Archive for the ‘Reality Television’ Category

Dance Moms: OMG. Not Feeling The Text Love? Maybe It’s Because You’ve Been Unfriended. It’s Kelly vs. Christi.

Friday, February 22nd, 2013

 

 

She’s got Big Ones. Gigantic Bull Ones. Like the ones they eat on that Food Network show.

 

 

 

 

Hell, yeah. I’ve got RND. Righteous Natural Diva. And trust me, there ain’t no way you all are gonna catch this.

 

 

 

You know that only works if you’re like 6 months old, right? I can still see you.

 

 

 

 

 

Seriously. Maybe she’ll answer the call when my shiny new iPhone is up her a**.

 

 

 

 

Really? Really? Look at my hair, honey. I’ve got bigger problems than you and your BFF right now.

 

 

 

 

Hell, yeah. She gets it from her Mama.

 

 

 

 

 

OMG. It’s that cute boy from Miami who always stands on one leg. OMG. Is he looking at me? Tell me he’s looking.

 

 

 

It was only Tuesday.

But it felt like Freaky Friday.

Opposite Day in Reality TV Land.

While the Mob Wives were over on VH1 hugging it out like one big happy sitcom family and helping Staten Island recover from Hurricane Sandy, the Dance Moms were screaming and swearing and threatening to (bleepin’) cut a bitch if they didn’t return a (bleepin’) phone call.

Yeah.  A phone call.  And (bleep) you if you have a problem wid dat.  Cuz you do NOT wanna got to (bleepin’) Dance War with me.  Trust me.

Freaky Friday, I tell you.

After last week’s poor showing and post-competition Super Soaker fight between Chaos Cathy Nesbitt and Abby Lee Miller (…and Jill “Don’t you EVER talk about my kid again” Vertes, of course…) everyone was a little wired as they arrived for the latest Pyramid of Shame & Potential Suspension.

The ALDC had not only lost in Detroit, but had lost to the Candy Apples Crew.  Which in AbbyLand is a bazillion times worse than just losing.  Probably actually closer to two bazillion if you do the math.

So needless to say, coming off a low performing week Abby was already cranky before she even got out of bed.

Last week was also National Christi-Free Week, thanks in part to Mrs. Lukasiak’s paparazzi hallway meltdown and that Sharpie magic marker “Suspended” which Abby had scribbled all over Chloe’s face.  So it was anyone’s guess whether they would be joining all of us for the next competition.

Turns out that Kelly had tried to reach out to Christi during her stint in the Witness Protection Program, but had not received any response back from her BFF.  Within the first three minutes of the episode she was already starting a slow boil about the whole situation, and I was already slowly fogging up on how many times she had actually tried to call and text Christi or why they were actually fighting in the first place.

Somehow between all the Poland Springs water bottles being tossed in Cathy’s face last week, it appeared that Kelly had managed to somehow offend Christi via an unintentional slam against Chloe.

Or something.  They’re fighting.  That’s all that really matters.

Naturally, the C&C Dance Factory showed up at the studio as we started out, and if they could make it past the front desk guards the whole gang would be back together again.

Every time a Mom stampedes out of the ALDC they are contractually obligated to come back with their tail between their legs and say that they are only there because their kid wants to dance.  Trust me.  I’ve seen the paperwork.

Christi apologized to Abby, the competition, the guy at the toll booth and to anyone else who would listen and then scooted Chloe back to Studio A for some high pitched screams and hugs.

Mom was pretty proud of the fact that she got up the kahunas to waltz back in after all the pre-suspension hallway drama, but all Abby could focus on was the actual size of those kahunas.  As in she felt that it was pretty ballsy of Christi to even show up.

Incredibly ballsy, as a matter of fact.  Enormously ballsy.  Like there’s probably a dashboard camera photo of those kahunas somewhere in Russia that keeps getting mistaken for the giant asteroid that almost took out the Kremlin.

And then Abby said the word “Balls” way too many times for my liking and I had to mute the television before she gave me intimacy issues.

As the Pyramid began, it was clear that Kelly and Christi were not going to play nice in the sandbox this week.  You might want to get your finger on the 5 second delay censor button, Mr. Lifetime Audio Guy.

Bottom of the triangle went to NiaPaige and Kendall. 

Nia was in the basement because Mom Holly had called Abby a “Monstrosity of Evil” during a minor hissy fit, and had gotten her duet pulled from the competition.

