Toddlers & Tiaras: Jump Up And Try To Catch A Handful Of Crazy Beads, Because It’s Time For Miss Mardi Gras Madness! Whatever Floats Your Float.

July 19th, 2012



Well, it ain’t no Booty Pop Cop, but whatever brings home the big a** crown, bitches.





Whoa. Seriously. What the hell? When did it stop being all about me? This sucks like a Ni-Ni.






When I close my eyes at night, in my head I pretend I’m Ryan Seacrest and then I cry a little.





Watch and learn. This is how you put the ragin’ in cajun. Any questions?






That’s what I’m talking about. Toss me some beads and show me your flippers, girls!




Forget Fat Tuesday.

Been there.  Done that.

The party starts on Sparkle Baby Wednesday.

And who better than our favorite glittery guilty pleasure Toddlers & Tiaras to show us how Mardi Gras was supposed to have been done all these years?

This week it was all about the Miss Mardi Gras Madness Pageant in beautiful Shreveport, Louisiana.  And believe me, the South was ready to represent.

In case there was actually anyone alive on planet Earth who had never heard of Mardi Gras or T&T (…which, before we were even presented with any of the deets already sounded like it had the potential to be one of the most lethal, sparkly combinations ever…) Pageant Director Tonya Bailey came to our rescue to make certain that we all understood the guidelines and expectations of the event.

Tonya is a pretty big deal on the Glitz Circuit, what with having her own namesake Barnum & Bailey’s Pageants biz, or whatever it is called.  But as impressive as that may be on her resume, she has quickly come to be even better known for some seriously crazy a** eyeballs that demand both unwavering attention and hourly Visine drips.

And then as if that pair of jumbo marbles wasn’t enough notoriety, way back in an earlier episode, in a clumsy attempt at defending the pageant art form against all the haterz in the hizzle, Tonya took the adult lollipop out of her mouth and kinda sorta replaced it with her foot.

And I quote.  Almost…

“I think that it’s easy for someone to say that beauty pageants are abusive.  You can see a girl in gymnastics all day long, and she doesn’t even get to eat. At least these kids get Pixie Stix.”

Defense rests.  Case goes to the Jury.

Oy.  Sometimes I swear Girlfriend is putting the drops in her drink instead of her eyes.  I think it might be time for somebody to start reading labels.

The first contestant’s intro started out with quite a bang.  Actually, it was a bang that sounded more like a bean fart, but I think it was supposed to be a bang.

Victoria, who was someone related to 5 year old Tori and pretty much dropped into the first scene from a tree branch, totally nailed her own 15 minutes of fame before we even got a glimpse of the first pageant hopeful by running in front of every live camera shot carrying one of those Playdough cans that make butt gas noises when you poke them.

Vicky even attempted to mangle a few LMAO lyrics by declaring that “I’m gassy and I work out.”

Nice try, honey.  But it’s either “I’m gassy and I know it” or don’t even bother.  I don’t play when it comes to my dance tunes.  Mmmkay?

Tori was a little pageant cutie, but before she could even open her mouth and demonstrate that cuteness, Mom Ali had to go and open hers.

It was right around that point that I can guarantee you most of America probably did their first head slap, all on cue with the first nugget of Ali’s observational wisdom.

Even though Ali’s eyes were much smaller and less penetrating than Ms. Bailey’s, she didn’t seem to have as much control of them as they rolled and squinted and generally tossed their own attitude around the room.  She also liked to stick her tongue out a lot to add another layer of emphasis to all the wisdom she was spewing.

For starters, we learned that everyone who thinks her daughter is not the bomb diggity was ignorant.  So ignorant they deserved her deadly blaahhhh tongue.

We also learned early on that you don’t need to spend half your husband’s paycheck on an expensive dress, because pretty kids don’t need expensive dresses.

It’s the ugly kids who need the fluffy dresses.  True dat.  The ugly ones.

The f**ing uglier the kid, the fuglier the dress, as the saying goes.

If you see a kid in a big, fluffy cupcake dress than you know even her Mama knows she’s ugly.  And you can’t fix ugly, you can only fluff it.

Gospel.  If I’m lying, I’m dying.  From the mouth…and tongue…of Ali.

As Ali went to check on how many big, fluffy dresses she had purchased from Kohl’s in grown-up sizes, we scooted over to 10 year old Jasmine‘s crib.

