Dance Moms: It Smells Like Jerky And Peroxide At The ALDC. Guess Who’s Back From Ohio? It’s Death Drop Diva Time When Jill Blows Back Into Town.

July 25th, 2012

 

 

Look at this mess. We are one bad dye job short of turning into the Hefner Playboy Mansion.

 

 

 

 

All I know is that I’m finally not the one with the craziest hairdo. Halleloo!

 

 

 

 

 

One: You people all suck big ones. And Two: NO this is not a mullet, thank you.

 

 

 

 

 

Seriously. Somebody gnawed on some baaaad jerky while she was out in Ohio.

 

 

 

Oh. Hell. No. You did NOT diss my girl Nia’s decision to weave in them sassy braids. And while we’re on the subject, you need to fix your face, bitch.

 

 

 

Why can’t someone invent Smell-O-Vision Television?

It can’t be that difficult.

I mean, if they can put a man on the moon, make gum that changes flavor and shut off my cable with one switch, how hard could it really be to make a TV that emits odors?

Then we would all finally know what Crazy really smells like.

Trust me.  Dance Moms has had no problem over two seasons showing us what Crazy looks like…and sounds like…but now I want to smell it.

Someday, maybe.

But until that day, if the latest episode is any indication, I’m betting that Crazy smells like beef jerky breath, one of those Walgreens cologne holiday gift sets and any randomly chosen strip mall salon after a full day of root touchups.

That’s right.  Jill is back.

Everyone’s favorite studio hopper returned to the Abby Lee Dance Company this week all loud and blonde and uninvited, and it pretty much registered at a 9.5 on the Rockette Richter Scale.

But before we get all excited, let’s start at the beginning.  Before the Storm.

Fresh off their Redemption Tour 2012, Abby and her little posse of posers were back in Pittsburgh basking in the glow of their Top Spot Group Routine at Starbound.  After recovering from a previous stumble and loss to the dreaded Candy Apples, the ALDC had managed to jazz hand their way back to the top and brought home more shiny hardware to display on those rickety old Container Store shelves.

Seriously.  Have you ever noticed the wire shelving that Abby has wrapped the entire rehearsal space with to display all their trophies?  It’s the same wobbly closet organizer stuff that you put up in your first apartment, or that always comes preinstalled in every freshman dormitory.  The stuff that is always missing one screw and eventually pulls out of the sheetrock and dumps all your winter sweaters on to your hidden kegger.

How all those heavy plaques and statues don’t come crashing down on some poor kid in the middle of Tap Class is a mystery.

So without putting anyone at risk by making them stand directly under those trophy death traps, Abby gathered her little dancers and bigger Moms together in the center of the room to unveil the latest Pyramid of Shame.

You know how in the movies right before a natural disaster all the birds always go ape s*** berserk and fly into skyscraper windows, and the deer and bison and escaped zoo animals all stampede in every direction across the highway causing mass transit chaos?

Well, I’m pretty certain that if we could have found a window and gotten a glimpse outside the studio right before the Big Reveal, it would have looked like the freakin’ opening scene from The Lion King.

Hurricane Jill was blowing back into town and most likely toppling any tree, small automobile or mobile home in her newly bleached path of destruction.

Before Abby could even pull off the first piece of logo paper and crush a young and impressionable ego, the studio door flew open and in stormed Jill, accompanied by her incredibly easy to upset daughter Kendall and a souvenir headshot which they had apparently spray glued to foam core prior to their arrival.

(Always come prepared, because you never know when you might encounter a rogue Pyramid of Shame.  I think that’s in the Boy Scout Handbook, actually.)

The last we had seen of Jill, aside from her brief stint at the Candy Apples Evil Dance Emporium, was the now infamous Texas meltdown where she had thrown a shoe and run out the door while wearing an odd little iParty cowboy hat.

In her defense, she had claimed that the mall western wear was to make her look like a local and embrace the culture, much the same way any tourist with no social skills would apply black face or a dot in the middle of their forehead to try and fit in with the city they are visiting.  Because they saw it in a magazine.

Seriously.  Why do people do that? Stick with the bermuda shorts and fanny pack.  You’ll still look less ridiculous.

 Now Jill was blonde.  Really blonde.  And had lost the Bump-It hair accessory.

(Spoiler Alert:  Next episode’s preview shows that it already makes a return appearance.  You can cut off a worm’s head or yank out your Bump-It, but they always grow back.)

She wanted Kendall to be put back into The Group immediately and proceeded to present her case like Alexis Carrington did when she pulled off that big hat and laid into the judge on Dynasty.

Oh, the drama.  Eventually Jill took the hint and scooted her blonde hair, big mouth and new caftan top fashion sense into the corner and let Abby get the Pyramid started.

Mackenzie and Nia were on the bottom.  MackAttack’s low standing was due to all that sugar causing her to dance faster than the other two girls in last week’s trio.  We’ve never actually seen it happen, but you know Mack is one of those cute kids who always chomps on those gigantic Jawbreaker candies until her tongue is blue and she has trouble swallowing all the juice.  Tell me you can’t totally picture that scenario.

Nia fell on her badonkadonk last time, and that can’t be good.

Third spot was for Paige, who didn’t really do anything wrong other than get picked as the third person in that sloppy trio.  Guilty by association.  Punishment?  Bottom row.

I won’t even go off on another rant about her age inappropriate hairdo this week, even though it did seem to have gotten wavier and even more age inappropriater, if that’s even a word.

All I’ll say on the matter is that I’m amazed that between eating, sleeping, dancing and going to school Paige still had time to get her hair done for next month’s Vogue cover shoot.  Now I’m done.

To make room for Maddie at the top, Abby stuck Chloe and Brooke on the second row.  She barely even tried to cover that one up, and couldn’t really fabricate any reason for them to be there other than Maddie’s photo is adhered to the mirror with Super Glue.

This week the gang was headed to Starpower, which I guess is somehow different than Starbound or Starpalooza or Star Search or Star Trek.  They all sound the same to me, which probably explains why I don’t run a dance company.

Abby was quite excited that lots of people from Jersey would be there.  I tried to picture pregnant Snooki doing that one leg straight up in the air thing but then immediately stopped trying to picture it before I did any permanent damage.

Maddie, Paige and Nia were all picked for solos, but the big news this time was the group number.

Twilight.  Like the vampires.  And there was going to be a boy vampire.

I would appreciate it from now on if Lifetime would run a warning disclaimer at the bottom of the screen before they unleash anymore tween-age boys on these girls, because my ears are still bleeding from the arrival of senior ALDC dancer Nick.

As the Moms retired to the Mom Perch, Kendall snuck her way into the group number until Abby did a head count and booted her upstairs.  It was clear from the start of rehearsals that the Twilight theme was not going to work with so many girls on the field.

It was like a marching band all going in different directions at half time, with poor Nick in the middle racing around trying to lift up all the girls before biting their necks.

Between all that disorganization, Abby tried to squeeze in some solo work with the girls.

Paige made it through about four measures of music before Jill busted in and sang that song about Kendall getting to dance in The Group.  After a few rounds with Abby, except for the missing cowboy hat, it was pretty much the same result again as Jill stormed out the door for the evening.

Nia’s solo was titled Return to Laquifa.

Ok.  Maybe not.  Maybe it was Werqin’ Girl.  But either way, it was Sasha Nia getting her Shangela Death Drop on again, and it was a little slice of drag heaven.

Side note:  Abby Lee Miller is no drag queen.  Make her stop doing that head snap thing and just sashay away.  Immediately.

Then we paused for a little station identification alert and a bit of network cross promotion.

The results from the Lifetime Drop Dead Diva auditions were revealed, and it was Maddie who scored the coveted guest starring role.

And not one single Vegas odds maker even blinked in surprise.

The whole thing then turned into exactly the kind of Mom vs. Mom favoritism song & dance number that we have come to expect every time Maddie snatches something from the other girls.  Between Melissa getting angry at the other Moms and Maddie not sure how she was supposed to react in front of her friends, the casting call didn’t feel as big and important as they made it sound last week.

What was big and important this week however, was Nia’s hair.  It was outta control fierce, girlz.  And Abby wasn’t liking it.

When Abby told Holly that Nia’s new big a** braids were a hot mess, Mom went on the defense and channeled some serious NeNe Leakes.  Kinda.

Given the fact that Holly is still more school principal than bitch slapping hater, it wasn’t quite an ATL Reunion throw down, but it was fun to watch.

Fix her hair, Mom.  Fix her hair?  How ’bout you fix yo’ hair?  And then how ’bout you fix yo’ face?  And yo’ fat body?  And PS…I got approval for these braids, bitch.

Whoa.  Wait.  Did she say approval?  Someone is in charge of hair braid approval?  You mean that’s someone’s job?  How much does it pay?  I’m always looking for ways to make some easy cash, and approving hair weaves seems like something I could excel at.  Hmmmm.  Girl, pleez…I think I’m on to sumthin.

The next day, Abby was still a little miffed at everyone’s reaction to Maddie’s new Drop Dead Diva role, so she figured she needed to rub some faces into it to prove a point.

Long story short, Abby had Maddie bring in all her crowns from every competition and lay them out like a flea market table display so all the other girls could ogle them and wish they were Maddie.

I guess it was an attempt at showing how it’s ok to be proud of your successes, but it turned into a very uncomfortable Toddlers & Tiaras moment as Maddie unzipped what looked like one of those vinyl hot/cold lunch bags and pulled out a clown car’s worth of mini tiaras.  It was like the bag was a bottomless sparkle pit as Maddie revealed crown after crown after crown.

After crown.

The Moms did their song & dance again.  Melissa tried to stop the show.  The other girls wished they were Maddie.  Melissa cried and Maddie just wanted to crawl in a hole.

Well played, Abby.

Finally it was Showtime.

Kendall must have hidden in the luggage compartment of the bus because somehow she was there in the green room, even though she wasn’t scheduled to do anything.  Jill used every minute of down time to ramble on and on about earning a spot on the team while Abby used every minute of down time to poke Jill with a stick.  It’s funny, but suddenly crazy Kelly was like an old chew toy that Abby didn’t want to play with anymore now that Jill was in the room.  Go figure.

The solos went well.  Nia dropped it like it was hot again.  Paige nailed her dance.  Maddie was Maddie and will probably need a bigger Igloo cooler pretty soon for all that new headgear.

Abby trimmed the Twilight number down to Brooke, Chloe and Maddie at the last minute, thereby giving Nick fewer girls to pick up and allowing her to give Jill another poke in the eye at the same time.

Seriously.  I can’t.

There was so much Jill vs. Abby screaming that I can’t even get into right now.

Abby accused Jill of stealing a $2 bow from her secret stash and slapping it on Kendall’s head before any decisions on the Twilight number had even been made.  Apparently hair bows and the Hope Diamond are both high risk security items that nobody should touch without government clearance.

Jill went all cowboy hat on Abby…again…while Kendall cried…again…and Maddie tried on crowns.

Again.

Nick actually got to speak one sentence, and he sounded like Peter Brady when his voice was changing.

Pork Chops and Apple Sauce.  Google it.

Jill said that everyone sucked.

Looks like someone needs to fix their attitude.

And their face.

It was Drop Dead Divalicious.

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.


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