DanThat'sCool!

Just in time for Memorial Day Weekend.

If the humidity doesn’t kill you, this will.

When you hit the beach this summer, be sure to pack your Igloo Cooler full of muffin tops and burnt toast, because Patricia “Tan Mom” Krentcil is back with a vengeance.

Apparently, when she’s not (…allegedly…) dragging her young daughter into New Jersey tanning booths, drinking herself into a face plant at random D List events around the Tri-State Area or milking the World’s Longest 15 Minutes Evah…Tan Mom found the time to polish up on her SPF Diddy rap skills.

I know, right?  Who knew?

It’s the official Tan Mom Music Video.

So bad that it’s…well, it’s just that bad.

Done on a green screen budget of about $27 and change, the video is everything that you could ask for from the woman who refuses to stay out of the damaging rays of the hot sun…or our collective consciousness…for more than one day.

Clearly, Patricia is better at baby oil spritzing than she is at sit ups and lip synching, since the whole musical extravaganza is basically 3 minutes of your life that you will never get back again.

Not to mention a sun parched tongue from your mouth hanging open in disbelief the entire time.  She even mentions something about her goodies getting brown.

Yeah.  That happens.

So moisturize, and enjoy.

At least that way, when you burn your retinas within the first 20 seconds, your skin will still be baby soft for the upcoming beach season.

And one last word of warning:

Don’t go in the water, or watch this, until at least a half hour after you’ve eaten.

It’s Tan Mom, Bitch.

 

 

OhMyGod. Babe. If you don’t stop your bitching, I swear I’ll strap both of you in your car seats and hide your Binky.

 

 

 

 

OhMyGod. There’s literally nothing else in this bag? You go all the way to Paris and come back with a F***ing candy bar?

 

 

 

 

OhMyGod. Put me down. Put me down. Put me down. Those sparkly stilettos are calling my name.

 

 

 

 

 

OhMyGod. I can’t decide. Don’t make me choose. I literally just pooped again.

 

 

 

 

OhMyGod. Animal Crackers? You got thigh highs and I got Animal Crackers? That is messed up.

 

 

 

 

 

OhMyGod. I’ll have you know that the Beanie Head is literally all the rage in a number of Third World Countries.

 

 

 

 

 

OhMyGod. I can’t.

 

 

 

 

With apologies to George and Weezy Jefferson, of course…

OhMyGod. It literally took a whole of Styling, just to get up that hill.

The Rachel Zoe Project went bi-coastal this week as RZ and Rodger jumped between California and New York, juggling business, real estate and a baby that looked like one of those Irish cable knit Lenox Christmas ornaments you always see in the back of TV Guide around the holidays.

That’s right.  It was The Muppet (Hair) Takes Manhattan.

Rachel felt that in order to properly build the ZOEmpire, it was crucial they find an apartment in New York City, asap.  Doing so would not only allow them to be closer to business partners and Garment District vendors in the event that any potentially catastrophic poly vs. rayon fashion emergency requires immediate attention, but it would also let Rachel wear coats.  And coats are everything.

Every.  Thing.

Layers.  And layers.  And coats.  And scarfs.  And chunky hats and more coats.

Every.  Thing.

But before they actually hit the East Coast, Rodger had time for one more bromance brunch date with BFF Neil, where I’m going to assume they both turned in their ManCards along with a 20% gratuity.

Dude.  And Dude.  You’re killing me.

OhMyGod.  Neil loved Rodger’s new uncontrollable, unexplainable hairstyle almost as much as he loved the Bloody Mary he was slamming down.  Rodger was pretty certain that he, too, loved his locks almost as much as he loved delicately sipping his own Bloody Mary through a straw like a Real Housewife the day after lip injections.

When Rachel called…twice…in the middle of the meal for no apparent reason, Rodger even put her on speakerphone and talked into the butt end like he was NeNe Leakes on the Atlanta Freeway.  She’s very rich, you know.

But he didn’t have time to chat.  He and Neil were “…having a Little Lunchy Lunch.”

Yeah.  A Little Lunchy Lunch.  Isn’t that the name of a famous children’s book or code for something at an S&M Club?  It sounds familiar, but I forget.

Oh, Bravo TV.  How we love you.

Back at the RZ Mothership, Mandana and Collection Manager Lauren were getting positively giddy about Footwear Review Day.   Even though banks are open on Footwear Review Day and the Postal Service still delivers mail, it’s a pretty big deal.

No better day, actually, if you listen to Lauren.

That’s because it’s the day when everyone gets together in a football huddle and looks at all the prototype shoes for next season.  A veritable orgy of size 7 shoes.

And since Marisa, RZ’s Director of Brand Partnership, has a title that’s bigger than her actual foot size, she’s the lucky one who gets to wear all the new stuff and wobble around the room like she is channeling Tyra Banks.

All the Sasquatch size 10 chicks were totz jealz.

Side note:  A prerequisite for working with Rachel appears to be the ability to hold both a grandé Starbucks cup and your iPhone in the same hand at the same time and still be able to direct traffic with your pinky finger.  Check out Mandana.  And pretty much everyone else in the building.

Trust me, I’ve tried, and lost many an iPhone case in a mud puddle.  It’s almost an art form.  Or Mandana has gigantic monkey paws.

Or both.  Regardless, I’m impressed.

After a few rather verbal ShoeGasms, Rachel took the Walk of Shame home for a quick breather surrounded by a few of Little Goy Sky Sky‘s toy cars.

We’re not talking Tonka.  We’re talking those baby-sized, life-sized battery operated cars from the Neiman Marcus catalog.  The ones that rich babies drive until they get their learner’s permits or their own town car chauffeur.

In typical baby fashion, the only thing that Sky Sky was really interested in was the UPS box they came in, so while he decorated his cardboard fort with Burberry accessories, the cars sat around the back wall all lined up like Jay Leno‘s garage.

A few of them had never actually even held a battery charge, while others were missing a few bolts or simply didn’t coordinate well with Sky’s new Spring color palette.

When Rodger tried to explain to Rachel that a bolt was a “screwy thing” I flashed back to the whole Lunchy Lunch fiasco and stopped paying attention until we were back to Mandana’s office.  Man up, dude.

During Paris Fashion Week while Rachel and Rodger were trekking from show to show and air kissing their way through The City of Love, Mandana was back home holding down the fort.  And Rodger felt bad, so he dropped by the office the next morning to give her a heartfelt Parisian gift and a big AttaBoy pat on the head.

After nearly slandering the entire Persian race by explaining that all their elephant furniture is covered with crazy old lady plastic and wine stains, Mandana offered Rodger a non-Persian seat and snatched the gift bag out of his hand so fast he got a paper cut.

Oh, look.  A chocolate Eiffel Tower.

And nothing else.  But it’s the thought that counts, right?

But, what the hell.  It’s food.  So in came Lauren and the two women ripped into that thing like they had just gotten out of prison.

Until the next shot, that is, when it was still all wrapped up in cellophane again.

Untouched and unchewed.

Seriously.  Does Bravo TV even have a Continuity Editor on their payroll?  Call me.

Next we scooted off to the QVC Studio Park Tour.  Or the Nordstrom Meet & Greet at the RZ offices.  It was hard to differentiate as a pack of camera wielding contest winners stampeded in, all wearing their new OhMyGod I’m Going To Meet Rachel Zoe clothes.

A special shout out to that one Soccer Mom who had obviously set her Canon on auto and was cranking off digital photos like she was Annie Leibovitz.  Strap a fanny pack around that thing and it was like she was seeing the Pyramids of Egypt for the first time.

When Rachel finally walked into the room…yes, they both died a little.

They didn’t show it on camera, but I’ll bet you anything those people were frisked like criminals on their way out because some of them were getting just a little too close to that jewelry case, except for that one mopey, ascot-wearing guy who apparently didn’t get the memo that Brad Goreski had his own show now.

Bummer, dude.  Sorry.

With their plane tickets booked and hotel reservations confirmed, there was just time for one more West Coast meeting before Rachel and Rodger headed east.

The New York DreamDry Blow Dry Bar construction was running behind schedule, so partner Robin had flown out to get everyone up to speed on the lack of progress.  You know it’s a lack of progress when the partner says that the project is moving forward and will be done sooner than later.  And don’t wear black when you get there.

After talking Rachel off the ledge by letting her know that leopard print would be an acceptable alternative and that no one had actually ever died from going one afternoon without their black Chanel swing coat, Robin left for New York to start laying some steel framework and sheet rock before she got served with legal papers dissolving the business arrangement.

Then it was time to hit The Big Apple!

As soon as they landed and hopped in the limo, Rodger was exhausted.  He always gets tired in NYC.  It just happens.

Rachel was probably tired as well, but she was running on Coat Adrenaline, so she was good for at least a few more hours of shopping and bickering about apartments.

Little Sky Sky was all dressed up in what I originally thought was a defective cable knit sweater with four sleeves until I figured out it was a onesie.  Crawling all around with that little matching cable knit beanie of his, the kid totally looked like one of those Serta mattress lambs from the commercials.  Check your DVR and tell me I’m not lying.

