Posts Tagged ‘Toddlers and Tiaras Trystian’

Toddlers & Tiaras: It’s Time To Put On Your Gatsby Glitz And Flapper Dress. It’s The Roaring Trystian Pageant!

Friday, September 27th, 2013




I tried asking my Director friend Carol what really went down in Vegas, but she’s still curled up in a ball and won’t answer her cell.





The best thing about one baby running down the hall and another one lost in the elevator is that I have both hands free to cut a bitch.







Oh. Hell. No.








Imma ’bout ready to throw this baby on the floor and show you how the gurlz all multi-task back at HoodRat Hair Salon.






Luckily, Mommy showed me how to snatch a weave on my own, just in case we’re running a little behind schedule.






Sometimes if you squeeze them real tight right here, they actually go to sleep for awhile and I can finally catch up on all my stories.





And then you grab it like this and drag her backwards down the stairs. Unless she’s wearing a lace front and then you can just pluck it off.






Not gonna lie. That crazy bitch walked in and I literally pooped glitter right there in the hotel lobby.




Oh, yeah.

Now we’re talking.

I’ve said it a number of times before and it still stands.  There’s nothing I really love more than a big, steaming, juicy helping of Hot Mess.  Nothing.

Except for maybe multiple servings of the same Hot Mess, of course.  Then I may need a moment or two alone just to process everything on my plate and to get my equilibrium leveled off.

Like the latest installment of Toddlers & Tiaras & Trystian. 

Wha–?  That’s right, haters.

The Mom who put the Hood in Hood Rat and the Weave on Crooked is baaaaack!

And Trystian Janeace Barnes Smith is not just a mouthful, bitches.

She’s also quite a (bleepin’) handful.

But let’s not get ahead of ourselves, mmmkay?  First things first.

This week it was the prohibition themed Angel Face Roaring ’20s Pageant in White Plains, NY.  Flapper girls, gangsters and Gatsby Glitz as far as the eye could see.

Pageant Director Debbie Smith explained the whole process in such a calm, low key manner that at first I thought she was just pretending to be a director and we were all being punk’d on MTV.  I mean, there’s no way that anyone in the kiddie pageant industry could be that chillaxed, right?  No way.

But she was.  And she looked so familiar it was driving me crazy, until I realized that she waited on me one time in the Curtain Department at JCPenney.  I swear she did.

Either that, or she looks exactly like everyone who ever worked in the Curtain Department at JCPenney.  Those really friendly, soft spoken women who smell nice that used to cut fabric bolt yardage until the store got rid of the Notions Department and they had to transfer or go work at Joanne’s down the street.


The Supreme Deep Dish winner of this week’s pageant would be the lucky one to take home either a $3,400 sapphire ring or a massively massive $5,000 Queen’s Castle bed/playhouse looking thing.  If your town’s zoning ordinances allowed it, that is.

Don’t ask.  You could literally park a car inside the thing it was so huge.  I have no idea why these people keep giving away such ginormous prizes when we’ve all seen the tiny homes that these people live in during filming.  Plus…what do the little boys in the competition get for showing up to the party?  I totally saw boys in the ‘hood this week.

If they plan on sending a dude home with a two story Queen’s Castle bedroom set, then I hope the Angel Face Pageant People are also going to supply the poor guy with 24 hour onsite security for life, because that kid is getting beat up twice before he even exits the ballroom.  Three times if you count his brother giving him a purple nurple.

It should probably also be pointed out that I’ve never met one preschooler who has ever asked Santa Claus for a $3,400 sparkling sapphire ring, so I don’t know who picked these prizes this week.

The first little princess wannabe was 3 year old Brooklyn and Mom Ashley.

Initially, I thought that Brooklyn was already in her flapper costume because she had one of those really cute, really round 1920’s faces that looked like she was BFFs with Buckwheat and had the Target dog as her family pet.

Mom was as cheap as they come, in a good way, and was proudly trying to bring the whole pageant weekend in at around $300, which is redoink if you know anything about pageants.  Armed with a $10 romper and a can of Krylon, I bet she probably came in under budget, which would explain the extra cash for all those chicken and biscuits she kept burping up during her interviews.

