Abby’s Ultimate Dance Competition: It Was Time To Get Your Lady Gaga On. Too Bad Mom Was Born That Way.

September 13th, 2013




Giaaaaanna! Get that Philly Cheese Steak outta your Mom’s purse and get your lazy a** over here.






Seriously. Can you even imagine living with that kid in your house everyday?







We’re gonna have to wrap this up a little early, girls. I need to go fire my stylist.






Hello? Nobody puts a hoagie in a purse. That’s what fanny packs are for. And PS…your kid’s a damn brat and her bow’s all crooked.






BOOM! “C” for Crazy Bitch card straight up in yo’ face. Holla at dat!






Halleloo! Take all this fear from my baby and give her a nasty booty pop just for tonight, Lawd.







Just. Yeeeesh.






I can’t even keep a straight p-p-p-p-poker face.

It was only the second episode of Abby’s Ultimate Dance Competition and the Crazy was already starting to leak all over that shiny new Junior Prom dance floor.

Kids were crying.  Moms were getting on each other’s last nerves.

And Lady Gaga was in the house.  Sorta.

Abby Lee Miller got right down to business with this week’s pre-competition challenge.

It was Lady Gaga Week, with performances based on the license-free “sounds like–“ karaoke stylings of Mother Monster’s biggest hits, all sung by whoever that girl is that always sings on Dance Moms and does the “White Zone Is For Loading Only” voice.

The Skill was Individuality, because that’s kinda Gaga’s thang.

To emphasize the direction of the dances this time around, Abby asked the ten remaining kids (…Sarina, we hardly knew ya…) to name three things about Abby that made her unique.

Didn’t realize there’d be a quiz.  I raised my hand, but nobody seemed to notice.

Someone said “Confidence.”  Someone else said “Bold.”

And then Gianna‘s Mom Cindy blurted out “Mouth” and I knew it was gonna be a good week.  A big, loud good week.

Oh, Cindy.  Big, brassy, SillyPhilly Cindy.

You just know she flew to Hollywood with at least three Bingo markers and a lucky troll somewhere in that shiny zebra print suitcase, not to mention a trashy romance novel and about 23 OK! Magazines on her iPad.  Philly loves those Kardashians.


Especially What’sHerName the big one.

What da Hell?  I’m Cindy from Philly.  Bite me.

And who better to choreograph a Lady Gaga challenge than Lady Gaga’s own choreographer. right?

We’re talking everyone’s favorite two fingered judge Richy Jackson, all decked out in one of his sparkly signature sleeveless ensembles and feather-ized BluBlocker protective eyewear.  I was especially digging the Archie comics varsity letters.

As soon as Richy glitter bombed his way onto the rehearsal stage, the crowd went wild.

All the little dancers blew a complete spaz, but Eden Wood wannabe JoJo seemed to take it the hardest as she squealed and nearly lost the Disney bow right off the top of her head.  Pimp the Crimp, sweetie.  Pimp the Crimp.

Somewhere along the line, JoJo had already decided that she and Richy were genetically created in the same Fab Lab.

He was like Big & Fun.  She was like Big & Fun.  His Indian name was Sunglasses Divalicious.  Her Indian name was Sunglasses Divalicious.

You could see where she was going with all that.

Before he led the crew through the challenge choreo (…that’s what the cool kids call it, you know.  Choreo…) Richy directed all their short attention spans to a monitor to watch a greeting from Lady Gaga herself.

Insert complete spaz numero dos right here ____________.

Basically Gaga gave a quick pep talk  about individuality and then told Perez Hilton to go f*** himself.


Her usual.

This week’s theme was Dare To Be You, which made Mom Tiffany once again point out that Ally was biracial in case you missed it last week.

We get it.  And just so you know, we’re judging her on her dancing technique not her hair.  This could get really old, really fast if Ally lasts until the semi-finals.

As the gang all started getting their Gaga on, it was painfully clear that some participants were a little more hip hop challenged than others.

Chloe was definitely going to be needing some of Mama Angela‘s prayers if she was going to get that naughty shoulder roll perfected.  Haley was as confused as Mom Melanie‘s hair stylist back home and Richy had no idea what kind of electro-shock seizure dance tiny boy band dancer Travis was trying to pull off as he flopped around the stage like a salmon that had just slipped off a pile of shaved ice in the deli case.

Gianna won the challenge round and Mom cheered like her horse had just come in first on one of those OTB Harness Racing simulcast screens.

The prize for winning the challenge was to pick the competition routine based solely on Bob Mackie costume sketches, and since Mom Cindy was such a fashionista she gave her opinion while pointing out that Mommy Knows Best.

Which was a great segue into Abby calling Cindy out for wearing flip flops on the sacred Floor of the Dance.

And not just flip flops.  Cindy was rockin’ a pretty sweet pair of Too Lazy To Get Myself Dressed In The Morning flip flops.  The kind of flip flops that always get caught in the escalator on the way up to the Food Court and completely block access to the second floor of the mall until a kid from Brookstone runs over with an LED screwdriver.


That kind.

What da Hell?  I’m from Philly.  Bite me.

JoJo and the TBoyz were assigned a trio about being Fashion Addicts, where we learned that one of the twins had a freckle and that JoJo knows way too much about shoplifting oversized hair bows from iParty.

Not to be outdone, Ally and Kalani were working on their Piano Passion moves with studio hopper Anthony Burrell.  Fa Fo Pa Boom Boom.  He still hates everyone at Candy Apples and still wears his hat backwards.

Even though they were under a tight schedule, Mom Tiffany did find time to yell at Ally to get her s*** together and stop crying or they’d have to go back to the bungalow and start packing.  I’m going to assume that she didn’t mean the Gilligan’s Island kind of bungalow, but you never know with this crowd.

Abby was also doing some smack downs of her own on the other side of the building as she let Mom Jessalyn know that JoJo’s sassy, answer-for-everybody attitude was getting as played out as those gigantic Macy’s parade hair bows that she insists on stapling to the kid’s head.

Abby blamed part of JoJo’s delusional view of a world populated by cartoon characters and unicorns that poop rainbow pellets on the fact that homeschooling does not allow for a child to experience the real world thrill of being shoved inside a locker or given wedgies and purple nurples.

Mom’s glassy eyed smiley face during the entire conversation pretty much said all that needed to be said on that subject.

But that’s a whole other chat room.  So don’t even.

While everyone else seemed to have forgotten that this was still a dance competition, Trinity and Gianna were at least trying to learn some new Gaga moves.


Basically it was just some really bad stage lighting and the realization that the only thing Gianna could remember to do was cry again.

Saving the best for last, Haley, Chloe and McKaylee were werkin’ it out in a borderline S&M Bleeding Heart routine, inspired by that time when someone laid a ginormous Gaga egg at the Grammys.

Each girl was attached to something that appeared to be a cross between the aforementioned egg and the balloon that crash landed in Oz by a mile of iPod bungee cord dangling from their Beats by Dre headsets.

The set up, and Haley’s dancing, were just an accident waiting to happen.

Forget deer in the headlights.  Poor little Haley was looking like she had just seen her first Health Class filmstrip on the human reproductive system.  She wasn’t even blinking.

Luckily, choreographer Tarua Hall had thought to stuff a forth headset into her travel bag before she left the house, because she needed it to tie Mama Angela down to her chair once the music really kicked into gear.

Lawd have mercy.  Girlfriend was dying to get up and show them little things how they do it at the church social.

Watching Chloe’s Mom pop it and lock it from her seat was a little slice of that Heaven she’s always talking about.  Testify.

There was also a little Haley and McKaylee Mom Melee that went down during the rehearsal, but Angela and I were too busy doing our thing to even notice.

Finally, it was Showtime!  And Kevin Manno Time!

Unfortunatley, playing the role of my boy Kevin this week was Pee Wee Herman.

Dude.  Really?


Even Angela thanked the Lord that your bow tie wasn’t red.  Was your ice cream truck double parked?  Is that why you seemed so fidgety?

Just promise you won’t ever do that again.  Promise.

Clearly a Lifetime memo had gone out that it was Costume Day, because even the judges had Gaga-fied themselves a little bit.

Abby had rolled a couple Slim-Fast cans in her hair and if you squinted it kinda looked like the Telephone video, I guess.  Or not.  Richy still had his feathery BluBockers on, but had accessorized it with a new sleeveless number made out of flowers from the Teletubbies show on PBS.

(Side note:  If you’ve never seen Teletubbies, stop reading this and Google a show or two.  I’m sure that more than one stay at home Mom put a bullet in her head after 4 hours of watching Po run in circles until he fell down, but for some reason that show still makes me want my binky.)

And a special shout out to whoever that guy in the audience was who did THE best sissy boy clap ever after Richy was introduced.  Ever.

New judge Rachell Rak seemed to still be getting used to the whole AUDC circus, because I think she thought it was Paula Abdul Week unless I’m forgetting one of Gaga’s earlier videos.

Backstage, Angela was working hard to keep Satan from breaking through the floor boards and spreading negativity throughout the studio, while one of the TBoyz was getting his hair painted red so we could tell him apart from the other one.

Freckles don’t show up very well if you’re any further back than Row #2.

We also got a quick montage of everyone except the janitorial staff making fun of Cindy by screaming “Giaaaaaaaaanna” in their best Philly accent.  I swear that lady’s voice could steer freighters away from the jagged rocky coastline during a foggy night at sea.


Then everybody danced like it was still only Week Two.

Good, but not great.

When it came down to it, Abby felt that there were no Lady Gagas on the stage that night.  Not even close.

As the judges chiseled away at the lineup, Melanie and her crazy hair walked right on stage and started tossing Moms under the Gaga tour bus like it was her day job until Abby got the hook and dragged all that friz biz back offstage.

In the end, it was down to scaredy cat Haley and a hyperventilating Chloe, who looked so sad up there trying to choke back tears.

And then Chloe was eliminated.  Mama got sad and the little dancer could barely take a breath as she thanked everyone for the opportunity and the corrections and the—

Wait.  What?

Stop the presses.

Call Back Card!

Psych.  Richy pulled out a piece of Martha Stewart craft paper with a sequined letter “C” hot glued to it…and suddenly, Chloe was back in business for another week.

SAVED by the elusive Call Back Card.

And then Mama took it to church, y’all.  Took.  It.  To.  Church.

Hands up in the ayah and everything.  I was waiting for her to run off stage and come back wearing a big hat and flicking a fan, accompanied by that choir that always follows Mariah Carey wherever she goes.

Gah.  I love that woman more than Teletubbies.

Angela, I mean.  Not Mariah.

And then there were ten.



Dance Moms: It Ain’t Always Easy In The Big Easy. Nationals Means It’s Time For Some N’awlin Brawlin’.

September 11th, 2013




Gimme strength, cuz Imma ’bout ready to take my shoes off and back that damn chick’s s*** up with one hand. F’real.





Yo. Just got a text that it’s going down hard in the French Quarter and Leslie needs back up. You crazy bitches in?






Stop…Stop…Stop! Lady, they don’t pay me enough to touch those boobs, so I need you to chillax.






Wha-? Why is Melissa hanging them jiggly, saggy half empty water balloons over the balcony? White people are crazy.





So you’re saying I’m gonna have to leave Pittsburgh and go back to LA to star in movies and music videos? Hmmph. Gimme a minute…






Oh, yeah. Mama likes big butts, and she cannot lie.







Hey, Vertes. I see your Bump-It and I raise you three feet. Game over, honey.





That NutWad is so lucky I don’t know how to swear, cuz I’m coming down from about 6 Diet Cokes right now, and I am NOT in the mood for this.




Nationals?  Already?

No way.  Really?  Who knew?

Umm.  Maybe everybody.

Unless you watch Dance Moms with the volume off (…which would actually make for a pretty HIGHlarious drinking game if you wanted to give all the Moms funny voices while they lip sync a fight scene…) you probably noticed that over the last few weeks every other word out of Abby Lee Miller‘s mouth had subtly hinted at something about the upcoming Nationals.

We’re going back to Nationals as the reigning National Champions in an attempt to retain our status as National Champions at the upcoming Nationals which are coming up soon.   And it ‘s my name, and my reputation on the line as we head to Nationals as the reigning National Champions.  At Nationals.

Rinse and Repeat.

It was like that.  But more often, with brighter jewelry and a scratchy voice.

Now finally, after all the reminders and subliminal references…

Wait for it.


In N’awlins, Louisiana.  The Big Easy.

And there was a lot to do and a lot of decisions to make, so Abby didn’t waste any time in getting right down to bidnezz, starting with the Pyramid of Shame.

(Note to self:  Always pack your hot rollers and head shots when traveling, because you never know when you might need to knock a kid down a peg or two.)

Since they were on the road, there was no grand studio entrance with all the little dancers filing into place.  They were just kind of there already.  All of them.

Including Payton and her slightly boisterous Mom Leslie.

Yeah.  Those two.

Attention Walmart Shoppers.  My kid is on the freakin’ team.  At Nationals.  So suck it.


Bottom row of the collage was reserved for Paige, Nia, Brooke, Kendall and Payton. Little crowded down there this week.

Paige had some kind of knee thing happen last week.  Nia’s feet didn’t do what they were supposed to on some kind of side sumthin sumthin.  (Oh, please.  If you wanted technical dance talk, I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t be reading this mess.) Brooke’s headpiece had fallen off (…what is it with the ALDC and headgear?…) and Abby still hated her mother.

Kendall scored really well last time but still ended up in the basement with Payton, who pulled a glossy photo right out of Mom’s plastic Costco bag and slapped it up on the mirror.  Nationals, bitches.

Second row was less crowded with only Chloe, Asia and Mackenzie looking up at Maddie still hanging in the top spot.

Abby claimed that Chloe was a better dancer two years ago, back when she used to spend more time in Canton’s Best beef jerky costume and less time signing autographs, while MackAttack got slapped for pulling a face plant in the middle of that 20 minute handstand walkover thing she was supposed to do last week.

Asia had won First Place in the Mini Diva Sassy Face category yet again last week, but Abby felt she totally boned the group routine and stuck her on the Pyramid Mezzanine.

Plus, Maddie was already taped to the top.  So you know.

The group routine this week (…at Nationals, in case you’re having trouble keeping up…) was going to be a tribute to all that the people of New Orleans have endured since Hurricane Katrina.

Abby had not yet decided who would be doing solos, so to keep everyone on their pointe toes she teamed the girls up and had everyone learn a routine.  Just in case.

That way, when she finally made the cuts, some dancers would have well prepared solos and the rest would have learned a nifty new routine for their Food Court Meet & Greets in front of Cinnabon.

It was pretty clear even before they got to rehearsing anything who would be getting what…but even at Nationals a few mind games never hurt anyone.

Needless to say, the Moms didn’t feel that any of the pairings set the girls up on a level playing field.  Holly felt that it wasn’t really fair and I felt that I needed to know where they buy those cell phone batteries that never seem to run out of juice.


(Pet Peeve Side note:  When we all hang out at the bar, just us girls, you look at me when I’m talking to you, woman.  Yeah…you.  You know who you are.)

And then suddenly, the Candy Apples were there.  With no bovine warning or nuthin.

Chaos Cathy Nesbitt-Stein and her revolving door of choreographers were also in N’awlins for Nationals, so we missed out on my favorite transitional scene with that ear tagged cow warning us about any Apple Cores in the vicinity.

So it caught me by surprise.

It also caught me by surprise that the Candy Apples were even there at Nationals.  Don’t you actually have to win something once in awhile to go to Nationals?  You do on Glee.

Since Anthony Burrell had recently gotten his low hanging hip hop undies in a bunch and jumped ship back to Abby’s Ultimate Dance Competition (…the second most repeated phrase this year after “Nationals”…) Cathy had brought in yet another choreographer to work with her troupe.

This time it was Blake McGrath, who strutted in all bad a** with his sleeveless flag shirt and neck tattoo.  You wish you were that cool.

Sounding like he just toked on a Cuban before he hit the rehearsal hall, Blake was all gruff and Boom Boom Pop and dropping names like it was hot.  He’s danced with a lot of famous people and immediately felt the need to let us all know that he has gotten closer to Madonna than you ever will, losers.

(Note to self:  Start name dropping more.)

Kristie Ray hasn’t put a restraining order out on me yet.  Does that count?

The Candy Apples group routine was going to be a dark Voodoo number.  One, because they like that edgy shiz.  And two, because Chaos Cathy clearly has enough black eyeliner in-house to make sure those kids can be seen from the cheap seats.

I was already looking forward to my boy Lucas Triana casting a one leg up in the air voodoo spell on all the ladies.

As both camps got down to rehearsing, the ALDC Moms got down to complaining.

As they bickered back and forth about the solo test pairings and the fact that Leslie was still hogging a seat in the room, Asia’s Mama was running out of patience.

Not attitude.  Just patience.  JLo was Over.  It.


During the Asia/MackSplat pairing, Abby asked them to improv a few bars, which was like telling Miss Monet Ray if she wanted to take a breath.  Needless to say, Miss Thang shot off like a bottle rocket while Kenzie stood there hit by some invisible cosmic Flash Gordon freeze ray.

Not gonna lie.  Watching Mom Melissa have a complete meltdown screaming at her kid to Dance Dance Dance You Do It At Home and then yanking her down into a folding chair was pretty much worth the price of admission.

For future reference, Melissa…losing your nutty doesn’t help when you’re trying to make a puppy pee on a newspaper or when your kid is blinded by the smoke coming off another dancer’s booty pops.  It’s just not gonna happen.

Then I sat on my remote and the TV switched to the opening credits of Mob Wives.

Or at least that’s what I thought happened when I saw all the Dance Moms walking down Bourbon Street like they were putting a Staten Island hit out on somebody.

JLo werked it in those stilettos.  Leslie kinda waddled a little like she had forgotten something in Aisle 7 and was holding up a cash register line somewhere.  The original recipe Moms were giving Kohl’s catalog realness, except for Holly, who was wearing Anthropologie.

(See…I do read your tweets.)

The Moms were all heading out for some cocktails.  What could possibly go wrong?

No sooner had I asked that question then I sat on my remote a second time and was suddenly watching MTV’s Real World: New Orleans.

Already traumatized by JLo’s surprise announcement that this would be Asia’s last dance competition, I was clearly not emotionally prepared for Melissa to whip out the goods and flash some poor tourists from Ohio innocently strolling under the restaurant’s balcony.

Hasn’t New Orleans suffered enough, Melissa?  Put your top back on.

And then it all went down in the streets, y’all.

Dance Moms meets Real World meets Mob Wives style.  All courtesy of whoever invented tequila shooters and stretch pants.

I don’t even know what really happened, but all of the sudden Christi smacked Leslie’s Slush Puppy right out of her hand and it was on.

Chick Fight!


If you’re gonna be a drunk, be a sloppy one I always say.

Holy youtube in the Target parking lot, Batman.

There was stuff flying and jiggling and splashing everywhere.  Some poor production schmo even had to race into the camera shot to make sure Leslie didn’t pummel the bleach right out of Christi’s hair.

You could tell he was a production guy because his baseball hat was on backwards.  It’s a thing they like to do on the set.

While Leslie stampeded like a bull, Christi froze in place and just pointed at something for quite awhile.  Not sure what that was all about.

(And props to all the other Moms who evacuated the dance floor so fast that I figured they had gone to buy souvenir t-shirts or something.  You’re on your own, Lukasiak, I haven’t even paid for these Louboutins yet.)

Finally, a second production guy came out and scooted Christi to safety.  At least I think he was a production guy.  He had an earpiece stuck in his head, but he was also wearing a Back to School backpack that made him look like he was just asking her for directions to the nearest youth hostel.

So I dunno.

All I do know is that the next day, Kristie Ray quit the show (…without running it by me first, I might add…) and I’m not really sure if I need to pay for Comcast cable anymore.

That’s right.  JLo left the building.

It all happened during yet another one of Christi’s slightly skewed retellings of her throw down with Leslie.

Leslie was off some where buying in bulk and was therefore not in the room to defend herself as Christi started another round of trash talk.  And JLo don’t play that.

Let’s just say you better be able to back up your (bleep) if you start throwing shade around Kristie Ray.  Haven’t you people learned anything yet?

JLo picked up her stuff, called them all crazy pants and said she was taking Asia back to Los Angeles to be a star.  Thanks for the snacks.


Right when I assumed that Kristie was about to shoot me a text and let me know she had just quit, Abby walked in and got the bad news.  And just one day before Nationals.

Because it’s Nationals, you know.

Turns out that Abby don’t play either and she sent Christie and Leslie back home just for being thugs.  Go be gangstah on your home turf.

A day before Nationals, and Abby was down three dancers.

But somehow they persevered and made it to Showtime!

Since there was hardly anybody left, all the girls that you would expect to get solos…got solos.  And they did just fine.  You can Google all the results.  Reliving the whole Kristie quitting thing again has me a little distracted.

Almost as distracted as I was by the appearance of a strange nameless ALDC dancer who was caught by the camera sitting up on stage during the awards.

In one 4 second snippet she became the stuff of urban legend.  She didn’t dance in the group routine, but she was wearing the group costume.  Were there two group routines staged?  What kind of government conspiracy is this madness?

Girrrrl.  Somebody is gonna get busted for that goof.

As the season finale wound down (…Spoiler Alert: Yes, they retained their National status…) Abby tearfully let the girls know that she wasn’t certain that there would even be another dance season for the ALDC since her mother was ill and she may or may not have already put down a deposit on some Hollywood real estate.

What?  No more Dance Moms?

Luckily, the same person who allowed that mystery girl to sit on stage was probably the same person who tweeted that the next season begins taping in a few weeks.

So, yes.  Somebody is gonna get fired for that one, too.  But Dance Moms will live on.

Just without Jlo and Asia.

Seriously.  I might need a moment.

Think they’ll miss all those crazy moms?




Abby’s Ultimate Dance Competition: It’s Round Two And Time To Make It Count. Hair Bow Chicka Bow Bow.

September 7th, 2013




It’s true. The Higher the Hair, the Closer To God. But the Bigger the Bow? Let’s just say God help them bitches.





I don’t think y’all need to be worrying about me. Once I drop it like it’s hot pot luck, they’ll be praying fo’ mo’. E’rybody got that?






That’s right, ladies. I’m back. And I clean up pretty nice, if I do say so myself.







Lawd Jesus, that little white girl just fell down and she ain’t got NO booty at all back there.






I’m not gonna lie. My boy Kevin’s looking pretty good this time around. Mama thinks somebody’s been workin’ out.






Seriously. One day and I’m already up to HERE with all that Honey Bow Bow crap. Sister better dial it down, asap.





Only the Best. Job. Ever. I get paid to wear glitter and give the finger to little kids. Hellz yeah.





Can I get a Whoop Whoop?

Or maybe a finger wave and a Halleloo?

Something celebratory, please, because it’s time to give thanks, testify and try not to sickle our feet.  Abby’s back.

Or at least Abby’s Ultimate Dance Competition is back.  Abby didn’t really go anywhere, unless you count those few times she mysteriously went MIA from her day job on Dance Moms this season.

But that shouldn’t even count as a no-show, because when she blew off Pittsburgh it was really just to pimp out her second show and set us all up for the longest subliminal cross-promotional advertising campaign in the history of network television.  Ever.

We get it.  AUDC is coming soon.

And now it’s here.  La segunda temporada.

Season Two, that is.

A second chance for some lucky little dancer to score a $100,000 wad of cash and a scholarship to the Joffrey Ballet School in New Yawk City.  A second chance to get cut early and end up dancing with Ohio’s Candy Apple’s Dance Center next season if Cathy Nesbitt-Stein continues to pad her team with ringers instead of local bumpkins.

And almost as important as the actual grand prize, a second chance at becoming the next breakout star from PlanetSass.

Can anyone say Asia Monet Ray?  Cuz dat’s what I’m talkin’ about.

But you can’t have a contest without contestants, so right out of the gate it was time to meet this season’s 11 hyperventilating hopefuls as they cruised through the mean streets of Hollywood in refurbished OJ Simpson Broncos.

Really.  I swear.  With the same KTLA 5 overhead shots on the same highway.


If they can’t do a standing split, you must acquit.

Seriously.  The only reason I knew I wasn’t watching CNN was the UDC logo on the roof of every getaway car.  Because that’s what all the hipsters call the show now.

Abby’s UDC.  Which is not to be confused with Abby’s IUD over on the Discovery Health channel.  Because that would be gross.

As well as inappropriately hilarious.


Through the magic of the same split screen they used on Fox’s 24, we met Mom Cindy and Gianna who immediately went for the Couldn’t Afford The Joffrey On Our Own sympathy vote.  I liked Cindy right away, even though I bet she could beat a chick down in a heartbeat.

The next car was packed so full of sugar and spice and cartoon animals and oversized hair bows that it probably required a reinforced chassis.  Mom Jessalyn and JoJo.

Yeah.  They’re gonna be a handful.

This season’s Big Hair Mom was Do Anything For My Kid Melanie and her daughter Haley.  Mom boasted that alot of other Dance Moms hate her and despise her kid.  She also reminded Haley that they didn’t freakin’ fly all the way from Connecticut to make friends, and to remember what they had been through.

Which was clearly a reference to some kind of East Coast wind tunnel.

Holy Big A** Mall Hair, Batman.

The kind that never fully dries.  I don’t really know how that works.

The token males of the species were twins Tyler and Travis, accompanied by Mom Sheryl.  The boys totally looked like they were just peeled off a silent movie screen and I could already tell that I was going to have trouble telling them apart.

I forget who, but either T1 or T2 ended up in a white shirt and suspenders at some point in the show and I swear it was liking watching a shrinky-dinked Leonardo DiCaprio chilling out on the Titanic.

We all arrived at the freshly painted UDC studio and met Mom Kira and Kalani.  I could tell right away that Kira was trying to move in on the Hot Mom turf that will for all eternity belong to my girl Kristie Ray.

Sorry.  Ain’t gonna happen.  That seat’s taken.  Please move along.


Also taking a Bronco ride was Mom Tiffany and her biracial daughter Ally.  She pointed the ethnicity out.  Not me.  And it wasn’t really necessary, because Ally was clearly rockin’ 13 pounds of hair that she can’t do a thing with in August humidity.

I liked her, and was especially fond of the way Tiffany already had it out for Jessalyn and JoJo before she even got both feet through the door.  Tiffany doesn’t do perky.

That would be a No.

The reigning Junior Miss USA Sarina and Mom Sharon decided to take a break from parade waving to join the competition as well.  They were joined in the studio by Trinity and her Mom Tina, who I liked right away because she looked like she could pull a samurai sword out of her Fendi bag at any moment and get this thing down to the Final Three before the first commercial.

Tina was a former professional dancer who walked and talked and posed like a former professional dancer should walk and talk and pose.  Plus, she got extra points because she was all about being In Yo’ Face, which I love.

Rounding out the Lucky Eleven were McKaylee and Mom Shari, who was working a Bump-It like an infomercial girl, and Chloe and Mom Angela who was big and brassy enough to pray for all these women.

I immediately got a TV crush on Angela, and kinda sorta hoped they both got cut the first week just so Lifetime could give them a sitcom with some of my favorite Pageant Nanas.

Girrrrrl, pleez.

Once everyone was lined up and accounted for, Miss Abby arrived for the first challenge.  No Pyramid of Shame.  Just a challenge to get this party started.

Ok.  Couple o’ things.

Noticeably absent from the week’s opening challenge was emcee Kevin Manno.

Remember last season when he would always accompany Abby on the challenges, all decked out in the latest J.Crew Casual Friday gear, flailing around those nervous hands and twitching his Boy Band Hair?

What?  Where’s my boy?  Abby was flying solo in the studio.


And speaking of.

Last year’s massive ballroom and that Gone With The Wind staircase the kids used to always stampede down were also noticeably absent this time around.  Remember how the kids used to practice in a room so massive that they didn’t even notice Kristie and Yvette rolling around on the floor during their weekly Bitch Fights?

Let’s Go!  Hit Me!  Hit Me!

I swear that will never get old.

Now they were all packed into what I believe was the set from last year’s Labor Day Telethon, all trying to out dance and out CrazyMom each other under broiler lights.

There’s well lit HD, and then there’s third degree sunlamp burns.

Whoa.  Someone needs to tell me they also noticed the changes.  And then someone else needs to explain what happened so I don’t dwell on it for the next ten weeks.

Since this was the first challenge, the theme was FAME (…remember, remember, remember…) and the skill set was basically EVERYTHING in the manual.

Before the starting gun even went off, Jessalynn told JoJo to push her way to the front of the crowd like it was Black Friday at Walmart.  Mama wants that Joffrey Ballet blender for Christmas morning even if she has to step on a few heads to get it, ok?

Oh, JoJo.  Bow Bow JoJo Bow Bow.  Honey Bow Bow Child.

It was like watching all 6 seasons of  Toddlers & Tiaras on your DVR at the same time.

With no Pause button on the remote to stop the madness.

And you’re watching them all while coming down from such a pure cane sugar buzz that everything in your living room looks like it was animated by Disney/Pixar.  And the more you watch your TV the smaller JoJo’s head gets and the bigger her hair accessories get, until she’s nothing but a gigantic cheer bow with jazz hands.

By the time she started spazzing out like one of those whatchamacallit dogs that bounce straight up and down instead of walk, I thought I saw Eden Wood tap dancing in my bathroom sink.

(She couldn’t use the tub because Liberace was giving himself a glitter sponge bath.)

That kid is exhausting.


Trinity ended up winning the mini-challenge, and got to pick her partners for the FAME routines.  Dances based on famous people.  Der.

She picked the Beyoncé theme, and dragged Chloe and Ally along with her.  Which was pretty exciting until Angela pointed out that Chloe was a Christian from a hardcore prayer-bookin’ family who has a hard time dropping it like it’s hot.

She said that.  And I think I died for a second or two.  Sitcom, please.

Tyler, Haley and Sarina were going to get their Michael Jackson groove on, courtesy of choreographer Anthony Burrell who somehow had gone from last season’s AUDC to hating Abby to jumping ship over to the Candy Apples on Dance Moms and then to hating Cathy and was now back on the AUDC Mother Ship.

Don’t ask.  It’s all a little incestuous with these people, if you ask me.  Regardless, the whole thing almost drove a stressed out Haley straight into MJ’s empty oxygen chamber.

Kalani, Gianna and McKaylee were chosen to strike a pose with a Madonna tribute, while Travis drew the short straw (…and the big bow…) and ended up paired with JoJo in a Gene Kelly movie dance.

After Tiffany and Jessalynn had the first craft table throw down of the season (…“You’re a circus! Now hand me that glue gun, you crazy bitch”…) it was Showtime!

And Kevin Manno Time!

Dude was back.  All slicked up in his knock-off Seacrest Collection, complete with one of the those trendy yet totally useless pocket squares and new Clark Kent hair.  You know he totally pulls down one forehead curl when he goes clubbing.

Also back at the judge’s table was Miss Thang Richy Jackson and his two signature Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy finger waves.  MmmHmm.  Girlfriend was still werkin’ it like nobody’s bidnezz, all sleeveless and sparkly.

New this year was judge Rachelle Rak.  She’s a big dealio on Broadway and had to sign a legally binding contract stating that if she mentioned the Pussycat Dolls even once this season I get to punch her in the throat.

(Robin Antin.  RIP.  Enough with the PCD.)

Ok.  Couple mo’ things.


The giant stage and auditorium from last season is gone, too.  Really gone.  And it’s been replaced with 1,000,000 of those hanging sparkly beaded curtain string things that the producers over at Lifetime seem to love so much.

Someone must have really scored a deal on those things by buying in bulk, because they’ve been hanging behind every Dance Moms reunion/fake talk show/moms tell all special for the last year.

I’m all set with those, thanks.

For the first time out, the routines weren’t as clunky as you might have expected.  Even Dancing With The Stars gets a lot of #4 paddles during Week One.

The biggest OMG of the night was when Gianna fell backwards right onto her Madonkadonk after tripping herself up towards the end of their performance.

NASA calls it a Hard Moon Landing.

After all the critiques, finger waves and JoJo jubilation, it was time to get real.

Haley, Sarina and Melanie’s hair ended up being in the bottom for Week One and faced the judges all alone.

Melanie just stood there completely obliterating the view of everything behind her with all that frizz, while Mom Sharon decided to use her time on the chopping block as an opportunity to talk shiz about Anthony’s style of teaching.

Because that worked out so well for Cathy and those Candy Apple Moms back in Ohio.

Maybe Sharon should have watched Dance Moms before she filled out the application.

Needless to say, Sarina was sent packing.

It wasn’t her day.

Or her Mom’s, who got all potty mouth one last time and declared that the whole thing was just Malarkey.

Malarkey if I ever saw it.

Because that word still exists.

I got nuthin’ after that.

JoJo…how many contestants does that leave us with now…?

That would be ten.


%d bloggers like this: