DanThat'sCool!

 

 

Freakin’ finally. Kendall’s in the hizzle, bitches.

 

 

 

 

 

It’s MY reputation out there. So if I need to f*** with some little minds…so be it. Now who wants a solo?

 

 

 

 

Seriously? If I wanted to dress like this every week I’d just run away and join the circus, ok? I’m all set with the bows, thank you.

 

 

 

 

Thank Gawd I only inherited my Mom’s Bump-It and not her crazy a** DNA.

 

 

 

 

When I close my eyes, I imagine the Road to Nationals is lined with unlimited texting cell towers and liquor stores.

 

 

 

BeatChloeBeat ChloeBeatChloe BeatChloeBeat ChloeBeatChloe BeatChloeBeat ChloeBeatChloe Beat…BooYeah!

 

 

 

You might want to check Web M.D.

Forget the Black Plague, Polio or that swamp land thing you get from mosquitoes when you don’t wear long pants after the sun goes down.

If this week’s Dance Moms is any indication, it looks like Solo Fever could prove to be more deadly than anything else out there.

It’s the Road to Nationals again.  And as any Gleek will tell you, it’s a long and bumpy one, often full of heartache, sweat and more than a few questionable fashion choices.

But trust me, those Glee kids have no idea how easy they had it, because figuring out how to conceal the fact that Finn still couldn’t dance after three years was nothing compared to a full on Abby Lee Miller Mind Freak.

That’s right.  When it comes to Nationals…and country buffets…Abby appears to have no limits or boundaries.  Only the best will do.  And if that means she has to mess up both your feet and your brain to score that elusive Clean Sweep?

Well, then so be it.

After a great, but still not Abby Perfect by Abby Standards, showing at last week’s iHollywood Dance Competition, Ms. Miller and the gang were still chilling on the West Coast with no apparent plans to go home anytime soon.

I’m going to assume that, coincidentally, everyone had either left extra dry food out for the cats or had all texted a neighborhood kid before Pyramid and instructed him to break a window to make sure nothing had died inside, because it almost appeared that sticking around California was a last minute decision.

Now I know it couldn’t have been that impromptu, but when Abby announced they were all staying and the girls had their weekly KidSpaz squeal, it did appear as though they all initially expected to be home by dinner.

Hold up.  Maybe that’s what all the Moms are always doing on those cell phones.  Could I have finally solved the mystery?

For two seasons I have openly wondered what they are doing on those phones, who in the hell they are always texting and how many times in one day someone really needs to update their Facebook status.  I mean, even when Kelly throws her hourly tantrum, she has that phone clutched in her paw like a Life Alert button.

I guess just because you’re blowing a MegaNutty doesn’t mean you might not suddenly need to tweet something important, right?

C’mon, ladies.  Unless you’re secretly working for the government or posting a link to my HIGHsterical blog…put the phones down.  Just for a minute?  I dare you.

(If you really were posting my link, feel free to wrap that up first…and then step away from the Blackberry.)

Anyway.

This week they were all heading to In10sity Dance.

Cool name.  Cooler spelling.  And pretty much impossible to find on Google unless you already know there’s a number “10″ stuck in the middle of the word for no reason.

But I’m all for edgy, and their website is pretty slick compared to the usual homemade laptop dance sites.  So A+ from DanThat’sCool, which either means nothing to you or is the best online thumbs up you’ve ever received.

I pick the second one.  Feel free to post the link, too.  I’ll wait.

Since Pittsburgh was so far away, Abby had secured space at the Millenium Dance Studio, which is noted for having hosted both Christina Aguilera and Britney Spears dirty pop booty slop rehearsals.  Needless to say, all the little dancers were some psyched to be in the presence of such naughtiness.

I’m going assume that Xtina and Cheetos didn’t actually use the same tiny room that Abby had squeezed everyone into…but when you’re paying by the hour and the square footage, you get whatchoo get girls.

Regardless, even on the West Coast the Pyramid of Shame comes first.  A three hour time difference doesn’t change the rules.

Bottom row was home to Kendall, Paige, Brooke and Maddie.

Kendall was finally on the wall.  Halleloo!  But everyone starts at the bottom.  So enjoy the view.  (That was unintentionally poetic, in a Dr. Seuss kind of way.)

Paige was still weighted down by that damn clunky boot.  This week her foot was 99% healed, so the boot was gone, but the residual effects of the last 4 weeks were still dragging her down to the bottom like cement shoes on a gangster.

Brooke was there for timing issues, and because Abby always likes getting a rise out of Mom Kelly.  It worked.

Maddie was there once again because Abby was f***ing with her mind over not doing that solo ten years ago.  Let it go, Abby.

Middle row was Diva Nia and Chloe.

Sasha Nia had officially progressed to Diva status last week with her Billy Holiday-ish shoobie doo bop wah skeedaddle scat dance.  You go, girl.

Chloe had Weeble Wobbled at the start of her routine and still  landed in the top 5, but Abby wanted top 1 if you know what I mean.

Finally, it was Mackenzie at the top!  You would have thought those One Direction boys had just walked in the room she was so happy.  I swear that last missing tooth finally came in she smiled so hard.

Abby had decided to use the In10sity Dance stage as an unofficial ALDC audition to determine who was going to Nationals, who would get a solo at Nationals and who would require a minimum of 4 years of therapy after Nationals.

Yeah.  Nationals are a pretty big deal if you haven’t figured that one out by now.  Right up there with Mind Games.

All the girls were handed solos this week.  Except Maddie.

You heard me.  Nada Maddie.  You also heard me say Mind Games.

Off on the sidelines, Melissa went total Pageant Mom and motioned for her daughter to blow finger kisses and raise her hand to ask for a solo.  Bad move, Mel.

If Abby can spy a chicken nugget on the floor 12 feet away under a table, it’s a pretty good bet that she can see a Mom flailing her arms around like an inflatable balloon guy on a used car lot.

It was just more incentive to mess with Maddie’s head.  Come back and beg later, honey.  Miss Abby’s busy right now.

The Millenium didn’t come equipped with a MomPerch, so the gals all headed out to what kind of looked like a saloon to dish the dirt.  It was all planks and wood and some odd metallic flashing that should have been up on the roof under the shingles.  It also came fully decorated with a “No Sexism. Just Dance” poster like you would hold up at a union rally in the park when the hotel housekeepers all picket and walk off the job.

I dunno.  I didn’t ask.  Just Dance.

Melissa’s internal fire drill suddenly went off as she grabbed her kids and left 20 minutes early.  Everyone knew something was up, but she refused to elaborate.

Turned out that Melissa was bringing Maddie and Mackenzie to the MSA (…as opposed to the MSPCA, which wouldn’t make any sense…) to meet with an agent named Jen.

In yet another slap to anyone who may have spent the last 15 years of their lives waiting tables and trying to sneak into an agent’s office, M & M were pretty much handed the keys to the city and immediately put on the radar for any upcoming Pop-Tarts commercials.

Trust me, Melissa will keep those gigantic bows in Mack’s hair until she’s 45 years old if it gets her face on a Wheaties box.

As long as they were all out there in California with some time on their hands, Kelly figured they might as well cut a record.  I mean…why not, right?

So everyone scooted off to meet with Producer Seven, who was the same dude with the cool hats that was lurking around last season during that whole music video extravaganza.

Hmmm.  Do the math.

Thanks to Seven, all those people who were just slapped in the face by Maddie’s agent could also now witness Brooke waltzing into a recording studio with her dancing backup singers and laying down some auto tuned tracks for the youtube single she and sister Paige had busted out last week after they finished their homework.

A couple hours later:  One record done and ready for airplay…no waitressing skills required.

By the time Abby jumped on Brooke’s coat tails and convinced everyone to film a music video with her handheld camcorder, I was starting to think that maybe this whole internet phenomena might be here to stay.

As the girls all danced and lip synched and stopped traffic on their rented tour bus, I silently began plotting how to become the next Justin Bieber.

Let’s just say that Maddie isn’t the first person to ever break out in some serious jazz hands in the middle of a crosswalk, mmkay?

Don’t be hatin’.

See you on the Crosstown 39 at 5pm.  Call Me Maybe?

Somehow, between the agents and the studio time and the music video, everyone actually had time for some In10sive rehearsing, since the whole show is still supposed to be about dancing after all.

Maddie asked for her solo once or twice, and then finally begged and groveled until Abby deemed that she had learned her lesson.

The lesson apparently being Don’t F*** with Abby.

Finally it was Showtime, and it was a Solopalooza.

MackAttack danced in yet another Ringling Bros. and Barnum & Bailey outfit and got the dreaded Toddlers & Tiaras slo mo music when she momentarily forgot what she was doing.  Despite her brain freeze, she scored Mini Elite Solo First Place, which totally sounded like a J.D. Power compact car award.

Kendall was in it to win it was out to prove that she deserved to be on the team, regardless of how whackadoodle her Mom may be at times.

Nia did a ’60s inspired Laugh-In dance that was 100% fun and 200% Diva Face.  Werk.

Maddie nailed her solo, which was especially impressive considering that she didn’t even have a solo 24 hours earlier.

Chloe got even taller this week and did a ghostly number that scored a Proud Mom Face from Christi.

Paige danced through the pain and even made me wince a little when she flipped around on her bum leg.  Yeeouchers.

Brooke did some crazy flips and got one creepy smile from a male judge that should have been edited out or encrypted and sent to Dateline.

Abby’s plastic color coordinated jewelry was as spot on as always.  You totally know she has a bazillion Container Store boxes at home all color coded and ready to go in case the building catches on fire.

Every outfit needs a matching ring, bracelet, headband, necklace and Skechers sneaker or that bitch doesn’t leave the house.  True dat.

The only thing missing this week was the Drama.  It was pretty low key on the Dance Moms scale.

The Moms had already driven Krazy Kaya out of Dodge after only one episode, so there were no NeNe Leakes throw downs or Kelly texting meltdowns.

No Real Housewives of Pittsburgh screaming matches.

Jill appeared to have lost both her Bump-It and her rabid dog instincts all in the same week.  Everyone was…almost getting along.

It was scary.

And wrong.

But luckily the whole thing ended with a quick preview of next time…and as soon as I saw Chaos Cathy‘s jerky face poke out from behind the door, I knew she would make things right again.

The Road to Nationals just hit a Candy Apples bump.

 

 

 

Hey, bitches. Sup? Fix yo’ face, cuz the Tight & Right tag team is about to get all up in it. Mmkay?

 

 

 

 

 

 

Oh. Hell. No.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Can she spell Rond de jambe? What the hell does that damn genie on Pee Wee’s Playhouse have to do with krumpin’?

 

 

 

 

 

Do NOT get all ethnic on me, or I’ll whoop yo’ a** with my doctorate AND condition that nasty hair while I’m at it.

 

 

 

 

 

OMG. And then Holly was all like this and she went all like that up in her grill. Realz.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Umm. Yeah. I’m all set with Black Patsy. Thanks for asking.

 

 

 

 

Hey, Pittsburgh.

You might want to stock up on non-perishables and head to your Safe Room, because a big, sassy chunk of meteor from Planet Fierce just entered the atmosphere directly above the Abby Lee Miller Dance Company, and it looks like the shock waves from impact could potentially reach as far away as that joint in Ohio that sells beef jerky and tap shoes.

Dat’s rite.

St. Louis is in the hizzle, bitches.

Meet Kaya and Nicaya.

Dance Moms just took a page out of the Poor Man’s NeNe Leakes Handbook and unleashed a big a** bag of OhNoSheDin’t all up in our faces this week, with the arrival of a potential new Mom and her sassy braided daughter.

As you’ll recall,  last time at the party following the ALDC Recital Of All Recitals Ever In The History Of Recitals, Abby had mistakenly assumed that Kaya was one of the hired help waitresses and struck up a conversation in an attempt to score another plateful of those little wieners on a toothpick.  After realizing that the woman wasn’t wearing an apron or sensible shoes,  Abby discovered that Kaya and her daughter were actually in Pittsburgh trolling for new studios.

Much to the dismay of dancers around the planet who have spent the last 15 years of their lives sweating away at auditions and open cattle calls just for a slim chance at handing off a headshot, Kaya had somehow managed to get her daughter invited to Abby’s Garage for a quick check under the hood in the first two minutes of face time.

Sister’s got it going on already and she ain’t even through the front door.  Dang.

But even Fierceness has to wait for the Pyramid of Shame.  Rules are rules.

As the little dancers all fell into their Bob Fosse Army lineup (…in strict formation, but with one hip popped like you do when you hit the end of the ramp on Project Runway…) and the Moms all headed to the back looking like that JCPenney specialty catalog insert with all the crazy, blindingly bright summer handkerchief patterned dresses, Abby got down to business.

The lowest level of the Pyramid was the official landing strip for the Paige, Brooke and Mackenzie airline.

Paige was there once again because she had spent yet another long week dragging that big Quasimodo foot behind her waiting for her Hugh Jackman mutant healing factor to kick in.

(That joke is only funny if you know that Hugh Jackman played Wolverine in the X-Men movies and that he’s also a Broadway song & dance guy, and that in the comic books Wolverine had the ability to regenerate broken bones.  I’m not sure if dancers actually have time to read comic books, so in hindsight I may have just used up some valuable story time.  If I was going to Monday Morning Quarterback my decisions, I probably just wasted a paragraph.  My bad.  But if you can find me another Reality TV website that can get football, dance, comic books and a movie star who gave up his adamantium claws to jazz hand like a gay Peter Allen all in one story…well…yeah, good luck with that.)

Now I forgot where I was.

Wearing one of those enormous walking boots may help your toes all heal in the same direction, but it isn’t much help in your jazz hands routine.  So another week of non-dancing meant Paige’s photo was now officially rubber cemented to the bottom row.

Brooke was there because she was in a Hip Hop number, and she can’t do Hip Hop.

That’ll do it.

To find out why MackAttack was on the bottom, simply replace Brooke’s name with Mackenzie’s in the previous sentence.  Second verse, same as the first.

Sasha Nia and Chloe were bunkmates on the second row, mainly to allow Maddie top billing again.  Granted, Maddie won the scholarship at the Recital, but Abby would probably stick her girl on the top even if she was wearing two of Chloe’s boots and a neck brace.

Kendall got nada again, and Jill‘s Snookie Poof completely deflated.

MackaDoodleDoo, Nia and Chloe were all handed solos this week, and then in a psychotically split personality moment,  Abby refused to give top spot Maddie a solo because she was still holding that grudge from when she and Mom Melissa refused a last minute solo a few weeks back.

Or maybe it was 2009.  I dunno.  That one seems to be going on for a long time now.

This week the gang was headed to beautiful California for the iHollywood Dance Competition.  For those of you who missed it last time, iHollywood is the one with the ginormous movie camera backdrop graphic that looks exactly like Beaker from the Muppet Show is undressing you with his eyes.

Check it out.  Big creepy eyeballs that follow you wherever you walk in the ballroom.  Even when you go to the bathroom at intermission.

The group number was another spoken word coffee house routine, similar to the now infamous Where Have All The Children Gone?  Except this time there wouldn’t be 72 pounds of Sand Bag Vivi-Anne aimlessly swinging on a swing set waiting to get abducted.

National exposure and my face on the opening credits of a television show about dancing without ever having to actually dance?  Hell, yeah.  I’ll be down at the playground if you need me.

No worries, though.  This time around the spirit of Vivi-Anne would still be ever present, because the dance was based on inmates in an insane asylum.  So yeah, it would almost be like she was still back there sucking on a Life Saver waiting for somebody to pick her up and toss her off stage.

Once all the busy work was done, the Moms headed to the MomPerch and the girls got to practicing.

And then it happened.

Kaya and Nicaya entered the building.

Sashaying her ’70s Dy-No-Mite hair and ’80s pink track jacket all over the studio, Kaya handed off her daughter to Abby for a consult and joined the Moms in the Perch, where she was greeted by whatever the opposite of open arms is called.

MmmHmm.  Introduce yo’self, bitches.

After a quick run through on the Moms, Kaya was asked what she thought of their kids in the Monster Truck Pull Recital last week.

Boom goes the Dy-No-Mite.

Kaya tried to break it down for them.  The girls all had good technique and could dance, but they weren’t entertaining.  They didn’t have no Divatude.

Jill, who was uncomfortably sitting as far away from this new Cup o’ Crazy as she could, didn’t know what to make of the whole thing and went back to figuring out what to do with her new hairstyle while Christi leaned forward and worked on a few new facially flabbergasted expressions.

Melissa then tried to lighten the mood by asking what the embroidery on the front of Kaya’s 3D track jacket boobage was all about.

MmmHmm.  It said “Black Patsy.”

Like Patsy Ramsey.  But Blacker.

Wha–?  I just can’t.

Google it.  And then come up with 400 reasons why you would never want that thing anywhere near your own jugs.

To break the silence, Melissa awkwardly mumbled “I love that name.  It’s really pretty” mainly because she couldn’t think of anything else to mumble.

Lawd have mercy.  Please let her be talking about “Nicaya” and not one of the Patsy Ramseys.  Please.

As Kaya threw shade all over the Perch, Abby put Nicaya through a few drills only to discover that the girl couldn’t spell or demonstrate most of the requested dance techniques.  Once Kaya joined them in the studio, Abby laid down a few rules and sent them home to buy a dictionary.

MmmHmm.  And now you want us to learn how to spell them stupid a** dance terms?  Just put in the damn CD and watch my daughter dance, bitch.

The next day, Jill had located her Bump-It and it looked like things might calm down a little, until Kaya showed up at the front desk telling Abby that she would do whatever it takes to get her daughter on the dance team.  Personally, regardless of who made the offer, I would have taken the opportunity to get that hot mess of a front desk cleaned and organized, but turning Kaya into the token sassy ALDC maid probably wouldn’t be in anyone’s best interest, even though I would so love to see Abby Lee Miller go head to head with Al Sharpton.

(And you know he’s such an ambulance chaser that he was probably driving around and around the parking lot just in case anything went down on Day 2.  I’m pretty sure that was his ironically white station wagon out front.)

Real Housewives Marathon, anyone?  In what would normally take Andy Cohen about 4 to 6 weeks to fully reveal, somehow in under 10 minutes we found out that Kaya had loads of kids, was working a job while the other Moms were texting on their iPhones, was either divorced or no longer with at least one Baby Daddy and now a lesbian with a weird Gaydar take on Melissa.  Oh, Snap.  NoSheDin’t.

MmmHmm.  You got a problem wid dat?

Somewhere in the middle of all this fierce chaos, Paige was cleared to dance without her Hunchback foot and Kelly had yet another meltdown because Abby was doing the usual Mind F*** with her kids.

Turned out that Paige could dance, but not do tricks.  That meant she couldn’t balance a ball on her nose or do whacky back flips until competition day, and when she asked to wimp out a little and just mark her moves during rehearsal, Abby implied that she may just stick Nicaya in Paige’s spot at iHollywood and then began messing with her brain.

As Jill and Kaya both visualized their daughters’ faces superimposed over Paige’s body on stage, Kelly blew a major nutty.

I seriously need a spreadsheet or something to keep track of how many times Kelly blows a major nutty, because it’s gotten to the point where I can’t tell if they are all separate ones or just one long drawn out spaz that has been going on all season.

And then it was Showtime!

Back in the makeup and screaming room, Abby had still not decided if Paige was going to dance or not, and Kelly was either getting ready for another nutty or just pausing the current one for a second.

When Abby asked about Kelly’s behavior back at the studio, Kelly denied that anything really dramatic had happened.

MmmHmm.  That’s a lie, bitch.

Yeah.  Kaya went there.  And then it was on like NeNe Donkey Kong.

Hard as it is to believe, at some point they did manage to get some dancing done.  Nicaya and Paige both ended up dancing.  No big surprise since they both shlepped all the way to California.  That would have sucked.

But the dancing hardly mattered with all this good dirt flinging around the room like monkey poo.  Sorry kids, but this week it was all about the Moms.

Before and after the competition Kaya managed to head snap and finger wave herself right off of everyone’s Holiday greeting card list so hard that the Moms were starting to line up alphabetically for a chance to slap that constant half smirk off her face.

MmmHmm.  Where’s my Sistah at?

Yeah.  She even tried to pull the LaQuifa Card on Holly.  The same doctorate-holding Holly who has spent the the majority of the last two years trying to get all the afro picks out of Abby’s supply closet and let Nia just be a freakin’ dancer regardless of her ethnicity.  The last thing you wanna do is start any conversation with Holly that is going to include the words “As A Sister…” and then try to drag a school principal down to the ghetto on your Crazy Bus.

Black or white or John Deere green, I love Holly.  And she gave it right back to Kaya without taking her earrings off, losing a track or popping one single nail.

All she had to say was “Do NOT…” and I ran behind the couch.

MmmHmm.  That’s how we do.  You stay classy, Girlfriend.

Yup.  The Real Housewives of Pittsburgh are getting ready to rumble.  And it ain’t gonna be pretty, ladies.

But it’s gonna be fierce.  Cuz Kaya’s in the Dance ‘Hood.

And she don’t play.

MmmHmm.

 

 

We’re gonna rid this town of every Candy Apple in existence, even if I have to eat them all myself!

 

 

 

 

 

Please. When I open my eyes, Vivi-Anne is suddenly a mean dancing machine. Is that really asking too much, Lord?

 

 

 

 

Umm. Hellooo? My Mom said there’d be M&Ms on stage…? And shouldn’t someone be picking me up by now?

 

 

 

 

 

Sweet Jeezis. This really is my life.

 

 

 

 

 

You go there. And honey, you go there. Now just pretend to be as Fierce as we are…and good luck with that, bitches.

 

 

 

This week’s Dance Moms DVR Drinking Game?

Take a shot every time Abby Lee Miller said “Clean Sweep.”

Just be sure to program your Comcast box to keep the recording for a future viewing before the festivities begin, because the first time around it’s pretty much a guarantee you’ll miss approximately 55 minutes of the show due to blacking out from alcohol poisoning before the first commercial break.

It’s true.  Abby wanted a Clean Sweep this week when she went up against her Evil Nemesis Chaos Cathy Nesbitt and all those rotten to the core Candy Apples dancers.

And she made certain that we all knew it.

Over.  And over.  And over again.

After wiping the dance floor with most of the other studios at last week’s event, Abby was looking to continue the winning streak as the ALDC headed to Myrtle Beach for what I believe was their 4,386th trip to a Starbound National Talent Competition.

Though the trophies and bragging rights are always a nice touch, this trip to Starbound was not going to be complete unless Abby could return with Cathy’s head securely mounted to one of those Things Remembered mall plaques that they always give out with that folded t-shirt during the award ceremony.

(See…and you didn’t think I paid attention during the last five minutes of the show.)

But even plotting the downfall of an adversary has to wait until the Pyramid of Shame is revealed, so in pranced all Abby’s little dancers.  All the little dancers except for Paige that is, who did more of a Budweiser Clydesdale kind of clomp due to her left foot still being strapped inside that walking boot.  The injury from her backwards somersault belly flop onto concrete seemed to be healing nicely, but it was definitely cutting into her dance routine and sort of slowing down the cafeteria line as well.

But they all made it in eventually, and Abby immediately started ripping off the photo covers like an exceptionally sturdy Price Is Right girl.

Bottom row was made up of Brooke, Paige and Mackenzie.  No real shockerzzz.

Brooke was in the basement because her back was still sore from slouching and moping around about boys.  Anyone who ever got dissed at a Junior High cafetorium dance can relate to her teen sourpuss face, so I won’t get all up in her grill just yet.

Been there.  Done that.  Just knock it off before Graduation Day.

Paige was right there next to Brooke because of the whole concrete face plant fiasco.  If you don’t dance, there ain’t many spots available, so she was ok with her third place status.

MacAttack was bringing up the rear because she cried like a little kid.  Which is what she is.  But for reasons that escape me, that logic doesn’t fly in the Dance World.

Second row was all about Maddie and Chloe.

Now even though Maddie had basically taken every trophy off the lobby display table last time and still somehow found the time to clog my television screen with 57 commercials for Drop Dead Diva, she had actually only won her title by 6 1/2 points…and Abby wanted 20.  So hang on the second row and see how that one feels, missy.

Chloe needed more intensity.  And she also needed to get her a** out of the way because Sasha Nia was coming through, beeotch.

Dat’s rite.  Girlfriend made it to the top, thanks to her channeling RuPaul’s Drag Race and getting all LaQuifa Part II on the judges.

Mom Holly chest bumped a few of the other Moms and almost went into her Arsenio Dawg Pound impersonation she was so excited.

I love when Holly puts the Doctorate back in her purse and goes all VH1 on people.

Since Kendall still fell under Abby’s “guest” status, and Mom Jill was still having some pretty serious styling issues with her new haircut, they both got nothing but attitude.

Sorry.  No room at the Pyramid Inn.

Besides being top o’ the heap, Nia was also named Dance Captain, which I honestly thought was a title only given out on Gay Cruise Boats.  But I was mistaken.

As she explained her duties, I was so distracted by her headpiece that I missed most of the deets.

Now I love me some Nia.  It’s well documented.  But WTF was that thing on her head?

Seriously.  If that wasn’t a BeDazzled Maxi-Pad I’m quitting my blogging job.

As the Moms all trotted up to the Perch, everyone got down to rehearsing.  The group number was another one of Abby’s poorly veiled salutes to Maddie’s superiority, this time disguised as a Children of the Corn Cult thing where the other mediocre girls try and bring Maddie down to their level by tying a funeral bonnet on her head.

Christi smelled that one coming, and quickly jumped right up Melissa‘s skirt and down her throat at the same time.

Now I watch a lot of Bravo TV.  Probably too much.  But let me tell you, a few Jersey Housewives could take a page out of Melissa’s Flip Out Book, because somehow a discussion on Amish headwear suddenly turned into a full on BitchFest.

You’re a Bitch.  You’re a Bitch.  And you’re a Bitch.  No, you’re a Bitch. Oprah says you’re all Bitches and here’s your present!

I lost track of what happened about midway through the argument.

But trust me, I was paying full attention when Christi accused Melissa of living with a married man.  And by the time Melissa shrieked that she did NOT have an affair with her boss, I expected Andy Cohen to burst through the glass doors and push Teresa back down in her chair.

Say it with me:  Prostitution Whore.

It was like all my worlds were colliding.  If I smoked I would have gone out on the fire escape to regroup.

The next day, needless to say, Melissa and the girls were a no-show, much to Abby’s chagrin.  Do the math.  They were now short two dancers.

As the Great White known as Jill once again began circling the blood in the water, we jumped on the tractor and headed to Ohio and the Evil Dance Lair, where Chaos Cathy was unveiling her plan to bring down the ALDC.  Again.

Noticeably missing was my favorite bad a** red haired Mom, who must have been getting her roots done or the Harley detailed.

Love.  Her.

Luckily, though, she was replaced by one of those women you always see in country music videos standing on the porch with a baby on her hip, waiting for her cheatin’ no good man to come home smelling like restroom perfume.

No clue who this Mom was, but she needed to get a better grip on that infant, because he looked like he was slipping off the burp rag on her shoulder.  Being blessed myself with a substantial noggin, I know how hard it is to maintain an upright position after a warm bottle.

To guarantee a win at Starbound, Cathy had brought back everyone’s favorite plain and peanut M&Ms, Mitchell and Michael, to choreograph the Candy Apples dance numbers and to just generally wander around the Jerky Store being fabulous.

Knowing that male DNA almost always ensures a higher judge’s score, Cathy had also snagged some stray boy that she found dancing down at the General Store and was pairing him up with that little ginger kid Justice in a Mad Men kind of office routine. 

Cathy and the M&Ms wanted to give Justice a…“male friend”…which sounded a little too Dance Captain for my liking, considering that the kid doesn’t even own a hair comb yet.

Inappropriate Skee Ball on the Lido Deck, anyone?

Back in civilization, Nia had finally tracked down the MIA Maddie and everyone got back to bidnezz.

After chastising Maddie for being born into a family where the parents still decided what the kids can and cannot do, Abby received a top secret call on the BatPhone from a Starbound snitch who filled her in on all the Candy Apples dirt.  When she realized that Cathy had put an Apple into every category that the ALDC was signed up for, she made a bee line to Melissa and tried to get Maddie an overnight solo routine.

Since Melissa was still peeved about the whole sleeping with her Boss thing, she refused.  Insert more drama here _____________.

Two totally unrelated points before we hit the actual competition…

What is in that big, fat envelope that Melissa always carries around with her?  Is it a coupon thing or something?  It kind of reminds me of the envelopes that New York City vagrants always carry that are stuffed full of every lost or stolen bank card they find still sticking out of the ATM slot.  I just need to know for some reason.

And secondly, did you see Mackenzie’s Snookie hair?

You tell me that Jill didn’t have Bump-It envy.  I don’t know how that little tyke even sat up straight for that camera shot.  It was the Über Snookie.

Finally it was Showtime.

It was hard to make the usual windblown Desperate Housewives entrance that Abby always likes to make into the hotel lobby, given that this shindig was being held at a high school.  Getting there is usually half the fun for Abby, so I could tell she was a little disappointed in the venue.

The Candy Apples have apparently adopted one of those fraternity type rituals, much like the Olympic athletes who all get matching tattoos.  But since none of the Moms would sign the waver for getting inked, all the kids showed up with one lone curler in their hair.

I know, right?  Say it wasn’t just me that saw that.

I swear even Justice was styling his carrot top with a foam roller.  The cheap kind that Monique would pop into your weave down at that salon next to the Target store.

I won’t lie.  Sometimes my attention to insignificant details tends to keep me up at night.

There was no actual high rise stage for this competition, much like the last hotel ballroom set up.  But instead of that rogue housekeeping cart I obsessed about last week, this time I was waiting for one of those AV Club rolling TV stands to wobble half way across the gym floor and then come to a stop right in front of Vivi-Anne.

Oooh.  Cartoons!

At least that would have finally given her something to do on stage, since Cathy has yet to figure out any significant purpose for her daughter being out there once the music starts.  Sooner or later there is going to be a number that does not require hoisting spacey Vivi-Anne up like a bag of Columbian coffee, and Cathy is gonna be screwed.

Chloe did a good job on her Leave the Lights On solo.  I think it would have been funnier to have her dressed in a Motel 6 chambermaid outfit, unless you don’t live near a Motel 6 and have never heard their “We’ll Leave The Light On” radio commercials.  Then it wouldn’t be as funny.

Justice came out with no shirt and lifted one leg up a lot.

Sorry dude.  That’s Dance Moms: Miami territory.  And you’re no Lucas.

Plus it was a little creepy given all that Dance Captain innuendo.

The ALDC Amish Corn Kids number went well.  Brooke managed to tie Maddie’s grey bonnet on without cutting off her oxygen supply, so that was a good thing.

Right when the Candy Apples were going to lug Vivi-Anne onto the dance floor Cathy realized that the prop was missing from center stage.  Screaming from the audience was a nice touch.

One of the M&Ms flitted around like a Pride Parade grand marshall, grabbed a Staples folding office chair and flung it onto the stage.  Crisis averted.

I’m not sure if he was the plain or peanut M&M, but there was definitely some hard candy shell going on down there during the whole process.

Then some kids won some stuff.

Backstage, as usual, the whole thing deteriorated into Cathy vs. anyone and everyone.

Honestly, if it wasn’t for Jill’s weekly hair style updates, I would swear I’ve been watching the same episode for two years.  Do you think Lifetime is just messing with us?

Screaming.  Yelling.  Cathy suggesting that the ALDC kids never go to school.

Needless to say, Melissa was just having an all around bad week and therefore had no problem laying into Cathy, which resulted in more screaming and yelling.

Someone get Andy Cohen on standby, because it was almost Bravo-worthy.

Almost.