The first stop on the tour was the new Brian Atwood shoe store.

Uncle Brian.  And some unnamed dude in a hat and scarf combo that was so fabulously Fashionista Cowgirl that I almost blacked out.

Brian and Rachel go way back, so after a few hugs and air kisses and blah blah blah, they got right down to the good stuff.

Shoes.  A lot of them.

Even Sky Sky was getting a little excited by all the high heel goodness.  I think it’s a pretty safe bet to say that at least one person in that building wet themselves when those thigh high platform boots came out of the box for the first time.  Schhaaa-wing.

When it was all said and done, Rachel scored some sweet footwear, Rodger got even sleepier and Sky Sky got some snacks for the ride home.  Who knew that Brian Atwood had Animal Crackers in the back room?  I guess he’s all fancy like that.

Then it was on to DreamDry.  Or what would eventually be DreamDry if construction was ever completed and Hell froze over.

Sooner than later, right Robin?

There was one sample chair and one sample sink available for inspection amidst all the bare bones of the building.  Rodger tried to pump up the chair with his foot like they do on Tabatha Takes Over, but he was such a klutz that Rachel just boinged up and down like she was on a Jiffy Lube lift.  It totally messed her new bangs up.

For some comic relief Robin even pretended to offer Rodger a complimentary shampoo and keratin conditioning until she realized that it meant she would actually have to put her hands on his hair.

Like touching a holy veil, I tell you.  Or a clogged bath tub drain.

Go back and watch Robin rethink her decision right as she’s about to put imaginary shampoo on his imaginary wet head.  I will bet you my imaginary salary that the video is being shown at some Bravo holiday party this year.

It’s good to know that regardless of how prestigious the company is…if the Boss is gone, the employees will F*** off.  I’m glad it’s not just me.

Back at the RZ Complex, the girls were sitting on their desks, chowing down on the Eiffel Tower, having office chair races down the hallway and laying on fur rugs like they were chicks in a G-rated Girls Gone Wild video.  They were tired, too.  Screwing off at work is exhausting.

We finished off the episode with two trips to two potential New York City apartments that I could have done without.

Just so you know, I have a rule that nobody should be able to live anywhere that’s nicer than my tiny one bedroom apartment.  It’s just a rule I have.

Needless to say, by the time R & R made it to the second apartment and complained about having to walk all the way through 3,750 square feet of open space in order to get to 4,000 square feet of outdoor space, I pretty much didn’t want to hear about how tired they were anymore.

And I didn’t want to hear about the 7 closets.  Or Sky Sky’s fur collar muff.

Ok…maybe I could go on for hours about that last one.

Seriously?  A fur collar muff for a kid who still doesn’t even know you’re not supposed to poop inside your own pants?  I just can’t.

But all that shopping and being driven around by someone else had really worn everyone out, so they all went back to their posh hotel to have an Animal Cracker nightcap and make fun of Rodger’s Beanie Head Hair.

OhMyGod.

Literally, the Beaniest of Beanie Head Hair.

It was maj.

But not as maj as Manhattan.

Right Rachel?

 

 

OMG! No…YOU hang up first. Ok. On 3 we’ll both hang up. OMG you still didn’t hang up. You are such a stupid head.

 

 

 

 

That Chippendales boy doesn’t stand a chance. That’ll teach him to keep his nozzle in his own tank from now on.

 

 

 

No clue what the dance is about, Mom. All I know is that gay people would never leave the house without doing their hair first.

 

 

 

 

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil.

 

 

 

 

 

Don’t Ask. Don’t Tell. And please don’t ever do that in public again, sister.

 

 

 

 

Umm. Yeah. Probably could’ve lived without the Vertes Vajayjay. Gangnam Style doesn’t seem so bad now, does it ?

 

 

 

 

 

Busted.

 

 

 

 

Be All You Can Be.

As long as it’s not Second Place, because that’s like the First Loser.

You can rest easy America.  This week our country just got a little safer.

And a whole lot crazier.

That’s right.  Dance Moms joined the Army.

The kinda sorta Gay Army.  But the Army nonetheless.  So you might want to put on your goggles and government-issued headgear because enemy fire never hit this close to home before.

After last week’s poor showing in Bernardsville, when the ALDC came home with nothing more than a bunch of 2nd Place certificates and a 5th Place slap in the face, Abby Lee Miller was getting ready to play military hardball as everyone scooted in for the Whatever Happened To Chloe? Pyramid of Shame.

Except she was doing it Ninja Style.

Calm and cool and collected.  So calm that it was freaking out the Moms.  Freaking them out to the point where I thought it was making Jill’s hair stand up on end until I realized that it was just her normally misbehaving ‘do.  I miss the Bump-It, honey.

Bottom row of the Pyramid was all Mackenzie, Nia and Paige.  MackaWhacka had come in with an 11 point difference between her score and someone else, so she got booted to the basement when Abby did the math on the front desk calculator.  Nia had been sick last week, which explained her high fever and Bird Flu-like double vision, but couldn’t justify any sloppy feet.  And Paige was on the bottom again because Abby still hated her Mom Kelly.  Even Abby seemed to know it was almost time to come up with some new excuses to poke Paige in the eye every week.

Second row was reserved for Maddie and Kendall.

Maddie dropped from three weeks on the top spot because of some bobble head move she made after 4 turns in her solo routine.  If that MIA squeak toy Sophia can do 519 turns without blacking out on stage, than the least Maddie could do for Abby was come out of her 4 without a face plant, right?  Abby was disappointed, to say the least.

Kendall was actually given some props for letting Mom Jill help her out so much last week (…covertly, or otherwise…) which jumpstarted Holly to an early lead in what could possibly be a new record for the most HollyFaces ever in one episode.

Granted, this one was a two hour Danceapalooza, but Dr. Holly was on fi-yah from the opening credits right through to the end when she was rockin’ some fiercely curled hair.

I see someone got her hair did for the competition, MmmHmm?  You go, girl.

We love that sassy faced Mom.  Two snaps and some Jazz Hands.

And at the top of the Pyramid was Brooke.  I know, right?

Shut up.  A smile would have been a nice touch.

There are two things that you never want to do when you’re in Pittsburgh.  One is stick your hand in the lion cage at the Pittsburgh Zoo.  The other is raise that same hand and ask Abby why you still aren’t on the freakin’ Pyramid after all these weeks.

But our girl Chloe is fearless.  She got nowhere, but she is fearless.  And at least she went off to rehearsal with all 10 fingers still attached.

The group routine was entitled Don’t Ask, Just Tell.

Like the military’s Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell.  But tweaked a little, in support of the two remaining closeted gay boys on Broadway.

Kidding.

It was a little more involved than that, but you get the drift.  Abby wanted to make sure that with the help of the Moms, all the little dancers would learn early on that it is ok to just be who you are, and to love who you want to love, and to accept everyone, regardless of their own personal views or choices.

It’s called Equality, people.  Learn it.  It’s time.

It was an edgy statement piece on acceptance and understanding and gay rights and Rhythm Nation dancing in army camo.

Miss Jackson, if you’re Nasty.

And speaking of nasty.  Abby went on a date.

Turns out that last week on her way home from the Moms’ less than successful attempt at Speed Dating, Abby had pulled off the highway to get some cheap unleaded Exxon and a 64 ounce Slushie, and somehow ended up hooking up with a random stranger who offered to cap her gas hole.

Because you know Ms. Miller don’t pump her own octane with those acrylics.

Bitch, pleez.

Her Mystery Man dialed up the studio to finalize their date, and when Abby got the call on her cell she went completely 7th grade study hall on the dude.

Giggles.  More giggles.  Blushing.  Whispering so her Mom wouldn’t hear her in the closet with the phone cord stretched to the max across the bedroom.  OMG.  I’m pretty sure she even went back to the front desk  after he hung up and practiced writing her new married name on the back of a sparkly spiral notebook.

OMG.  He’s so dreamy.  Totz drmy.  TTFN.

Abby admitted that she needed a little Hubba Hubba.  It had been a long dry spell.  I don’t really remember what happened after that, because I hit my head on the floor when I slumped off the couch.

When I came to, Jill, Holly and Melissa were at the Nail Salon with Abby getting her all gussied up for Date Night.  You would have sworn they were taking their SUVs in for a fresh undercoat spray the way they were trying to polish up Abby’s chassis.

Remember the scene in the Wizard of Oz where everyone is buffing out the Tin Man and re-stuffing The Scarecrow?

Yeah.  Like that.

And then to seal the deal, Jill previewed the evening’s potential final score by unleashing a scissor legged Bump-It & Grind Pussycat Dolls kind of thing in the nail tech’s face and then flashed some of her MomStuff on my 50″ plasma.  I’m pretty sure I hit the other side of my head right about then.

This time when I came to, Abby and gas station attendant Louie were at dinner.

Louie was an odd cross between Wolverine, the Phantom of the Opera, a Bloomingdale’s perfume sample guy and that dude who dresses like a gladiator and throws beads off a Pride Parade float.  Don’t Ask.  Don’t Tell.

