No wonder Carrie Underwood released her new album earlier than some people thought she would this month. Looks like there might be a new Diva breathing down her neck, and you know how fickle those Club Kids can be when it comes to their dance tunes.
Clear some space on your BeDazzled Hello Kitty iPod because it looks like the freakin’ cutest niblet evah, Paisley Dickey, is about to shake her cheese dip on a new song.
The pint sized dynamo who nose picked and pretty feeted (…is that even a word?…) her way to Toddlers & Tiaras fame, is taking a cue from pageant retiree Eden Wood and jumpstarting her own sparkly Empire. But whereas Eden chose to go the questionably uncomfortable half Anna Nicole/half RuPaul route, Paisley is going with what she knows.
Cuteness and Boogers.
Now I pride myself on being an authority on cuteness, but not so much on boogers…so we’ll all just have to wait until Ryan Seacrest leaks a few tracks before I start party rocking my new dance moves.
Recording career or not, it looks like that little nugget is going to need a longer resume.
According to the interview below, when her finger kissing days are over, Paisley may just become the world’s first singing clown doctor.
And far be it from me to open up old wounds or stir things back up again… but maybe Isabella could lay down the Booger ReMix tracks?
Lots of Go Go Juice. Tons of Go Go Juice. Discounted bulk quantities, in fact.
Dat’s rite. Honey Boo-Boo Child and the Coupon Queen are back!
Alana Thompson, one of the most infamous Toddlers & Tiaras breakout stars in recent memory, is ready to unleash another heaping helping of her one of a kind Pageant Spaz…so you better stock up on Red Bull and Mountain Dew before Mom June Shannon clears every Walmart shelf in town.
Somebody knew a good, totally crazy thing when they saw it. Alana and June, her accordion coupon binder and that seemingly endless supply of green magic potion are all back in their own mini spin-off show premiering this Summer on TLC.
Those bitches are lucky there’s no Ultimate Grand Fierce category. Mmmm’kay?
I’m pretty sure they wear my crowns when I’m at school.
Sometimes the smallest Tiffany box contains the most valuable jewelry. Remember that.
And this is how you shake what yo’ Mama gave you. Any questions?
Salt-n-Pepa’s here, and we’re in effect. Want you to Glitz It. Glitz It Real Good.
This could be one for the record books, people.
Now I’m not an archival statistician…never claimed to be…and the hard drive on my Xfinity DVR is in no way large enough to backlog every single episode ever filmed over however many seasons we have all been closet-watching this show.
And surprisingly enough to many, I may not actually be the authority on all things Toddlers & Tiaras, though I do claim this title on my current resume, business cards and upcoming Walmart tee shirt line.
So with nothing to go on, and no proof to back up any statements I am about to make, I’m going to go out on a limb and declare that this week’s episode of T&T may be the first time in television history that all three Pageant Moms have been…well…almost normal.
Pageant Normal, at least.
It probably won’t make for great sound bites on TMZ because there were no Hooters waitresses in bikinis, no sobbing Russian women having breakdowns and no delusional wives spending all their blue collared husbands’ hard earned income. There wasn’t even any livestock poop on the hotel bed that Consuela would have to clean up after scrubbing down the spray tanned tub.
They were all outrageously friendly, didn’t have one flip out and loved their kids unconditionally. I was afraid that there might not be anything for me to snark about this week, and who really wants to read this much fluff without any zingers? How was this possible?
Oh. Wait.
This wasn’t held in the South. That explains it.
And just like that, I gotz my snark back.
Take a deep breath for this one. The America’s Genuine Jewel All Around The World Glitz Pageant…another breath…was held in white bread Connecticut, so that explained some of the normalcy.
Though many have tried, nobody can take the title of Pageant Crazy away from the South. I’m pretty certain that at least 5 of the states down there actually have “Home of the Pageant Crazy” as their DMV license and registration motto, which probably looks pretty dope with a “SPKL BBY” vanity plate.
So what the Northeast lacked in crazy, they more than made up for in fierceness and cuteness. And then more fierceness.
First up we got to meet 8 year old Lacey-Mae and her Mom Kerry Ann.
Little Lacey-Mae is…well…little, because she was born with achondroplasia, the leading cause of dwarfism.
(Again…DanThat’sCool! We Google it so you don’t have to….!)
Trust me, her size is the only little thing about this princess. When Mom pulled up to the drive-thru maternity window 8 years ago, everything else was super-sized.
L-M has more self confidence than most of the goofs I went to high school with and more stage presence than most of the glitter babies at the pageant. If you check out her bio, she has gone through more in her 8 short years than most of us will ever have to deal with, and for that she should get one extra crown just cuz.
You couldn’t help but like her as soon as she got up in the camera lens. The only problem she has with pageants is that the dresses are either too long, or so heavy that knock her down, or both. But that ain’t stopping the Lacey Locomotive from tearing into the station, because she was really excited to do her Bollywood and Voodoo Queen numbers at the competition this week.
As proof that I watch waaaaay more Reality TV than I should, as soon as L-M was introduced I chuckled at how many hits the other famous Lacey-Mae was going to accidentally get on her Facebook tonight.
For those of you who still read books or didn’t pay your cable bill, the other Lacey-Mae Schwimmer is that crazy hair whipping bitch from So You Think You Can Dance and Dancing With The Stars. The one with the Broadway dancing brother Benji, who himself is the sappiest/happiest jazz-hander I have ever seen.
How bummed is the wrong L-M gonna be when she gets home from the DWTS Vegas Show tonight and gets all excited that 5,000 more people checked out her status page?
Psych.
Then we were on to even bigger and badder things…and I pretty much died and went to Heaven for a few minutes.
I went to that part of Heaven you go to when you witness so much fun fierce african-american nubian fierceness that your head can’t contain all the fierceness and you die a little. That Heaven.
It was time for 8 year old Damitri’ana, her Mom Quiana and Mom’s side kick sister Marquita. Whoa…that was a mouthful.
One: Where is this Name Generator Machine located that everyone uses to come up with these names? I need to find it before I buy a puppy.
Two: Why haven’t I gone to lunch with these woman yet?
I. Love. Them. We would totally wreck the buffet at Olive Garden, and have the best ride home in a cop car. Ever.
They are a hoot. Two hoots, actually. Two full hoots. The only thing bigger than their personalities are their weaves. Girlfriend, call me. Hit me up on my Sidekick, if you know what I mean.
Finally, we had a musical interlude with 4 year old Mackenzie and her Mom Crystal.
Tiny Mack does that sing-songy thing that always makes me smile. The thing where the kid can’t just answer a question, but instead has to make a little ditty out of it and bust into a stuffed animal tea party song. But this one had air guitar. She’s a rock staaaaahhhh.
Mack’s Dad Jamie is a Pageant Dad that could pass as a normal Dad. He’s all about his daughter, and is more than happy to work it with finger kisses and pretty feet during the living room practice sessions (…PleasePleasePlease don’t let the guys at the Lodge see this episode…) but could just as easily whip your a** at poker or fly fishing. Just a normal Joe who loves his kid.
Sir, I tip my Hawaii sun visor to you.
Then it was back to our African roots. Or Damitri’ana’s anyway.
(Uh oh. Doesn’t look like the Name Generator Machine took into account how odd that name would look with two apostrophes. Let that be a lesson to you.)
It was rehearsal time. Quiana vs. Marquita. Only one diva would survive….and score a crisp $20 bill in the process.
Turned out that Mom had choreographed D’s African routine, while Auntie dreamed up the Michael Jackson number. The pageant called for two productions, and it was on like Donkey Kong to see which dance scored higher, and who got the twenty bucks to put towards some new tracks. Did I already mention how much I love them?
The African number was Lion King meets Beyoncé meets Prince meets I don’t know what. The Michael Jackson number was the same thing plus some hardcore Mama Say Mamakossa, but without the Lion King part.
Damitri’ana dropped it like it was hot. Then she picked it up again and dropped it one more time because it was still too hot. The African outfit she was going to wear had been custom designed by some tailor at some shop that I guess makes African pageant clothes, but it was a little too racy for “Father Figure” Kenny who had just watched a booty girl wear almost the same thing while doing head stand leg splits in a Ludacris video.
(Hey. TLC gave him that title…not me. I’m not sure why they couldn’t have just slapped his name under his face and left it at that. I’m not touching that one.)
But Kenny was out voted. Sorry, dude.
While Damitri’ana was in the living room dropping it, Mackenzie was in the kitchen spitting it out.
Her flipper, that is. For her first glitz pageant Mom had invested in a flipper that looked like it was cast from the mouth of a 6 month old baby. The thing barely fit, and they decided after Mack almost digested it that they would go with her natural chompers, risking the dreaded Glitz penalty points.
Side note. For a pageant that harped on all the Moms to get flippers, the director certainly had some gnarly enamel. That’s all I have to say on the subject.
Glass houses. Don’t throw stones. Ok. Now I’m done.
On Pageant Day, it was the usual hotel room carnage.
Mom and Auntie painted up Damitri’ana while promising her that she would be the baddest Real Housewife of Atlanta ever.
Watch yo’ back, NeNe. And if you really have to wear that Ludacris African outfit, Kenny sez close your legs to pageant judges.
(Seriously. Do you know how long I have waited to be able to use that RHOA line in an age appropriate fashion that actually made sense in these recaps? It’s like Christmas just came early for me.)
The only other casualty of the pre-show chaos was Lacey-Mae’s right eye getting glued shut during the false eyelash application. They managed to pry it open and she correctly identified how many fingers they were holding up in front of her, so it was all good.
The Beauty portion was pretty tame. For her first Glitz evah, Mack rocked the stage.
Damitri’ana was a little nervous, but pulled off her Niecy Nash look just fine.
Lacey-Mae did this stop and look back over her shoulder head move like she was that chick from GLEE on the red carpet. Classic.
The World Wear portion was introduced with a bootleg version of Disney’s It’s A Small World After All, and then it was as if all the animatronics came to life and jumped at you on the amusement ride.
Mack did a Portuguese nose pick and Flamenco Dancing Soccer Player looking routine. Damitri’ana unleashed her African princess and Lacey-Mae did a Bollywood shimmy shake that made me wonder if the stage was being hit by a tremor. The poor little nugget cried so hard after the Indian routine because she didn’t think she did well and all of the sudden I was yelling at my TV to make sure her Mom hugged her real hard for me.
Quiana and Marquita were spliced in every few minutes so they could head shake and give their two snaps worth of fierceness. I’m pretty sure that I loved them more in the second half of the show than I did the first, if that was even possible. Quiana got a couple of two fisted whoop whoops in while giving her roving reporter input on the pageant’s progress, while Marquita made room in her wallet for the twenty dollah that she just knew was coming at her soon.
Outfit of Choice is when the party started.
Mackenzie came out as a human piano, but came to a screeching halt and yelled at Mom from the stage for doing “the motions” during her routine.
What is it about Pageant Moms at that point? I don’t care who you are. You can be the most chilled out lady at the Bake Sale, but as soon as your kid gets on stage you think you have your Harvard PhD in Pageant Dancing and you unleash all your inner spaz behind the judges.
Lacey-Mae’s Voodoo Queen number came complete with Gold Bond foot powder that she blew into the judges’ faces as a curse should they even think about taking off points for her dress being too long.
When Damitri’ana busted out her Michael Jackson dance, the place went BaZoinkerz. Even the tiniest little white girls who had no clue what was going on suddenly got their groove back. Quiana and Marquita were jammin’ like it was last call at the Apollo.
For those of you who missed it the first ten times: Love. Them.
Some of the people in that room may even need an intervention after that routine. Michael Jackson and Pixie Stix are the new Ecstasy.
Then some kids won some stuff. Google it if it’s really that important.
All that really matters is that Marquita went home with a crisp twenty in her Louis bag.
I think somebody’s getting their hair did this weekend.
You choose. Right or Left. Cuz one of them is about to slap your face, bitch.
She is so lucky I don’t feel like getting my butt up off this comfy couch.
Don’t you worry, baby. I’m crazy enough for both of us. Trust me.
I can’t believe nobody told me this wasn’t Abby Lee Miller’s studio.
I am just about to go all Miami Sound Machine Conga on her skinny a**.
Ladies and Gentlemen.
Children of all ages.
Step right up and witness the amazing Dance Moms: Miami Twisted Circus.
Three rings of Crazy, all for your viewing pleasure.
You’ll see Moms melting down, the World’s skinniest elementary school Mime and more questionably age inappropriate eye liner and makeup than you thought possible in one hour.
And you thought clowns were scary?
That’s right. The circus came to town this week and plopped its tent right in the middle of the Stars Dance Studio parking lot. Fresh off their trophy hogging trip to whatever the last competition was called, Victor and Angel already had their sights set on the upcoming Starbound Dance Competition down the street and around the corner in sunny Ft. Myers.
The last time around the dance crew had a pretty good showing, but they didn’t scarf up every single plaque and trophy on the back table. So for Starbound everyone needed to ramp up their game. And nothing says We’re Here To Wipe The Floor With The Rest Of You like a spooky Tim Burton number.
But before Victor could get into all the deets he had to bang out The List, because even if the studio springs a natural gas leak, nobody leaves until The List is revealed.
First on The List should have been an explanation as to why we are now in week #6 and they STILL can not find enough chairs for all the Moms to sit in during the big reveal.
Seriously.
If this is how it’s going to be, then I vote for just getting rid of all the chairs. Lose ‘em.
Toss them in the dumpster or put them in storage for the Bob Fosse retrospective. Make all the Moms stand up like that mean Abby Lee Miller does on her show. It’s not like they aren’t all going to spend the rest of their studio time sitting down anyway. After The List is done, the only time any of them get off their butts is to storm out the door in a DivaMom fit. Am I wrong?
So get rid of them. Thank you.
Lucas took the top spot on The List, thanks to last week’s high scoring duet with Mensa Girl Kimmy. The little dude managed to channel his inner Luther and got down wid it in the romantic pairing which almost resulted in another notch on his tree house, if you know what I mean. He unleashed some serious Playah for a 9 year old. He just cracks me up.
Since there is no such thing as a tie on The List, Kimmy was knocked to second place because she still needed to work on “letting go” and just being “in the dance.” What she is missing in front teeth, Kimmy totally makes up for in technique and Spelling Bee awards. But she still needs to just chill and enjoy The Dance.
Hovering helicopter Mom Ani immediately got a little on edge when she heard that Victor wanted Kimmy to let go, because she likes her baby exactly the way she is right now. If there was a way to stunt Kimmy’s growth that didn’t involve unfiltered cigarettes or reverse steroid shots, I’m almost certain that Ani would freeze-frame Kimmy at 9 years old and keep her in that pink bedroom forever.
After working this hard to formulate the perfect school girl specimen, the last thing Ani needs is to have Kimmy start letting go and risk her finding out that most kids her age are still asleep at 4am.
Jessi was hanging out in the third spot. Again, I thought it was because she insists on wearing those micro spandex tops every week, but turned out it was because she got beat in scores by the two 9 year olds. Not cool, and Victor don’t play dat.
Sammy was in the fourth spot, mainly because I think they needed to make sure the last spot was left wide open for Hannah.
Poor Hannah. She’s probably one of the most level headed people at that studio, and smart way beyond her years. But she is saddled with her Mom Debi, who pops off anytime she thinks that someone is making a Fat joke.
I swear if one of the other Moms sunk underwater at the beach and didn’t resurface, Debi would assume the “blub blub blub” was a slam against her chubby kid and let the woman drown. Especially if it was Abby.
But Hannah keeps plugging away each week, working hard at raising the level of her dancing and lowering the percentage of her carbs like a trooper.
Lucas and Kimmy each scored another solo thanks to their rankings on The List, which left Jessi, Sammy and Hannah in a trio.
Wait for it. Wait for it…
BOOM! The Susan Bomb goes off right on schedule. I think it was actually the exact same time that it went off last week. Pinpoint accuracy.
Coming dangerously close to blurting out that the fat kid and the slacker kid are going to bring her daughter Jessi down in the trio performance, Susan stormed out, leaving a jet stream trail of crazy smoke behind her as the door slammed shut.
After that overly dramatic performance, the boys laid down the law. The next time roller coaster Susan walks out, Jessi needs to follow her and the two of them are more than welcome to enjoy the rest of their lives at a studio whose policies on maternal hissy fits are a little more lenient than those at Stars.
The Mom Room was buzzing about all the trio drama from the second they all hit the couch. Debi and Brigette went another round or two in the never ending Lucas vs. Everybody Battle, and Abby got some serious eye rolling in right as Susan came back inside. Debi got fed up and scooted to the lobby to read Cosmo with Mayra, while Susan got back up and pulled Jessi aside to unleash some more crazy on her daughter.
The group number was the aforementioned Twisted Circus, a dark music video kind of dance with black balloons that Jessi got to pop in such a suppressed and angry manner that I thought Susan’s face may have been doodled on the latex.
To get them all in the circus mood, Victor and Angel took the kids to Circus School, where they learned to jump and flip and twist themselves into human pretzels.
Jessi unleashed a little more of that suppressed anger by twisting herself around the Cirque du Soleil ceiling scarf as though it was her mother’s neck, while Lucas proved to everyone that he was indeed born with no spine.
Victor took center stage and tangled himself up in the hanging ring like he was a fierce diva parrot on a cage swing. He said he was bringing circus realness, whatever that means, since every circus performance I’ve ever witnessed was solely based on the total opposite of realness.
Back at the studio, Angel was helping Kimmy with her solo. I guess.
Since Angel is…umm…no longer in his dancing prime…shall we say, he seems to leave the actual dancing to Victor. Instead, Angel chooses to wear snug shirts, scarves and little hats while giving each dance move a sound effect to distract us from the fact that he isn’t really dancing at all.
Boom! Pah! Pow! Whoo! Hah! Kpow!
Check it out. It’s like the old 1960′s Batman TV show but with tighter outfits.
The trio number was based on women who hate each other. If that sounded familiar, all you had to do was look through the glass into the Mom Room where they were all pointing and scratching each other’s eyes out while the girls were trying to rehearse.
Apparently the Moms have still not realized that the gigantic window is not a two way police mirror, and that the room is not sound proofed.
By the time Susan had blown Nutty #425 for the week, Hannah could hear everything through the glass and started to cry. Victor scooped up the boom box and pushed all the kids outside to rehearse on hard concrete, while Angel Boom Pah Powed his way into the Mom Room to lay some smack down. Much like his shirt, it just wasn’t pretty.
As the rehearsals dragged on, Abby was getting concerned that Sammy needed to get home and study for a test the next morning. Say wha–?!
Yes. That means the kids actually do go to school at some point during the day. I would have totally lost that bet, since I’ve never seen one backpack or Trapper Keeper anywhere in that studio.
But turned out that Sammy isn’t a big fan of Kimmy’s sunrise homework rituals, so Abby wanted to go home. When Angel got wind of such utter nonsense, he threw yet another Angel Spaz and sent everyone home to prove a point.
Since I’m not a dancer outside of los discotecas, I was a little surprised that none of the other Moms stood up for Abby. Instead, they all slammed her for putting the entire competition in jeopardy and potentially sabotaging the trio. The Dance comes first it seems, and they all stay in Dance Prison until it is perfection. If that means the book report is late, so be it.
Did anyone ever ask Baryshnikov what he thought about the character and plot development in the second chapter of Catcher in the Rye?
No. I didn’t think so.
Despite all the drama, everyone made it to Starbound in one piece. Victor made his entrance in yet another tiny hat, Angel brought out yet another ManPurse delicately cradled in the nook of his arm, and Lucas rocked his signature Kanye West shades.
Seeing the Stars Grand Arrival is more fun than the competition itself. There needs to be some kind of trophy for the pre-show, too.
Lucas did his solo with no shirt on again. Beyond the fact that it’s a little creepy to be envious of a 9 year old’s six pack abs, the whole shirtless thing is played out. You know that everyone in the auditorium is going to pick him up off the floor in a big bear hug at some point in the evening, so I would prefer his bare skin not be pressed up against every grown up in the joint. I’m all set with that, thanks.
Kimmy had some timing issues with her solo, but she’s going to graduate with a 4.0 and someday own Microsoft, so who really cares.
Susan and Jessi went another couple of laps around the Crazy Track before the trio performance, which put additional pressure on the kids.
It should be noted that Jessi’s makeup barely budged when Mom made her cry like a baby. She bawled, but that stuff didn’t move.
Memo to the FAA: Whatever eyeliner it is that Miss Thing uses should be used to mark and track every black box on every plane that ever flies over a body of water.
In-de-structible.
The Twisted Circus number was twisted, and award winning. Lucas was a Mime, and he actually made it into half a shirt. Baby steps, I guess.
Sammy kinda sorta dropped Kimmy during a flip, but nobody could determine who was responsible.