Jazz…look at me, I just gave her a nickname whether she wants one or not…is going to be a long and lean Diva Machine when she grows up.  Not just because she kept telling us that she would, but because you could just tell.

Without breaking into the house and looking at her birth certificate, I’m going to assume she is on the late end of 10, only because she is getting pretty tall.  Mom Tiffanie better brace herself for some heartbroken boys in the near future, because Jazz is percolating some fierceness that is gonna need to be served up in a jumbo cup when it’s hot enough.

Aunt Denetra, who also played the role of Pageant Coach and Giver of the Sass, had it all going on and put Miss Jazz through her paces during rehearsals.

Mom and Auntie were both a hoot, and you could totally tell that they tear out magazine photos and change their looks every time they go and get their hair did.

The only time I flinched was when Jazz went on and on about how much she loved herself.  She loved herself more than anyone else loved her.  Ever.  And there should be a reward for being awesome.

And someone should bottle it and call it Jazz’s Awesome Sauce.

Better watch that, missy.  That kind of ‘tude is cute when you’re 5 and running around the house in your undies with a towel for a Superman cape (…Look at me!  I’m flying in my underwear and I’m freakin’ awesome!…) but on the late end of 10 you’re almost asking to get slapped on your 11th birthday by a girl in gym class.  Just be careful.

Contestant number three turned out to be everyone’s favorite booty poppin’ cop, 6 year old Amiya.

As Mom Laura explained, accompanied by a classic T&T flashback, Amiya is best known for the racy tube top booty pop police officer outfit she squeezed into for a previous competition.  The one where she stood on the hood of a Big Wheel cop car and shook what Laura gave her while handcuffed bank robbers threw ink stained dollar bills and did double duty as back up dancers.

(Part of that may have been fabricated, before you go and waste any valuable time Googling youtube videos.)

Pageants were Laura’s way of helping Amiya break out of her shell.

I think we can check that one off the bucket list.

Prepping for the big day is always more fun to watch than the actual event, and almost always more fun for everyone involved as well.  But nothing can ruin that fun more than opening your FedEx box and hating your new glitz dress.  Just ask Tori.

Tori is a pint sized fashionista.  Kind of like Kim Kardashian without the big butt, adult teeth and sex tape.  So she knows what she likes and dislikes, and when Dad Michael came home with her new dress stuffed in a cardboard box, she wanted that thing returned to sender asap.

First meltdown of the evening?  Check.

Jasmine’s practice sessions really cut into her ice cream consumption, but Auntie had the final say.  With her Game Face fully adhered, Denetra werked it up into a lather with young Jasmine, though at times it wasn’t clear exactly what hip actions Auntie was trying to choreograph because she was wearing the oddest pair of high rise Urkel pants I’ve ever seen on a sistah.  But I loved her.

Amiya apparently had a better handle on her stage routine, because she could afford the time to hit the town for some age inappropriate French tips.  The nail tech was not a big fan of the idea, but nothing can change someone’s mind faster than a bullying Pageant Mom and a full tip jar.

Acrylics adhered?  Check.

Someone needs to make a crown in the shape of a John Deere trucker cap so we can have a special award for Most Time, Effort  & Money Spent on a stage prop.  And then immediately give that bad boy to Tori’s Dad, because Mike must have missed most of hunting season to build that monster truck float contraption she got to ride into town on.

What started out as one of those plywood boxes that you cover your sump pump with ended up morphing into one sweet motorized Mardi Gras float, thanks to most of Tori’s first year of tuition and a hidden 4wheeler.

Not gonna lie.  I was kind of jealous.  My tongue was hanging out almost as far as Ali’s.

Spray paint the BatSignal on the side and I can think of about ten places right off the top of my head where I would love to make an entrance riding that thing.  It even had a gas pedal that Tori got to step on to make it scoot across the highway in her Michael Jackson costume.

Seriously.  Once it was all decorated with balloons and glitter and tinsel you could totally take that bitch 4wheeling on Fire Island or plow through the wall of RuPaul’s Drag U like a tucked wrecking ball.

I raise a glass of Jazz’s Awesome Sauce to you, dude.  Well played.

Since it was cool, but not licensed for state highways, Mike had to figure out how to transport that monstrosity and then everyone was off to the pageant.  I’m going to assume Ali’s tongue was flapping out the side window the whole way like a german shepherd.