Chew your food slowly, honey.  I like your glasses.

Brooklyn was at that stage where she still didn’t use any punctuation in her sentences and hadn’t quite yet figured out how to smoothly transition between subjects, which I guess would explain why she liked to be in pageants and go on stage and poop glitter on the toilet while flying in spaceships to the zoo and knitting a piggy bank sweater with flowers on it but didn’t know how to make cupcakes even though she had the world’s largest Easy Bake oven in the background the whole time she was rambling.


Yeah.  It was like that.  And then she fell off that slippery T&T stool a few times.


And speaking of messin’ yo’ face up…

Trystian was back, yo.  With frizzy haired 1 year old daughter Kelsie, her highly rambunctious big brother Angel and about 40 TLC censor guys with their sweaty fingers on the button.  And in case you wondering, she was back because you’re all bitches.

The last time we saw Trystian, she was throwing down (…Englewood Hood Rat Style…) out in Vegas at the California Tropic Sugar & Spice Pageant, getting all up in Director Carol Fleming‘s heavily eyebrowed face and being accused of unsportsmanlike conduct.  Which I guess is pageant talk for threatening to kill somebody with your bare hands.

There was also that whole annoyance when she was booty kicked out of the pageant by Carol’s awkwardly attired husband.  And when she called the Pageant Po Po.  And pretty much swore and sweat right through her Gangnam Style t-shirt as she dragged her two kids around the hotel like recyclable Whole Foods bags.  Outta my way, bitch.

And now she was back.  With a new weave and the same old (bleeped) out mouth.

The kind of mouth that never stops in front of the kids, and the kind of weave that has that zig zaggy part on top where you’re never quite certain if it’s intentional or not but it’s clearly not growing out of her head because no scalp meat shows in bright sunlight.

Girlfriend doesn’t have a filter, but she definitely has a flat iron.

Hot Mess…your table is ready.

Trystian explained that if YOU are gonna be a bitch and get all ghetto, then SHE is gonna be a bitch and get all ghetto.  Cuz that’s how she rolls when she’s not on her meds.  And then her baby said “Bitch” and the future of our country became clear to me before the first commercial break.

Remember when this show was just about Toddlers eating sugar and drinking coffee?

If you’re pressed for time and need to go, the rest of the show was basically Trystian swearing, Angel running around the hotel like a puppy that just jumped his invisible electric fence and Kelsie crying and falling down over and over.  And over.


Rinse and Repeat.

If you can stick around, I bet there will be some real good shiz coming up.  I mean, there has to be if everyone was already at the hotel within the first 15 minutes of this week’s episode.  I guess practicing your finger kisses at the Elks Lodge and getting a kitchen table spray tan are for (bleeps) when Trystian’s in the hizzle.

After Curtain Lady Debbie uncomfortably attempted an explanation regarding the…ahem…director problems at the last pageant Trystian attended, it was time to get some hair and makeup done.

Debbie had recommended that Trystian pay for the services of Diane the Hair Lady, who was also apparently booked to do the other 247 girls at the Ramada.  Hair was important to Trystian.  It had to be right.  Tight and Right.

Because Trystian could get upset if it’s not.

Spoiler Alert:  Look at her hair.  And then look her kid’s hair.  And then do it again.

And then just sit back and enjoy the show.  Because it was already Showtime!

I don’t know who the emcee was, but I’m pretty sure that I bought a Nissan from him on the same day that Debbie sold me my living room curtains.  I loved that car, and I still have the curtains.  It was a good day.

Brooklyn’s Mom had rented a custom made designer Beauty dress for something like thirty bucks, which didn’t even make sense when she said it since I don’t know anyone who custom designs something and then willingly takes it back in 24 hours, but she looked cute even though the outfit weighed in at around 47 pounds.

While Trystian was checking her texts, Kelsie stopped crying just long enough to get chocolate stains all over her own cupcake dress, but luckily Mom seemed pretty well versed in tearing the crap out of another girl’s party dress and simply covered the whole mess with some fabric that she ripped right from Kelsie’s poofy shoulders.