The original blame fell on Kimmy, according to Sammy. But then Lucas whispered that it wasn’t Kimmy’s fault. And then there was so much backstage screaming and yelling that I lost track.
Abby stood up for Sammy, declaring her innocence, while everyone else blamed Sammy and pointed fingers like villagers storming Frankenstein’s Castle.
Then more screaming and crying as Abby stormed out the door. There was a lot of that this week.
I’m not sure if anyone even asked if Kimmy’s head was ok.
Gawd as my witness, I told the tattoo guy “Omarosa” 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.
My girls are Tiara Twin Divas. Alycesaundra and…umm…the other one. I forget.
You paid WHAT for that dress? What about college tuition, woman?
Mr. Slither is so big it takes two hands to hold him.
That’s what she said. Booyeah.
Be honest.
How much would you love to have been in the room when someone actually came up with the concept for the Me and My Pet Pageant?
Just to be there and be able to see who it was that actually came up with the idea to put highly sugarized little children in the same hotel ballroom with livestock, and then watch them explain to whoever it is that you explain these things to, how they felt this was a good idea?
Don’t get me wrong. For me, it was Gold. And probably for you, and anyone else who secretly watches Toddlers & Tiaras as well.
But I can guarantee you that PETA and the Hotel Housekeepers Union would beg to differ, because this thing was chaos.
Chaos covered in fur, feathers and at least 17 varieties of poop.
Pageant Director Jill gave us a quick run through at the top of the show, and just seeing a tiny little baby who could barely walk laying face down on what looked like a bean bag pillow next to a goldfish bowl was all that I needed to plop on the couch with some snacks. Bring it on, Jill. Bring it on.
The first little nugget we met was 6 year old Karley and her Mom Crystal.
Loved them right away.
Karley had that non-stop energetic blabber that I find so endearing in little kids, especially when you can send them back to their parents at the end of the day.
They introduced us to Slither the Snake, Karley’s most very favorite special pet friend.
Yeeuck. Snakes creep me out. I don’t care if they are worm sized wigglers that you couldn’t even bait a hook with, or the ones on television that dislocate their own jaws and eat an entire jungle tribal dancer when he’s not paying attention during the Fire God ceremonies.
Snakes are just gross. But Karley loves them. Especially Slither. She wore that thing around the house like she was a pint-sized Britney Spears.
Hello Kitty? I’m a Slave 4 U.
She gave Slither pampering hot baths, butterfly kisses and even let him play in her Barbie Dream Townhouse. It didn’t go unnoticed that when Slither snuck up on Barbie and Ken it sure looked like Barbie passed out and tipped over while Ken jumped higher on the couch. Go ahead and rewind the DVR. You’ll see.
At least I think it was Ken. The kind with the updated hair. Or it could have been a Justin Bieber doll, I’m not really sure. If it is the Biebster, Ken is gonna be some mad when he comes home and finds Justin Bieber hiding in the closet.
(Insert your own Justin Bieber in-the-closet joke here: ________________________!)
Crystal is a hoot, and explained how Slither is a Diva Snake and will only eat white rats, not tan rats or white rats with spots. And they have to be free range rats. And no growth hormones or cage farms.
You could tell right away that Karley loved pageants almost as much as snakes. When she went into her “Snake Power” trance, I wondered if Slither hadn’t poked her neck with a little venom. But she blinked and smiled, so everything was ok. She just loves that snake.
Next we met Mom Kelly, who probably doesn’t love snakes. But she loves money. And she loves spending it. And she definitely loves talking about spending it.
Turns out that money can buy you $8,000 pageant dresses, a tour bus with your kids’ faces decoupaged all over it, Carl the creeper bodyguard and acres of farmland…but it apparently can’t buy you any books on Parenting Skills.
We met her 4 year old Tiara Twin daughters Alycesaundra and Giavanna.
For real. You can’t make up those names. Write them down somewhere and put it in your wallet so you can win at your next Scrabble party.
Kelly guessed that she had spent close to $500,000 on pageants so far. If you failed grade school math, that pretty much equals half a million dollars. Redoinkulous for a hobby that at the most usually pulls in $400 bucks and a puppy if you’re lucky. She also chastised all those Pageant Moms out there who complain about how hard it is when they only have one tiny princess in the biz.
Try two. And “Shut up, you hag.”
They were apparently out of Parenting Skill books and Klass at the Mall this week.
Part of that Trump sized half mill bankroll went to the aforementioned tour bus, so the girls could travel to all the Ramadas in style. Another portion of that sum seemed to have gone into spelling out “You’reMy Favorite” in Swarovski crystals on all of Alycesaundra’s clothing, because poor little Giavanna didn’t seem to stand a chance.
Mom described Aly as a Fireball, full of piss and vinegar and attitude. When asked to describe the other one, she paused, sighed, looked around the room, filed her nails, changed her clothes, checked her email and then winced that it’s… just not herpersonality.
Later on in the show, Mom even called the other one…”The Other One.”
I’m pretty sure I heard a child proof bottle of meds being pried open in the background.
For the pageant, Aly was bringing Butterball the Sheep, while The Other One was stuck with Tom the Turkey. Despite the fact that the wrong names seemed to be attached to the wrong animals if you really think about it, Gia still wanted the baby sheep for her pet, but Mom gave first dibs to Aly. I guess Gia isn’t old enough to be able to read what the front of Aly’s Swarovski tee shirt says. Duh.
Moving on to a normal relationship for a few minutes, we met 5 year old Kali and Mom Chante.
I immediately liked Kali, because she was a sassy little Tae Kwon Do punching Ninja Turtle Beyonce mix.
I immediately liked Chante because her name reminded me of RuPaul.
Chante. You Stay, Mom.
Kali had a Silver Smile, which I originally thought were just normal geeky kid braces, but then discovered they were sort of a braces meets hip hop grill meets James Bond shark tooth villain mouth contraption. Mom loved Da Bling, and it did make her gigantic smile even more fun.
For the pageant, Kali was bringing Buster the Dog, who was basically a crotchety old man with irritable bowels on four legs. When they took him to the pet store to find him some healthier Milk Bones, Buster was more than happy to clear his intestines on the sales floor to make room for the new food.
Pup Clean Up…aisle 4.
Katie Boyer, who appears to be the only Pageant Coach in America, was back again to help Karley with her snake dance. Katie and her Katie Kuties Konvention were just on the show a few days ago, but she’s funny and nice and smiley, so she has my permission to be on every week. She’s the good kind of pageant crazy.
Karley had never used a snake, a prop or a rip-off stripper skirt on stage before and needed some pointers. The first point should immediately be to get it out of your system now before it stops being cute. No combination of the three will ever get you through college, no matter what the hairy guy behind the bar tells you.
Finally it was Pageant Day! Bring on that chaos, please.
The Karma Gods were working overtime, and Kelly’s Tiara Twins tour bus broke down before the entourage even made it to the first toll booth. For all the money they spend, you think that someone would have changed the air filter every 3,000.
After renting a tiny unmarked van with nary a glitz headshot attached, some poor schmo had to hold the baby sheep for 13 hours to keep it from crying while the turkey did whatever it is that turkeys do on road trips. I just smiled my biggest Kali smile and watched Mom start to unravel.
The day of the pageant, Alycesaundra was sick and they found her passed out in a pile of turkey feathers looking as though she had just taken a tranquilizer dart to the face. Giavanna was still having turkey issues, and the crying sheep had kept Chante You Stay awake the entire night.
Hold up. I can’t even find Orbit hotels that take cats anymore…how in the h*** did they find one that excepts sheep?
As Aly clutched a handful of cooked bacon, Kelly tried to play dress up with a limp living doll. Kali got her hair did and Karley heated up her snake.
It was a tighter squeeze than normal in the ballroom. There must have been a Star Wars thing going on that week as well, because they had slid those ballroom walls closer together than normal. And the stage was really tight. More like a pretty feet boardwalk where the kids zipped in from one side and shot out the other end. It totally need a George Jetson conveyor belt sidewalk.
Did anyone else notice the one dude in the audience that looked like he came for the music video auditions and ended up in the wrong room? Seeing the guy sitting there with the doo rag between two Quacker Factory ladies made my whole day. Probably my week.
Alycesaundra sleep walked through her entire beauty portion. Not even a clue where she was. She did manage a few finger kisses, but Kelly was so steamed that they mispronounced her name that she didn’t do a very good job at the Mom Dance behind the judges. Perhaps if she had given her child a name that didn’t have to be decoded before it was announced there would have been less drama.
Not to be outdone, Giavanna zombie walked through her portion. Actually, zombie stood. Didn’t even move, most likely due to the 47 pounds of artificial hair she was sporting.
Years from now when Gia finds that box of DVDs and watches all the smack talk that Mom laid down about her in this episode, she will most likely once again go catatonic.
And this time it will stick.
Then we had a little time out for a Pixie Stix Spaz Attack. Karley and her blue tongue went completely BaZoinkers sucking down the magic dust. It was flying around like a sandstorm.
Best moment of TV this month. I love that kid.
Then it was time to unleash the hounds. And the sheep and the snakes. And any other animal who managed to poop in the hotel room.
Seriously. Did you see those rooms? There’s not a housekeeper in America that gets paid enough to clean up that barn. It was nothing but sparkly, spray tanned pellets as far as the eye could see.
Gia’s turkey tug of war was a mess, complete with Dad holding up an “Eat More Chicken” sign that looked like an after thought he had scribbled on the back of a Room Service folder. By the time Aly dragged the sheep up on stage, he had crossed out the chicken part and written “”Beef” to ensure the hilarity was non-stop. Dad also forgot to take the sheep off Aly’s hands and she ended up tangling herself up in the leash.
Turns out they also brought the wrong sheep. Someone screwed up and didn’t put the one that had rehearsed the number into the tour bus. Which leads me to question how many of their sheep back home were wearing tutus when they went to load up for the trip?
But thirteen hours in a van and they still couldn’t find a store that sold Klass, so Kelly lit into her husband in front of some rather horrified Moms as he corralled all the livestock and tried to get off stage.
Kali busted out the nunchucks and almost made Buster relieve himself again as the audience hooted and hollered.
Karley’s Jungle Girl snake dance was a big hit, complete with paw prints on her butt and enough Pixie Stix energy to take her routine straight off the stage and down the block to the midnight Rave.
Then some kids won some stuff. I know by now that you don’t check in here for the stats.
Seriously? The Nerd got the love letter? That is messed up.
Korroga…Krogography… No, wait. Really. This time I got it. Korahgraffi.
It says your butt’s too big and that top is still too small.
I did NOT put on my Big Boy Bib to be disrespected by a crazy Mom.
Screw artistry. That dance needs more technique. And more eyeliner.
R-E-S-P-E-C-T.
Find out what it means to me.
And when you figure it out, can you please explain it to a few Moms I know before I send Aretha down to Miami and have her start bitch slapping somebody?
Please?
This week it was all about Respect and Survival on Dance Moms: Miami.
You need those skills out there in the real world, or the jungle…or that grey area in between known as the Dance Moms world.
It’s eat. Or be eaten. Just don’t eat a lot, because the scale doesn’t lie.
Back from their great showing at the Energy Dance Competition, Victor and Angel were already chomping at the bit for their next chance to grab some trophies for the case. This time the gang was headed to AccessBroadway in Orlando and there was a lot of work to get done. If their team was going to make it to Regionals, or Nationals or whatever it is Dancers and Gleeks always go to, they would need to step up their game.
After The List, of course.
Even if the building catches on fire, nobody leaves until we finish The List. Is that understood?
As the little dance troupe stacked up in their army line and the Moms lurked in the back of the room, Victor got the presentation started. This week he—
Hold up. Before we go any further.
Seriously? Five weeks into this mess and nobody can find a 5th chair for the Moms?
One Mom is still left standing in the back while the other four take a load off? You mean to tell me that huge studio doesn’t have one stray chair laying around somewhere?
How about they dump Mayra off her cushy front desk/receptionist chair? Until we really get an explanation of what it is she does all day, she can read magazines on the floor.
Anyway.
Top of the hit parade was Jessi. Kudos to her. The same powerful, greedy paws that only a few weeks ago had ripped an award right out of another dancer’s hands have now helped her claw her way back up to the top.
I’ll give her one thumb up. She has been working on her attitude. Sporadically.
I still think she has the potential to cut someone if they cross her, and I’m not really sure if it’s the heavy eyeliner or allergies that make her squint. But when she’s not mouthing off, the girl can dance.
The number 2 slot was all Kimmy. Last week she managed to remember choreography, do a great dance and get all her advanced BioChem homework done before the Today show came on…so you go, girl.
Third was LadyKiller Lucas and his new haircut. The L Man got a trim. Keeping it tight and right.
Lucas had a few problems in his dancing last week and had to hang in the middle this round. No biggie. He’s still dope.
Fourth place, better known as second to the bottom, was Hannah. Victor actually wanted her at the bottom, because she was too chicken s*** to fall backwards into Sammy’s arms during the Death Drop trust game.
Last week’s whole skinny girl/not so skinny girl duet thing was still a touchy subject and immediately got the eyeballs rolling around Mom Debi’s head like pinball marbles.
Last place was Sammy, because they ran out of room.
Before rehearsals could begin, Angel and Victor needed to address some issues.
Mainly, the Mom’s lack of respect. Angel’s big gripe the last few weeks has been that the Moms are questioning their choreo…korograph…krrooga..
Choreography. It’s called Choreography.
Seriously, dude. Hooked on Phonics. Sound. It. Out.
The boys are in charge. The Moms are just their to carpool and swipe their credit cards.
End of story.
Since she didn’t hurt anyone or get arrested, Jessi got a solo. An artistic kind of So You Think You Can Dance kind of solo. Victor was definitely going back to his roots. I almost called in to vote when she finally performed the number.
Hannah got a solo as well, which had Debi positively giddy when she wasn’t bitching out Abby for everything from the duet to the duet and then the duet.
Kimmy and Lucas were paired up in a romantic duet. Or as romantic as 9 year olds can get, I guess.
Kimmy got a little skeeved out by the whole Boy Germ thing, while Lucas finally realized that having all that Game might actually net him a chick some day.
The group number was a Survival theme, which came complete with jungle drums during Victor’s unveiling. It was like you were watching Dance Moms, but the audio track was from Survivor. I was waiting for Brigette to pull out her lighter and get the tiki torches blazing.
My psychic powers told me that Lucas wouldn’t be wearing a shirt for that number.
Again.
As the kids got their Lion King on, the Moms chewed on each other like hyenas. Abby and Debi continued their bickering which was basically a continuation of last week. I should probably just cut & paste last week’s blog post into this paragraph, but I still haven’t figure out how to do that yet. But you can imagine the conversation.
Seems the dealio at the studio is that everyone should come with about 27 more outfits than they actually need, in case a number gets cut or changed or Jessi cracks somebody in the head. Apparently everyone knew that rule except newbie Abby, so Angel had sent her a text which she took to mean that last week’s half skinny/half not so skinny duet might not happen.
You know how that played out with Debi.
Abby flashed the text and here we go again. Don’t show your texts to other people, whether they’re drunk texts or naked texts or dance texts. Der.
Since Kimmy hadn’t had any real relationships yet, and Lucas didn’t know where his uncle kept the box of Playboys, the romance part of their dance wasn’t happening. Their homework was to write each other love letters, put on a little Luther and get their groove on.
Naturally, Kimmy’s homework came complete with a bubble gum scented paper, a stamp, glitter stickers and a Trapper Keeper. Lucas’s looked like he was mailing his Macy’s payment.
But it was cute. Mom Ani had obsessively/compulsively helped Kimmy, so her love note was a little more on the Desperate Housewives “I love the way you take control” side of the spectrum, while Lucas said he would pick her up if he dropped her.
Chicks. Go figure.
Then the whole thing suddenly morphed into an ABC AfterSchool Special on body image and eating disorders when Mayra put down her OK Magazine and came into the studio with a scale to weigh all the kids.
Yeah. Like cattle at an auction.
I guess they do this in the dancers world a lot. At least that’s what Angel said.
Apparently they don’t do it in the choreographers world, though, if you know what I mean. But that’s what big scarves are for, right?
Oh snap. I went there.
But they do it in the dancers world, I guess. Abby was not a big fan at all and yanked Sammy out kicking and crying to the car like any good dramatic Dance Mom would do.
I’m Team Abby on this one. At that age, unless the cafeteria is going to stop serving fish sticks and whoopie pies, I wouldn’t be weighing kids in front of each other. Plus I don’t think Lucas could even make the needle move unless he put his big sunglasses back on.
In between all the rehearsing, Susan and Jessi managed to get plenty of disrespectful Mother/Daughter face time in as they argued about all the usual stuff.
Finally it was showtime.
Access Broadway was held in some hotel ballroom better suited for a Glitz pageant, where they just laid down a temporary wedding reception floor and hung a bazillion blinking starlights from those black fabric rolling backdrops they use to cover crap that nobody wants you to see.
Again…well documented. I’m not a dancer, though in my head I am a dance authority. I just thought the layout was odd. You tripped on the carpet. The edge of the dance floor was raised up just enough that you could trip on that as well if you were 5 open bar drinks into the reception. It was eye level to the ballroom chairs. Like floor seats at a concert that couldn’t afford a stage.
I was waiting for a baby to crawl across during a performance, or someone to drop their soda and watch the can roll under some ballet pose. But it was incident free from my vantage point on my couch.
For all of Jessi’s issues, she nailed her solo. It was simple and yet intense like any good cheese, or dance, should be.
The duet was cute. Lucas actually came the closest to wearing a shirt that I’ve seen so far this season. Yes, it was unbuttoned. But at least it was a shirt. On his body. I’m surprised Victor didn’t just spray glue the clippings from Lucas’s new haircut onto his chest to Man him up a little.
(Side note: Is it me, or does Victor pick up Lucas a lot? Like his own private stuffed animal or something.)
Susan and Jessi went a few more rounds in between numbers. This time Susan busted out her Spanish smack down, which made it feel more like you were watching a telenovela on Univision.
Or Dance Moms: Miami on vacation in a hotel in Spain.
Hannah had a little preemie meltdown before her number in the hallway when she forgot part of her routine. Victor told her to improvise if she forgets. Angel showed Hannah his Louis man purse and told her to accessorize.
Seriously. Take that thing off. Unless you’re a mailman delivering a package during Fashion Week, nobody needs to be rocking a cross body Vuitton Murse.
The Survivor group number only had one goober when Lucas’s jungle head piece flopped down onto his face. But he kept on dancing like a trooper. The show must go on even if you look like a shirtless jungle platypus. Hakuna Matata.
I’m not really sure why all those other dance companies even made the trip to Orlando, because the team from Stars took all the good stuff and went home.
Hannah maintained enough short term memory to pull in 1st place. So did Jessi. So did the duet. So did the group number.
Bam. Read ‘em and weep, people.
Everyone was psyched. Jessi and Susan even hugged it out.
Then Angel reached into his lovely purse, pulled out some duct tape and stuck it over Susan’s mouth as a symbolic representation of shut the f*** up or something.
By the time the show ended at that late hour, I didn’t even question why a grown man would be carrying a half used roll of duct tape in a designer handbag.
I’m more than happy to give you my thoughts on the matter, but that would just be disrespectful.
Oh, yeah. The JoeDawg would totally tap that. Gggrrrufff!
Keep it up, bitch, and one more puppy is about to get neutered…m’kay?
Sure…I missed him. At least this much of him, anyway. Mommy likes her wiener dogs.
Oooh, girlfriend…dat’s just nasty. Put that hound on a leash and walk it.
Twice, actually.
It was Mob Wives Week on Animal Planet.
For real.
Or at least that’s what I thought when I first tuned in and saw all the tiny dogs running around like it was Superbowl Sunday.
A Gangstah Puppy Bowl, but with a referee who swore a lot and packed a gun instead of a whistle.
If you’re a dude, this week was like a rolled up newspaper to the nose. In probably the least man-friendly episode yet, us menfolk were compared to horny dogs, sloppy dogs and dogs that run away and leave behind a house full of heartbroken children.
No wonder all the Wives have given up on men and made the switch to little pocket dogs.
We started out with our first puppy, Lucky Santangelo, plopped in Drita’s lap as she took another reverse charge call from Lee’s prison cell.
Lucky, a tiny little ball of brown fur that looks the same from both ends, was apparently named after the “dangerously beautiful” mob daughter of Gino Santangelo in all those Jackie Collins novels and Nicolette Sheridan mini-series.
(“DanThat’sCool…Where we do the Googling so you don’t have to!”)
Last week Lee had announced that the first half of the second part of his third sentence, or whatever, was going to be done in Brooklyn which made for much less traveling on Take Your Kids To Prison Day. Drita was excited that the children stood a better chance of seeing their Daddy, and it all seemed to be working out pretty well.
