Mob Wives: Scratch & Snitch Addition. Drita Has That Single Girl Itch, Renee Has A Major Breakdown Twitch And Junior…Well, Junior Is Just Wired.

March 26th, 2012


He has a scar over his right eye and possibly a long extension cord sticking out of his shirt. Find him!





Spoiler Alert.  This can’t be good at all.





Jail vs. Renee. I feel your pain. Take your time deciding, dude.





He’s a hottie, but I think it’s just his battery pack wires overheating.





Smoke ’em if you got ’em. Eat ’em if you have to, honey. I know you’re having a bad day.



Oh no, he din’t.

Hector “Junior” Pagan just unleashed a whole briefcase full of unmarked CrazyBills on us this week, and the Mob Wives will never be the same.

Get some munchies.  This one’s super-sized.

After what seemed like endless attempts at fixing their on again/off again, in jail again/outta jail again relationship, both Renee and that sloppy relationship completely unraveled this week.

In a series of events that pretty much sent Renee over the edge and guaranteed at least four DEA officers shiny departmental commendations, the show that questionably appears to make crime seem ok spun out of control.

But in that good, pop some popcorn and text OMG to your BFF kind of way, I mean.

The whole thing started off pretty low key as Carla and Drita went out clubbing.  Since filing the divorce papers against Lee, Drita has been on a kinda sorta ManHunt.  But she is painfully out of practice, having been loyal to Lee for years, even during his unfortunate incarceration(s)…single or plural…I forget who has been in and out of the Big House the most.

Seriously.  This show is a lot of work.  I need to figure out how to do Excel on this laptop so I can create a spreadsheet.  Like a bookie racing form, or that Dance Moms cheat sheet they always seem to have in their purse at every competition.  I know all the guys have been in jail, but I never know who gets my annual Holiday card.

So the two Wives hit the New York City club scene in an attempt to release Drita back into the Wild, much like they do with seagulls after they wash all the BP off of them on National Geographic Television.  Except this seagull is still completely covered in olive oil, and will violently peck your eyes out if you cross it.  I’m not so sure this one is ready to be released quite yet.

After fist pumping and chest pounding a string of horny city boys into a bruised semi consciousness, even Drita herself began to realize that maybe she needed a refresher course on the singles scene.  Dancing on the speakers with sparklers might have gotten Snookie preggos, but on Drita…not such a good look.

By the time a Juice Head named “Anthony from Connecticut” tried using Lee’s name as a pick up line, Drita cracked a few more unsuspecting sissy boy ribs and then hit the road.

The Mob Wives Restaurant Tour continued with Karen, Ramona, Ramona’s blindingly white teeth and Reality Goddess Big Ang all hitting up a local snack shack.

Big Ang was rocking her new bangs, which only made me love her more.

I mean, really.

Extra long bangs, those delightfully crazy eyes poking out from underneath, glossy lips that look like they could inflate during an airplane crash and those Wise Guy funded boobs.

I didn’t even know where to look first.

And you wonder why I love me some Big Ang so much?

(Now that you mention it, I’m not even certain if she has a nose…I’ve never noticed.)

The three of them sat around reminiscing about the Good Ol’ Gangstah Days when men were men, Wise Guys were Wise Guys and women could sneak pork chops into the prisons under their boobs.  Those were good times.

Big Ang even flashed back to her own earlier arrest when a friend, who was secretly wired with a surveillance mic, let the Feds listen in on Big Ang while she was takin’ care of bizness in the ladies room.

Now I love me some Big Ang.  Well documented.  And every week I say that having a Big Ang ring tone would make me the coolest kid at recess.  But I think maybe even I would draw the line on that sound bite.

Unless you can find it for me, of course.  I’d have to hear it first I guess, before I jump to any conclusions.  I mean.  It’s Big Ang for cryin’ out loud.

Am I the only one who thinks she laughs like Herman Munster?  Love.  Her.

Before we all started wondering how many prison meals Big Ang could sneak in under those mamajamas, it was time for the weekly Renee vs. Junior head butt confrontation.

Standing behind the kitchen island and THREE packs of Newports, Renee was trying to keep Junior’s parole affairs in order and keep him on track for a smooth transition back to prison in a few weeks.  What started out as an exercise in calendar tracking quickly turned into yet another ReneeSpaz as she went on and on about trying to fix their relationship and how she wished he wouldn’t go back to prison.


1. It’s pretty much a done deal, honey.  It’s not really a go if you’re in the mood kind of decision.  Maybe you should have wished for Junior to get a job at the Staten Island Gap all those years ago if you wanted to keep him out of prison.

2. You know how cows can sleep standing up?  I swear Junior can sleep with his eyes open.  That pretty much sums up their recent interactions.

For a little comic relief before the heavy stuff went down, Big Ang and Drita headed to Little Italy to get some authentico meatio at the marketo.  (That’s all the Italian I know.)

It was basically a crash course in why you should only buy top grade prosciutto and never marry a sanitation worker, as Big Ang finally gave Drita a quick glimpse into her personal life.  Seems that her attempts at a non-Wise Guy courtship didn’t go so well, and Big Ang had booted her husband of 2 1/2 years out of the house.  He was going out all night, drinking and cheating on her and the whole thing was a “Disastaaaah!”

Disastaaaaah.  (Insert a big Herman Munster right here.)

The Big Ang Dating Rule Book now clearly states that your man should be younger, richer, pay all the bills and not empty your neighbors’ garbage cans every Tuesday morning.

Seeing Big Ang get all NeNe “MnmmHmm” Leakes and talk about getting herself a new man was comedy gold.  Two pops, Girlfriend.  (That’s Gangstah for Two Snaps.  Der.)

We also got a quick scene with Carla and her newly released ex Joe discussing Speed Dating.  Let’s just say that for someone who just spent a whole bunch of years sealed up in a men-only prison, the dude sure knew an awful lot about speed dating.

But I’m not here to judge.  Or get my knee caps broken.

Carla used that new found knowledge to join Drita on a Firemen Only Speed Dating Night, and by the end I think it was safe to assume that Engine Company 69 would rather risk burning to death in a backdraft than take their chances on a night out with Drita.  She definitely still needs a few more lessons before she can fly on her own without hurting somebody.

Right now, though, would be a good time to make certain that your seat backs and folding trays are in their complete, upright positions because Mob Wives Airlines is just about to crash and burn.

After spending a sleepless, untouched night with Junior, Renee woke up to find him already gone to what she mistakenly assumed was a meeting with his parole officer.  Still depressed over their last discussion, Renee pretty much spent the day in bed.

When she finally made it out of bed, Renee found a note from Junior written on that same kind of bright yellow notepad paper that you used to use when you asked someone to the Junior High dance.  (And you’d make a box for “Yes” and a box for “No” and then the bitch would check it off and break your heart.  You know what I mean.  And now she’s fat with a million kids and she doesn’t know what she’s missing.)

But I digress.

Anyway.  Turned out that Junior had left to turn himself into the Feds for armed robbery and brandishing a pistol, and had no plans on returning home for another 7 years or so.  And now Renee had no idea where he was, what precinct he was at or how to get ahold of him.

So that left Renee all alone in the house with nothing but wine, cigarettes, her meds and a cell phone.

You do the math.

Wait for it.

Boom goes the dynamite.

Renee melted down.  The first of many to come.

She called everyone she could think of to try and track down Junior.  Friends, cousins, jail houses.  Everyone but Ghostbusters, to no avail.  She was calling friends like she was on that Regis game show.  It was craziness.

Junior’s note stated that he hoped Renee would find someone else and move on, and the whole thing just got messy.

For those of you who don’t read books anymore and know what I mean…it was another one of those Reality TV moments similar to Russell Taylor’s suicide on Real Housewives of Beverly Hills when you realize that someone is having a real life breakdown, and it’s not just television anymore.  But you keep watching it and filming it anyway and thinking about all those great ratings and counting how many hits the website will get on one hand, while the other hand is putting 911 on speed dial.

You could almost hear the VH1 interns bolt out the front door.

Finally Karen and Nikole (spelled like a Toddlers & Tiaras girl, natch) showed up to try and talk her off the ledge.

Nikole kind of looks like Cher during one of her curly blonde phases, but not really.  She managed to fake out a corrections officer on her cell  and found out where Junior was and that he was ok.  But the whole thing just kept getting stranger and stranger when only bits and pieces of info would trickle out as Renee cycled back and forth between chain smoking and getting car sick.

She was a mess.  A hot one.

Then in a questionable show of friendship, Karen and Nikole both left Renee alone for the night, which was probably not in anyone’s best interest.

Well into that third pack of Newports, Renee tracked down her cousin who just happened to be over at the home of Renee’s estranged father.  Before Renee could get two sentences out, she heard the stampede of federal officers storming her father’s home and taking him away.

Renee snapped like the leg of someone 6 months late on his gambling payment.

Spoiler Alert:  The final scoop.

If you don’t want to know wassup until next week’s episode, simply scroll lower in this blog where you will find enough other brilliance to keep you occupied while the rest of us dish.  You’ll also need to unplug every television and radio in your home, hide your computer and don’t go near any CVS magazine rack.

By now it’s pretty much public knowledge that Junior went FBI informant and worked out a deal to avoid jail time.  According to Renee and the internet universe, Junior was wired with a mic during meetings with Renee’s dad Anthony “TG” Graziano and helped gather enough evidence to put his former father-in-law behind bars.

The Ultimate Betrayal.

Junior is now allegedly in the Witness Protection Program (..please don’t be in my building, please don’t be in my building, please don’t be in my building…or at least have a sense of humor…I’m funny, right?…) and has not been seen since he gave over the information to the Feds.

If you’re keeping score, that’s one mob informant and one sanitation worker that haven’t been seen in some time.

And Drita thinks she has Man Trouble.

Toddlers & Tiaras: They’re Baaaaack! It’s Paisley Vs. Isabella In The Return To Glitterdome. Everything You Love Is Back. Stock Up On The Cheese Dip!

March 24th, 2012

You might as well make things easier on yourself and start planning now.

And by planning, I mean creating a backstory for when you call in sick to work on Thursday, April 5th…because the Mother of all Guilty Pleasures is about to Glitter Bomb you in the face again.

Toddlers & Tiaras is baaaaack!

Well, almost.

Wednesday, April 4th, actually.  Just a few more weeks and then the show that you pretend you never watch and never talk about is pretty feeting its way back into your living room with a vengeance.

It’s going to be the Battle of the New Mini Divas as Paisley and Isabella face off after months of media smack talk and underage nightclub singing.

Paisley, best known for rocketing to fame by way of her now infamously uncomfortable Julia Roberts Pretty Woman hooker outfit, is hoping to have another cheese dip celebration with a shiny new crown on her head.

Isabella, best known for both talking s*** about Paisley to TMZ when they caught her over the holidays all freshly spray tanned (…and questionably/allegedly coached by Mom…) and skyrocketing to LMAFO “Sexy And I Know It” karaoke fame with an infamously uncomfortable video performance, is hoping to talk more s*** and score a big crown at the same time.

It’s Dramalicious.  And that’s only the kids.

Don’t get me started on the Moms.  Let’s just say you do NOT want to be caught in the same Walmart parking lot when those two Moms go shopping.  Ever.

MakenzieAlana and the rest better watch their backs.  There are some new and returning faces looking to knock those oversized crowns off their heads.

No wonder Eden jumped ship to LOGO.

Trust me, Honey Boo-Boo Child…this is gonna get good.

High Five if you’ll be there.

And…why, yes…I am.  And I know it.

Thanks for asking.

Dance Moms: Girl, Pleez. They Did Not Just Go & Get All Up In Your Personal Bidness! You Mess With A Mom, And It Gets Messy. Melissa Pleads The 5th.

March 21st, 2012


Except for my Twitter account, Dance blog, Pinterest page & national TV show my personal life is no one’s business.






Don’t think I won’t, cuz I will. Right here. Dance Mob Style. Badabing.




So you’re positive none of the Dads on Dance Moms:Miami are in the mob? I need a hit put out on these bitches, asap.





Abby Lee Corleone can make it all go away. They’ll be dancing with the glitter fishes.






Seriously, Girlfriend. When did this become our life?




I’m not even sure what show I just watched.

It was either Toddlers & Tiaras, Mob Wives, Perry Mason, Beverly Hillbillies or one of those PBS pledge week specials featuring Cirque du Soliel.

Or maybe it was just Dance Moms.

Yeah.  That’s what it was.  Dance Moms…all chock full of tasty goodness and enough crazy to fill at least five other networks.

Seriously.  There was enough legal mumbo jumbo, Ohio livestock, tight wire clowns and babies wearing lipstick that I’m sure you can relate to my initial confusion.

I don’t know how they even had time to dance this week.

Fresh off the Abby Lee Dance Company’s so so performance at…I forget…wherever that wooden gymnasium floor was located, Abby Lee Miller is ready to lay down the law and get the party started for the next go round.  It’s the Company Dance Competition in Chicago and the joint will be jumping with top notch jazz handers and judges that know their stuff.

Spoiler Alert:  It will also be crawling with Candy Apple Dancers.

That’s right.  Chaos Cathy Nesbitt is bringing her A Team from the Evil Dance Lair.  Better known as Candy Apple’s Dance Center, located in the heart of No Man’s Land USA, Cathy and her League of Sneaky Strip Mall Moms are looking to take down Abby and her tiny dancers at any cost.

Since her nemesis with the crazy skunk hair would be in the hizzle, Abby needed to make sure the Why Do We Have To Do This Again When It’s Always Maddie At The Top Pyramid of Shame was set up for success.

Poor little Diva-in-Training Nia was stuck at the bottom again, thanks to her now infamous Mime in a Box routine last week when she blanked out on her choreography and just stood there until someone threw change in a hat.  It was heartbreaking to see that mini Beyonce in full-on panic mode.  Props to her for getting a second chance and making it through the number.

MacNugget Mackenzie was also on the bottom, basically because she wasn’t born first and named Maddie.

Brooke finished up the trifecta.  She’s Brooke.  Boys are cute and life sucks. The End.

Chloe and her Beanie Baby eyes were on the second row again, along with Paige.

I need a tape measure, because I swear Chloe is taller every week.  Unless I’m sitting closer to my television, that kid is having a spurt.

Paige has been rocking a pretty sassy, wavy kind of layered haircut which makes her look like the up and coming Wild Child compared to all the Ballet Girl ponytails in the room.  You know she totally head bobs that thing all over the cafetorium when Justin Bieber comes on during the chaperoned school dances.

Nothing like that perfume that comes with a matching doll and the smell of fish sticks to bring back some fond memories.  But I’m showing my age and getting off track.

Taking a break from pre-teen stripping and booty popping, Abby had created a group number about a homeless child.  Rather than being excited that their girls would be exposed to a very polarizing issue in our country right now, the Moms were psyched that they didn’t have to spend the night BeDazzling any leotards.   As Kelly excitedly proclaimed, homeless people don’t wear rhinestones.

Yikes.  Unfortunately, I’m pretty sure that homeless people watch TV in shelters…and they just changed the channel.

Have another Budweiser, Kelly.

Nia finally made it into the Trio, and she almost spit her braces out she got so excited.

Meanwhile, back at the Evil Dance Lair…

Chaos Cathy was breaking down her plans to destroy Abby in Chicago.

The Moms (…in their Secret Identity clothes…not the evil spandex that I hope we get to see this season…) were hanging on Cathy’s every word like she was the Penguin plotting to Kill The Batman.

That bad a** Mom with the red hair was totally wearing a latex Catwoman suit underneath her street clothes.  You couldn’t see it, but she was.  I could just tell.

Runaway Mom Jill and her poof were there as well, and it was good stuff.

Since Jill jumped Abby’s ship, each day she has had to pack up Kendall and cart her across state lines like a Fed-Ex shipment for rehearsals in Ohio.  Just seeing Jill standing there next to all the other moms, looking and feeling so out of place, is worth the price of admission.

I mean, look at her.  You know the type.  Those women who shop Nordstrom’s online and think they are so much prettier than the other ladies in the neighborhood.  But sometimes you just need a lightbulb and have to go to Walmart.  And there they are, standing in line and you can pick them out a mile away even before you see the sweat on their upper lip.

That’s Jill.  Doesn’t want to be there.  But she needs lightbulbs.  Just please, Lord, don’t let my friends see me in line.

Cathy’s daughter Vivi-Anne apparently still doesn’t have a humidifier in her bedroom, because she was her usual stuffed up self complete with early morning Revlon Red lips and glitter eye shadow.  It must take her 90 minutes to get ready for school in the morning if she has to apply all that paint before the bus honks outside the farmhouse.  I hope she has an early bedtime.

Cathy picked messy haired Justice to go head to head with Maddie in the solo division.  He seems like a nice kid, and I’m not gonna talk too much smack about him in case his mom is the bad a** one.  I’m not really sure who belongs to who in that crew…they don’t really match them up very often.  Name tags would be nice.  But until that happens, I’m just going on hair color.