There was, of course, the required drama in the hotel rooms before Miss Mardi Gras Madness was unleashed on the public.

Amiya’s Mom never had time to get the cupcake dress actually fitted, so as Laura went all DIY spaz on the thing with staples and pins and a soldering gun, she broke the back chain.

Panic mode activated?  Check.

Dad Reginal (…I know, right?  Someone really has that name.  I thought it was just on sitcoms…) helped Mom channel her inner MacGyver, and through the magic of hair bows, safety pins and chewing gum they managed to keep the dress together.

As far as NOT keeping it together goes…that one was all Ali.

For reasons which she never fully divulged, Mom had hired Dane Dane McAlister to rat up Tori’s hair.  Since I don’t normally style my own ‘do in anything remotely resembling Pageant Hair before I leave for work, I can’t really speak to how big a deal Dane Dane is in the world of big hair.  But I guess she must be sumthin sumthin if she gets hired to do this kind of work work.

Or not.

Review the video tape.  I don’t know what was going on up there, but it wasn’t good.

Half curled.  Half straight.  Half flat ironed.  And the last half never even saw a comb.

Ali pretty much just repeated over and over how much she hated the hair and cried for the rest of the show.  She really should have just left early to beat traffic.

Emcee Todd Bailey was as hyped up about the show as the other Bailey was.  It can’t be just a coincidence that they both have the same last name, but I’m too lazy to go find out the connection.  Since I don’t feel like creeping Facebook to find out how they’re related, in my head I’m just going to make up some story about him being her younger cougar lover.  I’m sure it’s nothing as exotic as that.  Maybe someday when I have time on my hands I’ll look into it.

Not to steal the spotlight from this weeks trifecta, but for me the highlight of the whole Mardi Gras thing was seeing my girl Makenzie Myers back from the dead!!

Where you been, girl? Hit me up.

Man, I miss her meltdowns.  You want me to what?  I’m sorry.  I’m not doing it.

Then the pageant happened, and some kids did some stuff.  Amiya got a little dingled up in her party streamer archway, and somebody off stage stepped on the power cord right when Jasmine’s music was supposed to start.  After a brief freeze frame, she pulled it together and made Auntie proud.

Tori managed to keep control of her rolling army tank and didn’t drive off the stage and crush anyone.

Then some kids won some stuff.

Oh, please.  Just like when I ramble on and on about Dance Moms, you ain’t here for the judging transcripts.

It was madness, I tell you.

Mardi Gras Madness.

Dance Moms: Leslie Is Back…Again. That Must Mean It’s Time To Throw Some Shade And Shovel Some Cake. This Is The Worst Birthday Party Ever!

July 18th, 2012



That crazy a** bitch with the whacky hair is having a birthday. I vote for chocolate. Anyone else?





Because your house is the only house with a liquor license, that’s why. Time for another Mom Party at Brooke’s!





Don’t worry, honey. No matter how much she yells, she can’t send you to Dance Moms: Miami.






School? Instead of rehearsal? For real? Am I being punk’d? Name a famous dancer with a PhD.





No, seriously. The piece of cake Leslie shoved in her mouth was like this big.




Well that birthday totally sucked.

Do the math.  Picture any traumatic childhood party that you may or may not have suppressed deep into your subconscious mind over the years.

The one where you didn’t get a pony.  Or the one with the scary clown.  Or even the one when your Dad forgot to mail the invitations on his way to the office and then nobody showed up.

Pick any of those parties.  Multiply the potential longterm mental scarring by about a bazillion, add enough liquor to get any Frat house through Rush Week and then top it off with a kitchen island full of women all poking at each other so loudly that no one can do their book reports upstairs.  What does it all add up to…?

You got it.  Happy Birthday Kelly.

Dance Moms even baked quite a cake for the event…and lucky for all of us, Leslie came back to eat most of it.

But no food or party favors until the Pyramid of Shame is revealed.  I shouldn’t have to keep reminding you every time.  First the demoralizing battering of young girls’ self esteems, and then we can get to the good stuff.

Last week’s Nexstar Competition brought in some pretty nifty trophies, so Abby Lee Miller actually started out the Pyramid in a pretty good mood…as far as Abby good moods go.  Since there is no such thing as good enough in the Abby World, there were still plenty of opportunities for her to burst a few childhood bubbles.

Hanging at the low baller portion of the Pyramid, were Paige, Mackenzie and Brooke.  I certainly hope that by now Abby is cutting Paige and Brooke a deal on cheap rent for those bottom parking spaces, because they certainly spend enough time down there.

This time Paige wasn’t there due to that now infamous too old for her head haircut, though apparently I still seem to have some ongoing issues with the sassy ‘do.

I’ll say it again.  For someone so young and cutesie, I have no idea why they continue to insist on Paige curling that thing up like a sorority sister body double.

Every time I see her all wild and untamed, all I can think of is that underage waitress who somehow managed to get hired over summer break with the understanding that she dive head first into the maintenance closet any time a liquor inspector drops by unannounced.  The one who has to split her tips with the owner’s busboy nephew with the bad acne.  You know the one.  Every town has one.

This time Paige was down there because Mom Kelly had shoved her daughter out on stage with choreography that they had recreated on their own, downstairs in their family room surrounded by all those HomeGoods chotchkies.  In hindsight, Paige should really have received some kind of Nexstar recognition just for being able to focus with all that craziness on those basement walls.

Find it online.  It’s worth a revisit.

Brooke was finally off probation for going to her Say Goodbye To The 8th Grade Festivus cafetorium celebration.  Finally she’s no longer a moody 8th grader.

Now she’s a moody 9th grader.  The Circle of Life.

MackAttack was on the bottom for some vague nonsense, which basically meant that Abby needed room on the top shelves for the other girls.  Plus Mack is so tiny that Abby figured she wouldn’t even notice what was going on above her anyway.

The Pyramid mezzanine was populated with Sasha Nia and Maddie.

I swear Miss Thang Nia gets more BET head snap-ish every time I see her.  Love that kid.  She is definitely coming into her own, and those other bitches better be keeping their eyes on the rear view mirror, because Nia is about to pass them on the wrong side of the road with no blinkers.

Maddie had spent most of the week polishing all the trophies that she won the week before, so second row as good enough for now.  Girl can only win so much before she has to recharge her lithiums.

Top spot was reserved for Chloe and her ever lengthening legs and button eyes.

She always makes me smile.  Her Angry Bird dance won best costume or something last time and she was liking this week’s view from the Pyramid Penthouse.

For those of you familiar with the other Angry Birds, I will admit to initially being a little let down last time when nobody shot Chloe across the stage with a giant slingshot, but then I remembered that the other Angry Birds is a video game.  With cartoon birds.  Not actual human beings.  So that’s probably why.

But maybe next time…

This week the gang was headed to Starbound National Talent Competition in Atlanta, for a chance at redemption.  Last time the ALDC worked the Starbound stage, they lost to the dreaded Candy Apples by 1/10th of a point, and that went over exactly how you would expect it to go over.

Through a few fuzzy flashbacks we got to relive not only Cathy and her League of Evil Cheer Mom Wannabes marching off in flippant victory, but also Abby’s potentially career ending meltdown, the collapse of her Dance World street cred and what I believe was the onset of Global Warming.

Yeah.  It was a lot of drama.

So needless to say, Abby planned to storm the south like Ulysses S. Grant.  If he had actually stormed the south doing jazz hands.

Chloe got a solo.  Maddie got a solo.  (Try to look surprised.)

Paige, Nia and Mackenzie got lumped into a trio.  That one could either turn out really well, or end up looking like three kids erratically chasing marbles on a tilted playground.

The group number was a darker ditty about kids growing up, which required height, maturity and all your teeth…so MackAttack was going to have to sit this one out.  And by removing her, that left a gaping hole in the ensemble that Abby needed to fill.  But who could ever fill such a big…tall…open hole?

You know how in the scary movies when people are lost in the jungle and all they see are rustling bushes and swaying trees as something big and terrifying comes closer and closer before eating them alive?  When they hear cracking branches and ominous music and catch glimpses of staggeringly tall shadows before the scary monster bursts through the underbrush and rips their faces off?

Well imagine exactly that, except it was just Payton ducking in under the door frame.

Yeah.  That Payton.  She’s baaaaack.

And that meant her crazy Walmart Mom Leslie must be in the building as well.

Before the Moms had a complete meltdown over the Leslie train wreck pulling into the station, Abby distracted them with a little network cross promotion.

