Mob Wives Chicago: It Is True. Sticks And Stones Will Break Your Bones. But So Will Chairs, Lead Pipes And One Of Renee’s Fists In Your Face.

July 24th, 2012

 

 

Oh, yeah…now that’s what I’m talking about. That’s the good stuff. Mama likes.

 

 

 

 

 

Bleep Bleep Bleep Bleep NORA Bleep Bleep Bleep Bleep!

 

 

 

 

 

Seriously? Not one of you Goombaloon bitches even noticed my new soft curls? I look a-ma-zing.

 

 

 

 

 

Bleep Bleep Bleep Bleep NORA Bleep Bleep Bleep Bleep!

 

 

 

 

 

Oh, this is totally going on Facebook. Lift up your shirt.

 

 

 

 

So it looks like I might be a day late on this one.

Unfortunately, it’s not because of anything as exciting as rambling, illiterate Facebook hate mail (…seriously, does anyone use spellcheck anymore?…) or spam from the poor few out there born without funny bones who still haven’t figured out that this whole site is my humorous way of actually showing support for all these shows.

It’s not Rocket Science, people.  It’s Reality TV.

Yes.  Granted, they are quite similar and I can understand your confusion, but there’s still a slight difference between the two educational genres.  Figure it out or stop Googling yourself.

But I digress.

As it turns out, I had decided to play a new drinking game during this week’s chaotic post-beatdown Mob Wives: Chicago and take a shot every time Renee swore on screen after punching Nora.

Needless to say, I was passed out within the first 3 minutes.

The next thing I remember was waking up on my couch to VH1’s Best of the ’90s and some left over Cheetos on my face.

Man, that Renee could give a longshoreman a case of nervous pee.  And she proved it over and over…and over…again this week as the Wives all tried to decompress after the blow up and throw down that took place last week at Christina‘s party.

For those of you with some short term memory issues, we’ll hit the basics again.

Nora had called Pia a whore for stripping and (…allegedly…) doing the nasty up in those private booths that I can’t afford, which immediately resulted in Pia offering up a full frontal palm slap right into Nora’s dizzy forehead.

Upon impact, Nora went off like a cat when you throw it in the bathtub, unleashing her SchweihsSpaz (…say that three times fast, I dare you…) in every direction at once.  It was like on the Saturday morning cartoons when that zippy mouse is suddenly in every corner of your television screen, except this mouse had booze on its breath and a couple of angry chicks tugging on mousey extensions.

Areeba Areeba Undalay Undalay!

At some point earlier in the evening, Renee and Pia had also apparently devised a secret code known only amongst themselves which resulted in a perfectly timed tag team attack on Nora before anyone knew what hit, and Nora didn’t stand a chance when they both jumped on her head.

Somehow in all the excitement, Renee even ended up crawling on all fours in her designer dress trying to egg on Nora into some Chicago style junkyard dawg wrestling.

And then Nora said it.

Yeah, she did.  And now you’re up to speed.

If you need to leave now, the moral of the story is: Never say “You’re father molested you everyday” no matter how angry you get.  Just don’t, if you know what’s good for you.

Unless you want a whole lot of Renee all up in your face, that is.  Then go for it.

Because when Nora blurted out that gem, Renee went from all fours to full on mid-air Matrix so fast I thought she was rigged with off-Broadway Peter Pan cables or something.

After those two big dudes, who I swear materialize in on Star Trek transporter beams just in the nick of time each week, broke up all the girls, Christina went scooting after Nora while Renee and Pia licked their own wounds.

Right around now is when I must have passed out, because the last thing I remember was Nora declaring that Pia must have gonorrhea.  Say whaa–?  Who says that?

That one kind of came out of nowhere, and I’m thinking that it must have been the first thing that Nora could think of that rhymed with the word Pia, because who even talks about that disease anymore?  Is it even still around?  There are way cooler things that strippers can get nowadays, right?  Allegedly, I mean.

In the opposite corner of the Ring, Pia and Renee were doing some serious Nora bashing and for a second I thought that the guy in charge of the Bleep Machine had accidentally put his water bottle down on the button, because it was basically two minutes of solid bleeped out potty mouth.

Honesty, if I had been away from my TV getting snacks and heard all that I would have assumed it was the Emergency Broadcast System alarm and immediately gone into my Safe Room before any nukes hit my neighborhood.

Nice talk, Renee.  Seriously nice (bleepin’) talk.

Finally Christina couldn’t take anymore of the BS, and realizing that nobody had even touched the appetizers in all the chaos, shoved a camera guy out of the way and went home after scoring a (bleep) or two of her own.

The next day after the dust had settled and some of the swelling had gone down, Pia and her daughter Bella headed out for a stroll and some quality time in their Ugg boots.

Mom wanted to fill her daughter in on everything that had gone down at the party before she caught wind of it at school or on the Reunion Show and hopefully enjoy a little Mother/Daughter bonding at the same time.

I like Bella.  Quite a bit, actually.  She seemed to have a pretty good head on her shoulders, and supported her Mom regardless of any good or bad choices she may have made over the last 15 years.  We got a little bit of backstory on the family, and Pia had a good cry.

Bella is getting to that age when the other girls at school are going to start tossing her some serious locker room attitude for having a stripper Mom, so Pia had decided to give up the pole and do something else to keep the Netflix account active.  What that is going to be exactly is still TBD, but kudos Pia for being proactive and getting the ball rolling.

(That was an unintentional stripper joke…but in retrospect it’s a keeper.  I almost wish I had said Pia had been ‘juggling a lot of balls in the air’ or something, but I missed the opportunity.  I swear, sometimes the funnies just come out of me and I don’t even realize it until it’s too late.)

Then it was time for a One Woman Crusade/Restaurant Tour as Christina began searching out every party victim in an attempt to reunite all the girls and basically fix this hot mess.

Yeah.  Good luck with that, sister.

First on her list was Nora, who dramatically entered the restaurant looking like Chicago’s Phantom of The Opera wearing Jackie O sunglasses, of course.

Pause here to scroll back up and check out the size of the ring on Renee’s hand in one of the above photos.

Then do the mathematical calculations for velocity x force x bitch face…and now you can imagine the severity of little Nora’s battle scars when she slowly removed her googly eyed sunglasses and revealed a slice of seriously tenderized luncheon meat face.

Bitch was beat up.

Besides her raspy Walmart voice and strange obsession with shoulder cut-outs, Christina also has a big heart, and she really felt bad for Nora.  Christina has compassion for people, even ditzy ones, and she really wanted to help Nora get past all the drama even though the chick sometimes drives her bazoinkers.

Second stop on the Crusade was an opportunity to multi-task.  Christina got to talk to my girl Leah and score a free pedicure at the same time.  Win-Win.

Who knew?  I had no idea that Goombalicious Leah was also skilled in the world of manis and pedis.  But she is, and she got right down to bidnezz on Christina’s little piggies while listening to all the reasons why everyone should just get along despite that whole annoying molestation accusation.

Now everyone knows I love me some Leah.  Especially when her hair and eyeglass stylings are both cray cray.  But I don’t know if I would ruffle her feathers while she’s down there grinding a pumice stone on my delicate paws.  The more Christina pled Nora’s case, the harder Leah ground into Christina’s toes.  Yeeouch.  I need all ten of those, thank you.

Did I mention how much I love Leah?

I love the way she talks.  Like she’s giving a lecture at Goomba U, and every word has a coordinating hand motion to drive the point home to the kids way up in the cheap seats.

Hands are up.  Hands are down.  Fingers are stuck together.  She’s pointing.  She’s Badabing-ing.  I’m pretty sure Leah even vogued a few dance moves before giving her final opinion on the whole matter.

Nora needs to keep her Goombazoo shut.  Which I guess is her mouth.  Or at least I hope it is.  Eeew.

Moving on, Christina took her Tour, and her shiny new toes, to the docks to meet up with Pia.  Not sure why they had to meet there, or why they had to approach each other like they were trading off government secrets and a stick of plutonium, but they did.

Christina couldn’t quite get a handle on why Pia was seemingly choosing Renee’s side of the story.  Not only because Renee had previously turned talking smack about Pia into a lucrative part-time job, but also because Pia and Nora had a history that would seem to trump any newfound loyalty to Renee.

Nothing much got solved on that meeting, and no plutonium traded hands.  You didn’t miss much.

Then it was back to another fine Chicago eatery with Leah, Renee and Christina.  Same story.  Different lunch special.

The Bleep Guy put his water bottle back on the button again for a few moments as Renee unleashed yet another lengthy string of nasties, this time accompanied by a few proctological fist manipulations that would easily score you bonus points in charades.

Somewhere in the heat of the conversation Renee accused Christina of defending Nora, Leah accused Christina of being a Goombasomething or other and a table of Sorority girls tried not to get caught looking over at all the action.

No clue who all those girls were, but you knew they could totally recite every single word of Call Me Maybe.  And do the dance.  You could just tell.

Third time’s a charm, I guess, because Christina then met up with Leah one-on-one to cover the same topic they had just covered the last two times they were together.  Leah was just about to lose her GoombaNutty by Round Three.

Then it was Christina and Pia discussing the topic.  This chick’s gonna run out of restaurants before she gets this thing settled.

Whether or not she ever patches up all the leaks in these friendships, I hope Christina gets her cholesterol levels checked when this is all over.  She’s been eating out a lot lately.

While everyone else was talking about how crazy Nora was, Nora was busy taking her crazy back to the winery to sample the results of her tribute wine.

The wine that was supposed to somehow taste like her MIA Dad was finally done, so Nora and BFF du jour Desiree headed back to pump out a few shots of Frank’s German Juice.  There were quite a few classic Nora moments in this scene, but I forgot them all as soon as Nora decided to price the self described classy, Chicago socialite upper scale vino somewhere in the $15.99 to $17.99 range.

Price check, register 2.

While Nora played with the cork machine, Christina was back in town meeting and eating with Pia.  Same story.  Yet another lunch special.

I’ll give Christina her props.

She kept plugging away at this Crusade, regardless of what any of the other girls had to say.  And she went at it with some seriously raspy gusto.  But every once in a while you could catch her spacing out and going into her patented WTF face as Renee or Pia or Leah or Nora pled their case.

You know the face.  We all do it.  When you’re looking at someone but thinking something else.

Like right then as Pia went on and on about stripping and Nora…and Nora and stripping…and Christina just looked at her like she couldn’t remember if she had turned the stove off or not.

That face.  I officially fell in love with Christina this week on that face alone.  She is a hoot with a heart of gold.  She just needs to work on her Poker Face.

The last meal of the week finally came when Christina, Nora and Leah met up for munchies.

Nora had her sad face on, and Leah had her “Over It” tee shirt on.  Even though Nora tried to soften the mood by throwing Leah’s sick mother into the mix, Leah went straight for the molestation topic and explained that you just don’t pull that card out of the deck.

Ever.

Backed into a corner, Nora pulled out her iPhone and showed Leah the photos she had taken the night of her beatdown.  Like when kids post those Facebook pictures they take in the bathroom mirror with their cell, but at least Nora wasn’t in her underwear or flexing or making a Jersey Shore pucker mouth.

She was just beat up.

It freaked out Leah and then she didn’t know what to think about the whole thing.

And Christina wondered if the iron was still on at home.  It’s been a long week.

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.

Bitch.

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.


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