Tastes like Bourbon and Bitch Slaps. Make it a double.
When the working day is done, girls just wanna have fun.
And I was all like BAM and BOOM and BIFF on her a**!
Renee’s parties always have the best conga lines.
Happy (bleepin’) Birthday to you.
Renee, you certainly know how to throw one mother (bleepin’) Celebration of Life party.
Since it seems my invitation was apparently lost in the mail, I am going to assume that it clearly stated cash bar, no jeans allowed and protective head gear required.
This week Mob Wives showed the rest of us what we’ve been missing when we take the kids to Chuck E Cheese for balloon animals and foosball every year. You don’t need party hats or Atari tickets to make sure your birthday is a success.
You just need a good left hook.
And back up.
I can’t get enough of this show. I said it. I own it.
As I’ve previously stated…I’m not sure if I’m obsessed with them because they appeal to my BadBoy side, or if they just plain scare me, or if I kinda sorta want to be a Mob Wife.
I don’t know. And I don’t care. Just bring it on, bitches.
It was supposed to be Renee’s Big Night to celebrate her surviving one nasty full body surgical makeover. She had just gone through some creepy, squishy re-sculpting in order to drop 35 pounds of bad living. After being sliced 360 around her muffin top and basically put through the same procedure that Amish furniture makers use to spindle and shape table legs, Renee lost more blood than trans fat and almost flat lined during recovery.
As someone who won’t even go to the dentist, I have to tip my chapeau to Renee just for having the stamina to go through the buzz saw work-over that we witnessed last week.
And a bonus point for showing it on the tube. Maybe two. And even though she didn’t get the butt she had hoped for, she did come off the assembly line the sleek, new and improved Renee 2012.
But she must have still been under the influence of her pain meds if she thought inviting both Drita and Karen to the same event was a good idea. Because it wasn’t.
We picked right up this week with Drita hanging out on the balcony while my new Reality TV icon Angela “Big Ang” Raiola went inside to grab Karen. While Renee could at least blame it on the meds, I have no idea why Big Ang thought getting Drita and Karen to hug it out on a concrete ledge would be a good idea, unless it was the thinner oxygen circulating around Big Ang’s higher altitude.
Regardless. Again…it wasn’t.
Karen and Drita have pints of bad blood between them, all swirling around a slow burning he said/she said/you (bleeped) him/no I didn’t kind of thing regarding Karen’s ex Lee who married Drita and then cheated on her after he got out of prison (or before maybe?) even though Drita sent him loads of soft focus/soft porn fashion photos to share with his bunk mates. Deep breath.
You still with me on this one?
Karen heads out to the balcony with new second string Mob Wife “cousin” Ramona on her heels, who claims she just needs to “watch.”
Remember the old Warner Bros. cartoons when Sylvester’s little nephew followed him around everywhere? “Where we going? What’re we doing? What’s that? Who’s that? Gotta pee.”
That kind of thing. Except Sylvester’s nephew was a harmless little fur ball, whereas Ramona could whip out the big guns at any moment and break you in half. Twice.
It all starts out calmly enough, just like when you cook spaghetti.
You know it’s most likely going to boil over, you just don’t know when. And you’re pretty much helpless to prevent it. Just have the ointment nearby, because someone is going to get burned.
After their last rumble on the roof top, Karen got the buzz on the street that Drita was going around Staten Island telling anyone who would listen that she put Karen in the hospital.
Dat’s rite. Drita is getting her brag on saying she (bleeped) her up. (Bleepin’) (bleeped) her up.
Except she didn’t.
Two things you don’t want to (bleep) up: Karen’s face. And her street cred. And not necessarily in that order.
As Karen points out the small errors in Drita’s story with that one handed, hold your drink/point your finger thing that everyone does right before they throw down, Big Ang is inside telling her girl that she thinks this whole thing is a good thing. She glops onto her tiny drink straw like that fish in the restaurant viewing tank and thinks it’s all gonna end well.
Now I love me some Big Ang, but for someone with such an (allegedly) ginormously injected Staten Island mouth, she is not very good at reading lips if she thinks things are going that well on the other side of the glass doors.
Ang, honey. Love you. Really. But unless Karen and Drita are pretending to be mimes in a box pushing uphill against the wind…it ain’t going that good.
Karen let Drita know that everyday she wanted to go to Drita’s house and settle this. Drita let her know that if she showed up at her house she would get snacks.
And a wrench to the throat.
I know, right? Who does that? I mean, really. I don’t even know where my wrench is. If my bathroom sink leaks, I’m screwed.
Right then, Ramona moves in, either because she heard the wrench thing and really likes tools, or she just wants to gnaw off her own piece of Drita meat. Whatever the reason, it’s now a trifecta.
Two against one. Karen is still calling Drita out for all her lies. Ramona starts in about shoving the party microphone in Drita’s face and letting her tell all her lies to everyone.
And hold on.
Wait for it…
BOOM goes the dynamite.
Drita swings at Karen. Karen swings at Drita. Ramona goes in like a Dog Catcher going after a rabid bulldog. And rinse. And repeat.
Suddely, like an Italian S.W.A.T. team, hundreds of goombah bodyguards and muscle heads seemingly drop from every skylight and air duct in the building and converge on the tangle of women.
Good luck with that, dudes. Shipping off to Iraq without a vest would be safer.
Screaming and hair pulling and more screaming and more hair pulling ensue, until Renee gets steamed that the attention is no longer on her party and storms out on to the balcony, doing her best Bravo TV ReNeNe Leakes model walk.
I’ll give her props. Girlfriend has one mean Staten Island stiletto stomp.
Get. Out. Of. Her. Way.
Especially when she starts to over heat. Those guest should have bolted like the workers at Chernobyl when that thing melted down.
Screaming “OhOhOh” over and over again like bad porn, Renee flips out on every one but the coat check girl while Karen keeps swinging and Ramona keeps tugging at the bulldog.
Coming to Drita’s rescue is Derek Tobacco.
I swear. Derek Tobacco. He swoops in and tries to protect Drita before she loses all her extensions and/or teeth as Karen and Ramona tag team Drita like it’s “Sunday…Sunday…Sunday” at the WWF.
Renee finally pulls Drita away and tries to get her down the stairs to a creepy black van with tinted windows that is hanging outside. Drita thinks the whole thing was a set up and repeatedly screaches “Yous all set me up” while Renee shoves her into the van.
Thank Gawd for clip on mics, because we got to hear the two of them bellowing inside the van while Karen and Ramona lick their wounds upstairs.
If the van is a’rockin’…don’t come a’knockin’.
Mainly because they will mess you up. Cut you. And then mess you up again.
Upstairs, Ramona finally realizes that the blood in her mouth is her own and thinks that Derek Tobacco punched her in da face. Pity the Fool.
She goes off like one of those crazy black girls with the bad weaves on the Bad Girls Club and starts screaming “YouHitMeYouHitMeYouHitMe” until we both ran out of air.
Karen jumps back up to her defense until she is tackled by ten of the S.W.A.T. guys as poor Derek tries to declare his innocence.
In probably one of the dumbest security maneuvers of the evening, the goombahs shove Karen into the desert plate buffet table and the whole thing just goes downhill into My Big Bad Greek Wedding as plates start smashing on heads and the floor. Opa!
Renee makes it back upstairs, dodging plates and appetizers, to find everyone still in a ball.
I was waiting for the big guns to come out.
And one of them did.
Ramona’s.
Yup. In the heat of the battle her right side big gun came out.
Bloop. (Sorry, NeNe…)
But even a boob pop didn’t stop her from spitting blood and wailing on Derek and anyone else in his orbit. As Renee screamed for everyone to go home and thanks for ruining the party, Ramona kept swinging with two fists and one boob.
So check this out.
This is when you know you are either really well connected, or have some really good back up…when you can keep fighting while your BFF tucks your boob back in your bra.
Seriously.
Ramona didn’t even stop cat scratching while some Brooklyn, Bronx, Staten Island-ish chick calmly tucked it all back in for her like when you were little and your Strength Armstrong doll’s eye popped out.
Finally Renee got everyone separated and put random muscle heads in charge of each girl to keep them under control and away from Derek, who by now was probably far away in some New York Cheesecake Deli having nervous pee in the restroom.
Turns out he never even hit Ramona…it was Drita’s cheap a** ring. Go figure.
But a posse of testosterone laden men didn’t know that as they all poured out into the parking lot looking to chew some Tobacco, as they say. Luckily they never found Derek or his Tobacco pouches.
The rest of the episode paled in comparison as everyone basically recapped the event over and over.
Big Ang sat around her place telling one of her nameless Real Housewives of Staten Island girls all about the party, and it only made me love her more. You know that her home is full of porcelain statues and cigars. She needs her own show immediately.
Start a petition.
Karen and Ramona also took a trip to Little Italy to check out Mob Scene, an art gallery/museum kind of joint for…umm, duh…Mobs.
The scene gave us some good family background on the two women, as well as a great chance to watch Mob Scene curator Arty have some seriously nervous sweat while standing next to woman who could break his knee caps in 2.5 seconds. I bet he totally passed out when they left.
We finished off with an odd Chick Flick kind of ending as Junior and Renee awkwardly discussed giving their romance another chance. After 12 years of on again/off again, Renee was willing to give it another try if Junior could maybe stop sleeping around on her. He admitted to being scared of losing her when she had her Amish surgery and that they should try to make it work.
Say wha–?! Really?
It was so quiet you could hear a boob pop.
