DanThat'sCool!

 

 

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.

 

 

Snookie, JWoww and Deena from the Future return to present day Staten Island to smush some Juicers and shop Forever 21.

 

 

 

 

WTF? “You’d look great with bangs” they said. “Trust me” they said.

 

 

 

 

OhMyGawd. Stop. Seriously. Did you see that wig? That’s what I look like when my dog falls asleep on my head! I can’t.

 

 

 

They did The Bash. They did the Botox Bash. The Botox Bash. It was a Big Lip smash.

 

 

 

 

Hell, yeah. I would totally shovel this s*** down like a Bath Salt Zombie if I could move my face.

 

 

 

If I stay perfectly still maybe she’ll pick up a different scent and go find somebody else to chew on.

 

 

 

 

When it comes to Wiseguys and Petco, Mama always says sniff out the biggest sausage or go home hungry.

 

 

 

Pack it up.  And plump it up.

Stick a “For Sale” sign in the ground and a needle in your face, and there you have it.

You just summed up the latest episode of Mob Wives.

It was all about moving on, moving out and not moving your forehead as the Wives got right down to business and Botox as soon as the credits stopped rolling.

You know I love me some Mob Wives, but I have no idea what was going on this time around.  It was just cray cray.

After last week’s I Can’t Believe It’s Not Buttah knife fight between Carla and Renee, the first step was to get Ramona up to speed.  Since she had not attended Big Ang‘s brunch and therefore had missed Carla working her stubby little margarine lightsaber like some kind of hoochie Princess Leia, Ramona needed to scoot over to Renee’s for the recap.

And who better to accompany her than Karen.  And Karen’s new hot mess of a wig.

Seriously.  What was that all about?  It kind of looked like the hair you get at iParty on Halloween to change up last year’s Naughty Nurse outfit.  You know you don’t want to spend too much money on it because it either ends up on the curb like hairy roadkill or caught on that jagged piece of metal that’s always poking out of a Motel 6 screen door.

It also sorta looked like that Jessica Simpson QVC bang clip-on apparatus that might have had some issues on the ride over.  Maybe the window was cracked down a little too far.  They smoke, you know.

But then again, it also looked as though maybe KG had just gotten back from the rough part of town and gotten a weave sewn in approximately 1/4″ above her natural hairline.

OhNoSheDin’t.

We’ll probably never really know what was going on up there.  Girl, pleez.  Next time, just leave it to the sistahs.

Renee filled Ramona in on all the (bleepity bleep bleep) name calling and accusations from the night before, as Karen kept getting her new bangs caught on her eyelashes.

Those things should come with White Girl directions.

Ramona got all Italian gangstah like they used to do on Mob Wives: Chicago (…oh, Leah DeSimone.  Gone too soon…) and either called Carla a Butana or Butanna or Putana.  They all kinda sorta mean the same thing if you do your research, and no matter where I looked online I realized that everyone had a different opinion on which was the correct spelling and pronunciation and meaning.

After about 15 minutes I also realized that only teen age boys should spend that much time Googling the Italian swear word for “whore,” and I decided to clear my Safari history and move on to Carla’s pool like it never happened.

Over at Casa Butana…or Butanna or Putana…Carla was putting her twins through some serious interrogation regarding their Dad and his new girlfriend, Raquel.

Fresh out of prison, Joe had already somehow managed to score a fairly attractive girlfriend and a new three-story home.

Yeah.  Three stories.  I thought the same thing.

I’ve never been to prison, and I’m barely making rent on 2 1/2 rooms.  What’s wrong with this picture?

Watching little Carmen and Jo Jo boing around in their floaties and inflatable donut rings almost made you forget all the bad stuff they’ve had to endure in their short little lives.  But then Carla kept bringing it all back up again, and at the same time I noticed that 10 year old Mini-Me Joe already had his first gold Guido chain when most kids his age still wear those edible Sweet Tart necklaces.  So there you go.

Down the street, it appeared to be Take Your Dog Shopping Day as Big Ang and Drita hit up the local pet shop for some gossip and kibbles.

Drita’s little yapper Lucky Santangelo was more than overly excited to see Big Ang show up with her pocket pup Louis, and almost wagged himself into a coma before they even made it into Pet Oasis.  It should also be noted that sometime over the Summer Louis had apparently gone from gangster to gangstah rapper and now suddenly wanted to be addressed as Lil Louis.

Or Snoop Doggy Lou.  Whatev.  It’s a dog.

There was also a potential romantic interest creating what could prove to be quite the puppy love triangle moving forward, because Big Ang had also added a purebred mix of pink Hello Kitty and Sissy Dawg to her barnyard.

Boys.  Meet Chanel.  Kind of makes you wish you still had your marbles, huh?

As Drita and Ang rehashed the buttah knife drama again, the only thing of any importance was that for some reason, out of the store’s entire inventory stock, somebody chose to film Big Ang against a colorful backdrop of PetSolution Wee Wee Pads.

The ones you tinkle on.

I’ll just go on record as saying that the puppy they show on the classic Wee Wee Pad How-To youtube video is sooo freaking cute that if the Humane Society was open this late at night I would be down there right now grabbing anything that didn’t already know how to pee outside.

Yes.  I Googled Italian dirty words and the aromatic placemats that baby dogs unload on, just for you people.

I said I did it.  I didn’t say I was proud.

At least not as proud as Carla was when she hit the boardwalk with Big Ang and Drita, dressed in whatever the f*** that sheer thing was that she found in her costume closet.

It was like Cher took one of her back-up dancers and one of her favorite drag queens down to the waterfront for cocktails to celebrate selling out the San Francisco Pride Parade closing ceremonies in under 25 minutes.

I can’t.  I just can’t.

It wasn’t even the butt-less Turn Back Time outfit.  I don’t know what it was.  And I certainly don’t have any idea where you would go to find it, much less find it and then decide you want to own it.

And Drita was there, dripping in what appeared to be one of Liberace‘s gold chainlink hairnets, if Liberace had been allowed anywhere near a boy’s prep school cafeteria and needed a hairnet while he plopped wieners on a tray.

Even Big Ang seemed Big Angier than normal, with those googly eyed sunglasses and a dress made from the same fabric they hot glue to moccasins at those highway off-ramp souvenir joints.

The whole thing was such a hot mess that it made Karen’s iParty wig seem pretty tame in comparison, and almost made me miss the part when Lee called Drita on her cell phone while the girls were tossing back funky martinis.

He is getting out of jail in 6 months and Drita wasn’t sure what to do next.

I say return that chainlink thing, and then worry about Lee.

And I’m all set with the getting dirty on the phone visuals, too.  TMI.  I think I just figured out how Lucky Santangelo got his name, and why he never blinks.

Where’s my Wee Wee Pad when I need it, Mama?

And don’t prisoners have to make their calls from a public phone in the hallway with a guard watching them?  Let that one sit in your brain for a moment and then try to get some sleep tonight.

Back at Renee’s, AJ had just returned from his grandfather’s court hearing.  Thanks to Junior going all RatFace for the Feds last year, Renee’s Dad had been caught in the fallout and carted off to jail right before she had that big meltdown.

Grandpa had spoken at the hearing, via a note, and told Renee and AJ that he didn’t blame them for anything that had happened.  We then got our weekly awkward Mob Wives Moment when Renee spoke about how it’s all AJ’s Dad’s fault that Grandpa got sent to jail.  It’s all Junior’s fault.

I’m thinking that maybe it also had something to do with all those years and years of breaking the law and doing Mob stuff, but maybe that’s just me.  Every week there always has to be one head scratching comment that makes you go hmmmm and wonder whether anyone really knows if crime does or doesn’t actually pay.

I leave that debate to somebody who went to law school while I was busy watching cartoons all those years.

While Grandpa was keeping busy on the inside, Joe Ferragamo was busy enjoying life on the outside.  And that included his new girl and that three story home.

After spending some time shooting hoops with Raquel, which gave me so many opportunities for jail jokes that my head almost exploded, Joe decided it was time to tell Carla that Raquel was going to move in with him.

Seriously.  Raquel asked Joe so many innocent questions about playing manly prison ball all night that I could have easily twisted every last one of them into HIGH-larious off color jokes that would have had you choking on your Starbucks.   But I was afraid your office Spam filter would block my site all week, and I know how you like to use me to kill time at work.  And you know I’m always thinking of others.

So I’ll pass on this round.  Rewind the DVR and make your own R rated movie.  I guarantee it’ll occupy the kids for hours on a snow day.

Speaking of kids.  Drita took her two little nuggets to the park, and then to meet with the realtor as she began the process of opening her own cosmetics store.  Turns out that before Lee went to the Big House the last time, Drita was a pretty big deal in the makeup industry.  Unfortunately, when Lee got sent away her stress level went up and her client list went down.  Way down.

But now she was looking to rebuild the Just Me Cosmetics Empire, if she could only find some decent store front property.

It couldn’t be as difficult as finding Renee a new home.  Not even close.

After the break-in at her house and the whole Junior fiasco, Renee wasn’t feeling safe anywhere.  Any.  Where.

So she was looking to get out of Dodge and find a new crib.  The only requirements were that it be safe, have no windows, no basement, no detached garage, bullet-proof siding, Bat Poles and a Star Trek force field bubble wrapping the entire building.

And no Dish Network.  That (bleep) never works when it rains.

Renee is scared of everything, and even Karen was at a loss as the realtor felt the color and commission drain from his own face.  To be continued.  And continued some more.

Drita had better luck, though, when Big Ang casually mentioned an open store across the street from The Drunken Monkey.

Boom.  Rented.  That was easy.

Not quite so easy, on the other hand, was telling Carla that Raquel was going to be moving in with him, which Joe quickly found out in the driveway.  Carla got all angry Butana or Butanna or Putana on his a** and then squealed off in her car, leaving a trail of dust and (bleeps) behind her as Joe went back inside to clean the house.  Because that’s what the kids say he does all the time now.  I guess that being able to use a mop instead of a prison-issued tootbrush around the tile grout probably makes the process a little easier.

We finished off the night with a Botox Bash.

Big Ang brought all the Wives together for some poking and plumping and drinking.

Nothing major.  Just the usual fillers and such.

Newbie Love Majewski even made an appearance, all wrapped in fur with a champagne flute suction cupped to her face.  Love.  Her.

I’m pretty sure she was just holding the glass to be polite around the ladies, because with those new lips she could have easily just planted that thing on her mouth and kept both hands free for appetizers.

I hate to say it, but Big Ang better start ramping up the crazy, or Love may be my new TV girlfriend.  She is whackadoodle.  And I eat that kind of shizzle up with a spoon.

Along with the lip shots and the liquid shots, the Wives also had the opportunity to have any annoying spots laser tagged off their persons if they so desired.  I assumed the Doctor meant little freckles on their necks, but before I knew what was happening Love had pulled her top off, lifted up a pair of breathtakingly ginormous jugs to the ceiling and then Jimmy Hoffa fell out onto the floor, all dazed and sweaty, clutching his throat and gasping for air.

As a little preview for next time, Renee was back home where she received a note in Junior’s handwriting, which caused her to tear off down the highway in her car.

Because that’s what they say you should do when you’re emotionally at your breaking point and about to lose your nutty.

Get behind the wheel of a car.

Bad Boys.  Bad Boys.  Good luck with that one.