Lee was even being sweet, which made Drita purr a little even though she was 99.9999% committed to the impending divorce. As she relived her breakthrough rap tracks and bank robber music video, Lee gave a thumbs up for making more money and Lucky gave a butt up for more scratching.
Meanwhile, Karen and Ramona headed out for a cup of Joe and discussion on whether Karen should try and make up with Drita.
Ramona is probably not the person you want to talk to about Drita, and a smelly fish deli is definitely not where you want to meet up with Ramona. For a city with a Starbucks on every corner, I have no clue why they needed to chill out by the trout tank, but I don’t even drink coffee so I’m not one to judge.
Karen felt that she was in a good place with her tell-all book not marked down yet and the spa bringing in some extra rent money, so she was willing to try and make Renee happy by sitting down with Drita. The only caveat being that she would have to kill Drita on the spot if she even laid one hand on her person, which immediately made Ramona’s eyes glass over.
Ramona was leaning towards saving everyone some time and just killing Drita now, but Karen pretty much nixed that idea and then grabbed a filet for dinner.
Then it was off to see more animals. Big Ang’s crazy jungle print couture.
Love. Me. That. Big. Ang.
Ang and her shiny plumped lips met up with Carla to do a little man bashing. Seems that Joe had not been coming around the house as much as Carla felt he should now that he is out of the halfway house. His first week out he was all about it, and was more than happy to crash on the couch and get any holiday “presents” that Santa Carla felt like delivering his way. Badabing! But lately he has been MIA and Carla is not really happy.
Big Ang’s psychic powers immediately told her that Joe had already scored a new girlfriend using whatever tips and techniques he had picked up in prison over the last 6 years, but she didn’t go into much detail beyond your general man bashing.
Who knew that men could be such great husbands if they didn’t cheat and stay out all night and get drunk and take all your money and go to jail every other year?
It was an odd conversation.
But I love me some Big Ang.
Her son AJ better be loving her too, after she laid down a crisp $1,000 in cash as payment on a birthday chain and a little sumthin sumthin for herself to help celebrate those new hair extensions.
Big Ang and AJ hit up the local Buy & Sell gold joint so her baby boy could pick out a necklace that would make even Flava Flav jealous. AJ snagged a gigantic silver cross on a chain thick enough to get a car out of a snowbank in December.
Bling, Bling, Bahh-ling Dahling.
Ang picked herself up a few diamonds to accentuate her new I Dream of Jeannie ponytail and then had to scoot home to start cooking up AJ’s birthday pig. The jewelry store owner seemed just a little too excited by the menu as Ang and AJ listed off every edible, and questionably edible, pork portion that they were serving.
Honestly, I think the guy was more excited by the sautéed pig nibblies than the $1,000 sitting on the counter. But I don’t eat pig nibblies or drink coffee, so again…not one to judge.
I will, on the other hand, judge the other AJ’s girlfriend.
After receiving a call from AJ#2′s school, Renee realized that the whole Junior wire tapping scandal encompassed a wider fallout zone than she originally anticipated. AJ’s grades were suffering, and he was getting a bit standoffish.
Personally, I would have chosen ’how about you do some homework’ as the answer to this problem, but Renee chose bowling instead…which is actually more fun now that I compare the two options.
So Renne, AJ and his girlfriend Sydney all hit the lanes to toss some gutter balls and discuss what was going on inside AJ’s head.
Yeah, AJ has gone through way more than most kids his age. But that doesn’t give him carte blanche to mouth of to his Mom. Especially this close to Mother’s Day, dude.
Check it out. AJ only has one response, regardless of what question you ask.
It can be about girls, school, his father, the Walmart quarterly earnings report…you name it. His eyes get really wide, he gets exasperated and gets all Duh I Know Der Gah I Heard You Wha Duh Auuuugh and looks away.
The fumes from the bowling shoe spray must have been getting to Sydney, because I can think of no other reason why anyone…anyone…would cross Renee. But she did, and calmly blurted out that it’s annoying when someone keeps saying the same thing to AJ. He heard you the first time, bitch.
Renee took that one exactly as you would expect her to take it.
After repeatedly asking AJ to look at her when she talks, I would have smacked those Prada glasses right off his face and then see how his focus improved. Without his specs he probably wouldn’t even realize his mother was trying to strangle his girlfriend by the ball washing machine.
Speaking of googly eyes…Karen’s boyfriend Dave showed up, looking all fly and short stuff NBA with his baggy sweats and new white kicks.
As part of her Manhattan Takeover, Karen wanted her daughter Karina back in New York, and was hoping that Dave would come along as an added bonus. She explained that she had originally left Karina back in Arizona to seclude her from all the media surrounding the book but now she needs her daughter by her side.
Umm. Wasn’t the kid on this national television show last week? Isn’t that the opposite of secluded?
Dave had no intentions of going back to prison. Ten years was enough, thank you.
He’s a changed man….Dave 2.0 all new and improved.
Old Dave or New Dave, he sure looked yummy to Karen as she scanned him up and down like an airport security laser gun. It was all coming back to her now.
Mommy liked.
Across town, Drita dropped in on her BFF Nicole at the Dance Factory to dish about Ramona. Pretty uneventful, but it gave us all a chance to see fuzzy Lucky again and question whether Drita was starting to become one of those crazies on the Anderson Cooper show who believe their dolls are real children. Let’s just say there were a couple of uncomfortably questionable puppy kisses and move on.
The next evening, Karen and Ramona hit the pool tables to discuss Dave’s crazy swaggah and Karen’s fear of committment. They giggled like teenage girls in the bathroom talking about boys, and pretty much told us all way more than we needed to know about Staten Island mating techniques.
I’ll never be able to stick a pool cue in chalk without having a flashback to that scene.
Thanks for ruining a potentially lucrative Vegas career, Karen.
To burn off some of that adrenaline, it was time to hit the gym. Carla, who thoughtfully color coordinated her workout gear to the gym decor, hit the weight room with Joe.
I’m not sure how it happened, but somehow between last week and this week I swear Joe got a thicker New Yawk accent and now talked out of the side of his mouth like Popeye. I swear I’m not making it up.
As he busted out triceps dips and worked his x-ray vision on Carla’s gluteus maximus, Joe bragged about his new girl friend and how he needs a chick to change his diapers when he’s old.
Now I’ve been a big supporter of Team Joe since he got sprung, and even gave him bonus points for the Mario Lopez dimples, but this week Mr. Ferragamo started to unleash his inner douche and now I may have to turn in my fan club membership card.
Whaddamaddaforyou? Snap out of it.
Finally it was time for the Puppy Bowl!
Drita, Big Ang and Carla brought their babies to the park. Lucky, Louie and Elvis all played and peed their brains out while the girls talked the usual smack.
Well, actually Louie and Elvis did all the playing and peeing. Lucky stayed wrapped in her pink baby blanket on Drita’s lap. When the house burns down I think we know who Drita is going to save first, now don’t we?
Trust me, there was almost as much butt sniffing at the dog park as there was on date night later on with Karen and Dave. After lamenting how her entire family was arrested in 2000 in a major bust, Karen started to play coy with Dave when asked how much she missed him while he was in jail. Then he turned it up a notch and went in for the kill, and before you knew it Karen turned into Snooki and Dave turned into any random juicer on the boardwalk.
Smush.
The two of them were probably making too much noise to even hear the radio when Renee did her guest spot on Lockdown Love.
Cherry Martinez, proud owner of the best bakery desert/pole stripper name ever, hosts a talk show about incarcerated lovers that I guess I don’t get on iHeart Radio.
Cherry, who is kinda sorta the Staten Island shrinky dink version of a Wendy Williams and Lil’ Kim lovechild, had invited Renee to talk s*** about Junior…and Renee came with both guns locked and loaded. Bam. Between the eyes.
By the time Renee finished her rampage, Cherry probably couldn’t wait to play a Fifty Cent CD and have a cigarette.
Renee definitely got her mojo back. You go, girl.
Then there was just time enough for one last man bashing scene.
Drita got a letter from Lee stating that he wasn’t being moved to Brooklyn after all. He’s staying in a Pennsylvania prison, which is even further away and a guarantee that Aleeya will never see her Daddy now.
Raise your hands if you are so over the whole thing already and it’s only the second episode.
Raise your hands if you feel like a lean, mean meatball punching machine.
Raise your hands if you got beat up by an Italian string bean wearing glasses.
Raise your hands if you still think you’re the prettiest. Duh.
Raise your hands if you know what nuts are, but still think boys give you wicked cooties.
Seriously? This is only the second episode?
Ever since The Real Housewives of New Jersey chose to piggy back the filming of this new season right on top of last year’s drama, the whole thing has been messing with my head. It’s already starting to blur together and we’re only in week number two. Or week number 21 if you count last year. Or week number 23 if you count the Reunion Shows.
Or week number 97 if you have absolutely no hobbies and watched all the marathons.
Whatever you choose to call it, the whole thing is certainly a great opportunity to talk some serious smack and sell cookbooks.
And nobody has mastered the delicate balance between trash talk and shameless self promotion better than Teresa Giudice.
After turning every relationship in her life upside down by the middle of page one, Teresa had immediately assembled a team of back-up dancers and set off on the first leg of her It Was Only A Joke So Please Buy My Cookbook World Tour.
The goal apparently being to park the Giudice Apology Bus in as many locations as possible between home and the next Barnes & Noble book signing, in order to salvage what remained of her family and friends and maybe save some gas money at the same time.
Hey…Jabba Joe’s court fees ain’t cheap.
But poor Teresa wasn’t the only one with drama.
The episode started out with the Hot Mess Ashlee Show. Or Ashley. Or however she spells it on Twitter this week.
Ashlee was OMG freaking out. Jacqueline and Chris had finally grown a couple pairs and kicked Ash’s sorry bleached a** out of the house.
She was being deported to Las Vegas to live with her Aunt and Uncle, and the moving process was not going smoothly. Not by a long shot. As Jacqueline and little chapeau-wearing baby boy Nicholas watched the clock, Ashlee tried to pack 20 years of bad living into one rolling suitcase.
But she couldn’t find anything, and OMG she hated her life. OMG. Hated. It.
Honey…a little advise: I would spend less time looking for your missing whatevers and more time looking for your root touch-up brush. And maybe a mirror. What looks hot in da klubz ain’t cutting’ it in bright daylight. Just saying.
By the time one of the interchangeable Manzo boys showed up to chauffeur the Wild Child to the airport, Ashlee had found enough of something to fill the suitcase and dramatically dragged it down the staircase like there was a body inside.
Turned out it was Albie who had drawn the short straw on this project, as he rolled his eyes and heaved both Ash and her luggage into the waiting getaway car.
Given the fact that Ashlee’s two most favorite things in the whole world are drama and Twitter, she has subconsciously or otherwise, somehow managed to merge them into one overly dramatic personality that appears to only speak in 140 characters or less.
I hate my life. I put a straw in Nyquil. I hate planes. OMG. I wish I was 21.
You get the idea.
If Albie didn’t have twenty cases of blk water stored in the back of the car he probably would have just swerved into ongoing traffic and called it a day.
As Albie looked for an ejector seat button, Mom Caroline was taking daughter Lauren to see someone about her baby fat.
Lauren, who has always lived in the immense shadows cast by both her two brothers and her own fluctuating weight, has been feeling pretty down lately. Trying to break into the cosmetic industry requires a ton of work, but not necessarily a ton of body mass.
Caroline brought her to see Dr. Nicholas Perricone because according to Sephora and QVC, the dude knows his shizzle. If they sell it at JCPenney then it must be good enough for Lauren, and maybe they could pick up some socks for the boys while they’re there.
When asked some background questions by Dr. P, Lauren was immediately cut off by Caroline who went on and on in that Italian Yoda way that she does, about sausages and pepperoni binging.
Poor Lauren. No wonder she eats…nothing else to do. She can’t get a word in edgewise. Girlfriend needs something to keep her occupied while Mom rambles. Shoveling down garlic bread sure beats sitting in silence, I guess.
Dr. P sets Lauren up with a nasty looking egg and berry diet, a JCP gift card and the promise of a size 4 Chanel dress if she can keep her face out of the lasagna tray for a few months. I think Jennifer Hudson was even singing in the parking lot when they drove away.
I Believe in You and Me, baby. Now spit that out.
It’s a good thing that Lauren can’t have pepperoni and cheese for awhile, because Jabba Joe just shut down his pizza joint.
Sporting his trademark shiny sweat face and muscle tee, Joe explained to Teresa why the pizza place went under as they stood at the empty counter.
The long version is that he didn’t have a license, so he couldn’t always get to the pizza place, so he got a new license and then got sent “away” for 10 days and the place fell apart, because no one but Joe knows how to make pizza dough, and it is what it is and he’ll figure it out.
The short version is that he scammed an illegal license, can’t manage a business and was too cheap to take a cab to work.
So Joe’s moving on to his next project: Putting a small gas station owner out of business, leveling the place and building senior citizens condos on top of the fuel pump holes.
In the What A Surprise Department…Ashlee missed her flight and didn’t make it onto the only other standby flight. WTF? Who knew not looking up from your cell phone for a solid hour could do that?
OMG. I’m such an idiot. Sad face with a sideways tongue. For someone who spends so much time online complaining about how Bravo edits the show to make her look bad, you’d think Ms. Holmes would have listened for the final boarding call instead of putzing around with her Instagram app.
Before the entire gang could even gather at Jacqueline’s for the celebratory She’s Finally Gone meatball dinner, Ashlee strolled back into the house, phone in hand. It was quickly decided that Chris would take her to the airport tomorrow and physically get her on to that plane even if he had to do it Bird Strike Style, because that chick was NOT coming back a second time.
With everyone gathered around the kitchen island, Teresa recited another one of her flash card apologies, but it didn’t sound any more sincere than the last four.
All the menfolk bailed to play poker, leaving all the womenfolk to clean the kitchen and circle Teresa like hyenas. Right when it looked like one of the Wives might shake off their pasta hangover long enough to throw down with Teresa, there was a loud commotion in the boys’ room. We didn’t get to actually see what went down, but everyone had the 411 the following morning.
Oh that crazy Jabba Joe. That crazy, sweaty, blubbery, half drunk Jabba Joe. Always the life of the party.
After running through his usual tired DBag shtick poking fun at Joe Gorga’s receding hairline and short stature, string bean Richie Wakile played WingMan and came to Joe G’s rescue. Somehow, by needling Jabba about his own short-comings the whole thing escalated into Jabba making a grab for Richie’s junk, which sent the two of them tumbling over a sofa like Krystal and Alexis.
Jabba face planted into an iron candle holder while Richie did a Pee Wee Herman victory dance.
Tequila!
Sporting a black eye, Jabba described to Teresa and their horrified little girls how Richie’s pants were filled with tiny marbles and then popped open some wine. Why? Because he had to babysit the girls while Teresa went to her book signing, and nothing helps focus on babysitting young children like a wine buzz.
Some of that alcohol would have come in handy to sterilize one of the girl’s knees when she cut herself, but Jabba was too relaxed to really care. There was some screaming, some crying and some other kids coming to the rescue before Jabba finally scuffed over to make sure his little girl was hemorrhaging. I don’t even know how many Giudice kids there really are anymore.
They keep saying four, but you only see three most of the time. And they all wear the same clothes and have the same cartoon eyebrows…so I don’t know.
Kids today. You tell one nut story and they go all spaz on you.
The Gorga kids, on the other hand, did not seem as horrified by the tale of junk grabbing when Joe filled everyone in during a drive around town. Melissa seemed more taken aback by the whole flashback than the kids did as they swung around iPhones and high-fived imaginary friends.
I’m thinking that could be at least partially due to the fact that Joe G. is constantly walking around the house grabbing his own niblets in that never ending prowl for booty.
Really can’t believe Andy Cohen hasn’t made that a ClubHouse drinking game yet. The guy is a horndog.
Any bets that the Gorga kids think the Poison Control Center is an 1-800 phone sex line?
And speaking of…
Melissa wrote a song for Joe, to prove how much she loves him and to let the world know she ain’t no Gold Digger.
After stumbling through a few practice sessions, Melissa finished the track and set up a romantic date night dinner for the official release. Knowing that Joe would pounce on her in a heart beat, she had him stationed half a mile away at the other end of the dining room table like a medieval Italian feast. You’d think by now that she would know nothing but an electric fence is going to keep that dog out of the neighborhood bushes.
As soon as she cranked up the Macbook and hit play, he was on her like Pepe Le Pew and we never saw them again. I sing to you of Jungle Love, mon cheri.
Finally it was Ashlee On A Plane, Take 2.
For the second trip to the airport, Ash had chomped down half a Xanax and somehow in the process forgotten her iPod somewhere. OMG. She hates her life. She also hates elevators, heights, unicorns and American Idol. The list went on and on, and now the big question is whether the Xanax made her even more of a snot or if it was all just for attention.
Jacqueline didn’t know, and pretty much didn’t care, even though she did break down looking at baby pictures while Chris was shoving Ashlee into an overhead compartment.
I wouldn’t be surprised if he helped seal the cockpit door and even pulled the loading gate staircase away from the plane with his bare hands.
Trin Trin is here to Win Win, bitches. Any questions?
Pageant Monster need sugar. Must have sugar. And money. Lots and lots of money.
Booyeah! Just freakin’ Booyeah!
Oh man. I can’t wait until I’m old enuff to wear that much makeup and swear on national TV.
Seriously. The guys at Soccer Camp are never gonna believe this. You can’t make this s*** up.
Let’s give the South their props.
Yeah, it’s hot and humid and they get boned by all those hurricanes. And sometimes you lose a finger or an eye setting off their border shop fireworks.
But nobody does crazy Pageants better than the South. They own it and they’re proud of it.
So this week’s Toddlers & Tiaras, based out of Harrisburg, Pennsylvania of all places, was pretty darn tame in comparison to what we’ve seen over the past 5 seasons. But there was still enough lunacy to keep me on the couch for an hour, and besides…I couldn’t let all those snacks go to waste.
It was the Storybook Pageant: Diamonds Are A Girl’s Best Friend, where the only requirement was that your Glitz Engine be revving on all 8 cylinders.
Fake hair, fake nails, fake eyelashes and fake teeth. Basically, if it doesn’t grow in Nature, you’re allowed to stick it on your kid.
Oh. And fake tans. You gotta Spray It if you wanna Play It, people.
Pageant Director Tami got us all wound up at the starting gate by salivating over the glamour of the whole thing, dangling in our face all those sparkly, diamond encrusted massively oversized headpieces that were just waiting to snap a little girl’s neck during crowning.
Bring it on, Tami.
Our first stop was over at 4 year old Sienna’s house. Mom Laura started Sienna out on the pageant circuit when she was only 18 months old and she hasn’t stopped since, except for her weekly karate class.
As Mom tried to brag about her daughter, Sienna zipped around the room like Kung Fu Panda in her little white PJs, slicing at imaginary Ninjas. Since she is only 4, she is basically still all head and feet, which makes for a ridiculously cute Lab puppy but doesn’t really help with Sienna’s wax on/wax off spins.
I’m guessing that everything breakable in the house had been raised up above the height of her deadly round house kick.
Most of Sienna’s conversations came out in that half sing-songy way that you’d except to hear on a Wiggles DVD, regardless of the topic. Throughout the episode we got to hear her sing about everything from eyebrow waxing to the Jersey Shore. She was a hoot.
While Sienna was reciting the opening line of Madonna’s new single..twenty minutes of “MadonnaMadonnaMadonna”…5 year old Trinity was working on her own Divatude.
Mom Latrina, which I believe is Latin for Army Bathroom, was really nice and smiley and excited about their first venture into the Dark Side known as Full Glitz.
Trinity normally competed in all those laid back Natural Competitions, where the girls actually look like themselves and don’t need a Silkwood Shower after the show to remove all the chemicals and toxins found on glitz chairs and nuclear plants. But they are going for it this time, and Trin Trin was wired for sound.
First step in the process was a trip to the kitchen table Hello Kitty Day Spa, where Mom shaved down her brows into that perfect Beyoncé while Trinity laid back like an Egyptian mummy. Mom was pretty nimble with that QVC trimmer, because Trinity loved her new brows.
Jumping ahead a little, it’s too bad Mom couldn’t go into a little side business, because poor Sienna could have used her help instead of having her own Mom pour hot wax onto her eyelids. But it did give her a chance to sing the hot wax song, and she didn’t seem scarred for life. Or blind.
Then it was time to meet the Pageant Monster, 5 year old Kylie.
You probably heard Mom Maria before we even got up the front steps. It’s possible you probably heard her before we even made it down the street. Mom does get excited.
Maria embraces her daughter, her Puerto Rican heritage, her fly rockstar fingers and her Nascar yell like no one else at the PTA luncheon. Wepa!
Two years ago Kylie took a breather from the whole pageant thing to focus on her modeling, and did pretty well. Mom flashed more catalog covers and stacks of Children’s Couture magazines than you would find at the Recycling Center, so I guess the kid has the look.
When Maria mentioned that Kylie had already raked in over $30,000 from kiddie catalogs, you know I totally tried to squeeze my butt into some OshKosh B’Gosh overalls before the next commercial even started. To rub salt in the wound, Kylie then rambled on and on about how much she looooooooves money.
For a brief moment she morphed into Honey Boo-Boo Child, but without all that Extreme Couponing toilet paper. I Love Monaaaaaaaaaay!
($30,000 and she doesn’t even have all her adult teeth yet? Just shoot me.)
As if trying on OshKosh overalls wasn’t uncomfortable enough, we had to follow Sienna to her chiropractor. My overactive imagination immediately turned the whole thing into a bad Dateline episode and I wondered why a heating pad wouldn’t just do the trick in the safety of her own home. He called her Sweetie and then cracked her like a walnut shell. When she said that something or other felt hard and squishy I just sang a Sienna song in my head until Kylie went for her deep conditioning treatment.
Over at Zajari Hair Salon and Gift Shop, Maria was treating Kylie to some long overdue Hair Love and comedy relief.
Hopefully salon owner Zajari has a better handle on hair processing chemicals than she does on customer service, because that chick couldn’t remember Kylie’s name to save her life.
Have a seat, Carla. Would you like a magazine, Kayla? Don’t open your eyes under water, Katrina. So you’re going to be in a pageant I hear, Kabuki? How does that feel, KarmaChameleon?
Seriously? Write the freakin’ kid’s name on the shampoo cape with a Sharpie.
Pageant rehearsals at Trinity’s house were pretty uneventful, but I need to mention them only because her two brothers may have the best comic book names ever.
Esaias and Exavier. I haven’t quite decided if they are Superhero or Supervillain names yet, but either way the two brothers should win a trip to Superman’s Fortress of Solitude just for being the coolest kids in study hall. Granted, they’ll never be able to buy a key chain with their name on it when they go on family vacations, but who cares when you’re named Esaias and Exavier.
Finally it was Pageant Day.
Trinity brought her lucky bear and Sienna brought her lucky Michael Bublé floor microphone. I didn’t make that part up. She was singing on the luggage cart. For realz.
I love the chaos of the pageant hotel rooms. It makes me feel better about my life.
Sienna popped on her Ramada shower cap and wanted to be very brown. Very.
Whoever was doing her makeup “knew how to take care of my Spanish Girls” and buffed her out in the same color as the TV stand. Sienna also wanted her Snooki poof, which only at this minute as I write the sentence suddenly concerns me because that must mean that little Sienna actually knows who Snooki is.
The future of our country, people. When a 4 year old wants big Jersey Shore hair, it might be time to leave and go somewhere without MTV on their basic cable.
But call her big hair whatever you want. When it was all ratted and poofed, Sienna looked very cute. And very brown.
I’m starting to believe that TLC must have a one nose pick per episode requirement in the contracts this year, because I don’t ever remember so many kids digging for nose gold in past seasons. Right before she went on stage, Snooki almost got her finger stuck up there, but Mom came to the rescue.
The Beauty portion was all cupcakes and pretty feet, except for Kylie who forgot to close her legs.
(Insert your own joke here____________________!)
“Oh, snap NeNe. Close your legs to married men” was my first choice, but it doesn’t really make much sense in the context of a kiddie pageant, and is probably borderline inappropriate given the age category. But I love me some NeNe, so it is what it is.
ATL, bitches.
The Glitz and Glamour Theme portion was cray cray.
Sienna danced on a piano and hooched around. I guess it was supposed to be a Chicago kind of musical extravaganza.
Kylie was hidden inside a cardboard space ship as Mom and Dad carried it up on stage. Maria wanted to make certain that Kylie stayed hidden so it would be a surprise to the audience.
Umm.
One. It’s a pageant, and they’re going to announce her before the number starts. And I’m pretty certain that most of the people in the room, except for maybe the housekeepers who are so pissed that they set up all those chairs…again…and no one is sitting in them, probably expect a young child to show up at some point during the event.
Two. I saw her legs under the rocket. Busted.
Kylie worked her Mr. Roboto Dance like it was her job. Her choreography was really sharp and tight for such a young pup. I’m totally stealing a few of those moves for my bathroom dancing when I brush my teeth tonight.
Then it was time for Trinity’s Tootie Fruitie Booty Pop Dance.
Trin Trin…remember to send your Mom a thank you note for the badonkadonk, because you were shaking what your Momma gave you, girl. The audience went bazoinkers.
The crowning portion is where it all went South. And not the good kind of pageant south.
None of the three girls took home the big prize, and all three Moms get a little peeved.
I have to give the Moms their props. They were totally crazy Pageant Moms. But the good kind of crazy. Not the Krazy kind of Krazy.
They loved those kids to pieces, and they were peeved.
Peeved to the point that they stormed the Storybook Castle and demanded the score sheets. Now I’m not really up on my pageant protocol, so I don’t know if you get those anyway or if you have to bust down the door and tear them from someone’s hand like they did tonight.
Regardless, it was clear that something wasn’t right.
I hate Math as much as the next person, but whether you use a Puerto Rican or American calculator 10 + 10 + 10 should equal 30.
But Kylie’s card added up to 29.9. Say whaa—?!
Then Sienna’s card was deducted a few ticks, and a random passerby Mom blurted out that you lose points if your kid looks at you instead of the judges. Really? Sienna is barely old enough to focus her pupils…period. I thought we were supposed to be teaching kids not to look or talk to strangers?
Trin Trin didn’t place very high to start with, so her Mom didn’t get quite as wound up. But still.
And what were those two gigantic 16 year old girls doing on stage with 4 year olds? How do you even judge that? I thought they were bouncers until one of them took the whole enchilada, crown and all.
It was Score Sheet El Escandaloso! Or something.
And this is The Shimmy Shakin’, Booty Poppin’ End.
Look! Smoke signals! And they say “When is Abby Lee coming back?”
Seriously? Again with that skimpy top, honey?
Great goggly oogly! We’re on Fire!
So are we, girlfriend …so are we.
Somebody needs to catch my kid before I knock you all down.
Is that smoke I smell, or just the heat from some fierce attitude?
I can’t even tell anymore. But something set off the smoke detectors this week, because Dance Moms: Miami was on fi-yah.
Literally.
Fresh off their embarrassing 5th place showing at Starbound, the kids at Stars Dance Studio had some ‘splaining to do as soon as the latest episode started up.
Channeling their inner Abby Lee Miller, Victor and Angel reminded the entire military line up of dancers how embarrassed they were by their performances and that…yes…even in Miami, everyone is replaceable. Victor did not spend all that time on his hair to have his team come in 5th place.
And don’t even get Angel started on how his new scarf was totally wasted on that competition. If he hadn’t cut the tag off, that thing would be going back to Chicos before lunch.
This week they were on the road to redemption. Redemption, Michigan I guess. Home of the Energy Dance Competition.
But nothing in the world of dance can ever start until The List, or The Pyramid or The Whatever Something of Shame is completed, so Victor got right down to bidnezz and started picking off fragile egos like he was shooting cans at the State Fair.
This week he started at the top on the Miami Price Is Right board, and revealed little Kimmy. (For the life of me, I can’t remember the name of the game that Bob Barker always played that looked exactly like Victor’s List. That joke would have been way funnier if I could remember the name, but you get where I was going on it. It had something to do with Bounty paper towels. That’s all I remember.)
Anyway. Kimmy was on top because she scored 2nd place last week, only missing the top by one lousy point. I would have asked to see the judging sheets, but that’s just me.
One notch down was Sammy. Even though her last performance was absolutely her best dancing so far, Victor wanted to see more artistry. He also wanted to see Hannah’s Mom Debi eye roll herself one step closer to an aneurism, because I think he secretly really gets off on that.
Third place was owned by Jessi as she slowly crawled her way back up from the penalty box. As you will recall, Jessi was stuck at the bottom for rudely snatching an award from one of her fellow dancers like it was the last pair of shoes in her size on Black Friday. I personally feel that she should have stayed on the bottom one more week just for wearing those inappropriate micro tops and too much cat eye liner, but that may just be my judgmental side coming out.
But, c’mon. She’s a young girl, not a 60′s go-go dancer. Wipe some of that off before you start attracting boys with fake IDs and peach fuzz mustaches.
Next to the bottom was my favorite little playa Lucas. As Mom Brigette got herself all wound up, Victor explained that LadyKiller Lucas had too many wobble bobbles in his solo, and even doinked it a little on his signature one leg up in the air thing. (I should probably Google the technical term for that move if I’m going to continue talking about it every week or find myself doing the move at the clubs to impress the Ladies.)
What? You don’t think I could? I heard somebody snicker.
Finally, at the bottom was Hannah…because someone has to be each week, right?
For the upcoming competition, Kimmy and Jessi scored solos. LadiesLoveMe Lucas was sidelined for that whole wobble bobble thing, and Hannah and Sammy were paired up for a duet.
Yeah. Hannah and Sammy.
Square Peg…meet Round Hole.
Debi immediately called foul and spent the majority of the episode claiming that Hannah was set up to fail, while Abby flipped her hair a lot and fretted that Sammy would get dragged down by Hannah’s inexperience and her husky Sears corduroys.
Ok. Nobody really came out and worded it like that, but they all thought it and waited for someone to say it first.
While the Moms all bickered behind the Mom Zoo glass, the kids started working on the group number. The number was choreographed around a Discipline theme, which required the dancers to pretend they were prisoners serving time based on various Sins of the Mothers. It was a little unclear how many Moms actually served hard time because they moved right along as soon as Lucas called out his Mom for tax evasion.
Awkward.
As the Moms poked each other with sticks, Jessi and Sammy bonked heads together and almost blacked out. After their dramatic collapse to the floor and a two minute lecture on not working together as a team, Victor paused long enough to check for dilating pupils and made certain that no pesky concussions would interrupt rehearsal.
Time is money, people. Focus. With your good eye. The other one will open up once the swelling goes down.
The Duet was an even bigger clunk. Sammy and Hannah were definitely not meshing during practice. Call it two different styles. Two different levels of experience. Two different pant sizes.
Call it whatever you wanna call it. Just don’t call it good yet.
Victor was getting upset, and the two girls were zig zagging around like they were at an improvisational solo performance. I’m not really certain they even knew the other one was in the room.
It looked like someone forced a cheerleader to dance with a girl from Band Camp.
To get the girls to mesh as a team, Victor insisted they do the Trust Drop. You know the Trust Drop. That fall backwards thing you do in the woods during corporate team buildings where you pray the person behind you is actually paying attention and catches you before you crack your skull open and live the rest of your life with a soft spot.
Sammy was down with it, and fell back so fast that Hannah was barely in place. When it was Hannah’s turn, she refused and had a melt down. She tried it once or twice, but didn’t make it past a 4 degree decline.
When she went running out of the room in tears, Debi explained that Hannah doesn’t like falling backwards.
Now, hold up. That didn’t even make sense. Do you know anyone at work who loves to fall backwards in the copier room? Who puts “loves falling backwards” on a resume? When is the last time you woke up and thought “What a beautiful day to fall backwards” and then fell backwards? Unless you are in a Mosh Pit or crowd surfing at a Jimmy Buffet concert…I mean, really?
Debi is a NutWad.
Finally Hannah pulled it together and fell back without ripping Sammy’s arms out of the sockets, and it was over.
(Side note: During Hannah’s crying session at the front desk, I got all excited that Jennifer Lopez was the receptionist until I realized it was just Mayra with another one of her crazy weaves.)
Then everything caught on fire.
Well, across the street anyway. Actually, it looked like it was a long way away, but you would have sworn Chernobyl had sprung a leak.
As something burned off in the distance, it was mass hysteria at the studio. Screaming kids. Crying kids. One kid that wouldn’t stop crying even if you slapped her.
If you’re a dance aficionado, the internet is already buzzing that you got a glimpse of Mia Diaz, one of the most famous tiny dancers at Stars. Maybe you did, maybe you didn’t. People with too much time on their hands are already arguing the issue.
I’m just spreading gossip, not reporting the news…though I was totally going to make up a story about how she was trampled in the exodus, but I already get enough hate mail from those Toddlers & Tiaras relatives.
She’s alive. We’re moving on.
One of the last rehearsals before the big event was Kimmy’s solo, which was all about being a Bad Girl. As LoveToLoveYou Lucas said…good luck with that.
Kimmy doesn’t have any front teeth, or a bad bone in her body. Except for staying up past her bedtime to work on that 3rd grade calculus thesis, she is every parents’ Dream Child. Her “homework” before the competition was to do something bad to get into character, but instead of selling crack behind the school dumpster Kimmy settled for throwing a pistachio in the airport.
A pistachio. She’s a menace to society, I tell you. How many more people have to lose an eye from a carelessly thrown pistachio before we lock these criminals up for life?
The duet rehearsal was a bigger crime, thank you.
Sammy and Hannah still couldn’t get it together, mainly because they were distracted by Victor’s dip dyed skinny jeans with all that day glo blue below the knees. (It must have been a 2fer special at H&M, because he was rocking the red version once they got to Michigan.) The hot mess did not go unnoticed by the Moms either, and finally Brigette left the Zoo to snitch on Debi.
Taking her purse along with her, since she apparently feels that the other Moms will collectively go thru it for money and mints if she leaves it anywhere, Brigette let Victor know that Debi felt he was setting Hannah up to fail. Needless to say, if Victor’s hair could stand up any higher in anger, it would have.
He stormed into the Zoo and laid it down for the Moms. While his neck veins were poking out and his jazz hands were jazzing, I was so distracted by the half naked photo of Lucas on the wall that I didn’t catch all of Victor’s speech.
Seriously, does that kid ever wear any clothes? The photo had him hanging off some kind of towel bar looking thing…I don’t even know what it was. Either put a shirt on it, or put some more meat on it. He’s a charmer, but too skinny to always be on display. And it’s getting a little skeevy.
Victor ranted and raved about how he was 23 years old and gave up his career and blah to the blah…and then squealed off in his shiny car like he was a 6 year old having a tantrum.
Make up your mind, dude. What is it? 23 or 6?
Finally they made it to the competition.
Unfortunately, the gang has not yet mastered the Dance Moms ensemble entrance. Where Abby Lee Miller and her posse all plow into the venue in one big Desperate Housewives slow motion walk, the Miami crew stumbled out of their unmarked vans like they were being transported to a half way house and wanted to avoid the paparazzi.
Angel actually left everyone behind to carry the luggage and I swear they left one kid in the back seat.
Now I’ll own the fact that I’m not an expert on the world of The Dance. But if you can’t afford to have a nifty backdrop for your stage, what kind of a big dealio is this event?
The powerpoint Energy logo was a nice touch on the white wall. It reminded me of those school slide projectors when you had to learn about the columbian coffee exporters. Any minute now I expected the clumsy kid to trip the cord and swing the logo off the screen.
Then there was a whole bunch of dancing. Solos and duets and randomness.
The group number was a Nickelodeon bondage kind of thing, with LookAtMe Lucas not wearing a shirt again. I’m sure some website out there will give you the award details. I have a feeling that’s not why you are reading this thing.
Brigette was snarky and Debi blew a nutty.
Hannah better be there to catch me the day that Lucas wears a shirt and I fall over backwards.
My Botox brings all the Feds to the yard. And they’re like…it’s tighter than yours.
Stick dat in her lip, bitch. That makes all the Wise Guys itch.
Holla.
I don’t like that rap s***. Don’t like it all. Just crack the bitch’s jaw in half and we’ll go to the Mall.
Poke dem needles in my eyes. Plump dem up to match my thighs.
Where all my Mob Wives at? Can I get a whoop whoop?
It was Word To Your (bleepin’) Gangstah Mother Week as our favorite Mobettes rapped, snapped and laser zapped themselves into a frenzy, all thanks to Karen and Drita’s up and coming careers.
Finally putting aside at least a little slice of the drama surrounding Junior and that wire-wearing fiasco, Renee and the girls were working at moving on with their lives.
And what better way to move on than by getting a facial or robbing a bank in a nun mask?
Am I right?
Maybe not necessarily in that order, but both are pretty certain to make you feel better about yourself. At least on Staten Island, anyway.
But first we had to deal with some of the petty legal ramifications that come from being the victim of a Federal Agency sting operation, as Renee finished up with her Dad Anthony Graziano’s first court appearance since getting busted for talking into Junior’s lapel corsage.
As Renee strolled back to the car she reached out to everyone’s favorite raspy go-to Voice of Reason, Big Ang, for some cell phone counseling.
Gah. I love me some Big Ang. I would call her for lottery ticket numbers. Any excuse to hear that Herman Munster laugh in my ear. VH1—where is my Big Ang ringtone?
And my Fan Club duel purpose decoder ring & lock pick? Did my application get lost in the mail? What’s the hold up? (No pun intended, but pretty funny in retrospect.)
It was a brief phone call, but it will surely open up another can of worms on the whole Right vs. Wrong thing that the online forums are loving lately.
As they both complained about the Feds basically doing the jobs they are hired to do, Renee also played the sympathy card for Daddy. During the initial booking and fingerprinting they apparently took the change from his pockets and the Miracle Ear from his head, because he couldn’t hear anything the judge was saying. Dad also walked with a cane and a guard.
When Renee started in on how Dad should be respected because he didn’t do anything wrong, I immediately washed my hands of this one and am going to leave it to the Talk Radio stations.
Helloooooo, Staten Island. Long time Mobster, first time Caller.
I’ll leave it to the online community to stick it to Renee, because next we all had to go and stick it to Big Ang.
Literally.
Accompanied by her sister Janine, God’s Gift to Reality was looking to score some Botox at a discounted Costco quantity price.
Meeting with Dr. Lederman, who was a delightfully mashed up version of The Muppets’ Swedish Chef and that vixen Natasha Fatale who always wanted to “Kill Moose and Squirrel” on The Bullwinkle Show, Big Ang proudly rambled off all her previous cosmetic surgeries. Kind of like a completed Bucket List. But a really long one.
(Side note: You can totally use Natasha’s last name at your next Trivia Night Out. You’ll totally win the free appetizers. Consider it my gift to you for faithfully following my site.)
As Dr. Lederman sang the “Plump It Plump It” song, she stuck Big Ang in the face as many times as allowed by malpractice legal journals and then dramatically unveiled the results, which were unfortunately nowhere near as severe as Big Ang had hoped for and the Doc had to go back in for seconds.
Seriously. I love me some Big Ang, but if they plump her up anymore it’s going to take at least 32 of those Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade clowns to hold her down so the wind doesn’t blow her out over Long Island Sound.
As Big Ang drifted back home on a crosswind, Drita was receiving another pre-paid call from Lee.
Turned out he had just finished up his state sentence in whatever prison it is people do state sentences in down there, and was being relocated so he could start working on his federal sentence.
Initially more focused on her new bite sized puppy than Lee’s call, Drita snapped back when he announced that he was going to be incarcerated in Brooklyn. She got a little freaked out by the fact that he was going to now be just down the block instead of 8 hours away. So much so that she knocked the gigantic pink bow right off the puppy’s noggin, which thankfully allowed Lucky to finally lift her little nugget head into an upright position.
Now even though Google Earth shows that Brooklyn is fairly close in proximity to Staten Island, I would think that the prison could just as well be on the Moon and Drita would still have about the same chances for ever running into Lee at Target.
Prison is prison, honey. They still lock the doors.
Since Drita is currently in full Don’t Need No Man mode, she scored the chance to use her rap skills (?) for a new music video to help put food on the table.
There is no question that Drita can split a human skull open with her elbow, but the jury was still out when it came to her mad gangstah rap skillz, so she met up with her crew at Bad Boy Records to get the full fashizzle on the job. VPs Nick and Jason, one or the other of whom she had met a bazizzle years ago at a Diddy party, filled her in on the deets.
The video was for a French Montana song, and involved Drita being the driver of a getaway car used in a bank heist. If you were like 99% of the country, you probably initially wondered what bank robbery had to do with the state of Montana, and how a secret French province had somehow slipped by you all these years. Are they really that close to Canada?
Der. He’s a rapper. Does your cable company not offer those stations? Most aren’t in full HD yet, but either check into it or lose all your street cred.
Even Beyoncé knows you gotta upgrade, bitch.
While Drita was getting the LD (…gah…low down…) on the beat spitting, Big Ang was doing some more remodeling on her head. Now that she was all plumped up, that new face needed some new hair…and fast.
Big Ang had put in a 911 to someone I swear had to be a second cousin to one of those Jerseylicious girls, who immediately rushed to the house with one bag full of extensions and another bag of gossipy attitude.
As she clamped and glued and stitched Big Ang’s new doo into place, the two of them dished on finding love outside the Mob and how Big Ang’s loser sanitation worker husband was still living with his mother after being kicked out of Casa Raiola for too much partying and late night carousing. The aerosol and the root glue must not have been flammable, because Big Ang was puffing and flicking matches like it was her job as the two of them dragged her husband’s name through the mud.
But we all know how those sanitation workers like it dirty. Pun totally intended.
Trust me, the only thing missing from the scene were 3 other nosey women sitting under helmet dryers reading InTouch and going “Oooooh, girl…you so right.”
Then it was on to Karen’s latest venture.
Now that her book was launched and shooting up the charts like a bullet from an unregistered sawed-off, Karen was looking to expand her empire and make New York her home.
Somehow between all the publishing drama and rooftop chick fights, Karen had still found time to hook up with the wrinkle-free Dr. Fiorello for a business venture. He was opening a new Nip/Tuck kind of office space in Manhattan, and had asked Karen to bring some of her Arizona Spa magic to the second floor. The place was a full blown construction site, but the Doctor was still planning on opening up in a few weeks.
Realizing that she needed some help, Karen asked Ramona and Renee to join her in this new project. Ramona was put in charge of the laser equipment, which either meant finding some or building some I guess, while Renee was sent to iParty for the gift bags.
I have a feeling that Karen wasn’t 100% certain that Renee wouldn’t melt down in the middle of the project if someone mentioned Junior, so I think she gave her the easy one as a test. They’re gift bags. How hard could it be?
Not as hard as rapping, that’s fo’ sho’.
Drita hit up Anthony Acid’s studio to lay down her rap tracks and quickly found out that bustin’ thug tunez on a 16 count was a lot tougher than it looked on Behind The Music.
The whole thing started out a big hot mess, much like if you asked your Mom to recite some uncensored Li’l Kim while the two of you were making cupcakes for the bake sale.
But eventually Drita channeled her inner street punk and through the magic of way too many gratuitous boob shots, auto tune and a soundboard mixer, she laid down the trackz, haters.
That street punk channeling resulted in a mad rush of adrenaline, and for a second I thought she was going to throw a city trash can thru the window of Best Buy and go home with a plasma. But Anthony talked her down and she went home happy with just the head rush.
Oh, yeah. Carla. They almost forgot Carla this week. She went to nosh with Renee, where she refused to go to the grand opening of Karen’s spa, waffled on whether she would make up with Ramona and then ate while Renee talked. I think they’re running out of things for her to do.
Carla really needs to slap somebody soon or they won’t ask her back for Season Three.
Over at the Drunken Monkey, Ramona was getting bullied by Big Ang into making up with Drita and Carla. Renee and Big Ang just want everyone to get along.
And they want better boobs. Everyone get along. And bigger, better boobs.
Then Carla, Renee and Drita got together for even more snacks. This time around Drita was bullied into making up with Karen. I swear, this show should come with a spreadsheet in TV Guide so you can track who hates who and who makes up with who and maybe recipes for some of those salads they eat. Some of them look pretty tasty.
Then it was Party Time.
The Nip/Tuck Shop had their VIP grand opening, but Ramona didn’t get the lasers there in time. Way to go.
And then Renee strolled in with no gift bags. Again…way to go. All the times you go to Rite-Aid to fill your Xanax prescriptions and you couldn’t go down the Hallmark aisle?
Karen was not happy. But like any Real Housewives show, the opening/launch of whatever it is always ends up going off without a hitch, so the place was a success and everyone was happy. Renee even found an all-night party store and stuffed bags like Lucy on the chocolate factory assembly line before the guests had to leave empty handed.
The music video also went of without a hitch. A van full of bank robbers wearing nun masks always makes for a good time, especially when they squeal away in a hail of gunfire to a (bleeped) out rap soundtrack sung by a Mob Wife with a new puppy.
You can’t make this stuff up.
By the time Karen and her cousin Rena, who looked remarkably like Chaci’s mother on Happy Days, sat down for yet another meal, I was losing track.
Big Ang wants Ramona to make up with Carla. Renee wants Karen to make up with Drita. Somebody wants Drita to make up with Ramona. Rena wants Karen to crack Drita’s jaw. Ramona still wants her jewelry back.
Then they push your head down like this and call you their prison girlfriend.
Then I thanked the Baby Jesus for making me the pretty one.
Then after I sniff all this I don’t even remember I’m a Giudice, and it all goes away.
Then I’ze gonna nail her like a Home Depot project.
Don’t be alarmed.
The sound you just heard was simply a stampede of Prostitution Whores running for cover, which can only mean one thing.
She’s back. And she brought friends.
Or at least they used to be friends. Now I’m not sure what they’re called.
But regardless…they’re all back.
And it’s all going down. Down to the shore.
The Real Housewives of New Jersey just returned for another season and wasted no time stirring that big spaghetti pot of drama.
Apparently Television Time, or at least Bravo TV Time, doesn’t work off of the same clock that you and I do, so Teresa (…say my last name 5 different ways…) Giudice and the gang pretty much picked up right where we left them all those many months ago.
Since the previous season was so dysfunctionally tasty, and Teresa’s life was still such a guaranteed hot mess, Andy Cohen and the Gods of Reality were quick to think on their feet and filmed this new season right on top of the one that just wrapped.
That means that all the Giudice vs Gorga head butting is still as fresh as the day it came out of the oven, with only a TV Time break for the 14 part Reunion Show.
It’s like time stood still.
So welcome to Season 4. Or Season 3.5. Or Season 3 SuperSized.
To steal Teresa’s nervous go-to line…Whatever.
It was still Summer in Joisey as we got reacquainted with The Family. Everyone was trying to deal with the less than glowing remarks that Teresa had laid down in her second cookbook.
Though Teresa (…ok, allegedly…everyone happy?….) didn’t appear to be very hands-on in creating the recipes or even lighting the stove’s pilot light, she did find time to stick it to a few of her closest family members as soon as you cracked the cover of the book.
Between implying that a part-time Olive Garden waiter had more Italian DNA than Caroline, and that sister-in-law Melissa stalks Teresa’s front yard at night with an infrared camera so she can copy her style when Crate & Barrel opens in the morning, Mrs. Giudice also managed to slam Caroline’s son and his bikini car wash before we even got to the first recipe.
And if there’s one thing we’ve all learned over the years, you don’t mess with the Manzo Family. You just don’t.
Summer in New Jersey always means cookouts and shirtless Guidos, so there were plenty of weenies to be had as the Gorgas and the Wakiles enjoyed a poolside picnic.
Bro Joe Gorga, his newly waxed chest and BluBlocker model Richie were all trying to figure out what was really going on inside Teresa’s head as they grilled up some dogs and made little meat jokes.
Seriously. Richie. I don’t think that even railroad iron welders are provided the level of eye protection that Richie wears. Dude does likes his shades.
Kathy and Melissa usually play the Can’t We All Get Along card more than the boys, but even they have their breaking points. Kathy’s made for Reality TV sister Rosie took time out from whatever it is she does, and was more than happy to do a little Teresa bashing.
I love Rosie.
Between last season’s never ending Chelsea Dock runway couture, to her self deprecating humor and that punch you in the face if you get in mine attitude, she is one ManChick that you do not want to mess with.
In retrospect, she is also one ManChick that you probably should never refer to as a ManChick. Someday I just need to start taking my own advice.
Over at Jacqueline’s, the aforementioned Manzo Famiglia were also getting together for some snacks. Apparently having drawn the short straw, they had also invited Teresa’s entire circus to join them, and were all trying to get in their Giudice Gossip before the caravan actually showed. Luckily, Teresa has never been on time in her life so they didn’t have to rush through any of the good stuff.
On top of the tension between Teresa and the rest of NJ, Jacqueline was still dealing with Wild Child Ashley.
Except now she’s Ashlee in Real World Time. And now she’s a seriously over processed blonde. And Mom said she had tattoos, but I couldn’t bring myself to look.
Honey. Listen to me. Tweaking your name might buy you some time when they are compiling all your DUIs, and maybe even score you a Grand Supreme Miss Pretty Face if you were 13 years younger. But trust me…you’re still a sloppy mess who can’t figure out how to piece together a Dyson vacuum. Give it up.
When Teresa finally decided to show, she and Caroline scooted outside for a minute to deal with the Cookbookgate controversy.
As Caroline massaged the side of her face to prevent an oncoming stroke, Teresa slipped right into full denial mode and couldn’t understand why everyone didn’t think the cookbook jokes were funny.
Umm. One…they weren’t jokes. Two…they weren’t funny. How ’bout that?
Caroline just wasn’t in the mood, so she forced out one of those fake hugs you give that creepy uncle with the unzipped fly and then went back in for leftovers.
Then it was time to pack for the beach, because most of the gang was headed to the beach. The Jersey Shore!
Relax. Not that one. Not the Snookie one. Gross.
Well…yeah, it is the same shore…if you want to get technical.
And horny Bro Joe was going on and on about the Smush Room even while he and Melissa were packing up their zip lock bag full of nasties. He’s like a dog that never stops humping your leg at dinner.
And Richie probably does own a pair of those light up glasses for the club, but hopefully the Housewives and Househusbands aren’t going to be passing out on the boardwalk with their naughty bits all blurred out on camera.
Hopefully.
Getting all of the Giudices out of the house is always good for some laughs, and this time didn’t disappoint either.
As Teresa tried to rope up Gia, Audriana, Gabriella and Milania like they were sheep that somehow got out of the barn, greasy Jabba Joe was dumping a full Tupperware garbage can of Alpo into paint buckets to feed what appeared to be wild wolves that roam their yard.
After he fed the livestock, Joe also hoisted a ginormous mound of tied up plastic tarp over his shoulder like Lou Ferrigno’s stubby, chubby Italian stunt double and heaved it onto the roof of the car.
Memo to Joe for next time: Check to see if your camping gear is infested with rats before you transport it across city lines. When they got to the beach house and unleashed those rodents, GottaPeeAh and Mexicana and Espadrilla all jumped on the table like Hooters Girls. Good practice for later in life when Daddy is serving time, I guess.
Since having everyone all under one roof would cause the Jersey Shore to implode, Teresa and Jabba Joe had their own digs while Bro Joe and Melissa bunked with Kathy and Richie down the block.
Melissa’s new dream beach house was far from being completed, so they couldn’t sleep in their own home quite yet. As the construction overseer guy, Joe couldn’t remember to install toilets but he made certain that the bedroom had enough soundproof insulation blown behind the sheetrock to handle a Rolling Stones concert.
Daddy likes it quiet while he’s serving a wedge of his Gorgazola cheese, if you know what I mean. I swear when he dies they’re going to have to bury him with the lid still open until the swelling goes down.
Over at the Giudice beach digs, Teresa wanted to talk to Jabba about a few issues.
Personally, the first one I would have addressed would have been why he insists on never wearing a shirt or doing sit ups. That’s what I want to know.
Beyonce is right. I am not so ready for that jelly, dude.
I could care less about what he thinks they should do with all the magazine covers that Chia and DingDongBella are starting to read at Target.
Just put your shirt on. And make it a hoodie.
Teresa is concerned about all the gossip surrounding whether or not Joe is going to jail. Now I’ve met a lot of dopey people in my short career as a freak-seeker, but Jabba is right up there in the Top Five.
Unless one of the beach patrolmen just accidentally shot him in the neck with a tranquilizer dart, Joe has to be be the most blahhdoofiest guy I’ve ever come across.
He’s so blahhdoofy that I think I just made up a word.
Trust me. I’m Exhibit A. Nobody likes waking up, but sooner or later you snap out of that fog. I bet my salary Joe’s been in that fog since elementary school.
Back up the Expressway in the ‘burbs, they were filming a commercial for the blk water that Albie and Chris launched last season. Or at least that’s what I thought they were doing, until I realized that it was just Caroline, Jacqueline and Lauren power walking through the neighborhood.
Just power walking. All in black and white. All holding bottles of blk. With the blk logo on Lauren’s plus size tshirt.
That’s just what I want when I exercise. A nice big gulp of black Jersey water. Am I the only one who noticed that nobody took a swig out of any of those bottles?
Impressive color-coordinated product placement though. Props to the ad guy.
Next week Teresa will be driving the Oscar Mayer Wienermobile to her hair appointment.
Back at the beach, Teresa and Bro Joe plopped it down to discuss the same thing they’ve been discussing since last year’s shows. They just replaced the christening and the book signing with all-weather adirondack chairs.
Teresa was still in denial, and Bro Joe was still frustrated. They went on and on about the InTouch Magazine story and Jabba Joe’s debt, and Jabba Joe’s jail time, and Jabba Joe’s DMV scam and blah to the Jabbah Joe to the blah.
There was also some confusion as to why Bro Joe never called when Jabbah Joe “went away,” which is preschool talk for a week in the slammer being someone’s cell bitch.
Before anything was really settled, Teresa started in with the “whatever, Joe” thing again and you knew this one was going nowhere. But they’re family. One big screwed up family.
While everyone else was sunning and gossiping, Jacqueline and Chris were back home dealing with the Wild Child.
After giving Ashley/Ashlee more than ample time to get her s*** together and also figure out how to attach the Dyson carpet nozzle without poking her own eye out, Chris was done with the drama.
Ultimatum.
Agree to move in with Uncle Tom and Aunt Mary out in Las Vegas, or get kicked out of the house in the morning. How they think that sending a 24/7 party girl to Las Vegas will tone all that down is beyond me, but I’m not a parent so I’ll let Chris be the Bad Cop in this one.
When Ash complained that she already had made drinking plans with friends that were home from school and that getting kicked out would like OMG totally interfere with the club scene, it was pretty clear that she had lost her grip on reality.
She also appeared to have lost her Clairol root touch-up brush, because Girrrrrl…that hair was looking shady. Don’t make me mess up my Housewives and get all NeNe on that bad weave.
Fix yo’ face…and yo’ hair…and then we’ll talk.
So it looked like Ashley, or Ashlee, or both of them are out the door in the morning because she agreed to the Las Vegas scene.
And no one held anyone’s head under water down at the shore. So it looks like everyone survived the first week back.
Friends, family and your health are so highly overrated nowadays.
I smell ‘em, Pa. They’re out there. Bugs. Bees…and Biebers.
I meant Facial Beauty and Free Puppies. Duh.
Trust me honey, you ain’t alone on that one.
Well, sheeeoooooot y’all.
It’s time to load up your tanning gun, snap on that flipper and mosey them pretty feet down to the Circle City Wild West Showdown, cuz there’s trophies and crowns and that nervous little Taco Bell dog all yours for the takin’!
That’s right. Toddlers & Tiaras went Western this week and it was everything you would expect, complete with more glitter than Porter Wagoner’s Opry jacket and enough inappropriately naughty Cowgirls to start a brawl at any pre-school saloon.
And to add to the tension, the Showdown pitted three kinda sorta long distance BFFs against each other…and then topped off that sparkly dessert with yet another appearance by that scene-chewing piece of arrogance better known as pageant girl Alaska.
Pageant Director Max Mason, best known for his receding faux hawk and amazingly perfect porn name, got us all wound up from the start by showing off the shaking little bug eyed puppy that the lucky Ultimate Face winner gets to take home as a prize and then housebreak.
Trust me…nothing makes me want to enter a pageant more than the potential to win a freakishly over-sized crown and then have to go home and clean up nervous chihuahua pee.
Where do I sign up?
Max was the only other one I was worried about wetting the floor, because that dude was seriously excited about this pageant. Not to get ahead of myself, but by the time he was reading off the winners at the end of the Showdown, I’m pretty sure I saw one of the judges put newspaper down under the podium. But more on that later, if you make it through all this…
First off we got to meet 8 year old Spacy Jacy and her Mom Gina.
Jacy was a little tightly wound and couldn’t sit still for a second. I’m fairly certain that she was supposed to have been born as twins, but something happened and she ended up as one kid with enough personality for two. Since I don’t actually have access to any medical records, there is a good chance I could be making some of that up, but regardless, Jacy was a hoot. Two hoots, actually. In order to make room in her tiny body for all that personality, something else had to give. And it was focus. But you can’t have everything.
She shimmied in her Peace Sign groovy chick outfit, demonstrated so many voices and hand jives that I lost count, and generally just made me smile. Mom needs to strap a monitor bracelet on her ankle soon just to keep track of where she is headed next.
Then we were off to meet 8 year old Daisey Mae and her Mom Amanda, who was either Mother of the Year or on sedatives. If it’s the latter, I want to know where she gets the good stuff, because Amanda was redoinkulously calm in the middle of what can only be described as khaos. Yes. Chaos with a “K” it was so Krazy.
Now I know I’ve used this analogy before, but it’s so perfect for this house that I’m going to recycle.
Have you ever been on a plane when it’s about to land and the change in cabin pressure makes all the babies wake up and start crying at the same time?
Replace the stewardess with Amanda, replace a full coach seating section with Amanda’s house and then put in your ear plugs, pull down the oxygen mask and enjoy.
I don’t really know how many kids she has. I don’t even think she really knows anymore.
It was wall to wall…to wall…kids.
And crying kids and kids screaming and babies throwing Cheerios and one kid with his head stuck in the couch cushions and another one scooting around in one of those baby scooting wheelie things.
So. Daisey Mae.
She told us that she had 8 brothers and sisters, but yet when they ran through the opening credits montage like we were watching the TLC Brady Bunch, it only came up to 7 kids total. Even when you filled the middle spot that used to be for Alice.
There was also a photo that was ready to fall out of a frame at any second, which also had less than 8 kids. So I’m not sure if they can’t do math, or if the missing kid(s) were still back in the couch cushions…I don’t know.
But it was a lot of kids. That’s the short version of the story.
Daisey Mae was so chilled and calm that it was almost a medically induced coma. Like a Star Trek Borg.
We will Assimilate. And Sparkle.
She had a great grin when she hit the stage, but the lack of attention that she receives at home seemed to have sucked the smile muscles out of her face. There’s only so much quality time you can get when you’re just one pickle in the barrel, I guess.
She addressed the lack of attention, and then proceeded to declare that Facial Beauty is the most important thing in Life.
I’m gonna leave that one to the parents and the counselors, thank you. Not touching it.
Besides, we have bugs to squash.
Over at 5 year old Bridgett’s house, she and Mom Amanda#2 were goin’ huntin’ in the backyard for some bugs and worms. Slimy ones, little ones, medium sized ones and the biggest, slimiest worm of all…Justin Bieber.
Turns out that when Bridgett is not finger kissing and making that Taylor Swift up and around heart shaped thing over her head, she is in her Carhartt garage mechanic coveralls looking for things to kill. She wants to be the world’s first triple threat pageant princess/exterminator/destroyer of all teen heart throbs.
When pressed on what member of the food chain she wanted to kill next, she set her sights on Justin and it all got dark for a second.
For being only 5, Bridgett has really raked in the crowns. So much so that Mom had to start hanging them from the ceilings in what can only be described as a one room Liberace Planetarium. After the sun goes down, with nothing but the glow from a Hello Kitty nightlight, that room must be like an acid trip. A faaaaaaaaabulous acid trip.
All three contestants knew each other and seemed to be friends, and were also all being coached by Katie Boyer from Katie’s Kuties, the home of Pageant Winners and BeDazzled logo tees.
(Side note: I figured Katie must be a pageant girl herself so I Googled it to be sure, figuring that just this once I could try giving you accurate information. She is. And honey, the music on one of the websites is so loud it woke up at least ten of the Daisey Mae babies. For real. Turn it down…it’s not worth going deaf just for a puppy.)
Anyway.
Daisey Mae lived 6 hours away from the studio, so she Skyped her coaching via a laptop, which was kind of like watching someone in Iraq pretend to wear a cupcake dress while enemy artillery rained down around them. But again…it is for a puppy.
Locally, Bridgett stopped ripping worms in half long enough to practice a little, and Spacy Jacy demonstrated the youtube planking fad on some folding chairs. Later on she also had a photo shoot that brought out another couple of voices when she discussed playground paparazzi and how VERY pretty she felt. She almost drowned out Katie’s website.
But not even for a puppy will that girl focus.
Packing for Pageant Day was a sight to behold in all three households.
Daisey Mae’s entire…entire…family follows her to every pageant like Aerosmith groupies, all crammed into a Scooby-Doo van packed with diaper wipes and Tupperware containers. Any bets on how many times they have gotten to the first toll booth before realizing that a few kids were still on the front lawn or that the baby car seat was on the roof?
I bow to Amanda and her organizational skills. Full disclosure…her voice made me chuckle, and she swears a lot which is a wicked pissah…but she can organize the crap out of that Khaos. I salute you.
When they all made it to the Ramada, Max had already soaked one set of newspapers, and word was already out on the street that the self proclaimed Pageant Diva herself…Alaska…was there gunning for their Western crowns.
