Let’s all be honest with each other that the New Jersey season has so far been a snooze. Danielle has quickly grown tedious. I find myself watching scenes with her with the same hooded eye disdain as her daughter Christine, whose flat sullenness continues to alarm me on a weekly basis. Apparently the producers are worried we’re bored as well because they were, in a sore miscalculation of their target audience, throwing in lap dances at Scores for free. “It’s every woman’s fantasy,” Jacqueline intoned about Christopher’s foray to Scores. What’s the fantasy exactly? Because I’m pretty sure it doesn’t involve pretending to mambo with some long-haired, glaze-eyed Delta Tau alum on his lunch break from Deloitte & Touche.
Jacqueline did not have her shrewdest moments on camera this episode. She continued to lecture/whine at her daughter Ashley, who came home to apologize and insist that she didn’t need a life coach. (“Wooden spoon!” recommended Dina.) Then her husband, who I find inexplicably hot, opened his creepy secret safe and revealed a disturbingly large stockpile of guns. “None of them were loaded,” said Jacqueline. “I don’t think.” Safety first! Anyways, Jacqueline draped herself in a belt of bullets and announced how sexy she felt. I’m starting to get worried about what it takes to turn this woman on.
Danielle went to the diner. A friend’s 15-month-old baby has cancer and funds must be raised. (This is dreadful and tragic on every level and I do wish the Housewives had all written fat checks on the side and kept this very sad, real-life drama off camera.) Danielle will do anything she can to help. Hold up, hold up, the fundraiser is at the Brownstone? Oof, now this is going to be difficult for her. (Not really.) The Manzo clan are bullies. (And by bullies she means that they will not agree to be her best friends.) She’s going to need major back-up if she’s going to walk into that hornet’s nest. (Read: a community gathering to raise the necessary funds for a child in dire need.) Danny strikes me as a wee bit off, and I don’t just mean because of the fact that he is a little jittery, or wild-eyed, or an ex-felon. I guess what alarms me the most is that Danielle says Danny doesn’t have to speak with words. (Which is good in a way, because Danny was not terribly articulate.) When Caroline finds out that Danielle is attending the fundraiser she got that same smug lion look she always does when that cuckoo clock comes up. “Ultimately I’m going to win,” she promised her husband. I like Caroline, but on this subject she is maddeningly obtuse. For the love of God, win what?! Is there a bowling tournament we don’t know about? At this point, perhaps a round robin game of candlepin would energize the season.
Teresa, who is fast assuming the role of the voice of the show, which can only spell trouble for her stock with the fans in Season 3 (ie., Jill), went into labor. Joe needed to finish his cup of coffee and change out of his jean shorts before they could go to the hospital. The girl who isn’t Gia and isn’t Milania got to take her time choosing between french toast and pancakes. At this point I would have been screaming and throwing loaves of bread at my family to get their act in gear because my pelvis was getting ready to split open but that’s just me.
At the hospital, Teresa took phone calls and howled like a cat in heat and demanded conflict diamonds from Joe and dabbed at her watering eyes and reapplied her lip gloss between contractions. When she announced that she might soon poop herself a fourth baby girl emerged from her shaved Chuckarella. (I hate everything about that sentence but my job is to recap and recap I must.) The only genuinely touching moment of this entire bloated hour was when Teresa asked Dina to be the baby’s Godmother and our spiritual, smudge-happy gal spilled over in happy tears. Dina, your first job as Godmother is to rescue little Audriana from that frightening Earth-sized flower hat.
In conclusion, Joe you simply must wear a shirt from here on out. Young women of New Jersey, spend your spray tanning dollars on your educations.
Next week: Nobody messes with Danny when he’s wearing his black party t-shirt. “A punk is a punk is a punk and the Manzos aresa punks.” You should’ve gone to a meeting instead, man.