Archive for the ‘Pop Culture’ Category

Dance Moms Reunion Part One: The Real Housewives Of Pittsburgh Get All Dressed Up And Then Throw Down With Abby. Let The Craziness Begin.

Wednesday, September 19th, 2012



I saw on Bravo TV that when you tilt your head back like this a guy pours a shot in your mouth.





One flick of my finger and you’ve got an acrylic nail and a Ninja Star in your artery, bitch.






Well, of course if I’d known they’d be shooting from this angle I would have combed the back of my hair. Absolutely.





Lawd. I feel it! I feel the Craziness all up in here! It’s speaking to me and my ladies! And it’s saying…LaQuifa Whaaat?




Hey. Professor. If you can get that chocolate in here from the other end of the couch, Nia gets a week of free privates.





Seriously. We’ve been Besties for like 100 years and I still have no f***ing clue what’s up with that hair. Not a clue.




Pardon me.  Andy Cohen?

Would you mind just scooting down a little bit?  Just a tiny snudge?

Jeff Collins needs that chair for a few hours if it’s ok.

This was the week it all happened.  Dance Moms officially got the Stamp of Approval from the Sisterhood of Reality Television Shows.

The Moms got a Reunion Special.

Two of them actually.  Part One and Part Two, which means they’ve finally made it into the Big Time and can now join the ranks of every Real Housewives Bitch Fest season ending spectacular that has gone before them.

Because that’s when you know you’ve made it, when you finally get a set of hot rollers and your own Reunion Show.

(Seriously…did you see Abby’s hair the first season?  Come on.  Money talks.)

Think New York.  Or the OC.  Or Atlanta, with less leg oil.

And if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.  Just plop down two couches with a chair or two in the middle, print up a couple dozen Twitter question 3 x 5’s and let the hilarity ensue.

Playing the role of Andy Cohen this week we had the really nice and smiley Mr. Collins, who is basically the President, Executive Producer, Master Mind Genius and Mad Scientist of the production company responsible for the worldwide Dance Moms infestation.  His company has a few other good shows out there on the airwaves, but Dance Moms is what put them on the Pinterest map and I’ll bet good money he was kissing all those Crazies on the lips during the first commercial break.

He didn’t waste anytime getting right down to bidnezz with the Moms, after introducing the Woman of the Hour.  Abby Lee Miller, snuggled right up next to Jeff and what appeared to be a half empty candy dish, was ready to get this show on the road with the first video montage.

Wearing every piece of silver jewelry shown on the first 10 pages of the Pandora Fall 2012 catalog, Abby was definitely ready for her HD closeup because that Bitch was blingin’.  Weighed down with bracelets and wrist cuffs and a necklace big and dangly enough to deflect gunfire, as well as a Ninja Star ring that I swore was going to fly off and slit Jeff’s throat before the hour was over, Abby was in her element.

After a mash-up of clips highlighting the evolution of Abby’s stylish new Dance Judge hairdo, Jeff tossed the ball to the ladies.

Can I just say that Holly has some amazing posture before we even get to the good stuff?  Her spinal x-ray must look like a piece of Home Depot 2 by 4.

Now I don’t know if she was the only one propped up by pillows or what, but when you saw her sitting there so prim and principally proper it made the other Moms look like they were at a Frat party.

Don’t get me wrong.  Nobody else was slouching.  But kudos to Mrs. Frazier for showing the rest of us at home that it’s actually possible to be on a couch and not get Cheeto’s crumbs on your belly.  I was almost inspired to sit up.


After a quick discussion on Abby’s message vs. Abby’s delivery of that message, Jeff moved on to the Most Outrageous Mom category, which Kelly won before I had even completely filled out my voting ballot.

Cue the Kelly Meltdown Montage.

Seriously.  I can’t imagine that finding those clips was much work.  I mean, really.  The guy in the editing booth could probably have just closed his eyes, spun around, randomly hit the pause button and landed on a Kelly Meltdown.

We love her.  She’s cray cray.  Almost the bad kind of cray cray…but just this side of the good kind of cray cray.  So we love her.

And Christi loves her.  Hearing Mr. Collins call Christi and Kelly “Besties” sounded a little odd, which was probably due to the fact that he’s a grown a** man using the word “Besties.”  I’m almost positive that word has a shelf life that expires before you reach your sophomore year in high school.

Dude.  Do NOT type “Besties” on your Blackberry.  Ever.

As a Bestie, I did however wonder why over the years Christi had never asked Kelly what the F*** was going on with that hair cut.  I mean, she’s got that one long piece that is probably supposed to be there, but I personally know two people who got kicked out of Beauty School for leaving a straggler like that behind someone’s ear.  Go figure.

