Renee but also inject her with some of NeNe Leakes DNA, because Miss Thang was all Fierce and Sassy and You Keep That Ring And Hoc It Girlfriend as she head bopped her way across my television.  It had to be seen to be believed.

Graziano is the New Black.

And then Ramona pushed Karen into the koi pond.

Next week…Big Ang’s Christmas Party.

Be there, or Carla will cut you.