The girls had conveniently been asked to send in tapes for a bit part on Lifetime’s own Drop Dead Diva, which guaranteed not only some awkward audition moments but also about 45 commercials for the show before we even made it to Starbound.

Kelly got all excited about the potential for the girls to be on an actual television show, which made me question whether she realized that she is actually already on a television show.  She sees the camera, right?

Beer Goggles are blurry…but come on now, honey.

And then Leslie burst onto the scene, in all her bus driver glory.

You tell me she doesn’t remind you of that menthol smoking public transit lady who yells every time you swipe your bus pass upside down and block everyone else trying to get through the door.  The one who shuts those same doors right in your face after you just ran in the rain with four bags of groceries even though the bus can’t go anywhere until the light changes.


The Moms are not big Leslie fans and wasted no time getting all up in her grill about why Payton keeps showing up and hogging all the good stuff when she doesn’t deserve it.  As they all sat up in the Mom Perch and tossed attitude, it was the same conversation they have every time Leslie blows into town.

The only question I really had was who are they always texting on their iPhones?

I mean, they are always on those things.  Who are they trying to contact?  Everyone they know is up in the Mom Perch with them, right?  It’s been driving me crazy for two seasons.  Somebody needs to hit me up on my Sidekick and end this mystery before my head explodes.

I know they weren’t texting Cathy, because when we zipped up to Cow Country to check in on the Candy Apples, they were all busy planning out their own Drop Dead Diva auditions.  Hmmph…never saw that one coming.  There definitely wasn’t enough of those crazy Candy Apples this week, but we did get to spend some quality time on the farm.

The highlight was definitely the opportunity to sit in on their Ohio camera tapings.  I could literally spend all day watching glassy eyed Vivi-Anne‘s audition.  Why her Mom continues to lead her on with this fantasy of ever being able to dance is beyond me.  But thank goodness she does, because there’s Gold in them thar Ohio hills.  Comedy Gold.

As a result of her audition, we now know that not only is our nasally challenged girl incapable of participating in actual choreography…but she is also incapable of saying the word choreography.  It was a classic TV moment which needs to go into a time capsule immediately.  Honestly, I don’t even think Cathy put a tape in the camera.

Back in PA, Abby also ran her own dancers through the camera tapings.  Nowhere near as captivating as Vivi-Anne.  Nothing to see here, people.  Keep moving.

In a shocking example of what can happen when a Mom puts her child’s education before dance, Christi allowed Chloe to jet off on an overnight school camping trip and miss a rehearsal.  Shocking to Abby, anyway.  Pretty normal to the rest of the world, or at least to parents who want their kids to graduate and not end up explaining the difference between Regular and Unleaded to foreigners.

Somehow Leslie managed to turn a discussion on the merits of public education into yet another solo for her amazonian daughter.  She does have a gift for knocking down all the other pins with her big bowling ball kid.

Then it was time for cake.

Kelly had not only planned her own birthday party, but hosted it.  She even invited Leslie, because every birthday party needs a clown.

By the time Leslie showed up…late…the booze and the bad attitudes were flowing.  It was full on Real Housewives of Pittsburgh.  If Andy Cohen wasn’t so busy pimping out his new book right now, you know he would have been sitting right in the middle of those hens on his big Reunion chair flipping through flashcards and shvitzing.

And how about that mouthful of cake Leslie bulldozed into her pie hole?  Did you see that?  You couldn’t miss it, because it was dangling off her fork for ten minutes while she was screaming her explanation on how and why she talks so loudly.  It was like on the local news when they show a downtown sinkhole devouring a parked Volkswagon.

Girl’s definitely got an appetite.

Between mouthfuls of cake and pepperoni, Leslie managed to call Christi a drunk, scream some more and throw a glass across the kitchen before being asked to hit the road.  I’m pretty sure she also shoved some of that tasty cake in her purse on the way out the door, now that you mention it.

Haters gonna hate.

By the time everyone made it to the actual competition, they were all pretty tanked up on Betty Crocker and drama.  Leslie showed up and did some more yelling, sprinkled here and there with some crying.