It should be noted that when you have a Ph.D. you call people things like “Monstrosity of Evil.”  When you don’t, you just call them fat.  Or ugly.  Or both.  Am I wrong?

Paige had been caught in the duet crossfire, so she got dumped next to Nia because you can’t have a duet with just one person.  Kendall hadn’t even placed in the top 10 after months and months of Mom’s nagging to get her a solo, and since there was no 4th level to the Pyramid , Abby had to stick her on Deck Three.

Second Tier was all about Mackenzie and Brooke.  Reasoning?  MackaBooBoo had done a good…but not great…job and Brooke still needed to smile and work on being a role model.  But most importantly, Abby needed to leave the top open for Maddie.

Who was back with a vengeance.

This time around everyone was headed to Ft. Lauderdale for another In10sity Dance Competition.

Brooke and Maddie were given solos.  Maddie got all excited, while Brooke stared blankly into space so hard that I thought my cable box had frozen.  One smile.  That’s all I’m asking for, honey.  Just one.  I’ll pay you.

As the Moms hit the MomPerch, the girls all got to work on the group routine, which was a bluesy, jazzy Speak Easy liquor hall dance.

Jill pulled out her cell phone and Googled Speak Easy while Christi sulked and Kelly boiled a little hotter.

I swear Jill’s phone gets more blinged out each week.  I need to pay more attention next time, because I don’t remember it having that ginormous piece of Mariah Carey ice on the back the last time she flung it at somebody.

Then I sat on my remote and got switched to either The Hills or some teenage show about two girls who text and fight and make up and then text some more and drink too much.  Or maybe it was just Kelly and Christi starting in on each other.  I’m not sure.

But somebody didn’t call somebody else even though the other person said they did call and one of them never saw a text from the other one even though both of them certainly know how to use an iPhone since they never put the freakin’ things down and then somebody accused somebody else of making out with their boyfriend under the bleachers after school.

Or something.  But that’s totally how they talked.  OMG.

Then somebody noticed that Squeak Toy Sophia Lucia was MIA.  Again.

But this time it wasn’t a movie with Meryl Streep or whatever it was she had going on out in Hollywood the last few months.  Nope.  This time she just realized that these Moms were cray cray and the tiny thing pried open the bars of her cartoon cage and headed for the other hills.

Run like the wind, Alvin.  And don’t look back.

During the group rehearsal, Abby was still holding a grudge against Christi’s kahunas and was taking it out on Chloe.  Big Time.

You.  Girl in the front.  Hey.  You.  Blondie.

Remember my name.  FAME.  You knew where this one was going.  And it went there.

After a little Christi nutty, Melissa and Kelly went down into that odd little costume warehouse/swap shop thing to whine a little.  The scene itself was pretty insignificant except for the hilarity of seeing Kelly whine about Christi in front of one of those HomeGoods country store plaques that said “No Whining.”

Well played, Mr. Lifetime Prop Guy.

After lurking in the shadows for the past few weeks, it was time for Sasha Nia to get her Laquifa back, and she werked it right down to Miss Abby and asked to have the duet put back on the marquee for this week.  No Mom.  No nuthin.  Just Laquifa and some crazy hair.

Miss Abby loved the fact that Nia had the (…slightly smaller…) kahunas to come down and ask for something without dragging Holly along, and you totally knew she was going to cave and let them do the dance, but she stalled for a bit just to mess with another child’s head.  Cuz that’s how we do, mmmkay?

Abby needed to see the dance again, just to make sure that Nia and Paige hadn’t erased the routine from their ALDC memory chip.  So everyone came down to the studio and then they….umm…then…I don’t know…

Honestly, I got so distracted by all of Abby’s matchy-matchy jewelry that I started picturing that room in her house again, all the way down at the end of some Wizard of Oz hallway, filled with nothing but Zip-Lock baggies and those color coded HSN hanging jewelry bags and forgot to pay attention.

But I saw on a commercial that they did the duet, so I guess it went well.

And now, you too can try and remove this visual scar from your brain:  Abby Lee Miller, standing in her underwear every morning, trying to decide if she feels Purple or Orange or Yellow today and then going to some  massive hi-tech motorized Wall of Pantone Headbands to choose just the perfect hue to sync up with yet another StarFish ring.

You’re welcome for that.

And then there was a seemingly endless montage of Kelly and Christi moments.  Some involving them.  Others just involving random Moms talking about all the shade they were throwing towards each other.  Complete with another couple rounds of who called and texted whom and when and why and how life went on without Christi.

Umm.  She knows she was only gone for 7 days, right?

Finally, it was Showtime!

The makeup room was full of aerosol and tension as Kelly and Christi both pretended that the other was invisible and went on with their curling iron business.  A couple more minutes and you knew some explosion was going to set off the sprinklers.

The judges all wore those Microsoft headset microphones you wear when you play World of Warcraft.  Whatever.  Just needed to be said.

Maddie’s solo was a Maddie solo.  She did great, and flipped Sophia another Bird by doing as many signature spins as she could before she blacked out.  Take that.

Brooke’s solo was good stuff entitled “Careless.”  Or “Care Less,” depending on who you talked to.  But according to Abby, the old Brooke was back.  Which bodes well for the dancing part, but still not great if you’re looking for anything close to a smile.

Baby steps.

Nia and Paige brought some big hair and big attitude on stage for the postponed duet and everyone was a happy camper.

The Speak Easy group number required that real money be pinned and stapled and hot glued all over the costumes, which was clearly done more for the pleasure of Abby trying to bankrupt the Moms than for serving any real decorative embellishment purpose.

The moral of that story?  Dollar bills on the outside mean you’re a Speak Easy flapper.

Dollar bills on the inside means you’re working your way through college.  Just saying.

Maddie did some more mean spins on stage and Jill did Gangnam Style in her seat.

For real.  And I can’t un-see it.  Ever.

Then some kids won some stuff.

The highlight of the awards ceremony was Lady Killer Lucas Triana back in the hizzle!!  Everyone’s favorite one leg straight up in the air boy from Dance Moms: Miami was chillin’ on stage and got all the girls a little giggly.

Cuz the little dude’s a Playa.  And probably still my hero.

And then it all hit the fan.

Kelly and Christi went outside to (bleep) and (bleep) their way through a few more rounds in the You Should Have Called Game.

And those bitches went full-on Mob Wives.

Screaming.  Swearing.  And more swearing.  You should have.  No, YOU should have.

(Bleep) you.

No.  (Bleep) you.

OMG.  They, like, totally Unfriended each other.

Delete.

TTFN.

Mob Wives: It’s Time To Mop Up The Streets And Clean Up Your Act. The Girls All Play Nice After The Storm.

Tuesday, February 19th, 2013

 

 

What is that smell? Don’t even tell me I left the Cacciatore in the trunk again.

 

 

 

 

Why, yes. They are spectacular. These girls got me six engagement rings and a rap sheet, thank you very much.

 

 

 

 

Those things can NOT be real. And how the hell did that chick not float away during the storm?

 

 

 

 

I don’t got no power yet, but my hair still looks pretty freakin’ awesome, right? Fuggedaboutit.

 

 

 

 

Oh. My. Gawd. Bronx Boyz are so hot. I would totally knife that so hard his knock-off Gucci shades’d fog up.

 

 

 

 

I’m like totally blind without my glasses, but even I can see that bitch is crazy.

 

 

 

 

 

So then I open the door, and it’s like…BAM! Mama’s gettin’ some tonight.

 

 

 

 

That was kind of a bummer.

Most of the Mob Wives were on clean-up duty this week as everyone tried to put differences aside and come together to help with Hurricane Sandy relief, and it’s always a bit of a downer when Reality TV is forced to stick its big toe into the flood waters of actual…ummm…Reality.

Remember the whole Russell Armstrong crisis over at Real Housewives of Beverly Hills when they couldn’t decide whether to address the issue face on or just replace him with a potted plant during dinner party scenes?  How awkward it was when Russell was clearly edited out of conversations until someone could finally make a decision on how to handle the whole thing?

Well, it would have taken a lot of Home Depot topiaries to hide all the devastation unleashed by Hurricane Sandy last October, so the producers chose to just hit the streets with CNN and show us how bad it really was in their Staten Island ‘hood.

I’m sure that somewhere there was one shameless television executive in some corner office doing the Reality TV Gold Dance when this unscripted storyline came roaring up the East Coast, packing sustained wind gusts of 115 mph like a Sweeps Week gift from the Weather Gods.

Because you know there’s always somebody in the biz more concerned with show ratings than soup kitchen rationing.  True dat.

But for the rest of us, Hurricane Sandy was real.  And as it turned out…so are the Mob Wives.  Who knew?

As Drita and her daughters packed up bag after bag of clothing to bring to shelters, it was a reminder that not only are these ladies actual real-life Staten Island residents, but that they also have way too many clothes in their closets.

Seriously.  Way too many.  The place looked like a HazMat holding area.

Either chill on the trips to the Woodrow Mall or start buying stuff in my size.

Karen and Ramona were doing their part as well, helping out a friend down the street dig through what remained of her home.  These neighborhoods were leveled.

Meanwhile, Big Ang figured she should stick with what she knows best and got to cooking up a mean streak of Costco-sized Chicken Italiano Sumthin Sumthin for the local shelter while Carla wandered around the kitchen in the same furry boots that those Vikings wear in the Capital One commercials.

In my head I picture Big Ang’s basement looking like some gigantic walk-in freezer filled with nothing but deli meat and fur coats dangling from ceiling hooks, because she seems to always be able to get her hands on raw beef, chicken and a chinchilla muff at a moment’s notice.

She lost her brand new salon in the storm, but gained about a gazillion Twitter followers by putting out a plea to drop off hurricane donations at the Drunken Monkey.  Single handedly she probably did more to rally Staten Island into action than all the TalkRadio stations combined.  Mess wid da Island, you mess wid Ang.

If nothing else, we learned that only boobs that freakishly enormous could possibly contain a heart as big as Angela Raiola’s.  We love you, Big Ang.

Down the road Karen did double duty and accompanied Looney Love Majewski as she tried to help out another friend.  Everywhere you turned there was devastation.  And cleavage.  Lots of both.

Except in Miami, where Renee was getting close to finishing up her stint in rehab.

Since Renee refused to watch the news anymore, Ramona called with a progress report and all I could think of was the lucky VH1 camera crew that got the beach gig instead of hurricane duty when they drew straws back at the office.

Suckahs.

Renee’s phone must hold a serious charge, because the next thing you knew she was back on the cell again with Big Ang, letting her know that AJ was on his way down to Florida for a session with Mom.  Ang was busy cooking even more Chicken Italiano Sumthin Sumthin as Renee gave her all the details, until the food came out of the oven and it was time to pack the trunk with another 97 tin foil casserole trays.

Nice talking to you, Renee, but my breasts are getting cold.

I really need to see that basement.

As time went on and the Staten Island clean-up progressed, there was a little more free time to get back to family business.  And that meant Drita could discuss Lee‘s upcoming prison release with daughter Aleeya.

Aleeya.  She’s soooo not gangstah.

She’s like a cross between Blossom and Urkel and the girl who always gets picked last for dodgeball.  But we love her…and her Kids Week Jeopardy glasses…even though I can’t quite figure out if she’s just oblivious to some aspects of “The Lifestyle” or if she’s totally sly like a fox and knows exactly how the game is played.

Regardless, she has the best WTF face of all the little Mob Kids.

Like when Drita explained how Daddy Lee was a neat freak, and that when he comes home with nothing but a manilla envelope full of personal belongings and an OCD twitch the house better be spotless.  Because you know how he gets.

And you expect me to clean it, Mom?  WTF?

Love.  Her.  If this isn’t already a sitcom, then Jennifer Gravano better produce one asap, because I already have the first two verses of Aleeya’s theme song in my head.

Right about now we also had the weekly Mob Wives Head Scratch Moment as Drita explained that Lee’s Dad was killed by the Feds when Lee was only 7 years old.  And that is why Lee probably turned out the way he did.  And that it was all the Fed’s fault that Lee turned to crime.  And that it had nothing to do with his own Dad and whatever it was that he was involved in that got him killed by the Feds.

Because it’s always the Feds’ fault.

Now I’m gonna have to ask Aleeya for clarification, but I’m fairly certain that the Feds don’t actually kill you unless you do something pretty bad.  And when I was 7 years old I couldn’t figure out which shoe went on which foot, much less decide if I wanted to turn to a life of crime.

But every week one of the Wives has to blame something on the Feds, so at least we got this one over with early.

WTF Mom?

Finally, we got some comic relief when my new mob crush Looney Love went dog walking.  In red leather pants.  And a fashionably silk screened coordinating top that featured dueling red pistols fighting it out on her substantial Majewski Jewels.