Next they moved on to the Pyramid of Shame and why the whole process was even necessary, which smoothly segued into why Maddie was almost always at the top and the whole favoritism song and dance number.

After a quick video recap showing Abby tearing off about 72 cover sheets and revealing Maddie’s endearingly toothy grin, it was the same old conversation that the Moms had every week up in the MomPerch.  The only difference this time around was that we got to see Melissa‘s nervous foot twitch as everyone circled their prey.  It was the same twitch that happens under a desk when a kid is afraid that the teacher is going to call on them for an answer when they totally forgot to read the book the night before.

That twitch.

By the time they got to a discussion about Abby insisting Maddie bring in her trunk full of competition crowns to rub in the other girls’ faces on that fateful day, I thought Melissa was going to kick her stiletto right out of the camera shot.

Watching the flashback scene with all those crowns laid out on a table like an old drag queen’s estate sale made me realize that the first time around I had totally missed Diva Nia‘s OhNoSheDin’t face.

Girlfriend was all like Oh.  Hell.  No. with these crowns, bitch.

Love me some Nia.

Next, since there was a seemingly endless supply of Kelly Meltdown tapes, we got another montage.  This time with Abby as her evil nemesis.

We saw the infamous un-stoppered chair toss across the ALDC studio floor and the blurred out Kelly bird flip, and then the two of them went at it across the couch over the original 10pm request for rubber chair nips that started the whole fiasco.  Kelly tried to explain that she had made the decision to stay home that evening and introduce herself to that third kid who always seems to be there when she brings Paige and Brooke home from rehearsals instead of plugging ‘chair stoppers’ into her GPS.

As cray cray as Kelly is, I gotta stand with her on this one.  Personally, I would not even know where to begin looking for chair stoppers at 10pm on a weeknight.  I’m going to assume that all the rubber stopper stores are closed by 9pm, if not earlier.

And bottom line, how bad are your chairs…and how sad is your life…that you need to leave the house at 10pm for a rubber stopper run anyway?

Kelly has still not decided whether or not she will be returning next season.

Umm.  Yeah. Anyone want to place bets on that one?  I’m feeling pretty confident about going forward with my new line of Kelly’s KrazySeason 3 tee shirts.  Especially after we relived the day when Kelly called Abby fat.  And a whore.  A fat whore.  And still managed to slurp down her Starbucks without skipping a beat.

She’s a keeper.  She ain’t going anywhere.

Somehow that all turned into a throw down over the competition when Maddie’s CD skipped and whether or not the whole thing had been pre-planned.

Kelly swore that Melissa knew in advance that it was going to happen, which in the world of The Dance automatically gives you First Place somehow.

First Place?  Like with a crown?  If that is really the deal, I can’t believe that every week somebody’s CD isn’t scratched.

Think about it.  If I could be guaranteed a first place trophy and a chance to snag some headgear off Maddie’s table, I would be in the park with a puppy tossing CD frisbees while everyone else was back at the studio doing hamstring stretches.  I’m no fool.

Kelly swore on her kids it was gospel.  Melissa swore on her Mother’s grave.  Abby swore the chocolate had nuts in it and tried another piece before Jeff took the whole bowl away and slapped her hand.

We then had a few minutes of Abby accusing Christi of using her daughter Chloe as her ticket out of the ghetto, since Mom had never had the opportunity to dance and be a star when she a youngster.  Christi got all Proud Mom face as she discussed Chloe and the rarely seen baby nugget known as Clara.  The little tyke was a cutie, with a head like a dandelion right before the wind blows all that fuzz in your eyes.

And speaking of ghetto…

The whole LaQuifa Whaaaat? issue was brought up again.

That’s the issue where Abby kept pushing Nia into ethnic roles and ethnic dances and ethnic outfits and ethnic afro wigs in a completely none-PC attempt to immerse her in the 1970’s sitcom roles that she felt Nia was destined to be offered out in the real world.

Well, not completely immersed I guess, because you know how LaQuifa hates to get her hair wet.

Oh snap.  Yeah.  It was that inappropriate.

Watching Holly get all non-ethnically ethnic is something I will never get tired of, trust me.  She not only yanked that afro pick out of Nia’ hair, but she pretty much whooped Miss Abby’s butt with it before tossing it out the sunroof of that family minivan with the “I’ve Got a Doctorate and U Don’t” bumper sticker.

Holly don’t play.

And then there was Jill.

The alleged studio hopper made her entrance, all sewn into a pretty tight dress that barely contained any of her Bump-Its, and slowly lowered herself on to the couch with the girls.

Flashback to the now classic cowboy hat/shoe toss in the makeup room, spliced together with that sloppy strip club scene where Jill chewed a $20 bill into hamster cage shavings after pulling it out of a guy’s banana hammock with her front teeth, and you pretty much just summed up Jill Vertes.

Even though she still hadn’t quite gotten her new hair style under control, Jill had no problem laying into Melissa for hiding her engagement to a married man, which in turn got all the Moms going on Mystery Greg‘s Cease and Desist lawyer letter.

Friends don’t sue Friends, mmmkay?

It was a touchy subject and immediately got everyone worked up.  As Melissa did her best Talk to the Hand defensive blocking, it got pretty heated somewhere during the conversation.  But honestly, after somebody reminded us all that Melissa is “cleanly shaved down there” nothing else really mattered except stopping my eyes and ears from bleeding.

Hoping for another Kardashian Moment, Jeff asked Melissa if he could sneak in a camcorder or two during her upcoming nuptuals and almost blacked out when she didn’t immediately say No.  She didn’t say Yes..but at least she didn’t say No.

Part One finished off with the arrival of Chaos Cathy Nesbitt and her not so sugary Candy Apples attitude.

It wasn’t quite NeNe‘s ATL, but Cathy and Christi together still made for some fun television.  Especially when we got to see some never before seen footage of Cathy tossing water at Christi on the sidewalk like a true Real Housewife bitch.

Dance Moms getting down and dirty on the streets?  Sign me up.

Full disclosure: Not going to lie.  I was secretly rooting for somebody to pull on someone’s wig like Sheree Whitfield and Kim Zolciak‘s classic street brawl, but no such luck.  Don’t get me wrong, and don’t judge.  I don’t condone violence, though I do condone hair pulling and face slapping if justified for the storyline or ratings.

You have to draw the line somewhere.

And like any good Housewife Reunion, the really good stuff is in Part Two.

Cathy barely got her engine revved this time around, so according to the previews, next week should be a classic.

And hold up.  Was that sassy Kaya they just showed getting all Miss Thang up in everyone’s face next time?  She’s back?!

Girrrrl, pleez.

I don’t know how Andy Cohen does it.  I’m exhausted.

Here Comes Honey Boo Boo: Well, I Was Born A Chalk Miner’s Daughter In A Cabin By A Train In McIntyre. Smell My Breath…It Must Be Time For Sketti!

Thursday, September 13th, 2012




Moon Pie. Whoopie Pie. Shoo Fly. I don’t care whatchoo call it. All I know is that there is way too much stuff going on down there. Yeeuck.





Not gonna lie. I can smell my own breath now and it’s kinda making me hungry.






My lemonade brings all the boys to the yard. And they’re like “Hey…Sketti with Lard!” Muah.





What the hell? I’m pretty sure Eden Wood isn’t sitting outside hawking Solo cups in the hot sun. I’m Honey Boo Boo Child, bitches.





I know! How about a free roll of Brawny with every glass of lemonade? Unless we get more than 847 customers… Then we’re screwed.



I’m always kind of at a loss right after every episode of Here Comes Honey Boo Boo.

It’s not a bad thing.  It’s more like that awkward first few moments after you break up with someone and you don’t know what you’re supposed to do next.

Now you know I love me some Boo Boo.  Nothing but love.

That’s been well documented over the years.  I Redneckishly own that one.

But despite my lifetime charter membership in the Honey Boo Boo Child Fan Club, I still find myself wandering aimlessly in circles around the living room trying to figure out my next move as soon as I turn off the plasma.

I mean, really.  Do I wash my hands, take an antacid, open another bag of cheese balls, sterilize the remote, clean up all the soda I spilled during one of my giggle fits, pinch myself to prove it wasn’t all a dream or just have someone pull my finger and call it a night?

I never know.

Tonight, just to be safe, I checked off everything on the list because the show was that Cray Cray.

After the first of numerous near train derailments off to the left side of that wobbly garage (…which we now know storm by like clockwork every 10-15 minutes, thank you Anderson Cooper…) Mama June was trying to gather up all the Boo Boo Girls for a shopping trip.

Naturally, being a city slicker, I assumed that meant they would all grab their cells and their lip gloss and head to the Mall for an afternoon at Abercrombie and that place with the monster cinnamon rolls that you can smell all the way down in the JCPenney wing.

But no.

Who knew they only lived 100 feet from the Flash Foods Convenience Store?


Google Maps actually shows a train track, a garage, a house, some year-round Christmas icicle lights, crap in the yard, the other train track, a 25mph road and then a convenience store.  All in one corner of a screen shot that doesn’t even require any scrolling.  That’s how close everything is to Casa Boo Boo.

You don’t need a coat.  Hell, you don’t even need shoes if you’re Pumpkin.

Since we learned a little later in this same episode that Pumpkin doesn’t know how to spell the word “lemonade,” it kind of goes without saying that she probably isn’t any better at sounding out “No Shoes, No Service.”

That quickly became evident as she barreled her way into the 7-11 knock-off with all ten toes slapping the linoleum like Planet of the Apes when they all broke out of that zoo.

Run by Manager/Aspiring Hip Hop Krunker Donta, the store even came complete with a lightening bolt superhero logo and a co-worker who I believe was somehow related to Queen Latifah.

I pretty much grew to love the show even more…Right.  About.  Now.

Whereas most managers would see them coming across the parking lot and either hit the under-counter panic alarm or lock up early, Snoop Donta Donta welcomed the gang with open arms.  He even liked to call Pumpkin’s shoeless style her ‘Bamm Bamm look.’

Like the Flintstones in that episode where they paid a Board of Health fine for not wrapping their feet in wooly mammoth skin before touching open food.

That Bamm Bamm.

As Alana terrorized the store like a low-rent Kardashian, trying on every pair of sunglasses on the spinner, Queen Latifah’s cousin commented on how…umm…how different the Boo Boo Girls were, and how they certainly kept things interesting.

Donta loved them, too.  They were unique.  Like his Teef.

Big smile.  Big gold Flava Flav grill.

That’s right.  McIntyre, Georgia.  2010 Census Population: 650.

And at least one of them has gold teeth.

It was definitely right around this point that I grew to love the show even more.  I remember now.

After scooping up a few bags of junk food, the girls made the trek back home and then it was time for Alana‘s Date Night with Sugar Bear.

As the entire world wide web has discussed at one point or another, part of the Boo Boo Charm is the fact that they really all love each other and that…well…they’re real.

Since Dad Shugie works seven days a week plowing fields and harvesting chalk (…is anyone ever going tell me how they actually do this?…) he doesn’t get to spend enough time with his daughters.  Both the real one(s) and the almost real ones.

So Date Night was a big deal for both Alana and Sugar Bear.

Hearing him recall how Alana had taken his breath away when he first saw her as a baby did give me a slight fuzzy.  And luckily he didn’t spit a juicy wad of chew back up into that bottle he has on the dashboard and ruin the mood.

It was Destination: Fun Factory for Dad and Daughter, which was pretty much a Dave & Buster’s knock-off where you could roller-skate, slide, swing, eat and pinball yourself into a prize ticket seizure.

Alana was in Heaven.

Since neither of them are at risk of being drafted onto the Olympic skating team anytime soon, they both needed a little help on the rink.  After finally figuring out which foot got which disco roller-skate, Shugie and Alana wobbled out onto the slick floor grasping their training crutches.

Made out of Home Depot PVC piping, the contraptions were basically right angle bumper guards like you’d see in hotels to prevent the Help from plowing laundry carts into the wall as they take sharp turns while texting in a foreign language on the cellphones that they’re not supposed to be carrying in the first place.

But these had little wheels.  Like nursing home walkers with axels.

A few face plants and butt plops later, Alana scored a giant inflatable cartoon Thor hammer and they went home like conquering heroes.  Best.  Day.  Ever.


Now I don’t know if there’s a slow gas leak in the house, or it’s related to diesel train emissions, but for whatever reason the oldest girls have the worst time keeping their eyes open during daylight hours.

When they’re not eating, they’re rubbing their eyes or yawning and barely have the strength to break the seal on a fresh jug of cheese balls.

Add to that the seemingly never ending expectant Teen Mom energy drain, and Chickadee was almost catatonic as they all laid around the house discussing child birth.

It has always been pretty clear that Chickadee has no idea what is about to happen to her lady parts in a few weeks.  Now I’m really starting to wonder if she even knows how she ended up in this predicament in the first place.

To put it into perspective, Dr. Alana explained that Baby Kaitlyn was getting ready to come out of Chickadee’s Moon Pie.  I immediately swore off Moon Pies.

And Whoopie Pies, just to be safe.

Mama June then explained that some Moms uncontrollably Ooooo themselves during childbirth.  I immediately crossed “home birthing” off my Bucket List, since witnessing a pocket pig squeeze one out on the dining room table almost did me in last time.

By the time Dr. Alana assumed that you pull both the baby and your biscuit out during delivery, it was clear that nobody in the room actually had a freakin’ clue what was about to go down in Georgia.

So for a distraction, it was time to play “Guess Who’s Breath?”

Trust me.  You don’t need to read the rules.  The title is the rule.

The next time you’re struggling to keep your guests entertained, simply blindfold them and shoot a blast of yesterday’s warm cheese breath into their open mouth and nose holes and then let the hilarity ensue.

You just need to Hulu that scene, because I can’t do it justice.

Picture that Monday morning when you opened your school locker only to discover that you had left your egg salad sandwich inside a paper bag all weekend.  And your locker faces the window.  And it’s Springtime.

It was like that.  Except somebody ate it and then put their tongue waaaay too close to your front teeth.

There was actually so much hilarity ensuing that before they knew it, Chickadee left a little unintentional wet spot on the that gigantic furniture outlet microfiber couch.

Literally.  A spot.  And it was wet.

It would have been nice if someone had told June that the game was over before she mauled the animal markings and took a quick hit off her finger tips.

And you wonder why I walk in circles after the show is over.  Love.  Them.

The rest of the show was all drinkin’ and sellin’ and eatin’.

To raise some additional funds to support Alana’s glitz addiction, the Boo Boos all decided to set up an old skool lemonade stand.  Since Alana had outgrown both her cupcake dress and her old hair, this was going to be an expensive venture the next time the pageant bus rolled through town.  So every penny counted.

After scribbling out some poster board signing that reminded me of hotel picket lines when half the Help has been fired for laundry cart texting and the front desk guys refuse to pitch in and pick up the slack, June showed Alana how to concoct the ultimate, perfectly toxic Go-Go-Lemonade.

Five pounds of sugar.  Five.  And then some lemon juice.  And then some more sugar.

I know, right?

At 50 cents a cup, it’s definitely cheaper than the street value for pure crack but easily just as addictive.  So it was game on for the lemonade stand.

After a whole bunch of screaming and traffic stopping, they made $25 and basically paid for about five pounds of sugar and some lemon juice.

But it was quality time.

To celebrate the unexpected cash flow and a slow Roadkill Season, June whipped up a special treat for everyone.

It was Sketti Night!  Which is like Prince Spaghetti Night.

But it’s not.  It’s Sketti Night.

Sketti and Butter and Ketchup Night, actually.

It was DIY sauce time as June showed Alana the secret family recipe for seasoning sketti and clogging arteries.  Butter and Ketchup.  Nuked.

As whacked out as it may sound to some of you, there are actually hardcore Italian restaurants who serve the creation.  For real.  More people have heard of the recipe than you would imagine.  Half of them have probably had at least one surgery to insert a stent, but still…the recipe is popular.  And sometimes arteries just clear themselves, right?

Keeping up with those Italian tradition, June and Alana flung wet pasta at the cabinets to see if the meal was done.  Stick it and you can lick it.

(That’s what she said.  Booyeah!)

Something told me that this was not the first time that the Boo Boo kitchen had witnessed flying food.  I just had a feeling.

As of late, the dining room table seems to be reserved for craft projects and pig poo, because the Boo Boo Clan believes in eating their meals in whatever spot their butt happens to land.  Being a proud couch eater myself, I bow to their mastery of the craft.

There were plates and food and messes from corner to corner.  I’d hazard a guess and say that roughly 60% of Alana’s meal didn’t even make it into her mouth, which prompted June to admit that she isn’t exactly known around town as the Mom who forces proper etiquette on her children.

You think?

But that’s why I love the Boo Boos.

Any family who knows how to have that much fun is ok in my book.

So wash down that nasty Moon Pie with some leftover SugarBuzz lemonade and we’ll see you next time, mmmkay?

Pull my finger.

Dance Moms: It’s My Nationals 90210, And I’ll Cry If I Want To. Abby And The ALDC Head To Beverly Hills For Some Dancing And Candy Apples Spanking.

Wednesday, September 12th, 2012



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





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





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




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





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





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




Oh snap.

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

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

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

Thank you for your immediate attention to this matter.

Now back to bidnezz.

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

Definitely no Good Witch.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But maybe that’s just me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Knock that off, please.

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

Just change the date.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

LOL.  Smiley Sideways Kitty Face.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Finally it was Showtime!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You wish.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Justice did some kind of wounded army vet looking thing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Man, there was a lot of crying this week.

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

Then everyone cried some more.

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

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

Eat your heart out, Andy Cohen.

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