If you swapped out Kelsie for a sloppy full grown woman putting on lipstick in the restroom of an Atlanta karaoke bar at closing time, you know exactly what I was picturing in my head.

I saw you talking to my man, bitch.  Let’s do this.  Rrrrrrip.


Can we just say that it wasn’t Kelsie’s day?  At all?  She cried.  Fell down.  Got the slo-mo music treatment which meant she was going to freeze on stage, and then fell down some more.  In every category.

Brooklyn on the other hand, was rockin’ the stage for her very first glitz pageant.  Which made me smile, since she was basically stuck on the show this week so it didn’t look like The Trystian Spin-Off Hour.

You go, little girl.  And poop out all the glitter you want.

By the time the Roaring ’20s Wear was about to start, Kelsie still hadn’t gotten any time with Diane to change out her baby weave.  And Girrrl…that ain’t right.

Granted, it was kind of hard to tell where the hair assembly line started and where it ended, but Kelsie definitely wasn’t getting her hair did next, fo’ sho’.  Needless to say, the delay got Trystian (bleeped) out a few hundred times and gave Angel a chance to snoop around all those empty Dunkin’ Donuts boxes before he took off like a bottle rocket down the hallway again.

Honestly, I don’t really know if Trystian showed up with two kids or twenty, because she had offspring flying around that building like it was a laser tag birthday party.  At the last pageant she at least had that baby daddy/boyfriend guy with her who kept taking his shirt off in front of the children, but this time she was flying solo and her meds were wearing off.

The Perfect Storm.

After getting nowhere with Diane, Trystian dragged a couple of kids down to the other end of the hall and confronted Curtain Debbie’s daughter, who was wearing what appeared to be the gown from Beauty & The Beast and a Dance Moms jacket.

I have no idea what was going on there, but I didn’t dare ask.  I guess it was chilly that day.  Or maybe she actually lives in that Queen’s Castle bed contraption.

She didn’t get any further with Belle than she had with Diane, so Trystian made a quick 180 and retraced her erratic steps back to the makeup room.  With one baby under her arm and another one somewhere within the range of the building’s security cameras, Trystian headed in to confront Diane a second time.

Because she paid for some (bleepin’) hair and makeup time, bitch.

Insert your favorite GirlFight lines here: _____________________.


But Diane wasn’t having it while she was trying to get a knot out of some other little tyke’s fake hair.  No ma’am.  Plus she could smell a loose cannon a mile away, even through that cloud of toxic Aqua-Net gas.  Diane was really pretty and clearly knew her shiz.  So dial it down a notch or two, honey.

Pageant Hair is like Burger King during the lunch rush.  You get out of line, you lose your spot.

Which made Trystian blow a nutty.  But a subdued nutty.  Because she didn’t want to go to jail in another state.  So Diane was lucky that they weren’t both back in Vegas where Trystian would have gone completely boughetto ghetto on her sorry strip mall salon a**.

I’m wasn’t sure if that meant they don’t have a prison system in Las Vegas, or if she didn’t mind going to jail in her home town because she had a couple of besties who could break her out from the inside.  Whatev.

At some point in the festivities Trystian attempted to do Kelsie’s synthetic hair all by herself, which the baby immediately pulled out and threw on the floor in the hallway like she was being filmed by VH1 or something.

Yeah.  She definitely gets it from her mama.

Don’t make me take my pretty feet shoes off.

Then there was some more crying.  Some more kids falling down.  Some more kids running in circles.  And then a whole lot more swearing.

In front of the kids, of course.

When it was all over, Brooklyn did great and was a happy camper.  She smiled and then fell off the stool again.

Kelsie cried some more and unfortunately didn’t do that great.  She was also missing some of the tracks in one of her Miley Cyrus poofs.

Trystian snagged the score sheets and thought the whole thing was BS.  From now on they would only be going to pageants where they could win, which I thought was the whole point of this circus in the first place.

Diane made it to her car in one piece and immediately locked the doors.  I believe she entered the Witness Protection Program the following Monday.

Debbie couldn’t go out for drinks with the girls after work because she had to be up early for the JCPenney White Sale.

And then The Roaring Trystian Pageant was over.

Go home, bitches.


Toddlers & Tiaras: Let’s Belly Up To The California Tropic Sugar Bar. Hood Rats & Punches & Weaves…Oh My!

Saturday, June 15th, 2013




Honestly, I have no idea what a Hood Rat is, but on the phone it sounded much bigger than a Field Mouse.






Bitch, you do NOT want me to take my shoes off right here in the Expo lobby.







Srsly, I was ’bout ready to throw this baby on the floor and punch her in the throat, but I knew they’d steal my new Coach bag.






Listen to me. If Daddy can take a bullet in Iraq, I think you can handle two little pink earrings like a Big Girl.





This crazy bitch is about to make me pop off my veneers and crown her upside the head before the judges even show up.






The Hell? So you’re telling me that I sat through the entire Little Mermaid with Hellman’s on my head and now we’re going home?






Shout Out to my girls in Englewood! Look at me, bitches. I’m on the TV!






Let’s just be honest and cut right to the chase.

There’s really nothing in the entire world that I love more than a good Hot Mess.

You heard me.  I said it.  I own it.

Don’t get me wrong.  I really like pizza.  And sushi.  And a nice meaty lobster roll, as long as it’s not all mayonnaise like the ones they try to pass off at the Mall.

But if I can only bring one thing with me inside a bomb shelter to keep me distracted until the above ground radiation dissipates, it’s gonna be someone who’s a Hot Mess.

The hotter, the better.

As luck would have it, Toddlers & Tiaras somehow read my mind and delivered a priceless gift this week, because one half of their back-to-back double header was about as messy as they come.

And I’d like to publicly thank them before we go any further.

It was the California Tropic Sugar & Spice Pageant, hosted by crazy-faced Carol Fleming.  Gumdrops and googly eyes for miles.

I really like her even though she’s one of those women that you would normally go out of your way to avoid if you came across her at a Lady Grace bra clearance rack or the Estée Lauder counter at Macy’s.

As I have previously mentioned, everyone’s first impression of Carol is that she probably wears way too much of that purple Elizabeth Taylor perfume that comes in a big box at Christmas time and probably takes freaking for-EV-er to make her eyebrows look like that.  And that she is clinically insane.

But she’s not.  She’s a riot.  She has spunk and probably knows every piece of dirt on every person who has ever lived in her home town.  But she would never repeat it, of course.  Ladies don’t do that kind of thing.


Except at the salon.  And the grocery store.  And during Girls Nite Out before grabbing the waiter’s a** and then going face down on a table full of piña colada umbrellas.

Mark my words.  It’s the quiet ones.

This week’s pageant was all about the Sugar Buzz.  It was pretty self explanatory, complete with a table full of crowns that looked like they were constructed of rock candy and insulin syringes.  Bring on the sweets.

The first little princess was 3 year old Bailey and her Mom Cora.  And stay-at-home Dad Ron, who spoke when spoken to and proudly owned more aprons than anyone on the Food Network.  Nice guy, just a little too on the YesDear WhateverYouSayDear side.

Bailey was almost too cute.  She was a tomboy who liked to go 4 wheeling with Dad after he had finished all his chores…and gotten permission from Cora, of course.

Can you say Control Freak?

Our second contestant’s mode of transportation was a big hog of a motorcyle, which 4 year old Riley and Dad Ryan excitedly rode through the neighborhood, setting off car alarms and laying patches before heading back inside for arts & crafts.

Dad was a detective (…clearly not undercover since he was about three inches from the camera for the entire show…) and a former Marine.  He was a Man’s Man and I liked him.  He looked like he could be in an action movie or something.

Ryan could probably gut a spy in under 60 seconds, but go figure…he loved sewing.

And pageants.

Don’t Ask.  Don’t BeDazzle.  God Bless America.