Like that PBS Battle for the Alamo documentary.  But in IMAX 3D.

Gah.  I can’t get enough of this chick.

Love was taking pudgy Winston out for a tinkle as she talked with ex-boyfriend Joey on her iPhone, and I’m pretty sure the dude just put this show way over it’s Joe Quota.

Joey (…not to be confused with Joe or Jo Jo over at Carla’s place…) is Winston’s Doggie Daddy, as well as a previous recipient of the business end of Love’s L.L. Bean army knife.  And he has the scar tissue to prove it.

Yeah.  She stabbed him.  In front of his Mutha.  Hand to Gawd.  In front of his Mutha.

I can’t even do the conversation justice.  Bitch is just cray cray.

She’s also been engaged six times to a collection of car thieves and home invaders and robbers and attempted murderers.  Can you even imagine her Match.com profile?

But no matter how many times you’re always a Bridesmaid and never a Bride, it’s all good if you can laugh about it.  And she did, until I thought her two pistols would ricochet off a mailbox and take out a streetlight.

Then, in case you missed any of that hilarity due to DVR issues or bathroom breaks, Love met up with Drita to retell the whole Mutha story one mo’ time.

And yes, I was once again captivated.  Especially when Love was late because a pair of brass knuckles fell out of her bra and chipped her pedicure before she even left the house.

Hand to Gawd.

I had to rewind to the Hurricane Sandy part again just to remind myself this show was really about actual people.  You can’t make this s*** up.

At first I wondered why anyone would keep their iPhone in their bra cup, but then I remembered that Ramona is the one with the brass knuckle cell phone cover.  Love just stores plain old phone-free knuckles in her DDs.  Then it all made sense.

It turned out that Joey and Lee have a history, too, if you can call a baseball bat to the face history.  Back in the day, Lee tried to hit one over the fence so hard that the bat broke when Joey’s face got in the way.  But it’s all good if you can laugh about it.  And the girls did.

Joey…not so much.

Back in Miami it got heavy again as AJ arrived for his session with Mom and her therapist Vernon, who was a quirky little guy who could totally have been a stand-in bartender on The Love Boat if he was wearing a different shirt.

AJ has always had some issues with his Mom’s addiction, and in a Gangland PSA Moment he stated that there is no reason to do drugs.  Ever.

I think AJ and Aleeya should go to lunch, because I’m starting to think that they both have the same outlook on The Lifestyle.  AJ is definitely mopier than Aleeya.  Maybe rightfully so given all the wire tap drama last season.  But he’s pretty on the ball when it comes to what Mom has been up to over the last year or so, and it surprised Renee to hear him blurt out some zingers.

Then she lost it.

You know someone really loses it when the Honey Boo Boo subtitles come out.

AJ forgave Renee for the hot mess she’d made of everything over the past two years and they hugged it out like champs, though I’ll never understand how a kid who shares the same emotional car wreck DNA never even flinches under pressure.  It’s like he’s either born without tear ducts or has just gone numb.

Remember Data on Star Trek: The Next Generation?

AJ’s like that.  But with Prada glasses instead of a brain chip.  Google it.

Back up north in Staten Island, an 18 wheeler full of hurricane relief and hair gel pulled up to the Drunken Monkey and Big Ang couldn’t have been more excited.

The Bronx Boys all showed up in a trailer packed to the roof with enough supplies to rival the Red Cross, all thanks to Ang’s Tweeter.

Yes…she called it Tweeter one time, and now I can’t get it out of my head.  She’s not a big fan of punctuation when she twats, either.  Just sayin’.

But how much did you love The Bronx Boys?

I can’t.

Even in a blizzard the dudes were all rockin’ sunglasses and major league DJ Pauly D hair.  Like I always say, whatever product those boyeez were using to spike their hair should immediately be sent to NASA to keep the shuttle tiles attached, because that was some serious freeze shizzle fodizzle.

And shouting “Fuggedaboutit ” every time they tossed a box of baby wipes from one truck to another pretty much gave me life.  GTL, you freakin’ grenades.

Then we made one last trip to escape the snow and headed back to Miami for Renee’s graduation, where all her group buddies got to stand up and say a little something before she headed back home all new and improved.

The Renee 2013 Model just rolled off the assembly line, bitches.

Then everyone screamed one last time.

Back on Staten Island, like any good soap opera, there was just enough time for the Friday cliffhanger.  Except it was Sunday.  But you know what I mean.

With Carla and Big Ang hanging on her every word, Drita tried to explain how she had just returned to her house and opened the front door and…wait for it…saw someone inside her house.  And do you know who it was?  You’ll never guess.

Wait for it…wait for it…

Give up?

Lee!  Lee was (bleepin’) in her (bleepin’) house and she almost (bleeped) herself!

Now what?

Be here next week and find out.

Same Mob Time.  Same Mob Channel.

Thinking of DVRing it and watching it later?

Fuggedaboutit.

Dance Moms: Rotten To The Core. The Real Housewives Of Pittsburgh Are Back, And They’re Throwing Shade And Bottled Water In Yo’ Face.

Wednesday, February 13th, 2013

 

 

 

You might wanna chill, girls. I got this.

 

 

 

 

 

I know, right? I can’t explain my awesome hair either. It just kinda happens.

 

 

 

 

I hate to squeak and freak, but I’ve gotta work the red carpet, shoot a movie and feed My Little Pony.

 

 

 

 

 

Look. I still have ice cream on my pants.

 

 

 

 

 

Hello, Applebee’s? Please tell me you’re still open. Mama needs a cocktail.

 

 

 

 

 

Not gonna lie. Some of those Dance Dads are mighty fine. Mmm Mmm.

 

 

 

 

Oh Hell No, Bitch. I know you did NOT just get my hair wet.

 

 

 

 

Lawd have mercy.

Seriously.  I had no idea dancing could be so exhausting.

I can’t imagine actually doing it, if just watching it wears me out like this.

Dance Moms just took every show on my DVR and once again mashed them all up into one chaotic, oversized throw down.

We had Real Housewives drama as everyone got all OhNoSheDin’t all up in each other’s faces.  We had RuPaul realness as queens threw shade all over the room.  We had Mob Wives on the attack as water and knock-off pocketbooks flew every which way.  We had Monday Night Football as testosterone fueled Dance Dads fist pumped and chest bumped each other right into the sheetrock.  We had Animal Planet as the female of the species tried to sink their fangs into soft fleshy neck tissue to protect their young from outside predators.

And there was definitely some What Not To Wear going on up in there.  Just saying.

We even had a Saturday morning cartoon if you count little Sophia Lucia squeaking around Studio A, but she was hardly there long enough to move the needle so she doesn’t really count this time around.

Honestly, if they hadn’t stretched this week’s episode into a 90 minute Abbypalooza, I’m not sure there would have been enough time for any actual dancing.  Don’t plan on getting much work done at the office today, because this is a long one.

Coming off of last week’s win, you would think that Abby Lee Miller would be smiling as everyone filed in for the Pyramid of Shame & Supension, but that wasn’t happening.  You could tell she was already cranky when she snarked at Brooke for spending the entire ride to the studio uploading pictures to her Instagram page instead of putting her hair up in a bun.

And so it began.

Just to mess with their heads, Abby started the Pyramid from the top down.

Kendall finally made it to the top spot.  Finally.  Jill did an end zone victory dance and messed her hair up a little more.

Maddie and Nia were hanging in the middle.  Better than the bottom, not as good as the top.  Nia definitely didn’t appear to be on her game.  Stay tuned.

Sitting on the bottom were Paige and Mackenzie.  Paige was there just cuz, and Mackadoodle got called out for being Dead Weight.  Also on the bottom was a photo of the MIA Chloe, with a big magic marker “Suspended” tagged on her face like gang graffiti on a dumpster.

As you’l recall, Mom Christi had completely melted down last week after argument #974 with Abby and had physically dragged Chloe out of the venue, shoving paparazzi and 9 year old fangirls to the floor as she vowed never to return again.

The Password is: Suspension.

Looks like they got a week off to catch up on homework and buy some more sparkly Chico’s tops.

Since having magic marker scribble on your face isn’t humiliating enough, Abby then taped Brooke’s 8×10 glossy over Chloe’s on the Pyramid, like she never even existed.

At least Brooke finally made it back up on the wall, bun or not.

This week they were headed to Detroit.  Motor City.  For yet another Starpower competition.  And another dance your face-off with their arch rivals, the Candy Apples Male Revue.

Yeah.  The boys were back in town again.  And judges love them boys.  And in case you missed it the first 20 times, Abby once again explained how boys get better scores than the girls, in the hopes that they will continue dancing and not worry about getting wedgies in gym class.

Kendall got another solo, as did Maddie.  You remember Maddie, right?

Paige and Nia got a duet.  And then everyone got to rehearsing.

As Nia and Paige started getting into their Wild Child & Wallflower routine, we finally got some insight into why Sasha Nia has been dragging her tailpipe this season.

Our little Diva suffers from RND.  Reflex Sympathetic Dystrophy Syndrome.  A mouthful, and something that had never been discussed in the last three seasons.  It’s a neurological disease that basically hurts.  A lot.  You can Google all the info.  It just came out of the blue this week, and we found out that Sasha used to be in a wheelchair for a bit.  But she doesn’t let it get her down, and by the middle of the show this week she was getting her LaQuifa What? face back.

You go, girl.

Then we headed to Ohio and the Evil Dance Lair.  Before you even see the cows you know it’s Ohio, because they always play that Drive-In Movie music as we go inside the Candy Apple’s Dance Center.  Literally, I can’t even look at Ohio on a map anymore without wanting to go to the snack bar for a dancing weenie and buttered popcorn.

If you have no idea what a Drive-In Movie theater or a dancing weenie is…please just go do a book report on it or something.  I can’t be that old.

Chaos Cathy Nesbitt-Stein was plotting the next attack with her new dancing boy toys while she activated her Apple TV video pyramid.  It’s way cooler than Abby’s scotch tape presentation, but since it’s only four boys it’s not as impressive as it should be.

Bboy Jalen, Miami Dancing Machine Gino and Zack Attack were all present and accounted for, as well as a newbie Brandon.  One of last week’s kids was already missing, but I forget which one.  And this time we had three Dance Dads in the hizzle and they were all going off like it was Super Bowl Sunday.

And you know that Zack’s Mom Gina was loving it.  She’s not a trouble maker, and even back on Abby’s Ultimate Dance Competition she pretty much just sat back and let that Jennifer Lopez Mom slap the crazy right out of Yvette.  But what Dance Mom wouldn’t want to have three dudes fight over who’s gonna open the limo door for you?

Bring it on, boys.  Mama likes.

The boys routine was all about a mystery girl they see in a magazine who gets them so tightly wound that they have to spin on their heads and dance like One Direction.  It reminded me of the first time you found your Dad’s Playboy and disappeared for two hours in the treehouse.  TMI?

While the boys practiced looking at girls in magazines (…insert your own tasteless joke here_________ ) the girls were back in Pittsburgh working on their Mountain Avalanche dance.  Nia’s foot was starting to act up again, and Mom Holly was getting concerned.

I actually thought it might be aching like your joints do when a storm front is moving in, or when animals go totally spaz before an earthquake, because next thing you know…in walked Sophia and Mom Jackie, fresh from the movie shoot or photo shoot or modeling shoot or crap shoot or whatever Witness Protection shoot they’ve been on for the last three weeks.

They’re baaaaaack.

But only for about 23 minutes, so don’t get too excited.  But it was long enough for Jackie to squirm around during one of Abby’s screaming fits, for Sophia to start trending on Twitter and for Kelly to pump Jackie for all her Hollywood contacts.  Then they were gone again.

If only the pain in Nia’s foot would disappear as easily.

As Kendall started her first crying episode of the week, Nia finally couldn’t take it anymore (…the pain, not Kendall’s weekly crying jag…) and headed to the doctor’s to see wassup with her RND.

Clearly it must have been an intern she and Mom met with, because the medical professional told her it was ok to go back to the dance studio as long as she didn’t dance too much, which didn’t even make sense.  You can dance as long as you don’t dance, ok honey?  Have a lollipop.

But Sasha is a fighter, and she’s gonna work through it like a boss.

Finally, it was Showtime!

I’ll say it again.  The entrances into the venues are more entertaining than the actual competitions lately.

The Candy Apples brigade arrived in a Real Housewives of Beverly Hills stretch limo that almost sideswiped the ALDC Enterprise rental van.  As Abby and Cathy entered the auditorium they were once again greeted by all those Justin Bieber girls holding up iPads and Hello Kitty cells, screaming like their roller coaster just lost its brakes.

Abby bellied right up to the Boy Bar and started pointing out that none of the Candy Apples team was actually from Ohio, which set Dad Rick off like a bottle rocket.

Since they don’t wear name tags, I’m assuming he’s Jalen’s Dad, because he hugged him at one point.  But regardless, he and Abby got all up in each other’s grill and started talking trailer trash s*** until Melissa broke it up.

Seriously.  Richard’s a bigger bitch than half the women on the show.

You can talk to your wife like that, but not to me.  I don’t talk to my wife like that, because she doesn’t talk to children like that.  What’s your point?  What’s your point?

Honestly, if this was Days of Our Lives they would have made out right there in the lobby.  Hot, sloppy, angry dance teacher kind of make out.

But luckily it’s not, and they all headed to their dressing rooms.  Except Cathy became disoriented and went right into the ALDC room and got everyone all worked up again.

Abby and Holly went a few rounds as well, and Professor Frazier called Abby a Monstrosity of Evil, which I believe is a Japanese film.  Then Abby pulled the duet because Holly was being a RickBitch and nobody speaks to Abby like that.  Holly ended up in the ladies room with Kelly, sobbing her eyes out and getting mad that she even allowed Abby to get under her skin at all.

Then somebody remembered that it was a dance show, and the kids did their thang on one of those bar mitzvah hotel dance floors.  Originally I thought it was an auditorium, but then I saw that the room was set up exactly the same way they set up the Ramada for pageants on Toddlers & Tiaras, so I have no clue where this thing was going down.

All I know is that nobody could see around Abby because all the seats were floor level pricing.

And don’t get me started on the Wild Dance Intensive backdrop.  Total Jungle Love.

For a dance competition?  Trees and safari decor and so much busy Amazon artwork that any kid who was wearing a green costume completely disappeared like a chameleon on a rain forest leaf.  Who comes up with these things?

Kendall’s solo was pretty tame.  Gino’s solo looked like we all went back in a time machine and watched baby Marc Anthony on a Telemundo talent show.

Maddie’s solo was a Maddie solo.  She likes to hold both sides of her head a lot when she dances.  I give you the Migraine Mambo.  Judges?

In the Candy Apples locker room, the Dads got the boys all pumped up for their Playboy routine like it was bottom of the 4th quarter and there was no beer left in the cooler.  I think Gina was a little turned on.

Zack even channeled Tom Brady and Peyton Manning during his backstage motivational speech.

If the power grid could have handled it, I would have bet money that Beyoncé was going to show up for a Halftime Show.  A second bet would have been that the blonde judge was going to throw her panties up on stage when the boys started dancing.

This chick was Into.  It.  Big time.

Then some kids won some stuff.  Google it, because the important stuff went down after crowning.  Or awards.  What show is this again?

(Spoiler Alert: It wasn’t the ALDC.  Yikes.)

It all started one mo’ time in the hallway between The Rickster and Abby.  Is it getting hot in here, or is it just me?  Then Abby dissed congested Vivi-Anne, who follows Mom Cathy around like she’s inside one of those invisible electric shock fences or something.

Then Jill blew a nutty because she heard Cathy talk about Kendall.  And then everyone started screaming.

Cathy got disoriented again and ended up back in the ALDC dressing room.  Wait for it…wait for it….

Boom! Abby threw her water at Cathy.  Cathy swung her pocketbook at Abby and clocked her in the back of her head and shoulders.  (Side note…Abby spent the rest of the scene hugging herself like she had just fallen out of a ski lift.  It was a pocketbook honey, not a forklift.)

As Cathy tried to run out and meet up with all her flying monkeys, Jill tossed another bottle of Poland Springs on her head and then it just went bazoinkers.

Like Real Housewives of Atlanta when Kim and NeNe go at it.  That kind.

There were camera guys in everybody’s way as Jill and Cathy pounced on each other.  Cathy stole Kelly’s water and hosed down Jill.  Some random guy who looked like he tallied votes for the Oscars grabbed Cathy and pulled her out of the room.  Jill went nutty.  Cowboy Hat Nutty, for those of you who remember her first nut.

Then Abby called her Mom.  Melissa was afraid that Abby was going to have a heart attack.  Kelly couldn’t believe that she was the sane one this week.

And shouldn’t someone have tried to track down a few of the children?  Where were they, anyway?

Splash.

Oh, what a World.  What a Dance World.


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