Dance Moms Reunion: Run For Cover! Hurricane Abby Is Pounding The Real Housewives Of Pittsburgh Again.

September 18th, 2013

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If this chair wasn’t so damn comfy I’d get up right now and slap the crazy out of all of you with one hand. And so hard.

 

 

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Figures, right? The freakin’ last show of the season and I finally get my hair under control. I think that calls for some Gangnam Style.

 

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Keep it up, honey. Cuz Imma ’bout to put my ponytail back in and get this thing done. Let’s Go!

 

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Sometimes when they talk I still close my eyes and make believe I’m Andy Cohen on Bravo.

 

 

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I was wrong. In retrospect, I think I probably should have just called the cops when Melissa took her top off.

 

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Excuse me? I know I didn’t just spend four hours in a salon chair gettin’ color blocked and not one of you noticed?

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I took this dress off Layaway a month early, so I’m not going anywhere. Like I tell my kid…Suck It Up, Bitch.

 

 

 

Brace yourself.

Stock up on non-perishables, board up the windows and put a mattress on top of your kids.  And while you’re at it, you might as well get your hair did, put on a cocktail dress and have a seat on the couch.

Hurricane Abby is blowing into town.

It was the Dance Moms Reunion Show, and all your favorite crazy and not-so-crazy ladies were back to throw down and rehash this season’s Mama Drama one mo’ time.

Part Bravo TV Housewives, part PTA holiday dress up party, the whole shindig was once again hosted by Jeff Collins and his delightfully awkward transitions.

(Spoiler Alert:  “Before Leslie beats the living s*** out of Christi, let’s switch gears and just watch Mackenzie roll around on the floor for awhile, shall we…?”)

I’m not even making that part up.  Stay tuned.

But before Jeff got into any major flop sweat, the show kicked off with the Queen herself, Abby Lee Miller.  On a new and improved set, I might add.

Finally.

Since all of Lifetime TV’s dangly beaded sequin backdrops were currently on loan to Abby’s Ultimate Dance Competition, the Moms scored a fancier clubhouse this time around.  The stools were gone, thankfully replaced by couches again, so there would be no more sloppy Last Call Slip ‘N Slide in polyester dresses.

It was a nice enough set up.  Sort of like a cable access talk show.  Not basic cable.  But not the premium package, either.  It was like the middle one that gets you some HBO and the Spanish channels, but not Starz.

But it was a big improvement over the sparkly strings.  So kudos to the prop people.

As you’ll recall, the season ended with the Mutha of all Klassy Mother Beat Downs in the streets of New Orleans.  Christi vs. Leslie brawlin’ in N’awlins.

Thus, the theme of the evening:  Hurricane Abby.  Get it?  Because New Orleans gets pummeled by hurricanes a lot.  And homes get washed away.  And people die.  How ’bout you get off Facebook and watch the news once in awhile, kids?

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So there was that, and the fact that Jeff really seemed to enjoy saying “Hurricane Abby” and using as many meteorological terms as he could squeeze into one hour.  I lost count after he mentioned Abby’s levee was recently breached over the weekend.  TMI.

To set the scene, Jeff replayed the whole New Orleans street fight.  We got to relive Christi smacking Leslie’s 7-Eleven cherry Big Gulp all up in her face and then watch the hilarity ensue all over again.

We even got to see my new best buddy Backwards Hat Dude jump into the middle of the rumble and take a punch to the throat from Leslie, all while Christi froze in position until that kid with the backpack broke away from his school field trip to yank Mama Lukasiak back onto the sidewalk.

Trash.  Both of ’em.  That’s what Abby said.

So let’s bring them out and see what happens!

Separated backstage like incompatible zoo animals that would eat each other in the wild, Leslie and Christi came out on stage and saw each other for the first time as they plopped their junk down on opposite couches.

Christi kinda sorta admitted that the whole scene had been ugly and that she was kinda sorta wrong.  She also mentioned that the police had shown up and wanted her to “do certain things” which kind of skeeved me out for a second.  What does that even mean?

