The Real Housewives Of Atlanta: Girl, Don’t Be Tardy For The New Party. It’s Gone With The Wind Fabulous. Ok?

March 14th, 2013

 

Who am I?  Who are YOU?

Girl, pleez.  Fix yo’ face, tighten that weave, figure out how to do arismastik and put on your red bottoms…because we’re going dancing.

It’s time to get Gone With The Wind Fabulous, you Hood Rat Bitch.

The Real Housewives of Atlanta 2013 Anthem has arrived, and it is a veritable potpourri of Fierce and Fab and Freaky Deaky.

Who knew that one little patio throw down between Kenya Moore and Porsha Stewart would give birth to the next great auto-tuned dance tune?

Drag Queens, Gospel Singers, Toddlers, Beyoncé (…Keyoncé?…) and Lil’ Dick werkin’ his gas nozzle all collide in the just released Official Music Video.

And it’s a Kenyapalooza.

Step aside Kim Zolckiak and let Miss Kenya show you how it’s done.

Hold onto your synthetic wig as Key Key sings, poses and grinds her stuff all over the screen just like the true Diva she keeps saying she is…and still finds the time to poke a few of her fellow Housewives in the eye.

Oh, yeah.  She goes there, Phaedra.

Because she’s Gone With The Wind Fabulous.  And you’re not.

Twirl.

Trust me.

There’s enough Fabulousness in this video to keep you busy for a whole year.

All 265 days.

Dance Moms: Don’t Ask, Just Tell. It’s Time To Get Your Nails Did And Bust Out Some Camouflaged Maneuvers.

March 13th, 2013

 

 

OMG! No…YOU hang up first. Ok. On 3 we’ll both hang up. OMG you still didn’t hang up. You are such a stupid head.

 

 

 

 

That Chippendales boy doesn’t stand a chance. That’ll teach him to keep his nozzle in his own tank from now on.

 

 

 

No clue what the dance is about, Mom. All I know is that gay people would never leave the house without doing their hair first.

 

 

 

 

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil.

 

 

 

 

 

Don’t Ask. Don’t Tell. And please don’t ever do that in public again, sister.

 

 

 

 

Umm. Yeah. Probably could’ve lived without the Vertes Vajayjay. Gangnam Style doesn’t seem so bad now, does it ?

 

 

 

 

 

Busted.

 

 

 

 

Be All You Can Be.

As long as it’s not Second Place, because that’s like the First Loser.

You can rest easy America.  This week our country just got a little safer.

And a whole lot crazier.

That’s right.  Dance Moms joined the Army.

The kinda sorta Gay Army.  But the Army nonetheless.  So you might want to put on your goggles and government-issued headgear because enemy fire never hit this close to home before.

After last week’s poor showing in Bernardsville, when the ALDC came home with nothing more than a bunch of 2nd Place certificates and a 5th Place slap in the face, Abby Lee Miller was getting ready to play military hardball as everyone scooted in for the Whatever Happened To Chloe? Pyramid of Shame.

Except she was doing it Ninja Style.

Calm and cool and collected.  So calm that it was freaking out the Moms.  Freaking them out to the point where I thought it was making Jill’s hair stand up on end until I realized that it was just her normally misbehaving ‘do.  I miss the Bump-It, honey.

Bottom row of the Pyramid was all Mackenzie, Nia and Paige.  MackaWhacka had come in with an 11 point difference between her score and someone else, so she got booted to the basement when Abby did the math on the front desk calculator.  Nia had been sick last week, which explained her high fever and Bird Flu-like double vision, but couldn’t justify any sloppy feet.  And Paige was on the bottom again because Abby still hated her Mom Kelly.  Even Abby seemed to know it was almost time to come up with some new excuses to poke Paige in the eye every week.

Second row was reserved for Maddie and Kendall.

Maddie dropped from three weeks on the top spot because of some bobble head move she made after 4 turns in her solo routine.  If that MIA squeak toy Sophia can do 519 turns without blacking out on stage, than the least Maddie could do for Abby was come out of her 4 without a face plant, right?  Abby was disappointed, to say the least.