The solos went well.  Maddie was Maddie.  Payton looked like a gigantic Vegas cigarette girl that fell off a billboard at the Palms.  In her defense…even if she really isn’t as tall as she seems, when you dance after a girl who is under three feet tall you’re gonna end up looking like Herman Munster.  And boys hate that, so you better figure out something before the Prom or you’re gonna end up home alone eating cake out of your Mom’s purse on a Friday night.

Chloe proved that she could eat S’Mores around a campfire and still remember how to dance the next day.  So take that, Abby.

The trio on the other hand was a complete marble chase.  I love those three crazy kids, but I’m not so sure they all rehearsed to the same music.  Unlike Chloe, Abby wasn’t a happy camper when that one hit the stage.

Then they won some stuff.  Google it if you really can’t stand not knowing all the details.

Or text Melissa and Christi, because they are always writing stuff down in those race track books at every competition.

The dude handing out trophies was wearing a pretty sweet Maroon 5 Adam Levine suit, and I like that skinny style, so I wasn’t really paying as much attention as I should have been during the awards.  My bad.

The whole thing finished off with another round of Leslie vs. The World.

Yelling.  Crying.  Screaming.

And then home to lick her wounds….

…and the frosting off her fingers.

Mob Wives Chicago: Pop A Cork And Pop ‘Em In Your Mouth…It’s Round Two For Renee And Nora. Wine Is Flowing And Fists Are Flying When The Party Animals Come Out To Play.

July 16th, 2012



I know Leah’s hair looks extremely goombastic tonight, but look at me when I’m flipping out on you, bitch!





No, you look at me! I’m a Pez dispenser. When I tip my head back, fruity candy and Xanax fall out of my mouth.





And who is this chick who keeps trying to get in on every one of my camera shots? Do you mind, honey?





I don’t know. When I was a little Mobette, something just came to me one day and I realized that I should be a wine maker.





It was like I had a vision where I could beat people up and make red wine all at the same time.




Can you get a hangover just from watching people drink wine?

Or make wine?  Or both?

I’m starting to think you can, because there was so much grape squishing and hair pulling on this week’s Mob Wives: Chicago that I need an aspirin.  It’s like a hangover with a different kind of morning after shame.  And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

After last week’s sweat-free workout and gymnasium screaming match with Nora, Chicago’s favorite Kia driving “don’t call it stripping” exotic dancer Pia needed some support from a friend.  Lucky for her, Christina was at home, hard at work on the relaunch of her fashion design career.

Now don’t get me wrong.  I love Christina. I love her No Crap attitude.  And I really love that raspy Walmart Customer Service Department Manager laugh she’s always got going on.

Oh, please.  Don’t tell me you’ve never walked up to the store when they’re all out there sitting on the bench having a butt during their 15 minute break, doing that half howl/half smoker cough over some crazy customer story or how one of their husbands cut a finger off in the wood chipper and the dog grabbed it like it just fell out of a box of Snausages.

I know you know what I’m talking about.  Nobody just shops at Target.

So I love her snort, but I’m not so sure about this whole fashion thing.  I mean…who wants to wear a floor length evening gown made out of the same fabric they use for yoga pants?  And what is going on with that big flap of hot pink over the shoulder?  Even Pia scratched her head, which by itself was a nice change from her night job itch, and when a stripper questions your fashion sense…well…there you have it.

If we’ve learned anything from Project: Runway though, it’s to not judge until the outfit is complete.  So sister better Make It Work, and fast, because right now the draped version looked like some kind of super heroine costume from a direct to discount bin DVD.  The kind where the words never quite sync up to the mouth movements, and you wonder if the whole thing started out in Chinese.

Christina was just finishing up some pinning as two fisted Pia arrived, brandishing a few bottles of vino and still nursing a bad attitude.  Even though there were piles of red Solo cups on the counter, Christina dirtied a few more glasses so they could get fancy while they dissed on Nora.

Pia firmly believed that Nora wanted Renee to hate Pia, and that is why she looked down her Barbie snoot at Pia for stripping.  The evening’s Classic MobLine #1 came out around this point somewhere when Pia explained that she doesn’t take her clothes off completely, which implied that there are various levels of stripperdom or something.

I’m not really well versed in stripper etiquette, but according to the Magic Mike trailers I thought you always needed something for the dollar bills to slip into or you wouldn’t make any money.  Or maybe as long as the left pastie stays stuck on, that also counts.

I don’t know.  I need to cash in my coin rolls and do some research before I hand out any false information.

Pia also let Nora’s secret stripping past out of the bag to Christina, who had quite a Walmart chuckle over that one and then sewed a tube sock onto her yoga dress.

Across town, Nora was trying to regain her own focus and get to the bottom of her Dad’s mystery burial.

A few weeks back, she and Pia and the dirty Kia (…sounds like a Dr. Seuss book, I know…) had made a little bit of progress when they dropped by the funeral home.  The director had let Nora know that another family member had given the thumbs up to bury Dad without any fanfare, but Nora was not 100% certain who you would actually find in the ground if you popped the lid.

On my short list of Worst Jobs Ever, which already includes some pretty nasty ones involving sticky peep show floors and people’s mouths, the Death Record Lady is the newest addition.

That poor thing.  Can you imagine that job?  Or what a downer she must be at cocktail parties?

Nora managed to get her on the phone, but didn’t get very far since the records are now private.  The other family members had them sealed up at the same they dumped the body off, and now nobody can get to the files.

The Lady of Death also explained that the only way to get the body exhumed was to get a judge to approve the John Deere backhoe, or to get the entire family to agree to turn the graveyard into a construction site.

I’m sure the exasperated voice on the other end of the phone also wanted to explain to NutWad Nora that it was called “exhume” not “resume,” but she probably let that one go due to the sensitive nature of the conversation.  The HR manual probably says something about correcting stupid people in their time of grief.

I, on the other hand, haven’t screamed out a word that loudly at my own television set since the idiot on Wheel of Fortune who couldn’t figure out Benihana Restaurant.

Gah.  Spell it out, for chrissakes.

You exhume a body.  You resume your meds.

As Nora pushed the Death Record Lady into an early retirement, I also couldn’t help but notice the stack of textbooks on her table.  They even had “Used” stickers on them, like when you buy books off a truck in the college commons during graduation week.

Is our girl going to school?  The plot thickens.

One of my favorite eagle eyed readers also noticed, and stole my joke before I even had time to use it.  It was going to be something about a community college non-credit course on English as a Second Language, and it was going to be HIGHsterical.

But she ruined it.  So forget it.

(She still gets credit though.  She’s a hoot.)

Since we know them Mob Wives like to nosh, next we were off to the bakery with Leah and Renee for some pastries and caffeine.

The scene itself was pretty uneventful, but it involved Leah, so that’s major.  She was her usual goombalicious self, and that just made me love her more.

(Side note to the United States Patent Office.  I invented the word Goombalicious, so please do not use it on tee shirts without paying me a bazillion dollars.  Leah may be eligible for a monetary split if we can work things out over whatever pie they had up there in the display case.  It looked Goombadelish!)

The only other point worth noting is that Renee still can’t say espresso without making it sound like someone who fights alongside Wolverine.

I’ll have an X-presso and the Power of Invisibility, please.

Renee also can’t seem to say anything nice to her Starbucks boyfriend Dave Giangrande over at Eye Candy Optics, because the next day she was all up in his grill.

Working and living with the same person was having just the results you would expect from a  24/7 relationship.  Styling in his shirt with the Burberry collar lining…which either means he couldn’t afford the full-on plaid shirt or this one was a knock off from Marshall’s…poor Dave got clobbered from every angle as soon as Renee walked into the eye glass shop.  Even the arrival of a shaky customer just trying to prevent the onset of early blindness couldn’t stop her from swearing at Dave.

Renee wanted Dave to be a silent partner.  As in shut the f*** up partner.

I just wanted to know what was out on the sidewalk that was so captivating, because the dude never took his eyes off the front window.  I’m thinking maybe one of those Suicide Prevention Hotline billboards or something, because that poor guy doesn’t stand a chance with ‘Roid Rage Barbie.

Nora wants to become a wine maker.  Kinda like Bethany Frankel.  Only crazier.

There’s no easy, smooth transition into this one, so let’s just go with it.

To honor her MIA father Frank “The German” Schweihs, and to take away any residual Nazi or Mob or Schnitzel stigma from the word “German,” Nora hoped to create the next big wine.  And what better way to get the ball rolling than with a course in wine making, right?

Nora and her BFF Desiree hit up the BevArt Brewery to sharpen up their vino skills, where she got to squish wine bags like human organs and give us MobLine #2 for the week.  (Actually #3 if you count all that exhume/resume hysteria.)

Nora was going to create a wine for people with class, respect, honor and dignity…people like the Kennedys and Sponge Bob and blah blah blah.

And then they will see that the Legend Still Stands Known.

What does that even mean?  I swear Nora needs to come with her own Mob Wives DeCoder ring.  It’s gonna take a few more used textbooks before this batch of wine is fully aged, if you get my drift.

Then it was back to the gym to burn off all that booze.

Pia and her BFF Kamila revisited the scene of last week’s crime and jumped on the treadmill while they waited for my girl Leah to show up.

Yes, now that you mention it, this episode was chock full of new and old BFFs simply coming out of the woodwork.  It must have been Take Your BFF To Work Day at VH1.

Kamila was a PYT (…pretty young thing…der…) and looked like she could easily be a video dancer or one of those girls who always get kicked off The Apprentice on the first week.  You know she has a stack of head shots and business cards with her at all times.  Girlfriend knew how to work the treadmill…and the cameras.

Did you play the drinking game and take a shot every time Kamila showed up in the scenes for the rest of this episode?  If you did, you’re not reading this right now.

When Leah finally showed up in her studded cuff gym attire…Love Her…she got right to filing her nails while the other girls walked backwards on their treadmills.

Now backin’ dat thang up is really good for all your stripper trunk junk, but they really should have plugged the equipment in before they started.  Does anyone ever sweat at that gym?

Finally it was time for Christina’s party.  BYOBFF.

Leah showed up at Christina’s house to prep armed with more clothes and supplies than Kate Winslet took on the Titanic, and that made Christina do another Walmart woof.  By the time the two of them both crammed into the bathroom to slap on their war paint, it looked like backstage at the Tony Awards, only Leah’s eyeshadow was brighter.

Nora and yet another BFF Debbie were also enroute to the party.  Nora was using the time to remove her crazy face and put on her game face before she ran into Renee.

Everyone except Renee, who seems to make a habit out of bitching people out and being fashionably late, finally made it to the club in one piece, but that didn’t last for long.

Like a swarm of Mean Girls in the school cafeteria, Pia glared at Nora as Christina egged everybody to talk it out.  Well, mostly Pia.  Because it was almost like they forgot Nora was two seats down for a few moments as they blatantly spoke ill of her craziness.

Much like the Virgin Mary, Nora suddenly claimed to have gotten food poisoning even though no munchies had actually entered her body.  It was either the smell from the kitchen, or Renee’s perfume as she and her BFF Crystal entered up the staircase.

Either way, they crossed paths for a brief second the way everyone used to do on Scooby-Doo when they’d pass back and forth in the hallways between open doors, and then Nora jumped in a cab and took off with one of the BFFs.

Long story short(er)…Christina took a Walmart 15 and called Nora back to the club while she had a butt with Leah.  Leah was all, like, What The Goombata? and had no patience for the whole hot mess.

By the time Nora showed back up at the club, the sun had gone down and Renee was just waiting to pounce.

Ring the bell and Let the Bitch Fight begin.  Renee and Nora went at it right away, quickly followed by Pia tag teaming on Nora, which gave Kamila some prime camera time to strike a pose.  Werk.

There were so many MobLines I lost count.  You really need to just call in sick from work and watch your DVR to fully appreciate the awesomeness of the spectacle.

Wherever it is in the Land of TV that they store the Book that records all the best Reality TV crazy wives lines ever, next to “Close Your Legs” and “Fix Your Face” they can now add “Where’re Your Balls?” and “Not In Your Mouth” to the list.

I swear.  They said it.  Even Leah was speechless.

Pia high fived Nora’s face.  Then Renee wanted in on some of that.

Then out of nowhere Nora blurted out that Renee’s father molested her everyday.

Say it with me: What The Goombata?  True or false, you just…you just don’t, lady.

Boom goes the dynamite.  Next thing you knew, everyone was everywhere, pulling hair and kitty scratching and getting (bleeped) out while those same two Jimmy Jam and Terry Lewis look-a-likes dropped down from somewhere in the ceiling and tried to break up the pig pile.

I was waiting for Kamila to walk in front of everyone wearing a bikini, carrying a Fight Card with her contact info at the bottom.

Let’s get ready to rumble, bitches…and call me, maybe?

Yeah.  It got ugly in Chi Town tonight.

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