Before Leslie could attack, Christi pointed out that Mama Ackerman had been involved in numerous assaults in the past and I immediately started making up juicy stories in my head.  It’s kind of a gift that I have.

Can’t you just see Leslie breaking a bottle and threatening to cut a bitch with the sharp end on the Jerry Springer Show?  Or smashing a western saloon chair over Christi’s head?  Or just going full-on Walmart and ripping the weave right out of some chick’s head just so she can score the last Doorbuster flat screen?

We even got bonus Director’s Cut footage showing Christi dialing up the Po-Po on her blinged out cell while another dude bum rushed the scene in one of those straw hats from Old Navy.  The kid in the background with the blurred out face filming the whole thing on his iPhone is probably a rockstar back home at his dance academy by now.

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At the end of the day, Christi hadn’t done anything.  No apology to Abby.  No charges filed against Leslie.  No restraining order.  She didn’t even get Leslie a new Slushie or pay for her dry-cleaning.

Nada.

Leslie was not happy and just about to blow a major nutty.  So let’s just watch Mackenzie roll around instead, shall we?

That totally happened next, as MackSplat tumbled her way through a duet with SassyPants Asia.  Miss Oh Hey Monet Ray twerked and werked her Swan Song dance like a Boss and then disappeared from the ALDC forever.

Because that’s how you get it done.  I’ll be in LA if you need any pointers.  Peace Out.

I miss her already.

Next up was my girl Kristie Ray.  Minus the ponytail.  Because it was Dress Up Day.

Jeff stirred the pot and gave us the Klassic Kristie Klip when she went off on everyone else for trash talking Leslie while she was down at Sam’s Club and not able to stick up for herself.

As Kristie DivaPointed and DivaSnapped her way through the explanation for having defended Leslie on that fateful day, it became glaringly clear that not only is JLo going to be deeply missed by all her stalker fans next season, but also that if you edit out every time some crazy lady says “OK Whatever OK Fine Yeah Right Ok Whatever I’m Out” this show would be like watching a silent movie down at the multiplex.

Srsly.  Back up your s*** and have a nice day.

And then Kelly came out.  And Abby left.

Not quite that fast, but almost.  The two of them knocked each other down onto the mat again regarding Kelly’s questionably mediocre kids and who was responsible for the decay of modern civilization and Brooke‘s flexibility.

It was basically the same argument they’ve had every week for three years, just in nicer clothes this time.  So we can skim right over most of the flashback.

They fight.  Kelly quits.  Kelly comes back for the kids.  They fight some more.  Kelly quits again.  And comes back again.  Abby doesn’t let Kelly sit in the same aisle at a competition.  Kelly stands there blocking everyone’s view for 30 minutes, according to some producer whose job it is to time that kind of thing.  Then they fight some more about the stuff they already fought about yesterday.  And then Abby’s Mom mouths off to Kelly, proving that old lady snark really is pure gold.

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Needless to say, Abby got miffed and left the Reunion stage, leaving Jeff to fidget around for a second or two until he remembered that he had six kids standing out back who could probably fill some dead airtime with dancing.

Time to switch gears again.  Mr. Collins likes to say that when he’s not giving Hurricane Abby weather reports.

This was as good a time as any for all the other little ALDC girls to come out and do that dance again where Paige pretends to be a skinny Anna Nicole Smith.  Bravo.

After what I believe was another AUDC commercial, we were back for one more round of Leslie making it clear that she is here to stay.  So there.

Finally, Melissa, Holly and Jill were released from the Green Room, where they apparently had been held hostage long enough to not only color and flat iron Holly’s hair in some kind of front-to-back ombré style that they don’t show on the box, but also figure out how to get Jill’s Bump-It to actually look like the one in the commercial.

Rockin’ the new ‘dos, ladies.  Rockin’.

Always the Voice of Reason, Holly tried to explain to Abby why the other Moms had gotten so upset when she went AWOL for those two weeks, leaving them with no leader and no plan of action so close to Nationals.

Because it’s all about Nationals.  And you know how those always sneak up on you with no notice.  Right, Holly?