Kendall was actually given some props for letting Mom Jill help her out so much last week (…covertly, or otherwise…) which jumpstarted Holly to an early lead in what could possibly be a new record for the most HollyFaces ever in one episode.

Granted, this one was a two hour Danceapalooza, but Dr. Holly was on fi-yah from the opening credits right through to the end when she was rockin’ some fiercely curled hair.

I see someone got her hair did for the competition, MmmHmm?  You go, girl.

We love that sassy faced Mom.  Two snaps and some Jazz Hands.

And at the top of the Pyramid was Brooke.  I know, right?

Shut up.  A smile would have been a nice touch.

There are two things that you never want to do when you’re in Pittsburgh.  One is stick your hand in the lion cage at the Pittsburgh Zoo.  The other is raise that same hand and ask Abby why you still aren’t on the freakin’ Pyramid after all these weeks.

But our girl Chloe is fearless.  She got nowhere, but she is fearless.  And at least she went off to rehearsal with all 10 fingers still attached.

The group routine was entitled Don’t Ask, Just Tell.

Like the military’s Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell.  But tweaked a little, in support of the two remaining closeted gay boys on Broadway.

Kidding.

It was a little more involved than that, but you get the drift.  Abby wanted to make sure that with the help of the Moms, all the little dancers would learn early on that it is ok to just be who you are, and to love who you want to love, and to accept everyone, regardless of their own personal views or choices.

It’s called Equality, people.  Learn it.  It’s time.

It was an edgy statement piece on acceptance and understanding and gay rights and Rhythm Nation dancing in army camo.

Miss Jackson, if you’re Nasty.

And speaking of nasty.  Abby went on a date.

Turns out that last week on her way home from the Moms’ less than successful attempt at Speed Dating, Abby had pulled off the highway to get some cheap unleaded Exxon and a 64 ounce Slushie, and somehow ended up hooking up with a random stranger who offered to cap her gas hole.

Because you know Ms. Miller don’t pump her own octane with those acrylics.

Bitch, pleez.

Her Mystery Man dialed up the studio to finalize their date, and when Abby got the call on her cell she went completely 7th grade study hall on the dude.

Giggles.  More giggles.  Blushing.  Whispering so her Mom wouldn’t hear her in the closet with the phone cord stretched to the max across the bedroom.  OMG.  I’m pretty sure she even went back to the front desk  after he hung up and practiced writing her new married name on the back of a sparkly spiral notebook.

OMG.  He’s so dreamy.  Totz drmy.  TTFN.

Abby admitted that she needed a little Hubba Hubba.  It had been a long dry spell.  I don’t really remember what happened after that, because I hit my head on the floor when I slumped off the couch.

When I came to, Jill, Holly and Melissa were at the Nail Salon with Abby getting her all gussied up for Date Night.  You would have sworn they were taking their SUVs in for a fresh undercoat spray the way they were trying to polish up Abby’s chassis.

Remember the scene in the Wizard of Oz where everyone is buffing out the Tin Man and re-stuffing The Scarecrow?

Yeah.  Like that.

And then to seal the deal, Jill previewed the evening’s potential final score by unleashing a scissor legged Bump-It & Grind Pussycat Dolls kind of thing in the nail tech’s face and then flashed some of her MomStuff on my 50″ plasma.  I’m pretty sure I hit the other side of my head right about then.

This time when I came to, Abby and gas station attendant Louie were at dinner.

Louie was an odd cross between Wolverine, the Phantom of the Opera, a Bloomingdale’s perfume sample guy and that dude who dresses like a gladiator and throws beads off a Pride Parade float.  Don’t Ask.  Don’t Tell.

He took Abby to some gift shop-looking antiquey restaurant type of place that looked liked one of those stores that only sells potpourri and frames made out of marbles.  But it was a restaurant, I guess, because somebody brought some food over to the table.

Abby laughed.  A lot.  Nervous laughter.  With her mouth full.

Louie even fed her a Chocolate Eruption (…you can’t make this shizzle up…) off his own fork, proving that he clearly had never been to the Pittsburgh Zoo to read that sign next to the lion cage.

When asked if he had any dance background, Louie stated that he had done male stripping and was a proud 180 pounds of twisted steel and sex appeal.

Really?  Let’s just note that 52,310 tons of Titanic still went down when it hit that big iceberg and leave it at that, ok?

While Abby was recovering from a face full of Chocolate Eruption, the Moms all headed to the Bridal Boutique for Round #2 in the Melissa Wedding Dress Search.  Since it didn’t go so well the last time they all hit the racks, the Moms were determined to get Melissa into a dress and get this wedding party started.

And nothing guarantees a good time like liquor.

As Melissa tried on every gown in the joint, Moms Gone Wild passed around the champagne and caused general dress disarray.  Kelly almost pulled a Maddie face plant when she dove for a test-run bouquet and Holly dumped her cocktail in her lap.  So all in all, the day was a complete success.  Melissa even found a dress that made her cry.

Oh, those crazy Moms.

In case you had forgotten, the show also involves children who dance.  So it was back to the studio to check on Mackadoodle, who had been having some foot issues over the past few weeks.

Seems there was some controversy and dramz surrounding MackSnackAttack’s foot.

Word on the street was that she was too scared to do the elaborate hip hop Army dance, so she and Mom were making the injury seem worse than it really was to get her out of the routine and still save face.  Mom said No Way, José while the rest of the Moms begged to differ.

There was a lot of whispering going on back there.  So Melissa scooped her up and took her to the doctor and magically came up with a No Dance clause in her contract.  Things that make you go hmmmm.

On the final day before the In10sity Dance Competition in Minneapolis, Abby wanted to make certain that the Moms all knew how important the Army dance was when it came to understanding equality and their daughters’ acceptance of extreme Shangela fabulousness.

Laquifa What?  Secrets are just Lies.  Tell the World.  And then Werk.

Kelly even took it upon herself to have a pretty decent talk with Paige and Brooke while they thumbed through glittery hot pants in the costume shop.  (The irony of that scene was not lost on me, by the way.)  But it was a good talk that waaaay more parents should be having with their kids today.

Well played, Mrs. Hyland.  Well played.

Finally, it was Showtime!

In10sity still had those annoying on strobing onstage light grids.  Seriously.  Doesn’t anybody read this blog?  Stop.  It.

To prove an overly dramatic point, Abby brought in a wheelchair for MackJack to sit in while the rest of the girls got ready for their dances.  If your foot is really as bad as you say it is, then sit in the chair and don’t move.

So I guess the moral of the story is that it’s not cool to make fun of gay people, but it’s ok to pretend you’re paralyzed.  Abby must have still been digesting Louie’s Eruption when she came up with that one.

Maddie’s solo was flawless according to somebody.  I forget who.  And Abby had no time for Brooke, who had to get dressed and practice all by herself…sans Dance Teacher, as they say in France.

The mystery of MackFootGate continued as Brooke busted out her solo with no help from Abby.  She did great, but admitted to not doing Tony The Tiger Grrrrrreat!  Abby felt that Brooke should be stepping it up now that she is 14 years old.

Grow up.  You don’t need me to hold your hand anymore.

Then somebody blurted out that MackaYakka had somehow miraculously regained the use of both legs and had been doing somersaults in the back room.

A Shangela Halleloo!  She’s healed!

Uh Oh, Spagetti-O’s.

The group routine went off pretty well.  Not quite a tightly, well oiled military machine, but pretty good.  More like a bunch of young white girls trying to do hip hop in one-size-too-big army boots when they are all classically trained contemporary dancers.  That kind of hip hop.  They did a really cool coordinated flip thing that looked pretty slick from the audience though.  So there.

Back in the army green room, Abby needed to get to the bottom of the whole MackFootJack issue, and lined all the girls up like they were shipping off overseas.  One by one she picked them off the line to drop and do pushups until they finally cracked and all admitted that they had seen some somersaults going down behind enemy lines.

Busted.

Then some kids won some stuff.  And again…it wasn’t the ALDC.

Clearly, something ain’t right in the Pittsburgh barracks.

Something that General Miller needs to fix ASAP.

Next week…we go to Dance War, soldiers.

Ten-Hut!

Mob Wives: Save The Mama Drama For Someone Who Cares, Because It’s Christmas In Sweet Home Arizona.

March 12th, 2013

 

 

My cosmetics line just launched Black Eye Blue and Fat Lip Fuschia, and I’m thinking of giving that bitch Ramona some free samples.

 

 

 

Yeah, it was a thong. But at least dat means she wears underwear. So dat’s kinda good, rite?

 

 

 

 

 

Seriously. But at least he works out.

 

 

 

 

Now I just got two more gigantic plastic ones to shove into the tree and then we’re good to go.

 

 

 

All I want for Christmas is a dog that will sever the artery in my neck while I’m ordering pizza for the girls.

 

 

 

Trust me, honey. You ain’t the first one to get on all fours and lick their junk when I’m around. True dat.

 

 

 

I mean…c’mon. Look at these chew toys. They’re like Staten Island-sized Snausages for really naughty Big Dawgs.

 

 

 

It was almost a Christmas Miracle, I tell you.

Like Barbie had somehow just landed on Sesame Street.

If Sesame Street was Benton Avenue and Barbie had just pulled a butter knife shiv out of the glove compartment of her convertible and cut a bitch, I mean.

This week’s episode of Mob Wives was brought to you by the Color Pink.

And the Letters F and U.

I swear.

And I know that for a fact because there was a lot of both being thrown hard and straight in our faces from start to finish this time around, in a festive pre-Christmas hour that began with a party and ended with a S.W.A.T. team fly over.

Just like any other Holiday Season on Staten Island, right?

It’s looking like Mob Wives might finally be getting their Mob Mojo back.  But Mojo…Mob or otherwise…ain’t cheap, which would explain the need for subliminal ad product placement.   And unless I’m mistaken, somebody clearly hooked them all up with that new L’Oreal Ombré hair coloring comb they sell at Duane Reade, because half the cast was totally rockin’ the latest on-trend dark to light look in every confessional shot.  Werk.

The whole thing started out at Big Ang‘s Ultra-Pink Christmas party.  Pink walls.  Pink dinnerware.  Pink table linens.  Pink wrapping paper.  And a Pink  Christmas Tree so vibrantly Pink that if you paused your DVR it would sting so bad you’d get Pink Eye.

It was like one of those Real Housewives of Beverly Hills White Parties they have every year.  Except Kim Richards wasn’t locked in the bathroom.  And it was Pink.

With just enough Jerseylicious Zebra print, of course, so as not to confuse the whole extravaganza with the little girl toy aisle at Target.  Cuz dat’s how they do on the Island.

Honestly, the only way I could differentiate between the actual artificial tree and Big Ang, all styled up in a well thought out coordinating outfit, was the size of her own ornaments as they overflowed that Pink blouse.  Love.  Her.  Especially during the holidays.

Every time Big Ang tokes on a smoke, an Angel gets their wings.

Drita, Karen and Ramona all made it to the party on time and got right to dissing about anyone not currently in the room.  Though Drita and Ramona had recently signed a peace treaty and were doing their best to uphold the terms of the agreement, their relationship was still a little awkward and it was clear that they’ll never be texting “BFF” on their brass knuckle iPhones.

Renee had chosen to skip the party to avoid any potential Carla drama, while Luscious Love Majewski had come down with Bronchitis and was also a no-show.

Bronchitis?  F’real?  Ain’t nobody got time for that.

(Seriously.  That joke will never get old.  How much do you love Sweet Brown?)

When Carla finally strolled in the door (…anyone else notice that the sun had completely gone down by the time she pulled up to the curb? Buy a watch, honey.  Lobster ain’t cheap…) it was immediately a little tense on the other side of the table.  Karen and Ramona were not big Carla fans at the moment, ever since that whole unfortunate ButterKnifeGate controversy had gone down at Big Ang’s last luncheon.

But enough with the cold shoulder.  Karen broke the ice and made certain that Carla knew Renee wasn’t at the Christmas party because of the way she had been treated at their previous get together, when Carla had played the Junky Card and swung that aforementioned butter knife all around the room like the Macy’s Parade baton girl.

Carla managed to spin the whole thing all backasswards in her head and somehow ended up proclaiming that she may have shown just the Tough Love that Renee needed, and…why yes, thank you…she probably was responsible for driving her into rehab.  So where’s the gold star?

Are you kidding me?  Karen and Ramona got all WTF?, grabbed some snacks to go, and hit the road to pack for their trip to Arizona.  Enough already.  Bitch is cray.

The food looked amazeballs, but once again Big Ang threw a party that tanked.

The next morning, Karen and Ramona headed to beautiful, hot but not humid Arizona to confront ex-boyfriend David Seabrook.  There had been a lot of unanswered questions lately surrounding Dave and his new girlfriend Rebecca, not the least of which was what the (bleep) was one of her nasty a** thongs doing in little Karina‘s bedroom?

Do NOT even tell me that you were living in the house, rent-free, and shagging yo’ girl when you were supposed to be feeding the dog?

Oooh, Child.  Karen smelled blood in the water.  And Ramona loves that shizzle, as she egged her on during the entire limo ride to the house.

When they finally arrived at Karen’s AZ home, it was like one of those quaint suburban houses where the family had been sucked into the TV set or through the back wall of the bedroom closet, leaving only a stray dog to wander around the kitchen and wonder what happened to his owners.

The place was empty.  No Dave.  No Dave’s clothes.  No Dave’s Playstation 3.  Not even a nasty a** thong hanging on the microwave handle.

Only Ozzie the Dog, who had to pee a manic mean streak by the time Karen showed up at the front door.

It didn’t take long for Karen and Ramona to do the math and realize that Dave wasn’t even living in the structure anymore, which meant that Karen had been paying a redoinkulously high mortgage on a dog house all these months.  My psychic powers told me that Karen was going to blow a nutty before next week’s previews hit the screen.

But we let that pot boil for awhile as we switched limos and drove up to Anytown, CT with Love, Big Ang, Drita and Renee in search of a brutally savage attack dog.

Since returning from rehab, Renee was finally sleeping in her Big Girl bed like a Big Girl, but was still terrified that someone might break into the house while she snoozed.  And she had already installed Best Buy video cameras and the same state of the art security system that laser beams the Hope Diamond.  But she was still stressing.

So the only thing left to do was buy one of those slobbery attack dogs that they leave in Nissan car lots after closing time.  (Trust me…it’s a fact, Jack.  Whatever you do, don’t try and stick your nose through the chain link fence at midnight to see if they still have that Turbo Z you test drove the morning before, unless you want to go home with wet pants and a dog on your face.  TMI?)

Now I’m not really sure why they had to drive 3 hours away just to watch some gigantic black dog maul a guy’s padded foam arm, but they did.

And it was totally worth it.  At least for me, because the whole scene was an odd cross between Cujo trying to get in the car window and that episode of I Love Lucy when she got a vase stuck on her head.

A lot of screaming and panic and bumping into each other.

Big Ang had enough fur on her body to pass for one of the attack animals if she wanted to try chewing on the dude’s wrist.  Drita pretty much laid a patch of yellow snow and ran as far away as possible.  Love the Dog Whisperer somehow managed to give the dog a bone, as we say in the porn biz.  And Renee ended up changing her mind and driving another 3 hours back home with no puppy in the backseat.

Six hours, people.  That’s gotta suck.

But not as badly as being in Arizona and walking blindly into a house full of hostile Karen and Ramona hormones.  Dave didn’t stand a chance.

Before his arrival, Karina had already shown up and given her Mom some serious 13 year old ‘tude.  The Duh You’re So Lame kind of ‘tude that somehow genetically and magically manifests itself when a girl hits that age.

You know exactly what I’m talking about.  It can hit anywhere.  She can just be walking down the street and it hits.  Or in a fitting room.  Granted, she’s usually directly in front of me in a Burger King line OMGing on her cellphone, but it can be anywhere.  Bitch.

Needless to say, by the time Dave walked into the Karen Trap, he didn’t stand a chance.

And it didn’t help that Dave’s kind of a DoucheBag.  Or at least his gum chewing is.

He has that Chump Dbag way of chewing his Nicorette that is truly an art form.  I can’t explain it.  But there’s just a certain way to chew your gum that just shouts to the world that you’re a DoucheBag even louder than any Affliction tee shirt ever could.

It’s like the way tough girls can crackle their gum in one bite so it sounds like Pop Rocks.

That’s an art form, too.  And probably code for F*** You Up, because as soon as one chick Pops the Rocks there are like 5 more girls surrounding the picnic table.  They’re like bad a** seagulls or something.  Whatever you do…don’t feed ’em.

Anyway.  Dave fesses up to not living in the house and Dbags his gum and excuses all over the place.  He didn’t tell Karen because he didn’t feel like it.  And then he told her to stop trippin’, which on Staten Island immediately makes someone start trippin’.  And then the whole Whoa Is Me I Was In Prison thing started, which prompted Karen’s What Did You Think I Was Doing Out Here While You Were In There thing to kick in, which in turn took Dave’s gum chewing to a whole new level.

Yeah.  This one ain’t over yet.

Back on SI, Drita showed Carla where her new Just Me Cosmetics store was going to be located.  Nothing much to see yet, since the whole thing was still under construction and all.  But it did give Drita a chance to go on Twitter after the show and pimp out the website, so at least Mama can start making some money.

And Carla had a strange Mardi Gras mask-themed birthday party in an empty VIP room with two friends from Brooklyn, where Drita showed us all how she dogged a huge hoagie during labor contractions.  Don’t ask.

Finally, back in AZ it was nothing but full on MobStuff for the remainder of the show, which was probably a little slap in the face for those of you who keep forgetting that these are actual people involved in The Lifestyle.  And possibly a little disconcerting for anyone thinking about writing a snarky, though HIGHlarious blog on a television show about real life Mobster types who could probably find you if they really wanted to on their way to The Wendy Williams Show.

Awkward.

Karen took Ramona on a little tour/TV montage flashback to where her Dad Sammy “The Bull” Gravano was busted by the Feds.  We also saw the stop sign where his enemies had planned on blowing him up with a bomb.  Karen even opened up about all the bad life choices that she had made throughout the years, not the least being that hair style she was showing off in her mug shot.

Whoa.  Seriously?  Sorry, K.  Love you.  Mean it.  But I just can’t.

We finished the whole thing off on a remote, undisclosed mountain top location.

Seriously.  They said it, not me.

These people know they’re on a TV show, right?  Even if they arrived separately in two black Escalades like Destiny’s Child (…one for Beyoncé and one for what’s her name and the other one…) they can still see the camera guys, right?

Honestly, sometimes it’s better to just go with it.  I mean, if you can watch Superman and believe that a man can fly, then I think we can all overlook the fact that they probably didn’t blindfold the sound tech before dumping him in the trunk.  And that’s why I love me some Mob Wives.

Karen and her brother Gerard wanted to be cautious and meet somewhere secluded to discuss new developments in their father’s case.  Developments that could potentially have him back out on the street by next week.

Again.  Great for the Family.  Not so great if you still plan on writing that snarky, yet HIGHlarious blog for much longer.

Gerard had discovered a discrepancy in the plea deal their Dad had made with some legal mumbo jumbo about Upward Departure and living in The Hole.  Google it.

Then a Black Ops helicopter buzzed overhead, and Karen knew it was a sign.

We Go To War.

It’s on.


%d bloggers like this: