You might want to back all that up before I do it for you.
Everywhere you turn…another crazy bitch blowing another nutty.
So how do you make that little sideways smiley face?
Oh look. Another one over there.
And who is this bitch, and why is she even in my shot?
Umm. Yeah.
Thanks ladies, but the next time I’ll just swing by Bath & Body Shop on the way home, pick up a loofah and do it myself.
Spa Day with the Mob Wives turned out pretty much how SunDay with the Mob Wives usually turns out.
Or MonDay for that matter.
Or any other (bleepin’) Day.
With all the back stabbing, cat fighting and multi-Borough gossiping that has been going down in Staten Island lately, I’m not really sure why Karen thought it would be such a great idea to trap everyone inside Renee’s home for Spa Day.
But when Big Ang wants a spray tan, are you gonna be the one to tell her No?
I didn’t think so.
But before Renee could get the stress toxins exfoliated from her face, there were a few loose ends to tie up. And the first one was Junior’s constantly cheating loose end.
After years of extra marital affairs and Big House incarceration, Junior is now back in the Little House better known as Renee’s. But not for long.
Junior, and his crazy soap opera eye scar, have just moved back in with Renee in an attempt to both reconcile and keep it in his pants. Unfortunately, due to the recent “Biggest Mob Bust Evah,” Junior is due to put in another 21 months in jail almost as soon as he finishes unpacking that last U-Haul box.
And Renee isn’t handling it very well.
On one hand, she doesn’t trust him as far as she can throw him.
But on the other, she can’t seem to live without him and is having a hard time processing the fact that he will soon be leaving his cracker crumbs on some twin sized cot under lock down instead of her 600 thread count Galleria comforter.
As she cried and fumbled around the kitchen island, Junior tried to console her with what I’m going to assume was one of his two signature facial expressions. This time it was the Bullwinkle WhatsamattaU? face. The other one is the one he must use when he pounds on vans and does Mob Stuff. I’ll stick with Bullwinkle, thanks.
As Junior was telling Renee that 21 months go by pretty quickly, all things considered, Drita was getting up the nerve to tell her young daughter that when Daddy comes home..well…Daddy ain’t coming home.
Seems that Drita is not quite as forgiving as Renee when it comes to husbands doing the nasty with anyone other than their wives. Lee cheated on her, and Drita don’t play dat.
Sitting in the local Pier 1 Imports showroom, or maybe it was just her master bedroom (…seriously, did you see all that merchandise?…) Drita tried to explain the whole filing for divorce situation to young Aleeya without crying.
Long story short, the whole thing ended up with Drita crying and Aleeya staring back blankly with the second Bullwinkle face of the episode.
Note to all Moms out there, Mob or otherwise: Kids are smarter than you think. End of story.
And we all know that nothing takes the edge off an impending divorce or 21 month dry spell like a good facial, so it was time for Karen’s Spa Day.
Since Karen’s place was too small to host the event, and she really wasn’t in the mood to vacuum up any broken glass or hair extensions if the whole thing took a turn, she had talked Renee into hosting the pampering par-tay which came complete with vegetable platters, a seemingly endless fountain of vino that I swear was served in Ariel The Little Mermaid crystal, unfiltered smokes and the return of Big Ang.
That’s right. My gravel throated Reality TV idol was back to proudly & loudly get her massage, facial, spray tan and buzz on.
Loooove. Her.
Over the years Big Ang’s gentlemen callers have bought her clothes, houses, cars and a set of lips that you could land a small plane on, and now it looks like someone bought her a puppy.
She didn’t bring him, but he got his FaceTime in all of her raspy one on one commentaries, and let’s just say that he could totally whip Beverly Hills Housewife sissy dog Giggy in any Staten Island fire hydrant Turf War.
Any puppy that can chill out while Big Ang’s ginormous airbag breasts are sitting on his furry head should immediately get his own Animal Planet Special.
Screw The Puppy Bowl. The shot of the little guy looking down at the floor from her cleavage reminded me of the day that Michael Jackson dangled his baby over the railing. Classic.
Before the massages even started, Renee flicked some ashes and casually mentioned that even though she doesn’t know if she will show up, she had invited Drita in yet another attempt at forcing everyone into a big group hug.
Yikes.
After what seemed like 18 awkward minutes of that music they play during the Survivor elimination ceremony, Karen shrugged and started working on Renee’s puckery stress lines just to shut her up. But even gentle dermabrasion couldn’t keep Renee from melting down about da tension between da girls. Karen, who appears to have learned how to step on throats and do facials at the same time, still couldn’t seem to keep Renee down on the spa table as the issues between Carla and Karen and Ramona and Drita squirted out quicker than the gunk in their pores.
That was gross.
My bad. Let me apologize right now for that one to anyone even slightly offended by spa therapy humor.
Carla was invited by Karen, as a kinda sorta olive branch. You see…Karen hates Drita, but only dislikes Carla…so on the carnivore food chain it seemed a safer bet back when she made the original invite calls. But it was all for nothing as Carla called in to let everyone know she was not going to be showing up for her waxing or whatever it was that Karen had planned for her, and it only served to dial up the drama and put additional unnecessary pressure on the poor guy who works the (bleep) button back in the editing room.
Ramona took every opportunity to get right up in Renee’s freshly detoxed face to talk (bleep) about Carla and Drita, which only helped push all of Renee’s freshly detoxed buttons. For someone who preaches loyalty, respect and teeth bleaching, Ramona has a strange way of showing the (bleepin’) loyalty and respect part. Renee kept pointing out that Carla didn’t want to come because she felt she would be ambushed by Ramona, and the whole thing kept escalating.
Big Ang, who up until now had been quietly getting hosed down with several coats of aerosol Can O’ Tan couldn’t take it anymore and decided to leave the party early.
She doesn’t like big drama.
True. Everything else…she likes big. Really big.
But not her drama, thank you. Peace out, bitches.
And when Big Ang leaves the party, the party is over. Fun while it lasted.
The next time we see Karen and Drita they are pedaling around Staten Island on two little bicycles that looked like they came right off that new Target TV ad.
I know, right? I certainly wasn’t expecting to see two Mafia Princesses dinging their handlebar bells as they rolled through the park, but then I thought that maybe they knocked two kids down in the playground and rode off with their Schwinns and then the whole thing made more sense in my head. I totally made that part up, but you have to admit it fits in with the premise of the show a little better.
Whatever. The fresh air somehow made Ramona light headed enough to decide to call Carla later on and try to either smooth things over or bite her face off, and then she and Karen rode off into the smog.
We got one more Big Ang fix when Carla and Drita dropped by the Drunken Monkey Bar to talk some more (bleep) about Ramona.
I need to know where Big Ang bought that Indian Casino costume she was wearing, and where the skulls on the back shelf came from before I hit the malls this weekend.
Wait. On second thought, the less I know about the skulls the better.
Loooove. Her.
Did I already mention that?
I’m guessing that with everything going on in her life right now Renee has missed a few Dr. Phil shows on building trusting relationships, because I don’t think stealing your ex’s cell phone was ever discussed as being a good thing. But she stole it, and now she and Drita needed to break into it to make sure it was free of any dirty texts or stripper phone numbers.
More power to them though, because they broke the code faster than Jack Bauer and Chloe ever could on 24.
Seriously. Three tries and they were in.
The phone was clean, and not a second too soon as Junior walked back in the house. Luckily he had to go upstairs and rest after a day of doing whatever it is you do before you go back to prison, and he never even knew that Renee was checking up on him.
We finished up with a few more restaurant visits to make sure all the Wives had enough to eat.
Drita and her BFF of 20 years Bridget met up to dish about the upcoming divorce. Not much came out of this meal, except for a little more dissing on any man who thinks cheating on Drita is ever going to turn out well.
Especially if you have a car. Because she blows them up.
Carla and Renee got their munchies on and discussed what could potentially go down when Carla and Ramona meet up in the next day or two. Nothing major in this scene. Just more Survivor music.
The last course was served when Ramona and Carla finally met up at yet another Staten Island Steak House. Don’t ever let it be said that S.I. folks aren’t meat eaters. Gangstah: Yes. Vegetarians: No.
The only thing really dramatic about their confrontation was the music. Again.
VH1 must have paid a hefty chunk of change for the rights to those tunes, because they did everything but pump out the extended ReMix version this week. As the dramatic tunes shivered in the background, Carla and Ramona glared and circled each other like there was only one cupcake left on the tray and bickered about mind molding and jealousy.
It was a whole bunch of “she said, he said, they said,” but neither of them would reveal their sources. It was actually pretty tame.
There were actually a few times that they sat and stared at each for so long that I was afraid their meals would get cold.
So wha–? No fist fights this time around?
Not even a good table flip? I thought Staten Island was close enough to New Jersey that we’d at least get a good table flip.
Forget it.
Big Ang and I are out. Party’s over.