The whole thing then morphed into the same old argument about all these mysterious MomPacts that keep getting signed, and why Melissa had sent Maddie to California for an AUDC taping after they had all taken a wine induced blood oath to not participate in any of that nonsense.

JLo quickly pointed out that Melissa was the smart one for doing what’s best for her daughter.  Christi made so many faces that I think Holly got a little jealous.  And Jill finally caved and admitted that she would probably have done the same thing if Kendall had been presented with the opportunity.

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Then somebody pointed out that Melissa slept with her Boss.  Because she did.  Maybe.

Oh, snap.  Again with the Boss thing.

Realizing that there was still time on the clock, Jeff asked “What’s Left?” and for a second I wasn’t sure if that was another one of his signature segues or if he had really forgotten what was supposed to happen next.

Oh.  I know.  Kristie vs. Jill.  Now that’s what I’m talking about!

Flashback to my #2 Kristie Moment of All Time (…#1 being her classic AUDC “Hit Me!” interaction with Yvette, of course…) when JLo went completely mime-in-a-box, hands in the ayah ayah after Jill dropped the F-Bomb in her lap.

OhNoSheDin’t.  OoooHoooHhhOOOOhhhoooOOOhH!  F-Bomb!  F-Bomb!

Power of hands, ponytail and earrings:  Activate.

I was so inspired by JLo the first time I saw that scene that I now react the same way every time someone gets my order wrong at Burger King.

Oh, JLo.  Love.  Her.  And miss her already, but not in a creepy way.

Yet.

And then there was just enough time left for Holly and Leslie to compare parenting techniques (…“What kind of kid are you raising?”…) before Maddie came out to do a little dance about Drowning.  Hurricane Abby, remember?

And then Kelly got the boot.

Abby had finally agreed to come back onto the couch, but only if Kelly went and played in traffic.  As Mama Hyland scooted out in one direction, Abby came back in from the snack table for one last big announcement.

They had been pimping out this announcement for the entire hour, and if I had checked the Twitterverse, I’m sure that people were probably thinking it was something about Abby getting married to one of her Bi…coastal…boyfriends or being with child or something like that.  But I would never check Twitter.  But if I had, it would probably have been something like that.  But I didn’t.  Because that’s something that only 12 year old girls would do.

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The announcement?  Next season, Abby will be crisscrossing the country auditioning dancers for not only AUDC, but for the ALDC Elite Competition Team.

Wha–?  Hold up.  Just hold up.

One.  Isn’t that kind of what you dissed Chaos Cathy and the Candy Apples for doing all year?  Trolling for new dancers outside the studio?

And two.  What does that mean for all the current little dancers?  Are they considered Elite?  Are they even coming back?

Watching all the Moms go completely blank and just stare into space after the big announcement is definitely worth rewinding your DVR to see again if you have the time.

It sounded like that screech you hear when Fred Flintstone slams the foot brake on his car.  And then dead silence.  Only JLo was excited, because she already a ticket back to LA in her purse and would be looking at all these crazy bitches  in the rear view mirror in about two hours.

In yo’ face.

And then Brooke sang.  Because Jeff needed one more uncomfortable gear switch while the credits rolled.  I hurt.

And that’s a wrap.

The trophies are in the case and the dog is stuffed and on display.

Season Three is in the can.

Now we just wait for Season Four.

Hurricane Abby has moved away from the coastline, with only minimal physical damage.

Emotional damage?  Not sure yet.

But it’s safe to come out of your homes.

For now.

Sing us outta here, Brooke.

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

September 13th, 2013

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

 

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

 

 

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

 

 

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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.

 

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

 

 

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

 

 

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Just. Yeeeesh.

 

 

 

 

Whoa.

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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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?

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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.

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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.

Again.

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

September 11th, 2013

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

 

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

 

 

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

 

 

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

 

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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…

 

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

 

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

 

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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.

 

 

What?

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.

Nationals!

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.

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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.

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(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.

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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!

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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.

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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?

Meh.

k4

 


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