Gawd as my witness, I told the tattoo guy “Amorosa” 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.