You will remember, as one of the Top Dawgs in the Glitz Globe right now, Alaska had recently begun trying out both a new hairstyle and a new arrogant attitude. She roared back earlier this season proudly proclaiming her fierce-ness and general better than you-ness, much to the chagrin of many. For those of you who do not commit my every word to memory, feel free to read all about it here….I’ll wait till you come back.
As always, the makeup rooms were a hot mess.
Spacy Jacy was MIA for the Beauty portion, which set off more alarms than a leak at a nuclear plant. As everyone tried to put her together in the hotel room, she cracked under pressure and started to cry, which undid a lot of the spackle that was just applied. For a young girl she had already mastered the soap opera kleenex dab under her lower lashes, so as not to smear the goop.
After running and crying and crying and running all the way to the stage, Jacy turned it on and worked the judges, even though points had to be deducted.
Daisey Mae actually smiled. That was nice. For the first time since this show began five seasons ago, the room was actually filled with no empty chairs, thanks to her 25 brothers and sisters and two hitchhikers they picked up at the city line. Team Daisey all the way!
As each girl graced the stage, Cowboy Max (…who refused to wear the cowboy hat that was right in front of him on the podium because it would flatten his faux hawk…) would smooooothly announce…”As we stop to admire Macaroon…she has lovely brown hair and blue eyes…..”
Stopping to admire a little girl in makeup? All I could picture was a dirty old man slowing his Buick down as he’s passing a school bus stop.
Cowboy Max needs a new catch phrase, asap.
Then it was Wild West Wear time.
Bridgette pulled the Q-tip out of her nose in time to rock her pink Cowgirl Couture. She also called out her own Mom for being “so jealous to me,” which in 5 year old exterminator talk means that Mom wishes she was up there on stage. Well that ain’t gonna happen, lady. Suck it. That’s what that meant in 5 year old exterminator talk. I looked it up.
Jacy blew the doors off her red barn prop and line danced around in what appeared to be her 4th of July parade costume. Unfortunately she forgot to take off her denim jacket before she got on stage, and the judges made a note.
Daisey Mae smiled again and then ripped her own skirt off which was so unexpected that it woke up a few more of her brothers and sisters.
When the awards came around, Bridgett didn’t get called, which in PageantLand means you get pulled for a higher title.
I’ll be honest. When her Mom said that “Pulling Out Is Always A Good Thing,” I spit my drink out though my nose and immediately began the process of putting that line on a t-shirt.
Coming soon to a skeevy corner store near you.
Then some kids won some stuff.
Jacy ended up winning Grand Supreme even though she didn’t make it to the stage on time, which made Amanda#1 swear again.
The evening was capped off by Alaska scoring the Ultimate Face title, snatching up the Taco Bell dog like it was candy and instantly BitchMorphing into a mini Paris Hilton. She clutched that sissy dog like she was trying to sneak through an airport with drugs and told all the other girls to give her some space.
Alaska completely dissed her supposed friend Daisey Mae, which made DM feel lousy and made me want to write something nasty on someone’s Facebook wall.
But even Cowgirls get sleepy when they’re out past their bedtime, so everyone headed out of Dodge before sunset.
Mark my words, Sheriff…they’ll be back. Nobody takes their puppy and lives to tell the story.
Lawd, shut the church door. What the eff is that thing on her head?
I’m practicing to carry two waitress trays when I grow up. Mo’ money.
Oh. No. Hell. No. Who gonna check me, Boo?
Maybe it’s just the Pixie Stix kickin’ in, but wasn’t this show supposed to be about that girl?
True dat, Miss Thang. MmmHmm Girlfriend.
I blame RuPaul.
If she hadn’t dangled the crowning of the Next Drag SuperStar right up until the very last second of the show, and then punk’d everyone right before the credits rolled by announcing that we had to wait one more week to see which Queen got all that free makeup…well…I totally would have changed channels before Eden’s World started.
Trust me. In a heartbeat.
What? I would have. For realz.
And I would have gone to bed early with my brandy snifter and settled in with a nice New York Times bestseller and…
Ok. Wait. I can’t even finish that last sentence with a straight face.
But don’t give me any flack for RuPaul. It was strictly research.
No, you shut up. You never know when they’re going to ask a RuPaul question on Jeopardy. It’s gonna happen.
Sooner or later they are going to have to stop asking questions about the Spanish Inquisition and Math. And when they do, and they ask what shape upholstery foam should be carved into in order to create the perfect LadyBoy butt…who’ll be laughing all the way to the bank?
Not you.
So before Ru had even finished punking everyone into a Glamazon coma, little Eden was already slipping under the channel clicker radar and starting another episode. I swear they dress her up in the same outfit that RuPaul wears just so we don’t notice when one show ends and the second begins.
And there she was. Again. I know, right?
They actually made more than just last week’s premiere episode.
This time we started out with Eden’s agent/puppy combo Andrew getting all Rachel Zoe again in his fur vest, spritzing on his cell. I’m still not 100% positive yet that the little puppy he’s always holding is real, because the thing is always just kind of there like a white furry version of a Reborn baby doll.
You know the Reborns. The ones that you always see being pushed around Walmart in a Barbie stroller by some lady wearing pajama bottoms who still puts tinfoil on her television rabbit ears. That’s a whole other show, kids.
Andrew was setting up an impromptu showcase of sorts for Eden since they were back in New York again, and hit up sassy Broadway Producer Tom for a quick drive-by audition.
If you are presently working four waitress jobs to help pay your portion of the rent for a studio walk-up in the Bronx , all while trying to light your own nonexistent Broadway star, then I’m thinking that seeing Andrew make one local call and get Eden a meeting probably didn’t sit well. Especially considering he didn’t even have to put down the Reborn to take any notes. I feel your pain.
Now channel that in your next audition. Use it. You’re welcome.
Luckily for the E-Team, Tom just happened to be sitting all by himself behind a bake sale folding table in the dance studio, so Andrew caught him at a good time.
Actually, after only five seconds of screen time, I’m thinking of starting a Broadway career of my own now, just so I can have Andrew set up a meeting with Tom.
Let’s just go there. I’ll say it right now and get it out on the table.
There isn’t much out there in the world nowadays that makes me happier than seeing white boys who think they are fierce african american girls.
There. You thought it…and I said it.
And it’s not offensive since I just slammed about ten different categories at once. It just cracks me the f*** up.
And I’ll say it again cuz I don’t play, bitch. M’kay?
I mean, seriously. What’s not to love? Girrrl, pleez. Two snaps and a circle. And a fierce head snap. And a jello booty shot.
Throw in a Singles Ladies wrist flip and I swear it’s like Christmas came early. Wrap it up for me. Just don’t break a nail tying the bow.
As soon as Eden walked in, I thought poor Tom’s head would sashay off his shoulders.
By the time he got done performing his intro act, I forgot whose audition it was.
Naturally, Eden’s Mom had dressed her in yet another understated lunchtime ensemble of fur, feathers, sequins and flowers. For Mickie, even using the using the restrooms at Macy’s is a potential opportunity to pimp out Eden, so better safe than sorry.
Tom couldn’t get over Eden’s slightly askew RuPaul hat (…a blatant shout out to LogoTV on someone’s part…) her precocious attitude, her airbrushed headshot or her general KidSpaz attention span.
He also couldn’t get over the fact that she really couldn’t sing.
I mean…really.
After screeching a few chunks of her “hit” Underpuppy, Eden bellied up to the bar for her critique. Seriously, if Tom doesn’t put all his key catch phrases into one manual and publish it by the Fall, I will be devastated.
Dude was the SnarkMaster. I bow to him. After discussing annunciation vs. backwoods word spitting, Tom finished her off with the soon to be classic “Not everyone is Judy Garland,” which was followed by a head jut, smirk and “MmmHmm?” which I immediately downloaded as both my screensaver and ringtone.
Then we were off to Indianapolis to meet Tom’s Brother from another Mother, Mr. Nick.
Let’s just say Christmas came twice this week.
Since the producers still need a way to actually get Eden into the storyline each week, aside from letting her run through the background in every scene, we got to meet another untrained Glitz wannabe in desperate need of Mickie’s Yoda-like wisdom and Eden’s mystical, magical unicorn-powered pageant touch.
This week it was young Ivy, who was under the questionable tutelage of the faboo Mr. Nick…who can do it all, Girlfriend.
He’s a cheer coach, a pageant coach, a female illusionist (…shout out #2 to LogoTV…) and all around finger wagging all up in yo’ face Miss Thang.
If I’m ever trapped in a Ramada elevator on Pageant Day with both Tom and Mr. Nick, don’t call for help. Just wait for my head to explode and then call Housekeeping. Take comfort in knowing I died with my brain so full of OhNoSheDin’t that my skull couldn’t contain all the fierceness. It was a quick death…but it was painless.
And sparkly. Very sparkly.
After getting into a heated debate with Fran the time management challenged Stylist and Eden’s Manager Heather on whether or not a 7 year old needs sensible yet fake bottom lashes applied before a pageant, Mr. Nick showed off some of his coaching skills under the watchful eyes of Mickie…and Eden when she could focus.
After discerning that Ivy was too robotic, the scene collapsed in on itself and everyone got up to do their runway walk. Mickie finally got the chance to be an aging pageant girl while Mr. Nick worked it like a photo shoot for the new Gay Lands’ End 2012 catalog.
Andrew just clutched his cell and his Reborn and lived the Dream.
Eden finished us off with yet another gem by reminding everyone that to make it in pageants you “Gotta get the Boom Boom Pow.”
Before the show was even over you know that at least two people stalking the website that Dateline always spies on had already chosen that as their chat name.
One of the tidbits that Producer Tom had tossed out to the E-Team was that in lieu of sparing us all any more ear bleeding and ending this nonsense all together, Eden could probably benefit from some vocal training. One more puppy hug and phone call later, Eden had an audience with Steven Sorrentino who according to Andrew and Heather, pretty much invented singing and acting.
He’s got white teeth, I’ll give him that. As he sat mesmerized by Eden’s spot-on Margaret Thatcher and Crocodile Dundee imitations, Mickie hooted and hollered in her seat like she was front row at Caroline’s Comedy Club, slapping anyone in her orbit as she screamed “That’s my baby! That’s my baby!”
We know it is. No one else would want it.
Much as she did with Tom and his head bopping, Eden zig zagged her gaze all over Manhattan as Steven tried to give his feedback. Unless she has some powers to see Poltergeists that the rest of us can not yet visualize, that kid has some serious focus issues. I’m thinking she was also probably looking for the cue cards that they write out for every one-on-one shot she has to sit through.
Boom Boom Pow.
After realizing that they had forgotten about Ivy, the E-Team bolted back to Indy just in time for the pageant.
Mr. Nick was running Ivy through a few last minute rehearsals. Though we never actually saw it, I’m pretty sure one of the exercises was to limbo under his legs because Mr. Nick always stood in a really uncomfortably awkward half split in order to get down to Ivy’s level. It was just low enough and wide enough that it would definitely get you fired as a coach in most junior high schools, but I guess the pageant world runs on a whole different rule book.
Finally it was Pageant Day. Once again, Fran was behind schedule with the whole hair and makeup thing.
As we touched upon earlier, math is not really my thing…but even I figured out that if there have only been two episodes of this mess so far and Fran has been running behind in both episodes…well…if I had my calculator I’m thinking that it would probably add up to bad averages.
And besides that, isn’t the whole hair and makeup thing…I don’t know…her thing? Get it together Miss Fran, before someone calls you out on it.
Never mind. Too late.
In came Mr. Nick with all his finger wagging fierceness, checking the time, slurping his Starbucks and unleashing more early Christmas right up in Fran’s face.
Wait for it….
Boom! DivaWars.
As a random assortment of pageant babies sucked down sugar and chugged The Dew, Fran and Mr. Nick got their CrazyBitch on, while Andrew clutched his Reborn and waffled between horror and total, unadulterated bliss. Luckily for all the kids trapped in that hotel room, as well as the LogoTV legal department who would never be able to cover the damages to the furniture, the pageant kicked into gear and they had to break up the street fight.
Mickie ran through all her signature verklempt poses, which I still live for, and predicted that Ivy would take the Supreme Deep Dish crown without a doubt.
Eden ran through the background a couple of times to satisfy the share holders, and then Ivy lost. Even with her Wilma Flintstone Jungle Boogie outfit. Bone and all.
Mickie couldn’t believe it, and shoved her way through the crowd to hit up the judges. And then Eden ran around some more.
Back in the hotel room, Mr. Nick and Miss Fran picked up right where they left off, but this time we had the added bonus of a Stylist Turf War with graphic female body part names being used against each other. That was a nice touch with those little sugarized kids in the hallway. Poor little niblets don’t even know they have those lady parts yet, and they’re already scared to death of them. Nice.
Mr. Nick was disgusted and not impressed, to the point where he called it a really bad word.
Mickie had to break it all up and lay down the law to the E-Team. I have no clue where Eden was.
Probably at the bar singing Underpuppy.
Girrrllll…..we are definitely not in Kansas anymore.
Just keep talkin’, Renee. I’ve got five friends right here that want to meet your face.
Forget Ramona’s jewels. The Feds should confiscate these weapons as evidence, bitches.
I do not like Mob Rats and Ham. I do not like them, Sam I Am.
(Bleep) that. I can’t even see my belly. How’m I doin’?
And then I lookz in my imaginary mirror, and I’m on Desperate Housewives and it all goes away.
Oh, those crazy Mob Wives.
Love. Them.
No matter what side of the law they are working, or what side of the bed they get up on…them girls definitely know how to throw punches and parties.
After the last few weeks of drama surrounding Junior and the selling of his soul, his family and his personal radio frequency setting to the Feds in a plea deal that brought down a hefty chunk of the Staten Island Mob, the Wives certainly needed to unwind a little.
Lucky for them, not only was it the Holiday Season, but also the highly anticipated launch of Karen’s Mob Daughter memoir. And nothing says ‘party ‘ like dishing out family dirt around the Christmas tree.
Renee had slowly begun pulling herself together after discovering Junior’s Ultimate Betrayal (…you can tell it was a really big deal because it’s all in caps…) and started picking up the pieces of her life.
Regardless of which side you’re on in that Right vs. Wrong online forum debate over everything that went down with Junior’s wire wearing, you still gotta admit the whole thing must have sucked big ones when it happened.
Nobody likes getting boned by a loved one. At least not that kind.
But trust me, I know, there is only so much food in the refrigerator and so many hours of Bravo on the DVR. Sooner or later you gotta get a comb through all that mess and leave the house.
And I love me my Wives, but I’ll be the first to admit that as I grabbed my snacks for this episode, I did mumble a silent “Pleasepleasepleaseplease don’t let her be crying on the couch again.”
We get it, Renee. Now put on some lipstick and get last week’s newspapers off the front lawn.
After neurotically losing almost 33 pounds (…233 if you count Junior…) Renee took a shower and met up with Ramona, who was no doubt coming back from another of her weekly teeth bleaching appointments.
The two discussed Junior’s actions, and how it played into Values, Morals and Ethics in regards to raising children in this “Lifestyle.”
Yeah. They said that.
And don’t look at me.
I’m not touching that with a ten foot pole. Call in to Dr. Drew or something if you want to go into a deeper discussion on that gigantic can of worms.
Ramona was a little wired, but not in the Junior way, because the Feds had confiscated her jewelry collection and she wanted it back. The bling was snatched during a raid on her boyfriend’s home after the two of them were arrested back in that roadblock on the Expressway fiasco a few months ago.
Even though a lot of time has passed, we still don’t know anymore then we did on the first day about why their cowboy wagon was circled by Federal Indian Agents.
Nor do we know what the dude’s name is…and it’s becoming somewhat of an obsession for way too many internet lurkers. Finding out Mr. X’s real name is starting to cut into the time that these people should be spending on World of Warcraft and watching cat videos on youtube. Just pick an Italian name and move on, people.
While Ramona went on and on about her $200,000 worth of earrings, Karen was meeting up with Anessa the Event Planner, to prepare for the Book Launch Party.
Caps again…take note.
The venue was one of those fancy multi-level joints, with spots for both the shy celebrities and the camera whores. Karen explained that this was going to be a really big deal with family, press, movie people, television people, Barnes & Noble people and who knows who else all invited to shmooze and mingle with former and current gangster relations.
The way she went on and on about the guest list, I pretty much assumed that Brad and Angelina would swing by on their way home from H&M, accompanied by Cornelius and Zira from The Planet of the Apes.
Remember when the apes crash landed in New York City? Apes know how to party. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. Hell yeah, they’re invited.
As that gala was being planned, another bash was already in progress.
Time for my new favorite holiday movie: Christmas with Big Ang.
In what can only be described as The Real Housewives of New Jersey meets Pixar, Big Ang had crashed her sister Janine’s house for a party that I would have sold my own organs to attend.
I say RHONJ because the house was one of those gigantically gaudy Teresa Giudice houses that probably use 10 dollar bills as toilet paper. And I say Pixar because Big Ang was dressed like that big blue guy from Monsters, Inc.
You know the one. The one that sounded like Rosanne Barr’s TV husband.
I. Love. Big. Ang.
I question her fashion sense on a regular basis, but I worship at her furry vested feet.
When I close my eyes and imagine what Heaven looks like, it looks a lot like that party. It was wall to wall Big Ang look-a-likes drinking, eating, searching for their misplaced smokes and getting so loud that you knew the cops would show before midnight.
Renee also showed up, kissed anyone she could get her hands on, and then posed like Melissa Gorga on the winding staircase. Thank you, Baby Jesus.
By the time Drita showed up, I swear the Christmas tree was even taller than when the party started, and random Big Ang nephews were running around in Staten Island iParty Chippendale bow ties getting the women all horned up.
There were so many Big Angs in the building that I didn’t know where to look first. There were little ones, and big ones and some that were still growing into their Big Angishness.
But there’s only one Big Ang. And she loves her mimosas, even though it seemed that most of the guests had no clue what actually goes into the cocktail.
When the mimosas were complimented, one of the second string Big Angs agreed, and stated that it was like “Christmas in your mouth.”
Best line of the night. Period.
I almost turned the TV off and went to bed early, because nothing else was going to compare for the remainder of the evening.
Open up. It’s Christmas in your mouth, bitch.
There are so many dirty Santa jokes running through my head right now that I may have to lay down for a minute.
After the party, Renee finally met up with Carla to get to the bottom of all this She Said, You Said, They Said You Said gossip that had been blowing around the Island. After weeks of hearing that Carla had supposedly said that Renee knew about Junior cooperating with the Feds, it was a time to find out the truth at yet another of Staten Island’s seemingly endless string of diners.
The scene itself was pretty uneventful, except for the actual menus at the table. Seriously. Please tell me someone else noticed.
For only two people, they were like the Holy Bibles of Diner menus. Massive.
And I swear the booths were yanked from an old McDonald’s. But otherwise, nothing to report on this scene. They talked and kinda sorta made up like they always do.
Besides, there were more important things to watch. Like Big Ang belly dancing.
Ramona had taken Karen, Big Ang and Big Ang’s inflated boobs to a belly dancing studio, and I’m willing to bet that more than a few pervs out there are keeping their DVRs on pause mode until the sight is burned into their screens.
As some tiny instructor shouted “All in the hips! Boom! Boom!” Karen and Big Ang wobbled all over the rehearsal space, each in their own world. Ramona used the time to preach to us again about her Arabic heritage and how she married some blah blah blah…while Big Ang tried not to face plant like a former dictator’s statue in the public rotunda.
Telling someone who has not seen her hips in 20 years to ‘work them’ is pretty pointless, honey. Save your breath.
Then it was time to launch that book.
Karen arrived at the hotel and had her own little “I’m King of the World” moment on the balcony outside her room. Except it was only one of those tiny jut outs that the firemen use to rescue you when the building is burning down…she made it sound like it was the Trump balcony. But she can have her Moment. She worked hard.
Then it was hair and makeup in the hotel room. Picture Toddlers & Tiara gone Gangstah. Except the Pageant Moms are meaner than the Gangster Moms.
Ramona showed up and Karen presented her with an autographed copy of her book. It appeared that Karen must have spent all the advance money on this party and now couldn’t afford a decent pen, because she scribbled inside the book with one of those Sharpies that you use when you can’t find the shoe polish.
C’mon lady…you’re (kinda) famous now. Those pens are for frat party Solo Cups and first day of school backpacks. Get it together.
But I’ll give Karen her props, and not just because she scares me. That party was packed. Full house.
There were so many people that I couldn’t tell if Brad and Angelina had shown up. The apes definitely no-showed, but I couldn’t make out all the other people. Her brother was there for sure.
They even had one of those photo opp backdrops on the way into the launch. If Joan Rivers and the Fashion Police weren’t there, they should have been.
I mean really should have been there. Does anyone in Staten Island know their actual dress size? I don’t think even the Feds could put that kind of squeeze on the Mob.
Badabing!
Hopefully the press liked the book more than Drita did, because she didn’t have too many nice things to say about it over the episode. She did make a delightful truck stop hand job motion with her fist at one point, but I’m not certain where that falls on the Thumbs Up/Thumbs Down scale.
Karen and Ramona got on the mic like two chicks at Spring Break and the room loved it. Show us your T***!
All in all, a good night for Karen. You go, girl.
But the glow was short lived, as the next day another round of Mob busts were made and, thanks to Junior, even more friends got dragged into the fingerprinting room.
On her way to meet up with Karen, Ramona put a call into Big Ang over at the Drunken Monkey to let her know what just went down.
My secret crush Big Ang was wearing some redoinkulously oversized zebra star shaped earrings that I swear I saw once on an episode of Jem and the Holograms, and they got me so distracted I forgot what Ramona told her.
Ramona then scooted over to meet Karen and tell her the same story, but I was still in my hologram daze and didn’t pay attention again. Sumthin sumthin about the bust and Junior and who to trust and more of the same stuff they talked about last time they were together.
This week ended with Renee driving around while talking to Big Ang on the hands free.
And by ‘hands free’ I mean not holding the phone or the wheel, all while blinded by a rear view mirror decorated with so many dingily dangly chandelier crystals that they literally blocked one of her blind spots.
Like I needed another reason to steer clear of Staten Island.
Renee was on the way to her Dad’s first status hearing, again…thank you Junior, and was checking in with Big Ang on the latest deetz surrounding the Mob bust.
Big Ang was walking her little spaz dog Louie, and looked like she was taking a break from filming the next Mission: Impossible sequel as she chilled on the park bench.
I had one more of my hologram black outs, so you’ll have to go online to see what they talked about…or wait until next week.
I never said her kid was ugly. I said butt ugly. Get it right.
Pffffthh…
Oh, it’s going down, bitch. I’ll wipe that smirk and all that Kool-Aid off your punk a** face.
Tastes like anxiety and vicarious living. With a hint of Mountain Dew.
Sorry, but I’ve tasted better wings and seen better boobs.
Whoa.
Now I don’t know this for a fact, and there’s a good chance I could be making it up, but somewhere in the Toddlers & Tiaras Corporate Offices there’s a Special Room reserved just for nights like tonight.
A room that only the Big Wigs know about, where they go to celebrate unleashing so much hot pageant mess on the rest of us that they need a moment alone to light up a smoke and unbutton the top button of their pants like it’s Thanksgiving afternoon.
We’ll call it sparkly pageant afterglow.
I know there’s a room like that, and it gets used a lot. And tonight it was probably so full of Brooks Brothers suits puffing on Newports that they were over the Fire Code for a room that size.
Tonight’s episode celebrated all that disco and dysfunction have to offer, and it all came gift wrapped in a Hooters take out box. I don’t even smoke, but by the time it was over I almost got dressed and went down to the 7-11 for a carton.
Full disclosure. Since I gave birth to this odd little site last year, I’ve met some really great pageant peeps. Believe it or not, they’re not all whackadoodle. For realz.
(Shout out to Paisley, the world’s cutest nugget, and her entourage among others…)
But sometimes we just need some Crazy to keep us grounded. And sometimes when you ask for crazy…it answers back.
Get some snacks. Here we go.
Pageant Director Dena Jackson and her Jerseylicious raccoon liner eyeballs introduced us to the Beautiful Me Disco Diamonds Pageant.
If you suffer from even the mildest form of Epilepsy, that’s probably about as far into the episode as you lasted, because the Ramada banquet table full of strobe light trophies probably set off a seizure and you lost consciousness when your head hit the floor.
Every sailboat owner should have a Prettiest Eyes trophy in their emergency kit in case they find themselves stranded at sea, because the International Space Station could track down those glitter flares.
That ballroom was like a bad acid trip, but before my pupils even dilated back to their normal diameter we were meeting little 2 year old SamiJo, her Mom Tricia and her Mom’s new boobs.
Knowing Tricia as we now do, they probably have names as well, but it was never discussed. You can make up your own.
If you jump back a season to when we last met Tricia, she and her camo-wearing redneck husband were arguing about how much of their income had gone to pageants and breast augmentations. Even without the aid of any psychic ability, you kind of knew where that whole relationship was headed. While her new boobs were going North, her marriage was going South.
Jump back to the present, and Tricia is now divorced and living with her new boyfriend and all the OctoMom babies. I forget exactly how many kids she had all together, but it was more than just SamiJo. There were a couple of brothers for sure, because they were all eating wings and staring at her boyfriend. ”HG” was in the hizzle, and the kids all seemed to like him, though they could have just been staring at the big “S” on his head.
I need to brush up on my street cred, because I guess the days of carving Nike swooshes into your hair are long gone. Now it’s all about pageant girl initials.
HG had gone and gotten a custom piece of hair doodle art shaved into his scalp to show his support for SamiJo. Touching, I guess, but it kind of looked like he fell asleep and some street kids tagged the back of his skull like it was a restaurant dumpster.
But SamiJo liked it, even though she doesn’t know her alphabet yet.
And speaking of restaurants.
Since her divorce, Tricia has had to pick up a number of jobs to support her pageant habit, and let’s just say that none of them are at the Mall.
Tricia does “promotional work”…whatever that means…at tractor pulls and racetracks, is also one of those bikini Cage Girls who hold up signs during matches and still finds time to work at that “world famous wings” place.
You know the one. Not KFC. The other one.
That was definitely not a KFC uniform that she had on when she came home. Hose her down and you have Spring Break right there at the kitchen table. No wonder the boys were so bug eyed. Maybe it wasn’t HG’s new doo after all.
To cleanse the palette after all that spicy breast meat, we scooted over to meet 3 year old Destiny and her Mom Sherrie.
Destiny showed us her Hula Girl shimmy, boinged around on one of those bouncy balls with the handles and just generally fell down a lot. There was one delightful moment when she ran to the staircase banister and screamed that she wanted to dance on the pole. That’s right.
That one was too easy, even for me….so please, do pause and insert your own joke right here.
I’ll wait.
“____________!”
Ha. That was a good one. Destiny’s Mom is gonna hate you for that.
Destiny is crazy cute in her interviews, but hasn’t quite figured out how to keep her tongue in her mouth. Even Mom couldn’t poke it back in. But the cute factor makes up for the drool bubbles.
Sherrie had maxxed out the three family credit cards to get her pageant fix and yet her husband had no clue, so I guess she takes care of the bills while he’s out in the shed guttin’ deer. When we got a tour of that hatchet shop, complete with random pieces of dead deer laying in their own pools of blood, it was definitely a close second to the terror of the actual glitz pageant world.
As for maxxing out the cards? The third card was supposed to be just for emergencies. I do NOT want to be around that house when the septic tank backs up and they’re trying to sop up all that poo with a Miss Pouty Face sash.
Ask Tricia for her divorce lawyer’s 800 number and keep it in a safe place.
Or just tape it to Destiny’s pacifier and you’ll never lose it. That thing is always in her mouth, so you’ll always know where to find it.
And why is it called Pappy? Makenzie’s Ni-Ni was cute. But sucking on your Pappy?
Sorry. That opens up a whole other can of country worms, thank you.
Finally we met 3 year old Camarie and her Mom Jennifer. Mom called her a Brat. The pageant director called her a Demon Child. I was too busy ducking and dodging and trying to avoid all the candy and toys and appliances that Camarie was heaving around the house to decide what to call her.
She appeared to be one of those unmanageable kids who goes completely HyperSpaz, and then collapses like a bag of Idaho potatoes when you go to pick her up and toss her out the back door. Camarie also spends every waking moment with a mouthful of Mike & Ike’s and a face full of cherry Kool-Aid stain. Somebody get that kid a WetNap.
The history between Jennifer and Miss Hot Wings 2012 goes way back. They met up at a few pageants, have pretty much grown to hate each other and have no qualms about talking smack to any stranger who will listen. The tension has dripped onto their children as well, because the looks that Camarie and SamiJo shoot each other is worth the price of admission.
Tricia had previously referred to Camarie as ugly. The Book of Mom says that is totally not cool.
In case you’re ever asked on a game show, Camarie was named after Calamarie…Mom’s favorite food while she was preggo. That’s just messed up. No way around it, unless you’re a Disney Mermaid.
There was so much chaos in this episode that the poor producers just kept tossing us back and forth from one noodle to another, hoping that we could retain it all and not get motion sickness.
I’m going to have to do the same, so we can get the rest of this in before the next episode airs.
To “create her own income” outside of the tip jar, Tricia had hired a photographer to shoot a calendar that she was going to sell around town. Not a SamiJo calendar. A Mommy in a Bikini calendar, like the ones you always see when you go to get a new muffler put on your Hyundai.
As Mom posed and popped her booty, little SamiJo fumbled with a cell phone and tried not to look. Tricia claimed that even at a whopping 2 years of age and partially thanks to her own new breasts, SamiJo loves Victoria’s Secret and already has full comprehension of how the biz works.
Please. Two years old? She doesn’t even know how the toilet works.
All I know is that at any age, you do not want to see your own Mother doing a cheesecake pose in a bikini. I’m pretty certain SamiJo was trying to figure out how to blind herself with the iPhone flash and not really surfing The Wiggles website.
We got to ride along with Destiny for her spray tan. Once I got past the distraction of the ginormous Jersey bouffants on the front desk girls I could focus on Destiny getting a coat or two of Cocoa #45.
She refused to spit out Pappy, so the Jersey girls had to figure out how to tan her with a mouthful of Pappy…which then left her with a big white circle around her mouth and a dark Pappy.
There is just so much wrong with this episode.
SamiJo had a little practice session outside standing on what appeared to be giant pasties. You know what I’m going to say, so I’m not even going to say it. But thanks, Tricia.
She also bragged that SamiJo has Runway Swag and you can’t wash it off. Gross.
Finally it was Pageant Day!
As I say every week, the event itself is never as exciting as the klusterf*** leading up to it, but there were still a few pieces to chew on.
Somehow Tricia and Jennifer ended up in the same hotel room for hair and makeup. That was uncomfortable.
Catty looks, snarky digs and lots of smeared makeup. Except for the room service menu on the desk, the scene could have been filmed in a women’s prison. Take the lid off the toilet and toss a few switchblades on the floor, and there you go. One of those Moms was going to get cut if they didn’t get to the stage asap.
The Beauty portion of the shindig was a downer.
SamiJo just stood there. Period. Where am I? Tricia knelt behind her in a skirt so short that I thought they might have to pixelate the nasty parts for television.
The girl with the seafood name did ok. Nothing great.
Destiny copied SamiJo and just stood there with her mouth open like a carnival game. Three Pappies for a dollar! Aim for the mouth and win a prize! The more Pappies, the bigger the prize!
For the Disco Wear portion, SamiJo was late because she was riding up and down the elevator with the OctoMom kids. When she finally made it, she was wearing a doofy looking Hello Kitty kind of thing, which I can’t ever remember seeing in any disco movie. Painting whiskers on her face was a nice touch, if this whole thing was being held at Destiny’s Carnival.
CalamityCalamarie wore go-go boots. That’s all I remember.
Destiny did some crazy dance and then went off stage to chomp on Pappy.
The whole thing ended up with nobody winning what they really wanted to win, and with Tricia and Jennifer still hating each other. If you really wanted a listing of who won what, you would be on a real website and not reading my witty sarcasm, am I right?
Oh, yeah. It was good stuff. But now it’s too late to go across the street for some smokes.
Oh. Hell. No. That pretty one did not just score her kid another solo.
Dude. Seriously. I can’t even look at you in that hat. Do you even own a mirror?
I will make him pay for his insolence. I am beautiful on the inside, haters.
They are all playing right into my hands. Soon, Hannah. Soon this will all be ours.
And “Kohroghafee” is a hard word. You try it, bitch.
I am beautiful.
You are beautiful. And you.
And you over there, reading this while you’re supposed to be working.
You’re beautiful, too.
Heck…even Dance Moms are beautiful.
Until they open their mouths.
This week Dance Moms: Miami tried to teach us all a lesson in compassion, acceptance and tolerance…something that we need a lot more of nowadays.
Emphasis on the “tried” part…because somewhere before the first commercial break it collapsed into a lesson in backstabbing, gossiping and uncomfortably awkward childhood psychoanalysis.
Victor and Angel are definitely over qualified in the art of The Dance and flamboyant scarf tying. No one will ever be able to take that away from them.
But therapists? Ummm…not so much.
Back home in the Land of Early Bird Specials and Quacker Factory, the team from Stars (…which I just this moment have chosen to refer to as the S-Team, à la Eden Wood’sE-Team and Mr. T’s A-Team…) were regrouping and getting ready for the next competition.
As the troops fell into position for “The List,” two things were immediately brought to my attention. Three if you count the fact that they still don’t have enough chairs for all the Moms.
One…Victor was wearing some serious neck bling shaped like a cassette tape.
Flashback. The kind of tape that used to always get stuck in your car audio system while you were going 70 miles an hour in a 45 zone in your parent’s car, and you tried yanking it out and the tape all pulled out in a ribbon like Christmas tinsel. How much did that suck? And it was always your favorite Pointer Sisters album.
On Victor, the look was kinda gangstah. If Bob Fosse and 50 Cent had a baby out of wedlock, I guess.
Part of me was hoping he would be drooling through a gold Toddlers & Tiaras flipper, but no such luck.
The second item of notice was that Jessi was wearing a top that actually covered her teenie bopper buttons. Finally. My eyes thank you.
There was a lot to get accomplished this week, so Victor had to boogie through the stack of head shots pretty quickly.
Lucas was on the top, natch. He’s kind of this show’s Maddie, for those of you who are already longing for Abby Lee Miller to come back from wherever it was that she peeled off to in that taxi last month. If you never watched the original Dance Moms, I apologize for just eating up 20 seconds of your life that you’ll never get back.
While we’re on the subject, though, if you started watching this show without even knowing about the original then we’ve got bigger problems to discuss at a later date.
Lucas scored First Place on his solo last time, even though he was a little wobbly on his signature leg up in the air move. You’d think he could do that in his sleep by now, but I’ve never tried it. The Lucmeister probably waits for the school bus doing that crazy one footed standing split thing, wearing his “Who’s Your Daddy” backpack and pointing finger pistols at the ladies.
He cracks me up.
Kimmy was next on “The List,” as a little reward for remembering her choreography last week.
I love her and her little half-lisp thing she has going on. I honestly want her to end every sentence with a big, wet Daffy Duckttthhhhhwwwpppttt raspberry and then smirk.
That would be HIGHsterical.
While we’re on the subject, I don’t think Angel should be yanking her chain about remembering choreography when the guy can’t even say the word “choreography.”
What is he saying?
I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe it’s not spelled out correctly on the teleprompter, because he always rambles like he was called in at the last minute to read the 5PM Breaking News Report and didn’t have time for a practice run through. Listen to him next time. I make up a lot of stuff…a lot, or so I’m told…but not this.
Two words: Rosetta. Stone.
First DVD is even free. Check it out, dude.
Sammy was third and got another solo this week, which almost made Debi bite through her bottom lip. That woman is not a big fan of Sammy or her Mom Abby. They have some sordid history at their old dance studio and Debi refuses to unpack all that baggage. This made 3 solos in 3 weeks, so you know Debi was chewing her cud with gusto.
Jessi and her fairly age appropriate top were in the 4th spot, which made her cry. She cries a lot. Which in turn made her slightly off-balanced Mom Susan cry. She cries a lot, too. Usually followed by a hissy fit exit out the nearest doorway. But she stuck around this time, which caught me off guard.
Hannah was at the bottom, even though she had her highest scores ever at the last competition. Debi chewed even harder at that one, even though she should have already done the math back when they were discussing dancer #4.
Let’s call it like it is.
Debi is pretty much just miserable during waking hours. She rolls her eyes a lot and always looks like that person at the County Buffet who just needs one good burp to make it all go away. She just doesn’t seem to be liking her life right now, but luckily Hannah hasn’t picked up on any of that negative DNA. The little tyke is actually one of the most level headed kids in the room and had some serious pearls of wisdom this week.
Since there is no such thing as too much Starbound, they are all headed back to California again for round two. Apparently California has weekly after shocks and Starbound Competitions, because the kids haven’t even unpacked from the last trip yet, and now they have to go back again.
The group number this time was a little heavy.
(No…that wasn’t a Hannah joke. Gah. You say one thing two weeks ago and the internet won’t let you forget.)
It’s all about insecurities. And to get the kiddos to open up, Victor and Angel had them all sit around in one of those Truth Circles that people always do on company team building retreats. But instead of falling backwards and hoping someone catches your a** before you crack your head open, the S-Team got to sit around and say what makes them feel insecure.
Now this could have been a real chance for some real discussions on what kids nowadays go through at school and online, and it started out pretty intense with Jessi feeling ugly. But the whole process seemed to make Victor and Angel a little uncomfortable and by the time Lucas started to explain how the other boys make fun of him for wanting to dance, they buzzed on to the next person so fast that the little guy’s hair stood up without gel for the first time.
Kimmy brought up her unnatural need for perfection, which you didn’t need a degree to know is brought on by Mom Ani’s OCD labeling of everything in the house, and consistently waking the poor kid up at 4am to do her book reports.
Hannah really spoke from the heart and it was touching. By the time she cried I wanted to hug her, but Victor got there first.
Sammy thinks she’s pretty, but is still afraid of forgetting her moves, and her Mom being run over by Debi in a minivan.
As the Moms sat behind that zoo window and watched the activity, they bounced back and forth between tearing up and talking smack. Poor Abby didn’t stand a chance when they started ganging up on her for Sammy’s trifecta of solos. Before you knew it, she was all alone in the room when everyone else got up to go the bathroom at the same time like Meerkats heading to their hole.
Meow, kitties.
The next day Brigette had a case of the Guilts and pulled Abby aside to apologize for the mass exodus. She realized that Debi had manipulated the situation and tossed so much negative catnip around the room that all of them just lost their equilibrium. That was no excuse for the whacky hair accessory that Mayra was wearing at the front desk, but she’s whackadoodle anyway. Comes with the territory I guess.
To break the tension during rehearsals, Victor had all the Moms come into the studio to do The Dougie Dance.
If you know what that is…just picture it. If you don’t…youtube it. Then picture it.
It looked like Mohegan Sun when all the horny, drunk Moms do a weekend getaway without their husbands, and hit the dance floor daring each other to dance with all the horny, drunk Dyson salesmen.
Yeah. You can’t un-see that now, can you?
All inspired after that, Abby, Brigette and Susan took off for a cocktail, and the chance to perhaps score a new Dyson for the summer home.
Keep your friends close, your enemies closer…blah, blah, blah.
Before the booze even hit their nervous system, Abby blurted out that Debi was ASKED to leave the last dance studio. Oh snap.
As long as they were Debi-trashing, Brigette and Susan let Abby know that Debi had asked Victor to basically throw the game….ie, sabotage Sammy’s dance by giving her suckwad choreography.
Oh snap, again. This can’t be good.
Competition Day was when it all went down.
The solos went well. Kimmy looked like she had no spine, and pretzeled her way around the stage. Go, Kimmy! ttthhhhhwwwpppttt!
Sammy nailed her solo, and Lucas didn’t wear a shirt again.
Now about that.
First time was…I don’t know, ok, I guess. Second time was…well, the second time.
Maybe it’s just me, but by the third time with no shirt and shiny bike shorts…it’s getting a little Dateline: To Catch A Preditor.
Can someone please put some clothes on that kid?
Chicks dig a smart dressed man. And you know Lucas loves to pop a collar.
Seriously. If that little boy isn’t wearing a shirt by next week I’m going to have to clear the history on my laptop before Chris Hansen shows up.
After the solos, Abby cornered Victor and Angel outside and tried to bully a confession out of them regarding the sabotage rumors. Victor just squirmed and putzed with his scarf while Angel squirmed and putzed with another one of his little beanie hats.
It was pretty clear that something was up, even though neither of them came clean. They did have some nervous pee and a few wardrobe adjustments, but no secrets were revealed. But Abby figured it out on her own, and she had a score to settle.
It was now officially Debi Season, and Abby was going hunting as soon as the group number was over.
The Insecurity Dance went well, but only scored the kids a Fifth Place button. All the dancers came out with labels of their individual insecurities duct taped to their costumes, and then yanked them off in a kind of boogie boogie music video cleansing process. Luckily there were no Super Bowl wardrobe malfunctions during all that yanking, but also no First Place trophy.
When they all stampeded backstage looking for hugs and high fives, they were greeted with Victor’s luke warm analysis of the day, and Abby looking to cut up some fresh Debi Meat for the freezer.
Debi swore she didn’t try to sabotage the dance. Brigette told her to own it. Moms started yelling again. Kids weren’t sure what to do.
Abby blew a nutty and bolted out the door, in that half crying/half screaming way that Dance Moms do everything.
The last thing we saw was Abby outside having a little meltdown as though she had just been cut from The Bachelor, crying about how she had never met women like this before, never had women treat her like this before and never had to deal with anything like this before…all the dramatic stuff that they always say when they don’t get a rose.
Welcome to the heartbreak called Dance Moms, honey.
Cuz it’s my world, bitches. That’s why. Any questions?
When she screeches that Cutie Patootie nonsense, release the nukes.
Not even an army of tanked up Pixie Stix Stormtroopers can stop our quest for World Domination.
Does re-tired mean I’m tired again? Cuz I am. Hold all my calls…I’ll be in my Barbie trailer.
Whaddaya mean this isn’t Toddlers & Tiaras? They promised me this was gonna be on Toddlers & Tiaras!
The time is upon us.
The Ancients predicted it, and now it has finally come to pass.
The prophecy has come full circle, and a Young One has arrived to lead us.
All those past their prime, 13 year old Pageant Princesses with their faded glitz photos and absurdly oversized gem encrusted tiaras tried to warn us, but we didn’t listen. It could never happen. Not here. No way.
But it just did. With one hyper spin of a makeup chair and a whiny “Hey, Y’all…!” we were invaded.
Eden Wood is back, bitches.
The Gods of Reality TV just dumped a BeDazzled doozie on us this week, with the premiere of Eden’s World on LogoTV.
While the network choice alone is a head scratcher, the premiere episode itself is so chock full of hot mess moments that I’ve already set my DVR to stun. And Season Pass.
After owning the Toddlers & Tiaras pageant game for a number of years, Eden and her crazy puppeteer Mom Mickie parlayed that initial success into books, frilly outfits and a daytime talk show tour that would make Cher green with envy. For a time it seemed that everywhere you turned you bumped into an Eden Wood appearance, or a book signing (…choose your favorite Crayola color…) or some form of spontaneous pre-pubescent EdenSpaz whenever she got out of a taxi at the Mall.
But that wasn’t enough for Mom.
No. Mickie wanted her baby girl to be the next SuperStar! And at any cost, which in these situations usually translates into a substantial chunk of lost childhood and a math tutor.
(Seriously, these stories would be a lot shorter if you guys could do all the backstory research yourself before all the shows each week. Not that I mind getting everyone up to speed. Just saying…)
So that brings us up to date. And all the way to New York City.
How do I describe it in one sentence? It’s like if you took every other Reality TV show ever created in the history of the Universe…ever…and shoved them all into one of those Vacu-Seal SpaceSaver bags and let Mickie Wood suck all the air out of it in Times Square.
Compressed into an easy to store 30 minutes…I give you Eden’s World.
The show itself had a few growing pains over the last few months, and little Eden was already kinda sorta demoted to co-star status of her own show before the opening credits ever aired. Word on the street is that in an effort to ramp up the drama, the producers are letting Eden’s Manager and Publicist go at it like junk yard dogs going after raw scraps…all in the name of good television, of course.
Bleeping out adult potty mouth always makes for great ratings, even when the show is supposed to be about a 7 year old pageant retiree.
The Powers that Be also probably realized early on that there ain’t no way, no how that anyone in their right mind is going to sit through 30 straight minutes of babysitting Eden without getting the going rate. Plus refrigerator privileges.
So bring on some crazy grown-ups, please. And they did.
Barely 15 seconds into the show opening and we got to meet Andrew Sullivan, Eden’s publicist.
Or should I say faaaabulous publicist?
Looking like the poor man’s Brad Goreski (…from The Rachel Zoe Project. Der…) our boy was definitely brought in to keep the Logo in LogoTV. Every show needs a whacky gay sidekick to succeed, but seriously…when is the faux hawk’s 15 minutes up?
At some point, someone really needs to do a more mathematically accurate research study on the gay boy to sissy dog ratio than just me simply going on my Reality TV assumptions. But until that time comes, I’ll go on record and say that one dog must come with every membership card in that fraternity. And some bronzer in a gift basket.
Draped in a whacked out fur number, holding his little puff puppy and hitting up his peeps on his Sidekick, Andrew was textbook cartoon wannabe Fierce.
I immediately joined his online Fan Club, because you know I love me some crazy. Once he loses his noodle that first time you know I’ll be hooked.
Next up was Heather Ryan, Eden’s Manager.
She’s textbook Woman in a Man’s World. She’ll cut you if you cross her. She also talks on her cell like she’s speaking with the President every time the phone rings.
Chill out, honey. You manage a 7 year old.
To keep the Toddlers & Tiaras contingent happy, the show jumps back and forth between pageants and the Eden Brand, which made for some Star Trek-like Time & Space Continuum issues. One minute they were in NYC…one minute they were in Wisconsin. And then back again.
Part of the premise of Eden’s World is that when she is not pimping out her kid, Mickie is also looking to unleash her inner Pageant Yoda on young newbies who need help.
Drawing from Eden’s massive…what was that, six years?…of experience in the industry, they search out lost pageant souls and train them in the ways of the Pageant Jedi.
This week they found 12 year old Adrianna Harris, who was getting picked on by her Wisconsin BFFs for doing the whole pageant thing instead of hanging out at the Food Court on Saturdays.
I’m not gonna lie. I kind of live for those moments when Mickie gets all verklempt and has to take an over the top soap opera pause to collect her thoughts as she speaks of The Pageant. I may use her techniques when I give presentations to IBM.
Since Mickie, Eden and Heather were all out in Wisconsin, Andrew was feeling out of the loop. He also was feeling that Eden should be back in NYC if she was really going to make it into the big leagues.
The only things he wasn’t feeling were the country bumpkins and hard nosed Heather after he jetted off to join them at some kind of Chuck E Cheese meets Jungle Jim’s Jamboreee playground joint.
With Eden wandering in and out of the scene like she was lost at the Mall, Heather and Andrew had their first throw down.
She accused him of whoring off The Brand and hijacking her job. He accused her of a bad dye job and not doing as much work for Eden as he had been doing.
Andrew actually got Heather so tightly wound that she had to pause and “find the Zone.”
I don’t know what the f*** that meant, but if you haven’t seen the episode yet…right there is a good time to go brush your teeth or get a snack, because nothing happened. I thought my cable froze.
Back at Adrianna’s house, it was pageant make-over time as all her catty BFFs got an invite to come on over and live in her world for a day.
Eden’s hair and makeup girl Fran Gonzalez was there to help do some doos, and all the girls totally drank the Kool-Aid. By the time Eden led them all in a “Cutsie Roll” flash mob, they were born again.
After a few seconds in the transporter, the gang was suddenly back in NYC where Heather had scored Eden a meeting with some poor A&M Record execs.
This was big. BIG. At least according to Mickie, who OMG’d her way through a list of things that were not even close to being this big. BIG, I tell you.
After comparing Eden’s potential record deal to the polio vaccine and those QVC candles that look like candles but aren’t really burning, I think Mickie went out back to adjust her panties and light up an unfiltered Marlboro.
BIG.
When they finally composed themselves and made it upstairs to the studio, Eden immediately jumped up on the table to do her presentation, which was a point of concern for the executives.
Not just because it was unexpected, but because they also eat off that table during working lunch meetings. Put your Pretty Feet shoes back on, sister. You’re in the City now.
As Andrew tried to slip under the table in humiliation, Mom cranked up the iPhone backbeats and waved it like a lighter at a Neil Diamond show. Eden busted out her signature go-to “Cutie Patootie” theme song, complete with pouty face and a booty pop, right up in the uncomfortably amazed and slightly horrified faces of the execs.
You can take the girl out of the pageants, but…
When her two numbers were over and Mr. A&M began sterilizing the laminate with a WetNap, he asked Mickie about the realistic possibilities that they could be in NYC enough to make this all happen.
Let’s just say that Mickie was a little eager to move to NYC and leave it at that. She’ll be there. Anytime. Anywhere. You name it. Whenever. Wherever.
It was like he asked a dog if she wanted to go for a ride in the car.
Then they all zapped back to Wisconsin for Pageant Day, where it appeared that hair stylists are in short supply. Fran had somehow overbooked herself to the point where I think she was doing every head in the ballroom. The stress was making her a little loopy.
But nothing compared to crazy Pageant Mom Karen who melted down and got all up in Andrew’s face about the delays.
It was basically two women getting all Bravo Reunion Show on each other’s a**. Andrew needs to work on his bitch face, because he let a Wisconsin homemaker get him all flustered.
Just walk away! Is that how you do?
Dude. Now you’re embarrassing men and women.
As Adrianna’s age group was being corralled up on stage, she was MIA, which catapulted Mickie into a 4 minute mile across the hotel. Fran was falling behind on the big hair and more drama erupted.
Fran needs space. And an assistant, apparently. A Learning Annex course in time management probably wouldn’t hurt either.
But Adrianna got her weave on just in the nick of time, and made it to the stage to win Grand Uber Whatever.
Mickie got almost as excited as she does when Eden walks a straight line, and actually motioned for Eden to rush the stage like a groupie.
No lie. She sent her own kid up there to steal the spotlight from their young Jedi Knight. Guess that is one more lesson Adrianna learned today.
Gah. I love Pageant Moms.
To celebrate their victory and the inevitable takeover of Planet Earth, the E-Team gathered for a little nosh at some deli.
Really. The E-Team.
Like the A-Team. But without the van or the bullets.
Seriously. That is (bleeped) up. So (bleepin’ bleeped) up, Dude. (Bleep.)
To think I would go against my Dad is (bleeped) up. I can’t even wire the (bleepin’) DVR.
Don’t be Tardy for the (bleepin’) Party. Wha-? Wrong show? Seriously? (Bleep.)
(Bleep) off. Period.
This is a lot of (bleepin’) work for a spin-off. Seriously.
(Bleep.)
Nothing like somebody turning against their family and getting wired by the Feds to blow the dial right off the Cuss-o-Meter.
This week the Mob Wives were still feeling the after effects from Juniorgate 2012, and it wasn’t pretty.
As a recap for anyone without access to the internet, television, radio, the outside world or a CVS magazine rack, Junior Pagan recently got himself wired up like a home surround sound system and went all Federal Snitch against the Staten Island Mob.
In doing so, Junior managed to record enough static-free background noise to not only incriminate Renee’s own father, Anthony “TG” Graziano, but also blow apart his own family and guarantee that at least three VH1 executives all wet their pants as they giggled and high fived each other at the perfect ratings sweep timing of the arrest.
The fallout from the news had turned Staten Island into a (bleepin’) rumor mill, and whoever “they” are…well, they were all talking about it.
We picked right up where we left off last time, as my Restylane Reality Crush Big Ang flipped through the newspaper at that little boutique her sister either runs or works at or owns.
Big Ang was still stylin’ in her Jackie O Goes To The Jungle look as she pawed through the pages with those shiny black polyurethane Super Heroine gloves.
Do you think maybe she has a secret identity? How cool would that be?
Perhaps her newly announced spin-off show is going to be an action/adventure kind of thing where she battles crime like Batman?
Maybe you pull one of those stuffed monkey tails behind her Drunken Monkey bar and the back wall actually opens up and she has a gigantic Big Ang Cave down in the basement?
How much would you pay to see her slide down a Big Ang Pole? You know there is a seriously padded landing platform at the bottom of that ride.
But I digress.
As Big Ang tried to comprehend what the (bleep) just happened with Junior and Renee, we were treated to a little Junior video montage that is destined to be a viral youtube dance hit by the end of the week.
Trust me, if I had a clue how to open GarageBand I would be laying down tracks right now and you guys would have to settle for your own DVR instead of my wit, but I skipped that Genius Bar appointment so you’re in luck.
After the RatSnitch ReMix, we listened in on Karen’s phone conversation with her mom, Debbie.
Karen’s snitch-uation as I like to call it now, is similar to Renee’s…and yet somehow different.
When Karen’s dad, Sammy “The Bull” Gravano, flipped and cooperated with the Feds way back when, he at least had the common Mob courtesy to call a meeting in the Big House and let everyone know what was about to go down.
Let’s be real.
I barely know wedding present etiquette, much less gangstah graciousness, so trust me…I am not the authority on how to properly turn Federal Snitch. But I guess getting everyone together and dropping that bomb is better than a quick scribble on some 5th grade report paper like Renee found when she finally stopped hitting the snooze alarm that fateful morning.
Speaking of Renee…Drita dropped by to check up on her and let her know that despite all their previous disagreements she is still loyal to her old friend Renee.
This was the first time that the two of them have had a chance to really sit down and diss about Junior, and it was total junior high gossip festivus.
He did what? When? Shut up. No, you shut up. He did. When? Shut up. Renee, that is messed up. Shut up. And then lots of crying. You shut up. No, you shut up Infinity. Am I living a lie? Was I living a lie? Shut up.
That’s pretty much how it went down. I just took out all the cussing and made it more family friendly in case this ends up as a bedtime story for you West Coasters.
Then it time for RatSnitch ReMix Part 2.
Karen was recording the audio version of her new book, and was behind the mic at the studio to lay down some vocals, as they say in the biz.
Thanks to iPods and all that high tech gadgetry, audio books are a big deal nowadays and Karen was releasing the talkie version of Mob Daughter to coincide with the hardcover launch.
The way she explained it was that now when the Wise Guys are running from gunfire they can catch up on Gravano family history without the annoyance of having to hold the actual book. And on the other end of the spectrum, Rat Snitches can easily stick one wire down their shirt and another one in their ear, thereby killing two birds with one stone. It’s well documented that Snitches like to stay current with New York Times bestsellers just like the rest of us do.
Spoiler Alert: Pretending to be listening to audio books is also one of the best ways to score information for the DEA.
Or I might have just made up those last couple paragraphs in my head. The important thing is that Reading Is FUNdamental. Stay in school, kids.
This is also probably a good place to mention how much I love me some Mob Wives. Just to be safe. Because I do. I love me some Mob Wives.
As Karen read through various chapters, we were treated to yet another soon-to-be youtube dance classic, this time complete with those funky digital sound board lights.
If some 9 year old geek wad is not already auto tuning Chapter 11, I’m going to lose faith in the youth of today.
Seriously. I had to move my coffee table and roll up the carpet when they busted out Karen’s mix.
I’m Gravano and I know it.
Then it was time to put the gloves on and hurt somebody.
Drita had her final boxing workout with Personal “We’re going hahhhhd kore” Trainer Anthony, before heading to the gym to spar with an actual human being. As part of her born again focus on anger management, Drita hoped to unleash all her Mean Girl aggression on some boxing pads instead of Ramona’s face, and wanted to make certain that her inner Incredible Hulk wouldn’t surface during an upcoming match that Anthony had found for her.
Yeah. Drita was going to do a boxing match. With rules.
Between the last minute training in her backyard, and then losing control with the poor little Oriental guy who drew the short straw for her practice match, Drita realized that she should probably pull out of the event.
The biggest concerns about participating in the match were her kids, and the sudden realization that she might actually get hit in the face.
That, and the fact that Drita also fights like those high school girls with the blurred out faces you always see kicking a tiny kid for lunch money on the FOX5 News.
So it was best to just walk away with some dignity and all her teeth. The Jack-o-Lantern look is cute on Dance Moms and Toddlers & Tiaras, but not so much when you’re modeling hoochie bikinis wearing a flipper.
I love me some Drita, too. But she can have my lunch money. All of it. I’ll even mail it to her house. I’m not messing with that one. Ever. Just tell me where to send it. And don’t hurt me. I bruise easily, being so delicate and all. And I would totally cry.
Later, Big Ang got her Cher on and dropped by Renee’s house. Carla better watch out, because Big Ang could steal the Cher look-a-like crown right off her head.
Granted, Big Ang’s Cher was a little less Bob Mackie and a little more Pride Parade, but still. With her big Flintstone furry vest, dangly earrings and massive Cher hair, Big Ang could have passed for Sonny’s ex. Or maybe Sonny when he used to dress up as Cher.
Remember that show? When Chaz was Chazette? I Got You Babe. Good times.
But, again, I digress.
Soon as Big Ang left, Karen dropped by to help Renee pack up all of Junior’s stuff, in a cleansing/moving on with my life kind of ceremony.
It was also a pretty nice advertisement for the UPS Store. When your Man goes Federal Informant, Brown has all the supplies you need to get his s*** outta the house.
And he had a lot of s***, considering that he just moved back in three months ago.
I’ll give Renee props. She neatly folded everything and sealed it up like Junior was going off to Afghanistan.
If someone had boned me the way he boned her, that s*** would be flying out the bedroom window like it was Mardi Gras beads. You go, girl. Proud of you.
Now set it on fire in the backyard.
After two seasons, you know by now that nothing gets Staten Island people more excited than unsubstantiated gossip. And Junior’s saga was Gold.
As Drita, Carla and Big Ang treated themselves to a little Day Spa action, Renee and Junior were again the topic. Carla is losing her patience with Renee and all her drama, and there were conflicting reports from “the streets” as to whether Renee may have been in on the whole Junior being wired to spy thing.
I don’t know where these “streets” are that everyone in Staten Island always goes to for gossip, but I need to find them, asap. I just imagine a Land where everyone eats calzones and talks snarky smack talk until their heads explode.
I want to live there.
Carla felt that if the stilettos were on the other foot, Renee would have a completely different attitude about a whole bunch of things.
Over the years, Renee has sworn that nothing is lower than a Rat. But now that the infestation is in her own basement…hmmmphhh.
Carla thought Renee was a bipolar puppet. Drita thought that red nail polish looked the best on her own nails. Big Ang thought she was a little overdressed for such a warm salon. That’s about all we got out of that.
We finished off the episode with Renee and son AJ awkwardly discussing their situation, and a warm and fuzzy HomeGoods Christmas.
For real.
You know when you go to HomeGoods…or TJ Maxx…or Marshall’s…or whatever it’s called in your ‘hood…during the holidays, and all the country snowmen are piled on the tables right by the front door? All the snowmen that look like scarecrows in plaid vests? They’re always next to those wreaths that never fully fluff up when you take them out of the box? Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about. You’re not that fancy.
Welcome to Carla’s house.
Newly released Joe dropped by to help finish up with the holiday traditions, which basically consisted of putting one last giant life-size snowman together and skeezing an invite to spend Christmas Eve on the couch. Like I’ve said before, he does love those kids and they get all googly when he comes around, so when his son asked if Daddy could stay over…well, you know.
Joe’s dimples can pretty much score him anything that he sets his mind to, almost as if they have super powers.
Hmmm. Do you think he is Big Ang’s sidekick in her new show?
After futzing with the snowman and attaching the head (…which was big enough to wear if you wanted to hold up a bank…just saying…) it was a HomeGoods holiday moment.
No wonder Carrie Underwood released her new album earlier than some people thought she would this month. Looks like there might be a new Diva breathing down her neck, and you know how fickle those Club Kids can be when it comes to their dance tunes.
Toddlers & Tiaras Sing Along Edition: Shake Your Booty, Stir Your Cheese Dip And Get Ready For Paisley To Hit The Charts. It’s Time For A Song That Puts The Boogie In…Um…Boogers.
Toddlers & Tiaras: She’s Baaaaaack! Chill The Go Go Juice And Get Ready For Alana’s New Spin-Off Show. I Bet You A Dolla You’re Gonna Holla When Honey Boo-Boo Child Returns!
Toddlers & Tiaras: Girrrrl, Pleez. Grab Your Passport And Drop It Like It’s Hot. Get Ready To Sparkle All Around The World, Because When Glitz Goes International…It’s A Thriller.
Dance Moms Miami: Everyone Gets Pushed To The Edge Of The Dance Floor When The Circus Comes To Town. Susan Squawks, Abby Walks And Lucas Does His Mime In A Box.
Mob Wives: Praying For Peace While Cleansing The Soul And The Kitchen Of All Evil. Staten Island Tries One Last Time To Live By The Code Before Someone Gets Slapped. Omertà!
Toddlers & Tiaras: Lamb Chops And Doggies And Snakes…Oh My! It’s The Me And My Pet Pageant, Where The Contestants Sniff, Shed And Sparkle For Cash, Crowns And Kibbles.
Dance Moms Miami: Don’t Take That Tone With Me. I Don’t Think I Like Your Attitude, Or Your Boy Cooties. It’s Lucas & Kimmy, Sitting In A Tree.
Mob Wives: Of Dogs And Men. One Messes Up Your Carpet, One Messes Up Your Life. The Girls Learn That Being A Mob Dawg Means You’re Either Kicking Butts Or Sniffing Them.
The Real Housewives Of New Jersey: Some Italian Meatballs Are Crazy Fresh…Some Are Just Plain Crazy. Teresa Takes Her Time Apologizing As Joe Takes One To The Poker Face.
Toddlers & Tiaras: Enter The Land Of The Storybook Glitz Pageant. Where Robots, Booty Pops And Diamonds Are Totally A Girl’s Best Friend. Math And Score Sheets? Not So Much.