Justice dances like a marionette with one broken string, but he’s cute in that tousled boy who stuck his finger in a socket kind of way.  And he’s a boy.   And boys kick a** at dance competitions because only four ever show up at one time.  He and Vivi-Anne also skew the age down in the categories when they run across the stage, so there’s a method to Cathy’s madness.

The Candy Apple group number is Ode to a Clown.

Think Cirque du Soleil minus Celine Dion and her styrofoam piano flying overhead, throw in a little Tim Burton oddballishness (…if that’s a word…) and hit it with some spray glue and Martha Stewart glitter.  There you have it.

And some umbrellas, because…well, I don’t know why.  Just do it.

Ode to a Clown.

While that mess was being rehearsed, the Moms were back up in the Mom Perch at Abby’s, finding out that Holly would be taking a leave of absence from The I Have A Doctorate School of Holly to spend more time with her family.  There just isn’t enough time in the day for working and working and working and sitting in the Mom Perch, so Holly announced that next year she is full time in the Perch.

Then it got cra-cra-crazy.

Even though everyone in Pittsburgh knows that Melissa is engaged to her booty call boyfriend Greg, for whatever reason she still refuses to discuss it.  So naturally, the Moms called her out on not wearing her engagement ring anymore and the whole thing just got messy.  Melissa Messy.

She didn’t want anyone up in her business, and had a Triple M.

Major Melissa Meltdown.

She flipped out, bolted downstairs and tried to pull Maddie from the competition.  Kids started crying.  Everyone ran around like spooked hamsters.  More kids cried.  Melissa grabbed one kid and stormed out of the building.  I’m not sure she really even checked to see if it belonged to her, but she wanted out NOW.

In simple texting lingo, everyone was all like totally OMG WTF?

Next day, after the dust settled and Melissa realized she had taken the wrong kid, she came back and pretty much pretended the whole thing never happened.  Everyone was going to Chicago now.  Crisis averted.

Or so they thought, until the legal mumbo jumbo part started.

The rest of the Moms were served with Cease & Desist papers from a lawyer.  Papers that basically stated that they could not gossip, mention or discuss Melissa’s life at all, in any way, any form or any manner.

A lawyer?  No gossip?

I’ll be looking for my papers by tomorrow morning.  Just slide them under the door.  My mailbox is pretty small.

As usual, the competition itself wasn’t even the highlight of the episode.

Maddie’s solo was great, and kind of looked like it gave Justice his first Boy Tingle.  Did you see him watching her?  Like he just saw the girls’ gym class for the first time.  I’m pretty sure his hair got curlier, but it could have just been the heat from the stage lights.

His solo was ok, in a missing string marionette kind of way.  Shove him in a Time Machine, age him about 10 years and stick a red Solo cup in his hand…you just witnessed his first Frat Party White Boy Shuffle.  Justice needs to work on his stage face.

But he’s a cutie, just in case his Mom is…you know.

During a break in the festivities, the Moms headed out for a snack and in between cocktails got all WTF on Melissa in regards to the legal papers.  In typical Melissa fashion, she shrugged it off and oddly mentioned that it wasn’t her attorney…it was Greg’s.   As they discussed how any friend could serve papers against another friend, they completely lost focus on what they should be debating.

What was going on with Kelly’s turtleneck sweater?


Like a turtleneck that you pulled over your head and your head was too big and the neck part ripped off.  But you were running late and kept it on anyway.  Like a turtleneck necklace or something.

You need to find that scene and figure it out.  I’m the biggest fashionista snob around, but that thing was just whacked.  Or maybe it was her hair and crazy eyes.  She was not happy with Melissa at all.

Back at the competition, awards were handed out.  Blah blah blah.  You’re not reading this for that stuff.

One of the main Candy Apple Dancers busted her foot during the performance.  Painful to see, but it gave Jill an opportunity to do her Walmart Happy Dance and shamelessly push her kid to the front of the line.

After it was all over, Chaos Cathy showed up back in the make up room with an engagement gift for Melissa.  I’m pretty sure it was ticking.

Either that or it was Melissa’s blood pressure, because she had a mini Triple M, refused the gift and directed all questions, lingerie and Cuisinart blenders to her attorney.

She bolted again, and the door slammed shut like it does on The Celebrity Apprentice.

No wonder I don’t even know what I’m watching half the time.

%d bloggers like this: