Posts Tagged ‘Ramona Rizzo nip slip’

Mob Wives Reunion Part Two: Youz Still Don’t Getz It, Do You? It’s About Friendship And Respect And Loyalty. But Smacking Your Crumb Snatching Face Probably Wouldn’t Hurt Either.

Monday, May 28th, 2012

 

 

See? All this talk about giving each other fat lips has hurt her feelings. Happy now?

 

 

 

 

 

You want maybe I should throw some Gangsta Rap beats down on yo’ head?

 

 

 

 

 

Yeah? Well anybody else here have a book AND two huge shelves like these to put it on?

 

 

 

 

 

Mob Wives: Chicago? Seriously? Those bitches wish.

 

 

 

 

 

I’m about to go all Star Jones on somebody’s a** if they don’t sit down.

 

 

 

 

Dear Wendy Williams:

You can have your old gig back.  These bitches are (bleeped) up.

I’m outta here.

Sincerely, Joy Behar.

……………………………

It was Round Two of the Mob Wives Reunion Rumble, and poor Joy was in so far over her Sally Jesse Raphael wannabe head that I expected Barbara Walters to swoop in at any minute and carry her off the set before she ruined all of The View’s Tough Chick street cred. 

It’s one thing to bully Hollywood celebrities and any politicians that go up against the Behar Beliefs, but when it comes to holding down Drita D’Avanzo and Ramona Rizzo, Joy should have just packed up her stuff and left early to beat traffic.

This week picked right up where we left the Wives last week, with everyone in one chaotic pig pile trying to keep Drita and Ramona from latching on to the meaty part of each other’s necks.

Instead of discussing what went down at Renee’s Celebration of Life rooftop party, the two Wives had decided to attempt a bloody reenactment and everyone from cameramen to makeup girls to the poor schmo from Poland Springs who just happened to be delivering water bottles for the kraft table were all called in to keep them separated in the middle of the studio.

As Joy sat comfortably back in her chair (…they don’t stand up for nuthin on The View except free food and Patti LaBelle performances, thank you…) everyone else ran around like Ricky And Fred when Lucy’s water broke.

Renee continued bellowing her NoNoNoNo war cry while Karen tried to block Ramona’s tackle.  Everyone was (bleepin’) and screaming and screaming and (bleepin’) as Drita tried unsuccessfully to exit the set with all her extensions and animal print press-on nails still attached.

Maybe it was just me, but I swear that one cameraman was actually Joey Fatone, which could be very possible considering no one has really seen much of him since that freaky light saber tango on Dancing With The Stars.  Joey and Jennifer Graziano cut off the stampede like Red Rover Olympians, which finally allowed Drita to scoot behind the cameras and cool off before returning to the couch.

When Drita was securely strapped down, Joey went back behind the camera to sulk about the whole Justin Timberlake superstardom thing.  Ramona went back to her opposite corner and did that tongue across her teeth thing that she always does when she is pissed off, and Joy tried to regain control of her show.

With much the same tone, and with basically the same results that one would expect when you tell a newborn puppy not to pee on the carpet, Joy told Drita and Ramona to sit down and not get up.

Good luck with that.

I think you can imagine how successfully that one went over, as Ramona accused Drita of ‘taking off like a G6′ when they saw each other in Las Vegas.

For those of you less versed in hip hop terminology, Ramona pretty much called out Drita for being chicken s***, which I’m pretty sure you don’t want to do when she is within spitting distance of your face.

That ignited a whole (bleepin’) Single White Female throw down over who copied who and who’s a crumb snatcher and who’s just a bitch trying to jump another bitch on the roof.  There was also a highly elevated discussion regarding the compromise of the Inner Circle, and who should just go back to East Arabia or wherever the (bleep) you came from, bitch.

There was generally just a lot of bitching about who came into the Staten Island Mob World first.  Picture the Chicken vs. The Egg argument, but with stilettos and bling and the word bitch used too much.

Next on the index card was a segue to Karen and Drita’s dysfunctional relationship.

Since I don’t fully believe that Joy Behar has ever watched an episode of this show, I’m sure that the cards must have come in pretty handy.

As Karen sucked in her newly thinned down cheekbones, we got to relive their tumultuous on again/off again friendship.  They’ve shared many experiences.  Many highs, many lows and quite possibly…many men.

But luckily, and I speak for anyone out there with eyes or any other working senses, they never shared that Macy’s Moment.

Yeah.  That one.

The one where Karen told us what Drita could do to her in front of Macy’s.

I still can’t watch the Macy’s Parade without wondering if one of the clowns holding the Snoopy string is going to step in something sticky and cause the balloon to careen off course, possibly injuring hundreds of innocent kids who came in on a New Jersey YMCA bus trip.  Even though she didn’t go through with it, Karen has forever scarred me on Thanksgiving.

I can’t even spoon the stuffing out of the bird without getting car sick.

Moving on.

Next it was our boost of testosterone as Joe Ferragamo and Dave Seabrook joined the party.

Joy welcomed the fellows with a hilariously uncomfortable ‘Welcome Felons’ and some polite laughter, most likely after confirming that the metal detectors were still plugged in back stage, then proceeded to ask the boys what crimes got them sent to jail in the first place.

Joe flexed his dimples and proudly listed off a resume page full of money crimes, while Dave just responded with ‘Lots.’

After Karen squirmed a little, Dave calmed everyone down by reassuring them that it was only attempted murder…not real murder.  Relax, people.

Phew.  At least it was only attempted.

Cue the romance montage.

It was a Hallmark moment as we watched my TV girlfriend Big Ang talk smack about her sanitation worker husband.  He may cheat and stay out all night, but the guy looks like Russell Crowe and has a pension.

Ok.  Hold up for just a second.

I don’t even think the guy who picks up the trash in the Hamptons could look like Russell Crowe, so I think the pension may be clouding her vision.

If a guy looked like Russell Crowe, chances are he would be doing something besides picking up recyclables every other Tuesday…or he would actually be Russell Crowe.

But I still love me some Big Ang, even when she is delusional.

The flashbacks also showed us Carla and Joe’s strange relationship, which came complete with marital infidelity, a new third wheel younger girlfriend and Carla’s hands off me, dude policy.

Someday we’ll hopefully get to find out how Joe learned to be such a horny tease behind prison walls, but probably not anytime soon.  So for now it’s simply left to our imaginations, hotel room pay-per-views and any random off color stories I may choose to fabricate.

Dave and Karen tripped over each other a little when asked what was going to happen with little Karina. Karen’s daughter is apparently in limbo, since Dave will be returning to Arizona while Karen remains on the East Coast.

Though they couldn’t agree on something as insignificant as child care, they were both clearly on the same page when it came to knockin’ boots behind closed doors.

Karen again praised Dave’s bedroom swagger, which sent all the other Wives off on a school girl tangent trying to come up with as many synonyms for doing the nasty as they could before the next commercial break.

It’s probably a safe bet that both Joy and Joey Fatone wanted to just get up and leave right about the time that Ramona came up with the ‘laying down the pipe’ visual and Renee spit her gum out onto that gigantic Ikea rug.

Joy fumbled her way around some more romance talk as we learned that the fake Russell Crowe can really get it down in the bedroom, which I found kind of strange since that is the opposite of what he should be doing, correct?  But it made Big Ang do her Herman Munster again and I love every quart of saline in her body, so it’s all good.

In what will probably be the most Googled question of the entire two weeks of drama, Joy asked Ramona straight up about her incarcerated boyfriend Joe.

(I’ve lost track of how many Joe’s and AJ’s are on this show.  Don’t waste your time emailing me.  Between the Mob and the Giudices, I can’t keep up anymore.)

We finally got his name, which was a start.  But Ramona was still vague on why Joe was pulled over on the highway by 7 police cars and never heard from again.  Everyone looked around the room at each other like you do on an elevator when you smell something funny, and then the discussion was over.

Renee broke the tension by announcing that she loves the criminals.  They have financial stability.  When they lose their job, they can still provide for their family.

Honestly, at that point, I wasn’t sure if Renee’s meds had just kicked in or just worn off.

Luckily before Renee could ramble on any longer, my TV Lover Big Ang took over and gave us some details on her arrest for possession and selling of cocaine way back in the day.  It was a sordid tale of betrayal by her then BFF who had been wired up, à la Junior’s Dick Tracy watch, and sold her down the river to the Feds.

Big Ang even had to be clamped into one of those Lindsay Lohan ankle bracelets during her house arrest, and she vowed to never be a Rat after that experience.

Then we went around the room so everyone could brag about their arrest record, and the process somehow made Carla look like the odd one out for never having been fingerprinted.  It was another one of those classic Mob Wives Moments when you’re not sure they know that being arrested is a bad thing, at least according to most job application forms.

But then Big Ang laughed again, and suddenly everything seemed ok.

For some comic relief, Joy turned on the official Mob Wives Swear Counter and ran through a season’s worth of Renee’s potty mouth as numbers flew by like we were at the Indy 500.  I thought for certain this would be a 3 hour show until they sped up the counter and we tallied up 407 times this season that someone had to (bleep) out Renee’s (bleepin’ bleeps.)

Can you imagine the intern who drew that short straw and had to sit threw an entire season’s worth of reels with one of those hand clickers they use to count grocery store customers?

Talk about carpal tunnel in one week.

I feel sorry for whoever that was, because their cramped hands will probably never recover enough to snap and clap along with the gangsta rappin’ stylings of Drita and her Bad Boy music video, which we revisited next.

Drita spit the beats and robbed the bank like a pro, and even gave the Mob Wives a mention in her rap.  Karen claimed that the line about ‘crickets chirping’ was a dig at all the gossipy Wives, but Drita shot back that it was only a generalization against all the gossipy haters out there in Staten Island.

Sensing another rumble, Joy quickly shifted gears to Karen’s Mob Daughter book, which had so far hogged 7 weeks on the NYT Best Sellers list.  It probably could have hogged another week if Drita had bought a copy, but she was quick to mention that she hadn’t read it and clearly had no intention of reading the rag.

Then the crickets were back again.  But this time they were silent as Karen glared at Drita and everyone took one step closer just in case they had to run defense on the floor again.

But everyone remained seated, and the show finished off with one last attempt to stir up the Drita vs. Ramona feud.

The phrase was ‘agree to keep it cordial.’

Which in Mob Wives lingo means ‘I’ll kick your a** next season.’

When Renee dropped to her knees in a Staten Island Halleloo, it looked more like she was ducking out of the line of fire than actual thanking Baby Jesus.

Trust me.  It ain’t over till the Fat Lady sings.

Or when she goes over the rooftop railing and lands on the hood of a passing taxi.

See you next season.

I’ll be throwing down with the bitches in Chicago if you need me.

Mob Wives Reunion Part One: Youz Do Not Want To Get All Up In My Face Or Trust Me, I’m Gonna Go To War All Over Yours. Youz Need To Get Over It Before I Squash It Staten Island Style.

Monday, May 21st, 2012

 

 

If I can make Al Pacino cry, then youz better watch whatchoo say to Lucifina Rizzo. Capiche?

 

 

 

I swear to Gawd, if I hear that Donnie Brasco story one more time, I’m gonna Unleash the Beast right on her face.

 

 

 

 

And then I put on my invisible Indian headdress and pretend I’m Cher while they fight.

 

 

 

 

 

Dat’s rite. My teeth are whiter, and her boobs look amazing. Haters gonna hate.

 

 

 

 

Whoa. And all     these years I thought Hasselbeck was the biggest bitch.

 

 

 

Today’s episode of Mob Wives: Reunion Part One is brought to you by the letter “F.”

And U…and C…and…well…you get my drift.

Get a snack or break this bad boy up into two readings, because we have a lot to cover.  Pay attention.

The ladies may clean up nice with their designer dresses and Louboutin red soles, but somebody obviously forgot to wash out their mouths during the pre-show hair and makeup session, because there were so many (bleeped) out (bleeps) that VH1 more than likely just signaled an alien Mothership through unintentionally transmitted morse code.

But that’s why we love them Wives so much.

And just because I’m nosey, I’m dying to know which was higher…the wardrobe budget or the overtime payroll for the guy working the (bleepin’) censor button.  I’m going to assume that both departments were approved for cash advances, because within the first two minutes of the show it was clear that both the Fashions and the F bombs were bumped up a notch or two this week.

Andy Cohen…are you listening?  All those Real Housewives could actually take a note or two from the Mob.

The Mob Wives were all decked out in their fancy clothes and accessorized with all the obligatory Staten Island bling.  But unlike the last few Bravo TV Reunions, these girls all had their makeup pretty much under control and didn’t come across half as greasy as their Jersey and Atlanta sisters.

I mean…it can’t just be me, right? Was that WD-40 on NeNe’s legs?  How do you  even keep those things crossed when they’re that slippery?

One wrong move and…Bloop!…Hello Kitty.

And then there was all that glitter on Teresa’s dress and face.  Really?  Good luck getting into prison to visit your husband coated in Swarovski dust.  The drug sniffing dog will be all over you before you even finish autographing your cookbook for the warden.

So shout out to the Mob Wives for looking pretty dope, no drug pun intended.

Granted, Karen’s boobs almost needed their own space on the couch…but overall, nicely done.

The only thing that really stuck out more than Karen’s cleavage was Joy Behar sitting between the two couches.

Yeah.  That Joy.  From The View.  Tell me that’s not an odd match-up.

Joy took time out from yelling at Bill O’Reilly and sampling healthy lunchbox snacks to host the Mob Wives Reunion.  Wha–?  I guess that since Wendy Williams was too busy hawking her new accessory line on QVC, somehow Joy’s name got pulled out of the Running out of Ideas Hat.

Side note:  ”HowYouDoin? Handbags” would have been a waaay better label motto, but I was apparently not at home when Wendy called to ask for my opinion.

And that “WW” emblem that they keep ooohing and ahhhing over during every presentation?  That’s pretty much what Wonder Woman wears on her bazongas.  But I still love you, Wendy…even though it is borderline copyright infringement.

Joy got the show started by keeping a visual on all the security guys and then jumping right into it with Renee and opening up that whole can of Junior worms.

I love Reunion Shows because you always get pummeled from every direction with clips from the past season, like Reality TV Cliff Notes the night before your final exam.

As we watched scenes of Junior moving back in with Renee and AJ and then making false promises and not wanting to switch daytime watches and then acting even sketchier and finally disappearing again, a random sampling of the Wives’ reactions were captured in a little box at the bottom of the screen.

In my head I pretended I was a soldier overseas Skyping with the Wives.

It was also kind of like watching them report on tropical storms off the coast of Florida the way they do on The Weather Channel.  Either way, we got to see a lot of uncomfortable seat shifting and lip chewing down in the left corner as Junior’s cheating and wire-wearing past was relived.

By the time they returned to Renee and she admitted to having a miscarriage due to the stress, Joy’s glasses fogged up and you could slit the tension wide open with a rusty box cutter.  And that was probably three minutes into the show now.

Jennifer Graziano, Renee’s sister, was also plopped on the couch.  She is the show’s executive producer and defended her decision to keep the cameras rolling while Renee had her infamous kitchen meltdown. If you can even get past the fact that mental deterioration is TV Gold (…Hello?  Calling Taylor Armstrong…) Jennifer claimed to have asked Renee if she wanted to shut down filming.

The story goes that everyone was on board with letting the cameras roll, including Renee, but personally I don’t always place that much value in the opinion of anyone going NutWad crazy pants on my kitchen floor.  But again, nobody asked me.

It was right about this point when I spit out my drink.  Renee casually mentioned that Junior had been denied acceptance into the Witness Protection Program and would have to fend for himself when he got sprung, and all I could think about was all the smack I have written over the last season and how fast I could delete this website and go back to working retail.

Have you ever tried getting someone to change your locks on a Sunday night?  Not easy.

To lighten the mood and keep me from having a paranoidal seizure, Joy gave a quick lesson in Staten Island linguistics with another montage full of Up In Yo’ Face, Get Over It, Squash it, Go To War With Me, Come Out Yo’ Face and other SI gems.  The only plausible reason for everyone talking the same and swearing the same in every Borough appeared to be some kind of scum in the water floating upstream, which I don’t believe only because they all ingest enough booze to kill any parasite out there.  But it was fun to watch everyone recite the same catch phrases with different Italian hand jives.

But not as much fun as watching my girl Big Ang.

Trust me, if I hadn’t been so afraid that Junior would see me through the open window I would have jumped up to record the Big Ang montage, if only to capture that delightful Herman Munster laugh.  Anyone know a good DJ who can loop that thing into a dance mix?  I could easily go another 30 minutes on the treadmill listening to that wheeze, fo’ sho.

We got a rundown on her plastic surgery bucket list, as well as her love for the Wise Guys and her justification for having such enormous bazookas.

Big Ang claimed that she’s tall, and therefore requires a slightly enhanced proportional balancing to offset her….whatever…it got almost scientific.  And like the elusive Holy Grail, we finally discovered her actual bra size!

Thanks to some poor traumatized Victoria’s Secret part-timer who happened to be wearing a tape measure around her neck on that fateful day when Big Ang went to the mall, all of America can now sleep a little easier knowing that somewhere in Staten Island there’s a 36J serving drinks at the Drunken Monkey.

Rewind, please.  Did she just say 36J?  Now I’m not really a boob man, but isn’t “J” what they cover outdoor grills with in the winter?

Yow.  Za.

I do love me some Big Ang.  I think I may love her even more now that I know I could wear her bra for a beanie during inclement weather.

Then it was time to start percolating the coffee.

Joy tossed the ball to Ramona “Lucifina” Rizzo with a flashback to her protective relationship with Karen, followed up with at least 45 minutes of Ramona talking s*** about Drita.

Ummm.  You do know she’s sitting right over there on the other couch, right?

As Drita winced and began to unconsciously inflate the vein on her forehead that always signifies rocket lift-off, Ramona and Karen retold the story about Ramona’s Grandfather and the whole Al Pacino/Donnie Brasco connection.

After reliving how she took Al Pacino into his trailer and roughed him up a little, Ramona vaguely veiled some less than complimentary zingers towards “somebody” and that she and that “somebody” should have a conversation off camera at some point.

“Off-camera” being code for “behind the dumpster that you live in, bitch.”

Uh oh, Spaghetti-Os.

Joy pushed up her Sally Jesse Raphael glasses and nervously moved on to Renee and Carla’s relationship, pretending not to see the steam building up under Drita’s cushion.

It was the same she said/I heard you said thing that has gone on all season.  Ever since Renee momentarily flat lined on the post-op cot after her full body reconstruction, there have been a lot of questions as to why Carla never came to visit.  Somehow those questions also morphed into inquiring minds wanting to know why Carla claimed that Renee knew all along about Junior’s wire tapping.

Check it out.  Turned out that the whole thing was a little bit overblown since Carla never said that and Karen never said that she said that and Renee never said that Karen said that Carla said that and Carla’s done with all that.

No lie.  That’s how it went down.

You follow all of that?

At some point during all of that I must have blinked, because suddenly Karen and Ramona were ganging up on Carla.  For someone who pretty much sat out a lot of the season on the sidelines, Carla wasn’t going to take any crap from anybody.

The argument escalated into Ramona shouting that she ain’t afraid of Carla, and Karen shouting that Carla needed to respect her family, followed by Carla threatening them both if they EVER bring up her family on television.

Holy Manzo, Batman!

Does every Italian argument always circle back to respect of La Famiglia?  I honestly expected Caroline and Dina to bust down the studio door in a New Jersey fit of rage, waving pepperoni sticks and bottles of blk water.

(It’s a Real Housewives of New Jersey reference.  Google it or watch it.  I can’t do all your homework for you.)

Then there was a whole lot of “you’re a liar/no YOU are!” until Karen unleashed on Carla, claiming that she (bleeped) one of the Gravano uncles.

After a quick Cher hair flip, Carla swung back with a claim that Karen had slept with married men.  Karen politely requested names while Carla and Ramona recited “you’re a fool/no YOU’RE a fool!” about 37 times each.

It was around this time that Joy just gave up and tossed all the raw meat on the rug and let the wildlife have at it.

With a deep breath, she asked Renee about her Celebration of Life Party.  The one where she was supposed to celebrate surviving her torso rebuilding with some dinner and dancing, and instead everyone ended up pulling Drita off Karen’s face…and Ramona’s boob out of her dress.

That party.  The one with all the plate throwing.

Cut my girl some slack.  Big Ang thought it would be a good idea that night if Karen talked to Drita.  She meant well, right?

And word on the street was that Drita had said she was ready to talk, even though we never seem to find out where these streets are every week.  I need to find these streets and set up camp, because there sure seems to be a lot of gossip at that address and it is my duty to eavesdrop and report back to my loyal readers.

Jennifer even had to come back out from behind the cameras to settle a few arguments, since it appeared she was the one who had spoken to Drita and/or Karen at some point over last summer.

As the tension built, I was momentarily distracted by Jennifer’s Popeye mouth.  Earlier on I hadn’t noticed that she talks slightly sideways, which is pretty endearing for a Mob princess and cartoon sailor.  But it took my attention away for just a second, and when I regained my focus Ramona and Drita were screaming and pointing and (bleepin’) their brains out.

Next thing you knew they both stood up to Unleash the Beast and Light the Fire, which caused everyone else to jump up and go into their defensive tackle positions. Renee started in with that patented “NoNoNoNo” thing she does under pressure, one camera man had nervous pee on live wires and then it was over until next week.

It was enough to make me come outta my face, I tell you.

Mob Wives: Praying For Peace While Cleansing The Soul And The Kitchen Of All Evil. Staten Island Tries One Last Time To Live By The Code Before Someone Gets Slapped. Omertà!

Monday, May 14th, 2012

 

 

Gawd as my witness, I told the tattoo guy “Omarosa” not “Omertà”…I loved that crazy bitch.

 

 

 

 

You’re preachin’ to the choir, cuz I’m about to blow a Mr. Peanut-sized nutty in your face, dude.

 

 

 

 

Yo. Lucifer. I cast out your evil spells, toxic poison and all your White Strips. Be gone from here.

 

 

 

 

 

We pray to the Patron Saint of Bazongas & Botox that she always looks over us.

 

 

 

 

I solemnly swear to cut a bitch the next time she gets all up in my grill. Amen.

 

 

 

Quick.

Somebody light a candle and put it in the window.

Or a Molotov cocktail…and toss it through the window.

Whatever.

It was a near religious experience this week as the Mob Wives turned to the Spirit World for guidance in putting an end to all the conflict and chick fights that have haunted them this year.

After more drama and Newport Lights second hand smoke than any other show on basic cable, the season ended with one last attempt to get everyone together to hug it out.

Love me them Mob Wives.

It took me a while, but I finally figured out why there are so many restaurants in Staten Island.  It’s because each one only caters to about 6 people.  When have you ever seen more than half a dozen patrons at any establishment when the Wives go out to dine?

Not to upset the Chamber of Commerce, I guess it is possible that they do have loads of customers but they all just run screaming out the door as soon as the cameras arrives.  I don’t know.  There are probably not many research studies done on the subject.

I know that if I saw Karen and Drita coming into my Burger King looking like they wanted to rumble I would dump my Chicken BLT Garden Salad, fork and all, into Mom’s purse and bolt out like the place was on fire.  Probably leaving Mom still in the booth hoarding ketchup packets.

Of course, I would turn around after I made it safely outside and take cell phone pictures through the window.  Duh.  That s*** is totally going on Instagram.

Regardless of the reasons for never having to sit in the Olive Garden vestibule and wait for a table, Renee and Drita hit up the first of many half empty eateries this week to discuss the “perfect location” for The Meeting.

The Meeting.  The last ditch attempt to get Karen and Drita to put their past behind them and get to the point where they can both be in the same room and not risk losing a front tooth.

By “perfect location” I assumed that Renee meant paper plates, tables bolted to the floor and insurance premiums fully paid up through 2013.

Drita agreed to the meeting, but did not want to talk about the past, which was a little odd considering that all their problems stemmed from the past.

Unless one of them is psychic and can predict the future, that didn’t leave them much to discuss.  We’d just have to wait and see.

In the first of many religious and spiritual references this week, my personal Reality TV Goddess Big Ang and her son AJ were headed to the local tattoo parlor for some ink and quality Mother/Son bonding time.

Big Ang currently sports 12 pieces of tattoo artwork on her person, and was looking to add one more.  As she gave an around the world tour of where all her markings were located, I’ll admit to a rather sudden and unhealthy need to immediately know what her butt tattoo looked like.  I’m not proud of it, but I own it.

Let’s be real.  You tell me that right now the guy who gave her the butt tattoo is not out there somewhere having drinks with the dude who did her implants, high five-ing each other and telling gross-out war stories?

Can you even imagine?  Best.  Jobs.  Ever.

AJ was getting a Mother of Mary stamp on his calf, which inspired Big Ang to get herself a little neck decor.

Now I can barely thread a needle without blacking out, so all the blood and stabbing that comes along with permanent tattooing always gives me the heebies.  But Big Ang makes everything all better.

She tried to lighten the mood by showing the tattoo artist a cell phone photo of her nephew’s blurry tattoo.

I’m not sure if I would stick a cell phone in front of anyone’s face while he was poking my own flesh and blood with an inked up electric needle, but she did.  Dude must be a pro, though, because he kept coloring between the lines even though his view of AJ was completely blocked by a cartoon Big Ang face.

Big Ang gave herself a hurried up ‘doo and then took a face plant while a second artist carved “Omertà” on her neck.  The Code Of Silence.

“Omertà” and a little flower looked a lot nicer than “Rats & Snitches Suck D***”  so I’m glad the tattoo girl talked Big Ang out of her first choice.

As AJ was putting vaseline on the Mother of Mary, Karen and Ramona were hanging out in the kitchen discussing The Meeting.

Karen popped in the same cassette about Friends and Loyalty that she always sings when this discussion comes around, while Ramona scrunched her nose and did that lip thing she always does.

You know the one.  We’ve discussed it before.  That lip move that looks as though she is licking stray gloss off her front teeth while plotting the takeover of a small country.

When Ramona first came on the show I thought that she was just mesmerized by the slick polished sheen of her freshly White Stripped enamel, but now I’m starting to think that there may be some evil undertones to the lick.

Girlfriend hates Drita.  Hatezzzz.  With a Z.  And she wants to bring her down at any cost.

The feeling is mutual.  Don’t you worry, honey.  And how small was that microwave oven?  What can you even put in there?

Since bowling worked so well last time, Renee decided to take the other AJ to an indoor raceway for some bonding of their own.  Ever since Junior’s high tech cufflinks provided the Feds with enough info to bring down Renee’s own father and half the Staten Island Mob, AJ had begun developing a bit of an attitude around the house.

Having your own dad sell out his entire family will do that, I guess.

In an attempt to force a smile onto AJ’s face, Renee figured that a little practice driving a NASCAR getaway vehicle would do the trick, so they both slapped on helmets and hit the track.

After a few laps of road rage, Renee let AJ know that someone was coming to cleanse the house.

Cleanse.  Not Clean.

Clean is Vanola the Maid.  Cleanse is Momma Donna and her spiritual smoke and Poltergeist stones and Cosby Show color blocked fashions.  AJ’s initial reaction was the same face he makes during every discussion.  It wasn’t really clear what he thought considering his response to everything that Renee tells him is that it’s stupid or f***ed up.

But Renee wanted all the Evil out of the house, so Momma Donna was coming whether AJ approved or not.

Not to be outdone, Ramona dropped by her psychic to get some guidance on the mess that her life had become.

The mysterious never-seen boyfriend who was busted for something that required a 7 police car roadblock, had just been denied bail and was now sitting in jail somewhere with all of Ramona’s earrings.  She wanted to get a psychic take on all of this and put her mind at ease.

As Madame EyeSeeDeadPeople flipped cards and rambled, it was clear that she was either pretty good at psychic readings or had a subscription to TV Guide, because she knew all the same things that I know from watching the show.  The tarot cards clearly showed that Ramona was worried about somebody.  So did the bags under her eyes and the tears she was crying, but I guess the psychic missed those red flags.

The only card Ramona didn’t pull was the Card of Scam.

Speaking of something smelling fishy, Carla and Renee went out for sushi, mainly to give Carla a scene in this episode and to show yet another empty establishment.  Since there was not one other soul in the entire room, I don’t have any idea what the 8 sushi chefs were doing behind the counter but they were certainly keeping themselves busy.

The highlight of this short lunch was when Renee brought up the spiritual cleansing again and Carla squirted Sake out her nose.

Carla is starting to think that Renee is cray cray.

In a last ditch effort to chill out before The Meeting, Drita headed to her Anger Management coach, Robert Reiner.

I know, right?  Me, too.

I was so excited to see Meathead from All In The Family.  I had no idea he made the switch to Shrink.  Would he have pictures of Archie and Edith on the walls?

Wah.  Wrong Rob Reiner.

But it’s ok, because this Rob had a full blown lie detector set up with more wiring than a slum lord’s basement cable box, complete with the same flat screen plasma they have on General Hospital for blood pressure monitoring.

He plugged in Drita and then egged her on with some role play until the plasma caused a brown-out in Jersey.  That chick is soooo not getting her money’s worth with this anger management thing.

The Meeting was pretty low key, after all that build up.  And the restaurant was empty.

Just saying.

Renee’s perfect location turned out to be a wine cellar basement with more breakable glass, sharp objects and potentially projectile artillery than a military compound.

Drita wore a ginormously clunky bracelet just in case she needed to smash in Karen’s skull.  Karen didn’t wear any weaponry per se, but was clearly eyeing Drita’s huge hoop earrings which would make excellent handles with which to drive her head into the table.

After rehashing everything that we already knew, intercut with a youtube mash-up featuring every fight scene and throw down over the past two seasons, they both agreed to disagree and called a truce.

That’s it?

The waiters didn’t even bring the menus yet.  What do you want to bet they were probably too busy nervously hovering at the top of the stairs flipping a coin?

I’m not going down there.  Well, I’m not going down there.  You’re a pussy.  No, you are.

To celebrate everyone finally getting along, Big Ang arranged a massive Godfather get together at Delmonico’s Restaurant in NYC.  But first, Renee had to cleanse her house.

Momma Donna, in all her whacked out slightly askew spiritual beanie and crazy outfit glory showed up to smoke out all the Evil in Renee’s home.

Starting with the Devil’s own face which had somehow manifested itself within the grains of the granite counter top.  That’s right.  An evil kitchen island.

I was waiting for it to start spinning around like Linda Blair’s head.  How cool would that have been?

Between the cigarette haze and the voodoo ashes, I have no idea how the smoke detectors were never activated.  After coming dangerously  close to igniting the couch, Momma chalked up the doorways and windows with Blue Ball stain….do NOT even go there…to keep the scary monsters from crossing the threshold.

Let’s just say that Vanola is going to have to swing by and do the other kind of cleaning after this lady finishes her business.  Spooks begone!

Finally it was time to have some fun.

Picture a Chuck E. Cheese birthday party done Mob Style.

Like an unmarked clown car, it was a seemingly never ending stream of Mob Wives and Mob boobs and Mob kids for miles all pouring into the restaurant.

Some of these kids are serious cutie patooties.  Carla’s son is destined to be a heartbreaker when he grows into his head size.  All the girls were dressed up in their Sunday best, and looked like little Mob pageant kids.

I’m thinking Mobsters & Tiaras.  VH1…are you listening?  Call a meeting.

Big Ang toasted The Family.  Drita and Karen faked their renewed friendship.

Renee celebrated Girl Power, and I’m pretty sure Ramona slipped a steak knife into her purse and then did the lip thing again.

I don’t think the party’s over quite yet, if you know what I mean.

Tonight, we eat…for tomorrow someone may choke on it.

Omertà, bitches.


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