He took Abby to some gift shop-looking antiquey restaurant type of place that looked liked one of those stores that only sells potpourri and frames made out of marbles.  But it was a restaurant, I guess, because somebody brought some food over to the table.

Abby laughed.  A lot.  Nervous laughter.  With her mouth full.

Louie even fed her a Chocolate Eruption (…you can’t make this shizzle up…) off his own fork, proving that he clearly had never been to the Pittsburgh Zoo to read that sign next to the lion cage.

When asked if he had any dance background, Louie stated that he had done male stripping and was a proud 180 pounds of twisted steel and sex appeal.

Really?  Let’s just note that 52,310 tons of Titanic still went down when it hit that big iceberg and leave it at that, ok?

While Abby was recovering from a face full of Chocolate Eruption, the Moms all headed to the Bridal Boutique for Round #2 in the Melissa Wedding Dress Search.  Since it didn’t go so well the last time they all hit the racks, the Moms were determined to get Melissa into a dress and get this wedding party started.

And nothing guarantees a good time like liquor.

As Melissa tried on every gown in the joint, Moms Gone Wild passed around the champagne and caused general dress disarray.  Kelly almost pulled a Maddie face plant when she dove for a test-run bouquet and Holly dumped her cocktail in her lap.  So all in all, the day was a complete success.  Melissa even found a dress that made her cry.

Oh, those crazy Moms.

In case you had forgotten, the show also involves children who dance.  So it was back to the studio to check on Mackadoodle, who had been having some foot issues over the past few weeks.

Seems there was some controversy and dramz surrounding MackSnackAttack’s foot.

Word on the street was that she was too scared to do the elaborate hip hop Army dance, so she and Mom were making the injury seem worse than it really was to get her out of the routine and still save face.  Mom said No Way, José while the rest of the Moms begged to differ.

There was a lot of whispering going on back there.  So Melissa scooped her up and took her to the doctor and magically came up with a No Dance clause in her contract.  Things that make you go hmmmm.

On the final day before the In10sity Dance Competition in Minneapolis, Abby wanted to make certain that the Moms all knew how important the Army dance was when it came to understanding equality and their daughters’ acceptance of extreme Shangela fabulousness.

Laquifa What?  Secrets are just Lies.  Tell the World.  And then Werk.

Kelly even took it upon herself to have a pretty decent talk with Paige and Brooke while they thumbed through glittery hot pants in the costume shop.  (The irony of that scene was not lost on me, by the way.)  But it was a good talk that waaaay more parents should be having with their kids today.

Well played, Mrs. Hyland.  Well played.

Finally, it was Showtime!

In10sity still had those annoying on strobing onstage light grids.  Seriously.  Doesn’t anybody read this blog?  Stop.  It.

To prove an overly dramatic point, Abby brought in a wheelchair for MackJack to sit in while the rest of the girls got ready for their dances.  If your foot is really as bad as you say it is, then sit in the chair and don’t move.

So I guess the moral of the story is that it’s not cool to make fun of gay people, but it’s ok to pretend you’re paralyzed.  Abby must have still been digesting Louie’s Eruption when she came up with that one.

Maddie’s solo was flawless according to somebody.  I forget who.  And Abby had no time for Brooke, who had to get dressed and practice all by herself…sans Dance Teacher, as they say in France.

The mystery of MackFootGate continued as Brooke busted out her solo with no help from Abby.  She did great, but admitted to not doing Tony The Tiger Grrrrrreat!  Abby felt that Brooke should be stepping it up now that she is 14 years old.

Grow up.  You don’t need me to hold your hand anymore.

Then somebody blurted out that MackaYakka had somehow miraculously regained the use of both legs and had been doing somersaults in the back room.

A Shangela Halleloo!  She’s healed!

Uh Oh, Spagetti-O’s.

The group routine went off pretty well.  Not quite a tightly, well oiled military machine, but pretty good.  More like a bunch of young white girls trying to do hip hop in one-size-too-big army boots when they are all classically trained contemporary dancers.  That kind of hip hop.  They did a really cool coordinated flip thing that looked pretty slick from the audience though.  So there.

Back in the army green room, Abby needed to get to the bottom of the whole MackFootJack issue, and lined all the girls up like they were shipping off overseas.  One by one she picked them off the line to drop and do pushups until they finally cracked and all admitted that they had seen some somersaults going down behind enemy lines.

Busted.

Then some kids won some stuff.  And again…it wasn’t the ALDC.

Clearly, something ain’t right in the Pittsburgh barracks.

Something that General Miller needs to fix ASAP.

Next week…we go to Dance War, soldiers.

Ten-Hut!