The military had taught him his rockstar sewing technique and Mom Sheena (…just like the comic book Jungle Queen…) had somehow convinced Ryan to kick it up another notch with a glue gun and glitter.

I guess if you can take out insurgents with an M14 you can probably stick crystals on a headband without burning the house down.

Riley was cute, but had a nasty habit of spitting.  At you.  On you.  All over.

Unfortunately, since she was only 4 years old, she hadn’t developed the lung capacity required to properly expel all that goo, so most of the loogies never made it past her own chin.  Lots of stringy dingle danglyness.

I’m going to leave the etiquette discussions to the chat rooms, because we have way more important issues to deal with right now.


Ladies and Gentlemen:  Trystian.

2013 Mom of the Year and her 1 year old daughter Kelsie were the final contestants this week.  It’s called saving the best for last, people.

And Heaven.  It’s also called a little slice of Heaven.

I don’t even know where to start, it was so delish.

Let’s just say that for as little as I actually know about pageants (…as a matter of fact, I do hide that secret pretty well, thank you…) I know even less about weaves.

In all honesty, everything I know about getting your hair did comes from Real Housewives marathons on Bravo TV and maybe one or two VH1 smack downs.

And that Flava Flav show where he always looked like he had vaseline on his face.

So it’s not much.  But I do know a bad one when I see one.  And that one was so bad it hurt my feelings.  Lawd have mercy.

Seriously.  Riley’s Dad could have glued that thing on straighter during artillery fire.

For the first 90 seconds or so, Tystian seemed like a pretty nice Mom.  And Kelsie was stupid cute.  It actually kind of looked like Mom was just babysitting one of Will Smith‘s kids she was so cute.  Kelsie had the best fuzzy hair evah and giant eyes that looked like she was on catnip.  So cute.

But then Mom opened her mouth and it all went boughetto.  Without the ‘bou-‘ part.

Did you know that her baby girl wins just by showing up?  Cuz she’s better than everyone else.  Even if Kelsie was some famous 1 year old international celebrity and/or diaper model, Mom would still enter her in local pageants just to rub it in the faces of all the other Moms.  Just to be a beeotch to the haters.

And if there is one thing that Trystian hates, it’s other Moms who talk smack about other Moms’ kids.  That’s a No No in her book.


The book called Slap Yo’ Face, Bitch.  And the long awaited sequel F*** You Up, Bitch.

Because that’s what Trystian would do if any Mom ever tried to diss her daughter.  And that’s what tiny Kelsie already does to other girls at pageants, because that’s how genetics work.  And Mom is fine wid dat.

Seriously.  She said that.

Rewind:  Kelsie’s eyes don’t even both point in the same direction yet, but she already knows how to bitch slap a chick like Maury Povich just gave them DNA results instead of Grand Supreme crowns.

That ain’t right.  And neither was Kelsie eating half a jar of Mayo while Mom smeared the rest of it on her baby girl’s hair like a stylist at the Vidal Sassoon Salon & Deli.  I’m never having a lobster roll again.  I knew that wasn’t a piece of celery string.

Kelsie’s only real competition was a little girl named Tutu who was the Face of California Tropic, because I guess they do things like that nowadays.

While we tried to process all that, Bailey was in a garage or flea market or barn or airplane hanger or something, rehearsing her routine one last time before they all left for the competition.  There were tools and Nascar shirts and a covered boat all stuffed into whatever that building was supposed to be, along with a homemade plywood stage and pageant coach Cambrie Littlefield.

(I’m going to assume that Cambrie was probably the only thing that didn’t get locked up in there overnight each day when the sun went down.  But you never know.)

We love her and she was just as gorg as evah, but she wasn’t wearing her Naughty Girl thigh high boots so I was a little disappointed.

In her defense, she probably didn’t want to risk getting them dirty on the FOUR hour road trip to Las Vegas, since Bailey’s 3 year old bladder required they stop the car every time the odometer clicked a full cycle.


I’m really not even sure if Mom pulled the car over that last time, or just came to a full stop in the middle of a four lane highway to drag out Bailey’s hot pink Porta-Barbie toilet for another round.  Nothing like a little Number 2 on the Number 515 I always say.

Before Cambrie threw herself into oncoming traffic, she and Mom held up one of Snookie‘s old animal print bedspreads to shield Bailey from the paparazzi, not realizing that Trystian was already at the hotel with Kelsie trying to check in without paying her registration fee.

Allegedly, of course.

Some older gent, who thankfully turned out to be Carol’s husband Terry (…otherwise he kinda looked like he should be taking tickets at ComicCon instead of creepin’ a toddler thingamajig…) let Trystian know that she still owed $50 on her bill.  And that’s when the party started.

Trystian said she didn’t owe him nuthin.  He said yes you do.  She said something that got (bleeped) out and stormed down the hall with Kelsie under one arm, dragging another school age kid behind her while that skinny dude with a buzz cut who was always lurking in the background carried all the crap.

And why was he pulling his shirt up and down during all this awesomeness?  Whoa.  Did you see that?  Don’t be flashing your white meat in the hall, Cowboy.  And some sit-ups probably wouldn’t hurt while you’re waiting for your girl to stop swearing around her kids.

As Trystian passed Tutu’s Mom Loreal and a posse of urban suburbans, all hell broke loose.  Right there with the kids in the room.

Oh.  Hell.  No.  Somebody did not just call her “Bitch.”

Boom!  Screaming.  Yelling.  Git Out My Face, Bitch.  Who you callin’ Bitch?  You’re a Bitch.  You’re Hood Rat.  No, you’re a Hood Rat.  You Nasty.

Oprah even showed up.  You’re a Bitch!  You’re a Bitch!  Everyone’s a Bitch!

Carol got in the middle of it all, looking like that junior high English teacher who always tries to unsuccessfully break up a youtube fight between sistahs in the parking lot.  Then Trystian got all up in Carol’s grill, threatening to poke her in the eye and punch her in the face while little Kelsie sucked on a pacifier and swung around upside down like she was on the high speed Yo Mama Ride at Six Flags.

Literally.  Off.  The.  Hook.

And I’ve watched it about 100 times already.  So I know.


After everyone, including the concierge and one housekeeper who should have taken the elevator all called each other Englewood Hood Rats, Trystian headed outside to call the Hood Rat cops (…because I’m pretty sure they have a special Hood Rat division just for Hood Rat glitz pageants…) and had yet another meltdown.

Carol is lucky I had my kids with me!  I woulda (bleeped) her (bleepin’ bleep) right into the (bleepin’) ground.

Bleep Bleep Bleep Nice Role Model Bleep Bleep Bleep.

Loreal got one of the last zings in by describing to hotel security how bad Trystian’s weave was on a scale of Nasty to Nasty.

Bottom line, Trystian was no longer welcome at the competition after a positively delightful speakerphone conversation with Carol, during which we found out that Mrs. Fleming not only has expensive new veneers but also the most whacked out fingernails ever seen on cable television.  WTF were those things?

Terry finally booted Trystian out of the building after she was stupid enough to show up on competition day, which resulted in Hood Rat Meltdown #97 while that skinny kid just stood there holding a Tupperware container full of cupcake dresses, fake lollipops and his clipped manhood.

Let’s be real.  It doesn’t even matter what happened at the actual pageant.

Bailey’s Mom went all Control Freak and Cambrie almost went all Trystian on her a**.

Riley’s music got all messed up at some point and she ended up standing around long enough for me to go get a soda in the kitchen.

Back home in the (…alleged, again…) ‘hood, Trystian threw an empty mayo jar straight into the television screen when Tutu won Photogenic Supreme and that skinny dude worked on one of those Help Me signs that kidnap victims hold up in the window after everyone goes to sleep.

And dat’s pretty much how it all went down in the ‘hood this time, bitches.

Be sure to sign my online petition for TLC to create a new show where Trystian just goes hotel to hotel beating up Pageant Moms every week and the winner gets a new weave.

Like a cage fight makeover show.  Or something.

Gimme a break.  It’s a work in progress.

Don’t be such a…you know.


%d bloggers like this: