Archive for the ‘Reality Television’ Category

Dance Moms: Everyone Is Suffering From A Severe Case Of Solo Fever. Symptoms Include Dramatic Crying, Anxiety, Stress…And Mind Games.

Wednesday, September 5th, 2012



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.)


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.

Toddlers & Tiaras: We Go Together Like Pixie Stix, Cold Mountain Dew And The Beautiful Me ’50s Pageant. Smoke ‘Em If You Got ‘Em, Kids.

Sunday, September 2nd, 2012



Trust me. There’s a Government Hair Conspiracy out there that no one ever talks about.






My menthols bring all the boys to the yard like rama lama ding dong, Haters.





Why would anyone give such a young child a cigarette? I mean…look at all that hairspray. They’re lucky she didn’t explode.






Oh. Hell. No.







So not fair. All I got was a juice box and that bitch got a carton of smokes?






Seriously. I can’t stop looking at it. And she’s holding it all wrong, too.





We’ll always be together.

Like Shoo Bop Shoo Wadda Wadda Go Go Go Go Go Juice.

Or something.

The point is…we’ll always be together.  At least until there is no more Crazy for us to dwell on, anyway.  Then I’ll probably just flake on you.

But until then there’s Toddlers & Tiaras.  And if the latest episode is any indication, it doesn’t look like either of us are going anywhere soon.

It was the Beautiful Me: ’50s Pageant/Rockin’ Around The Clock, which took us all like Greased Lightening to a simpler time when roller skating car hops brought you soda fountain specialties and 4 year old girls smoked Lucky Strike unfiltereds on the daycare playground.

I know you miss those days.  They were good times.

As perky Pageant Director Angela Smith explained, this 1950’s themed extravaganza was giving away over $10,000 in prizes to some lucky winner.  Since the Top Dawg would only score $2,000 and probably not even recoup the asking price tag on her new cupcake dress,  I’m not really sure where the other $8,000 was headed.  But Angela seemed legit so I didn’t question her math skills.

She gave a quick run down on all the waitresses and malt shop employees that would be showing up for the ’50’s Outfit of Choice (…OOC if you’re transposing this via your Flash Gordon DeCoder Ring…) portion of the contest and how it was all going to go down at the hotel.

I’ll admit to getting a little excited when I first heard 1950’s, thinking that we would finally see some pint-sized Creature from the Black Lagoon or a little Invasion of the Glittered Body Snatchers.  Or The Blob.

The Blob would have been waaay cool.  But no such luck.

Apparently there was a Happy Days clause buried somewhere in the online registration form, because pretty much every princess was either serving ice cream or holding a Coca Cola bottle hot glued to a frisbee tray.  Maybe next time.

Thankfully, though, a few girls thought out of the box.  Or tobacco carton.

But I’m getting ahead of myself again.

Our first contestant was 22 month old Ava and her crazy haired Mom Jessica.

Loved.  Mom.

Google “crazy pageant mom” and there’s Jessica.  But she’s the good kind of crazy, not the flip out and start crying in Russian kind of crazy.

Jessica is that loud woman you always hear at the Walmart snack bar telling a story about what happened the other night when she went to Target.  But she never finishes the story because she goes off on 42 different tangents and then does one of those explosive laughs that usually end up with gum flying out of her mouth and landing in that little container of cheese you get with your road salt pretzel.

The only thing bigger than her personality was her hair, which could probably stop a bullet better than those kevlar vests the cops always wear when college kids start tipping over cars after the Super Bowl.

She was In.  Sane.  But the good kind.

Eyes going everywhere.  Hands going everywhere.  Hair going everywhere.  Even one mosquito going everywhere that Jess was afraid would make the viewing public think her house was all “Nasty Up In Here.”  

And how ’bout that ’80s hair?  Whoa.  There was so much of it that it quite possibly may have been ’80s and the very beginning of the ’90s hair all ratted up together with some kind of NASA sealant that always made it look like she went swimming three days ago and was still waiting for it to air dry.

Seriously.  Where do you go to get hair like that?  Where is that salon?

I mean…I’m always standing behind these people while they’re digging through their damn fanny packs looking for that 25 cents off breadstick coupon that they swear is in there somewhere, but I’ve never seen them actually getting their hair did.  I really need to go there.

Jessica used to do pageants when she was younger, which explained a lot.

You know when they plopped a crown on that head, they didn’t need no stinkin’ bobby pins.  That Monster Truck Pull hair probably just latchd on to it like it had a life of its own and didn’t let go until they were home safe and sound.

Grandma Helen was just as whacky, but with a much more manageable ‘do.

Honestly, by the time Gram had finished demonstrating proper top down on your convertible parade waves and shown us how they booty pop over at the Senior Center, I totally forgot the episode was supposed to be about that little kid sitting on the floor.

Love me some crazy, and I loved those two.

At one point, bite sized Ava did slap her Mom in the chops, which they don’t really condone in child rearing books.  But the kid was wearing a pretty funky dress that said “I’m So Fabulous, I Cry Glitter” and part of me just really wanted that on a t-shirt for the gym…so I’ll it slide this time.

But no more punching, Miss Thing.  Save it for the guys who are gonna beat me up when I hit the locker room wearing my new shirt.

Next we were off to visit with 4 year old Destiny and her Mom Lisa.

Mom explained that, never having done pageants herself as a child, she was absolutely living her dreams through her daughter.  Destiny then pig piled on top of that one and explained that she liked pageants because…well…because her Mom said so.

You do the math.  Next family, please.

Last stop was to meet 8 year old Emma and Mom Vikki.

Emma hated to practice, loved to watch television and proudly let us all know right from the start that she was internationally known for her Emmatude, which at first sounded like Inner Tube and got me all discombobulated for a second.

Mom was very nice but seemed like she hadn’t completely sucked down the Pageant Kool-Aid yet, because once in awhile she looked like Moms do when they wish their kids had just tried out for the school chorus instead of a hobby that required road trips and 27 plastic bins full of fake hair.  Pageants are a lot of work, people.

Especially when you’re chasing your kid around trying to steal the remote out of her grubby paws.

For this pageant, Ava was getting some new photos done by Miss Alicia.

Normally, it seems like all these pageant people do is have their pictures taken.  But remembering that little Ava is only 22 months old, I don’t really know how many photos she could have realistically stockpiled so far beyond a sonogram and maybe that inkpad thing they do with the bottom of your foot.  So this time it was probably justified.

And again.  She’s 22 months.  So needless to say, getting Ava to sit up and focus on her Mad Hatter’s Tea Party movie set was a little challenging, to say the least.  Imagine trying to prop up one of those bean bag stuffed animals you win at the Fair, except all the beans are either in the head or the butt and the wobbly thing keeps tipping over and throwing donuts at you at the same time.

Luckily Jessica’s hair was so amazing that I was as easily distracted as Ava and didn’t really notice any of the drama.

Not only had Jess driven to the photo shoot with her head out the sunroof the entire time, but she had also somehow managed to face backwards on the highway.

Or maybe she just really teased and smooshed the back of her hair up more than normal.  Dunno.  But it was amazing.  And I loved it.

While Jess was picking up stray donuts, Emma and her Mom were bribing each other at the dress shop.

Vikki wanted Emma to wear a black dress.  Emma wanted the pink one.  Then Emma locked herself in the dress shop bathroom and Mom tried to remember if she had ever heard of a soprano in the school chorus having this kind of diva meltdown over a lousy cupcake dress.

Over at Destiny’s house, she was rehearsing her We Go Together routine from Grease, and it was right around here that things started getting really good.

Based on the movie’s finale when good girl Olivia Newton John comes back to school all tightly hooched up for John Travolta‘s greaser boy with the best name ever Danny (…insert your own Travolta/Masseuse joke here ________ …) Mom thought it would be a hoot to have Destiny come out smoking a cigarette.

I know, right?

Because if it’s good enough for Sandy, it’s gotta be good enough for a 4 year old.  Plus, Destiny’s missing a few teeth, so the filter part would slide right in like it was meant to be there.

You knew how this one was gonna end before it even started, as Destiny kept squawking that she needed the “the real one” instead of having to fake an invisible doobie between her fingers.

Don’t deny Baby her smokes.  You know how she gets.

Back at Casa Hair, we got to meet Ava’s Dad Chad, who could not have wanted to be there any less if the building was on fire.

Really nice guy, but you know as soon as someone stops blinking and says they would rather watch paint dry than sit through a pageant…yeah, it’s over.

Thanks for playing, dude.  Drive safe.

Jessica spit out some more gum and said “Roll with the ‘Fro” for some reason as Dad left to pluck out his own goatee hair by hair.

Finally it was Showtime!

I was oddly fascinated by the emcee with the spiked up hair and the Adult Contemporary radio station voice.  Every time he opened his mouth I wondered if he was going to announce one of the kids, give us a little backstory on the next Barry Manilow CD or tear his own face off to reveal that Mr. Rogers was actually still alive and doing pageant voice overs.

Beautiful Music.  For Beautiful People.  You’re all special.  WWT&T.FM

Hair and makeup went the way it always does.  Those scenes have all been pretty interchangeable since the Makenzie Myers heyday ended.

Oh.  No.  I’m sorry.  I’m not doing that.

There are still plenty of meltdowns, but very few compare.

Destiny kept spitting out her soda like Linda Blair.  Emma’s makeup artist had requested her face be blurred out like an episode of COPS, which I think was probably due to the embarrassment of being seen in that nasty shirt she was wearing.

The biggest drama was Ava’s hair.

Jessica wanted to use the wiglet, while the hair girl wanted to use the baby fall.  I know….drama.

The one thing you don’t F*** with around Jessica is hair, because the bitch knows her stuff and the whole thing was working her last nerve.  By the time tiny Ava was hooked up with the wiglet and no ringlets, Jessica was certain that she had stumbled onto an industry-wide pageant conspiracy where hairdressers were intentionally plopping the wrong wigs on the wrong kids to throw the game.

Despite the emergence of an international coiffure espionage ring, all three little girls did well in the Beauty portion.  Ava became a little mesmerized by the hot floor lights on the stage and tried to touch them like a burner in the kitchen, but she’s a quick learner.

Hot.  Hot.  Boo Boo Kitty.

By the time the ’50s Wear rolled around, the paint in Chad’s garage had probably dried and the girls were ready to go.

Ava recovered from the hot stove lights just in time to see the girl before her use the same pink Barbie car that they were just about to hoist up for her own routine.  Mom was horrified that the judges would now not only think that her home was full of fruit flies, but that she also has to borrow props from total strangers.

Most likely to save some money for new window screens and a case of Raid, I would assume.  Have you been to Home Depot lately?  It’s not like they’re giving those things away.

Emma channeled Lucille Ball’s Carmen Miranda dance and was this week’s unlucky recipient of the scary slo-mo music, which always means you just forgot something.

But the night belonged to leather wearing, chain smoking Destiny who came out toking it like Spring Break, much to the shock and awe of the audience and the judges.

For the first time in Toddlers & Tiaras history, the now classic “Sparkle Baby” mantra was replaced with “Don’t Forget To Smoke” as Mom rolled her a fresh one and sent her out on stage.

Hey.  Relax.  I just embellish…I mean…report it.

Then some kids won some stuff.

Destiny got a Beautiful Me logo ashtray and won the Personality prize.  Emma scored Ultimate Face which I always think is a funny title.  Ava brought home Beauty Supreme and then threw her crown like a Mad Hatter donut and broke it before she ever got home to see Dad’s paint job.

As Jessica’s massively amazing hair blocked out the last bit of sun and night fell on the ’50s, everyone headed back to their respective mini vans and she left us with one last gem.

Jessica likes to do pageants.  No denying it.  But she likes to eat even more.

Yeah.  Definitely eating first.

Seriously.  How can you not love her?  And who let that fly all up in here?

A Wop Bam Boom.

Dance Moms: The Real Housewives Of Pittsburgh Just Got A Fierce Dose Of Rude, Shrewd, Divatude Named Kaya. There’s A New Girl In Town.

Friday, August 31st, 2012




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.


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