DanThat'sCool!

 

 

Because Abby’s wearing the same color as me. That’s why I’m crying. Just let me die out here by this dumpster.

 

 

 

 

Never changes. Bitches always be hating on the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown. Always.

 

 

 

 

Hold up. So you’re telling me that on TLC 3 year old Toddlers get bigger Beauty crowns? That’s just F***d up.

 

 

 

Mmmmmm… Pumpkin. I wonder if that Dunkin Donuts muffin is out yet. I do love my muffins.

 

 

 

 

Ssshh. It’s ok. You don’t have a fat head. It really is a little crown. And I’m a model now, so I totally know this kind of stuff.

 

 

 

 

What say we drive down and pick up those Dance Moms: Miami kids? I hear they’re not busy.

 

 

 

Oh snap.

I did not just kick Dance Moms: Miami while they’re down.  And before this post even started?  That ain’t right.

Relax.  I didn’t.  Actually, that was my uniquely subtle approach at hinting to Lifetime TV that they should probably un-cancel the Florida show.

I’m missing Lady Killer Lucas already.  And we all know that Kimmy doesn’t need much time to do all that 4am homework.  So let’s get these kids back to work, mmmkay?

Thank you for your immediate attention to this matter.

Now back to bidnezz.

After a long, drawn out journey that probably fell second only to what those Glee kids put us through every school year, Abby Lee Miller and the ALDC finally made it to the end of what we like to call the Road to Nationals.  It’s kind of like the Yellow Brick Road, but without a Good Witch.

Definitely no Good Witch.

Going on what had to have been week (…or month?…) #3 in California, it was time for the Energy Dance National Competition and Abby was in it to win it.

I’ve got to admit.  I’m in awe at how these Moms and kids can jump ship and leave home for weeks at a time with seemingly no regret or homeland fallout.

Speaking as someone who can’t take a long weekend without returning to at least one dead houseplant, I have no idea how they can just pick up their leopard print suitcases and head out of Dodge for all these extended stays away from friends and family with what appears to be almost no advance planning.

I’m sure that by now they have it all down to a science, but in my head I always picture one of three scenarios.

One.  The front yard is piled high with rolled up newspapers, the mailbox is overflowing with Publisher’s Clearing House “You Just Won!” envelopes because Mom forgot to stop postal deliveries and a burglar is prying the screen off the back door with a tire iron.

Two.  The husbands are having affairs with the housekeepers, because this is Lifetime Network and that’s what husbands always do on Lifetime.  At least if they’re married to Jane Seymour in a two hour movie they do.  Granted, the cheating husband always ends up shot in the face or trapped in a burning house when Mom comes home early, but still.

Three.  The husbands and sons are inside looking like shipwreck survivors wearing the same underwear they had on when Mom first left the house, waiting for her to come home and tell them how to turn on the microwave.

But maybe that’s just me.

Regardless, it was another week in sunny L.A. as they prepped for Nationals in the Land of Brandon, Dylan and Perfect Hair:  90210.

That’s right….Beverly Hills, baby.  Swimming pools.  Movie stars.

But first, the Pyramid of Shame.  ’Cause that’s how Abby rolls, even on the West Coast.

Bottom row was all about Paige, Nia, Chloe and Kendall.

Paige had forgotten a move or two in last week’s dance number, which meant that Abby…well…elephants never forget.  Sorry, Paige.

Nia was great in her 1960′s dance, but didn’t exactly bring home the bacon so Abby stuck her in the basement again.  Chloe had come in 6th, which is 5 below First Place, so you do the Pyramid Math.

And finally, Kendall was on the bottom primarily for the Jill Face.  And it worked.

The middle row was held down by Brooke and little Mackenzie.

Brooke, who was the envy of every woman in Beverly Hills with that line-free, expressionless face of hers was considered second tier because Abby felt she was lazy.  And she needed to fix that face, please.

Go figure.  The only female in Beverly Hills history to ever be chastised for not being able to scrunch her forehead.  I thought that was the ultimate longterm goal out there.

MackAttack was in the middle because even though she does a mean quadruple backflip into a pouty face beach blanket pose, she keeps messing up the easy stuff.

Knock that off, please.

And then Maddie was on the top again.  Go back and read pretty much any review I’ve ever written on this show if you’re really dying to know why she was on the top this week.

Just change the date.

Solos were handed out to Mackadoodle Doo, Maddie and Brooke, with the one remaining open spot split between Nia, Kendall and Chloe.  Anyone want to play Mind Game Auditions?  Hold that thought.

The group number was a disturbing PSA on texting and driving.

Don’t do it.  Just don’t.  Unless you want to get thrown from a car and have Nia perform CPR on your dead body in between high kicks and back bends, that is.

Abby does love those dramatic pieces, and this one really freaked the girls out.  Even Paige, who did nothing but sit perfectly still at the wheel after her head went through an imaginary windshield, was creeped out.

Naturally, Mom Kelly was more concerned with the obvious fact that Paige was barely dancing in a dance competition than she was with any longterm trauma from her daughter having to play a cadaver.  But you know Kelly.  Meltdown in 3…2…1.

Since they apparently don’t do MomPerches in California, everyone has had to resort to random back alleys and porch decks for their weekly gripe sessions.

As they hung out in one of those makeshift locations doing whatever it is that they always do on those freakin’ cell phones, a text was received from Chaos Cathy Nesbitt and her Evil Candy Apples Soccer Moms stating that they would all be coming out for Nationals.  I got all excited.  The Moms?  Not so much.

LOL.  Smiley Sideways Kitty Face.

The thought of having to deal with Cathy, compounded with watching her daughter sit and collect dust while all the other girls actually danced, finally cracked Kelly’s egg shell.

After confronting Abby in regards to Paige sitting perfectly still for the entire number like a Crash Test Dummy (…and not the cool talking ones on the commercial…) the whole conversation got ugly, culminating in Abby suggesting that Kelly might want to get Paige to a pediatrician asap to see if there was a cure for her daughter’s stupidity.

Nice talk, which resulted in Kelly dramatically exiting, stage left.  Forever.  Again.

When the rest of the Moms finally tracked her down, Kelly was outside behind a dumpster crying like she had just lost her last noodle.  After a little Mom bonding, Kelly managed to get her shizzle together and then took Paige off for a pre-arranged photo shoot.

Not gonna lie.  When Kelly and Paige first arrived at the photographer’s studio and the only caption under the dude’s face was “Photographer,” I was pretty much expecting an abduction or some borderline soft porn.  But the joint seemed legit and they gussied Paige up into a 1940′s screen siren in no time.

All that age inappropriate hair finally paid off, because she looked a-maz-ing by the time they finished the shoot.  Twenty years older, but a-maz-ing nonetheless.

The following day, Kelly returned to practice.  Again.  If you ask me, Girlfriend might be losing some of her dramatic exit credibility.

Somewhere in the middle of all this activity, Christi and Jill had taken over the role of dance coach and helped run their daughters’ solos.  Christi got a little frustrated with Chloe, and Jill had some trouble with her bra straps.  Feel free to tuck those things back in under your sleeveless top, honey.  Sooner the better.

To continue this week’s Cryapalooza, it was then time to choose the final soloist.  Having the three Moms of the three contestants as judges didn’t exactly make for much drama or resolution (…ummm…if my Mom didn’t pick me in a contest I would be some bulls***…) so Abby had Melissa break the three way tie.

Drama.  Crying.  Chloe got the last solo spot.  Drama.  Crying.  Kendall didn’t.  Jill meltdown in 3…2…1.

Finally it was Showtime!

As the ALDC troupe was rehearsing and crying and hating on Abby, the Candy Apples gang rolled into town and made their entrance like Super Bowl champs coming up that ramp from the locker rooms.

My favorite bad a** red-haired Mom was there, all tattooed, chewing on her gum and looking for a rumble.  Love her.  That bitch will cut your face off with her acrylics if she has to.

And though I swore all along, with no proof other than that blinding Clairol-assisted red hair, that she had to be scruffy Justice‘s Mom, the DNA results were finally revealed and she was indeed the Mom.  And her name is Tanya, like a female wrestler.

The only Mom conspicuously MIA was that big Walmart one we saw the last time we visited Ohio.  She’s my second favorite Ohio export, so I was secretly bummed that she apparently didn’t like to fly.

One half of the Fabulous M&M choreography team was also part of M’Lady Cathy’s Court this week.  Plain or Peanut?  You decide.

Our boy Mitchell was there, all fabulous and styling in his relaxed fit fancy blue dungarees (…with a scooch more room in the crotch in case you drop anything, according to the ad…) and vibrant blue tie.

Word on the street was that Abby had accused some of the Ohio Moms of hitting her up on her Sidekick for insider info on summer dance camps and random Abbyness, which Cathy couldn’t believe.  Canton’s Jerky Queen wanted phone bills and proof of texts and a swab from every Mom’s mouth to prove that her own Ohio posse was loyal.

You wish.

Turned out that Tanya had actually reached out to Abby a few times, which made Cathy look like a fool.  Round One:  Abby.

Back in the dressing room, Abby was threatening that there would be Hell to Pay if they lost the competition or if any Mom ever crossed her.  Same threats.  Different outfit.  And with matching color-coordinated jewelry, thank you very much.

It should also probably be noted that tiny Maddie was drinking what appeared to be the biggest cup of take out Joe I’ve ever seen a young girl guzzle.  She must have been up all night with that much caffeine.

Everyone was in full PsychThemOut mode backstage as they tried to give Justice nervous pee and mess with all the Candy Apples’ brains.

Even little Mackenzie was in on it, considering that she was dancing to the now classic Vivi-Anne Bumble Bee music.  To guarantee a win and some bed spins for the opposition, Mack had hooched up the infamous Bee costume into a Pussy Cats Doll ensemble.  If spaced out Vivi-Anne actually had a clue where she was, she would probably have been as miffed as Mom Cathy was that the other team was blatantly flipping them off with a new and improved Killer Bee.

All the solos were great.  Even Brooke got her face to work long enough to wow the judges.

Chloe’s legs got longer, and Mack stung Vivi-Anne right in the butt with her updated Bee.

Justice did some kind of wounded army vet looking thing.

The Candy Apples group number was a bunch of girls running around carrying umbrella-ellas while Justice tried to guide Vivi-Anne across the stage the way a Boy Scout guides a blind person across the street.

The ALDC group number was so good that everyone was probably texting about it after it was over.  But hopefully not on the drive home, right?

After a round of applause for the tee shirt throwers (…seriously?  Tee shirt thrower?  That’s a real job?  With a real paycheck?  Sign me up…) the awards were announced.

Fast Forward:  Abby and her team took all the top honors.  Like…all of them.  There were not even scraps for the Candy Apples.

Since these were the fancy Nationals, top honors even came with Shrinky Dink micro souvenir Toddlers & Tiaras crowns and sashes.

To finish off the night, and the second season, Abby and Kelly went one more round over the usual checklist of grievances.

Man, there was a lot of crying this week.

As Abby wobbled out the door ranting about how lucky Brooke and Paige were to be allowed access to the ALDC Mother Ship, Kelly still hadn’t decided whether she was coming back next year.

Then everyone cried some more.

Not exactly a Dynasty cliff hanger, but enough to keep us going for a few months.

Or at least until the Real Housewives of Pittsburgh Reunion Show.

Eat your heart out, Andy Cohen.

 

 

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.