Archive for the ‘Pop Culture’ Category

Toddlers & Tiaras: It Was A Pint-Sized Bad Girls Club When Kailia And Kayla Met Again For Round Two Of Their Sparkly Grudge Match. It’s Not Always Sunny At California Tropic Pageants.

Thursday, July 12th, 2012



That’s right, Kailia. I’m back, and I’m coming for you…and those big googly eyeballs.






Oh. Hell. No, Kayla. You did not just go there, you cracker eating crybaby.






Check it out. Third time’s a charm. And I still don’t think you’re ready for all this jelly.





And this is what I think of your booty pop and that tired old piece of recycled Shirley Temple.





That’s my baby. ‘Cause pageants are all about good sportsmanship, right? Especially when you know the other kid’s a loser.




Ok.  I want credit for this when it finally happens.

Best.  Youtube.  Video.  Ever.

Someone else just has to make it, since I haven’t really mastered the iMovie app yet.

Take the soundtrack from VH1’s Bad Girls Club.  Throw in some sound bites from any random season of The Bachelor when a girl cries or talks about how beautiful she is compared to the other girls.

Lay the whole track down over the camera work from this week’s Toddlers & Tiaras, and you just basically nailed exactly what the latest episode sounded like in my head.

Plus you just created a viral masterpiece that is gonna win us both an Emmy when Anderson Cooper picks up on it and leaks it on his show, because now that he’s all Out and About you know he likes that edgy pop culture stuff.  We love Andy.

Yup.  It got nasty this week as everyone’s favorite guilty pleasure returned for another season of glitter and glitz.

From smack talking Moms to one kid smacking another kid on the nose with her prize money like she was dangling fish bait, it was totally the kind of stuff that you relive the next day at work while you’re sitting at your desk praying that someone else mentions it first so you can discuss it openly without looking like a creeper.

It was the beach themed California Tropic Pageant in beautiful waterless Arizona.

(Yeah.  I know.  I don’t make the rules.)

Pageant Director Carol Fleming, who apparently loves pageants and eyebrow pencils more than anything else in the whole wide world, explained that all the little princesses were asked to Come Party On Our Island and win massively oversized crowns and a chance at a Hollywood Babe photo shoot.

Again.  Yeah.  I know.  Arizona.

I guess asking all the little princesses to Come Enjoy Our Heat But Not The Humidity didn’t have the same draw for potential hotel crowds.  But Carol was into it, and that’s what you want from a Pageant Director.  So you go, girl.

First off we all got to meet 4 year old Kayla, her high pitched, ear bleed inducing cries and her Mom April.  Mom proudly bragged that tiny Kayla’s personality just screamed “Ultimate Grand Supreme.”

It also screamed “I’m being abducted” at a pitch that only dogs could hear.

That kid definitely likes to scream and cry when she doesn’t get her way.  She howled NO NO NO so many times I thought we were watching one of those assault prevention classes that the police departments always offer to college women who have to walk home alone after cheer practice.

Trust me.  By the time Kayla finished one of her rants, I would have preferred a knee to the groin.

Don’t get me wrong.  Kayla’s a cutie, in that puffy round baby face kind of way.  Even though she is 4, she still has a wicked Cabbage Patch doll noggin that either means she needs more sleep or had too much salt this week.

But the girl ain’t known for her facial features.  She’s known for her booty pop.

Her Good Ship Lollipop Booty Pop, to be precise.

After Flashback #1, we all remembered that Kayla is the little nugget who had already wowed the judges at two earlier competitions with her Shirley Temple dance.  The dance that Shirley Temple would do if she was the lead for the Pussycat Dolls or had to strip to pay for baby’s formula.  That one.

But it’s cute when a 4 year old does it in a two piece sailor outfit.  So she’s free to use it one more time this week.  It’s just one of those dances where someone is going to wake up one morning and suddenly be too old to do it without giving an international businessman a bad impression of America.  Just keep an eye on that one, Mom.

Kayla also worked her canopy bed frame pole a little too comfortably for a show that airs before 2am on basic cable.  Not really sure what that was all about, but I immediately shut my blinds just in case, because I don’t have any lemonade or chips on hand if Chris Hansen decides to drop by unannounced with a camera crew.

Next up was 5 1/2 & something year old Kailia and her Win At All Costs Mom Marcy.

Kailia was a bundle of energy, self assuredness and cartoon animation all rolled into one bouncy piece of KidSpaz.

Crazy cute and hyper beyond a level that any scientific instrument could ever register, Kailia had a voice and a face right out of a Disney movie.  Her eyes were all over the place when she talked, as if their speed was somehow magically based on how fast she spoke or sang.  I believe that she is made from the same goop that is inside a Stretch Armstrong doll.

Right about here is when it all started to get a little Bad Girls Club.

Kailia’s Mom, besides giving the kid a name that is incredibly difficult to type without putting all those “I’s” in the wrong place, also displayed some not so sportsman-like behavior throughout the show, even though she liked to toss that word around quite a bit.

Turns out that Kayla and Kailia have faced off before in a previous pageant, and Marcy and April are not feeling the love.

Marcy ain’t feeling it because she doesn’t find Kayla to be any competition, now or in the future.  Or the distant future.  Or ever.

April ain’t feeling it because she thinks that Marcy’s a beeotch.  She didn’t actually say it, but rewind your DVR really slowly backwards and it comes out clear as day like Satan worship on a Led Zeppelin album.

While April is keeping an eye on Kayla’s booty pop, Marcy needs to keep an eye on Kailia and make sure her daughter doesn’t start picking up some of Mom’s bad attitude.  Self confidence is one thing.  Pointing out that all the other kids are not even worth wasting your competition focus on is another.

Marcy liked using all the fancy sportsmanship words, but I don’t think she’s ever Googled them to actually read the Wikipedia definitions.  That kind of behavior in a Mom ain’t pretty.  Not at all.

But hey…you know what is pretty?

Danielle.  Or at least according to Danielle, anyway.  She’s 10 years old.  She’s beautiful.  And she’s just telling the truth.

(Seriously.  If you bitch slap your television screen, does that count as child abuse in the courts?)

One more Flashback and we got to relive Danielle’s last meltdown when she didn’t win the Motherlode of Pageant Crowns.  She cried and bawled about other girls stealing her spotlight and taking her spot and was even nice enough to tell another young contestant that “I’m done with you.”  Mom Tedi just ran in circles all flustered in her smock.

Not much has changed, even though Danielle claimed that she had matured and now nobody could call her a brat.

Somebody might not want to check their Facebook page for a few days, if you know what I mean.

Moving on, we scooted over to Secretary Barbie’s office.  Or at least that’s what it would look like if Mattel made a real life version of the plastic one.

Pageant Coach Georgina Vaughan was Barbie come to life, surrounded by every pink office supply that you could possibly order through 1-800 STAPLES.  She also had the patience of a fully blessed Saint as she tried to get one good run-thru of Kayla’s routine.

I really liked her for some reason.  I bet she’s a hoot at a pizza joint.

Two hours and 97 meltdowns later, Barbie had yet to see if Kayla knew up from down by the time Mom returned from the Mall bearing gifts and bribery crackers.

I guess the deal was that Kayla got to look at the pack of crackers if she promised to practice.  If she actually went to practice, Mom would open the cellophane.  If the planets all aligned and pigs started to fly around the room, Kayla could get a cracker tossed at her like Kibbles.

The woman is a Saint, I tell you.

Not to be outdone by her competition, Kailia was lifting one leg up in the air with her Coach Cambrie Littlefield.

Yes.  The Pageant Name Generating Machine was working overtime this week.

Much like the booty pop, the one leg yanked straight up in the air move also has an age expiration date.  And Cambrie demonstrated exactly when that happens.  Right about the time that she did it side by side with Kailia.

To misquote my girl NeNe Leakes from The Real Housewives of Atlanta…”Close yo’ legs to married men.  And pageant judges.”

Danielle’s big drama this week, aside from having to bear the weight of all that Beauty on her tiny shoulders, was her missing pageant gown.  Miss Muffet, the dress designer not the tuffet-sitting one I assumed, was late in delivering the custom costume for Danielle’s runway extravaganza.  Danielle was freaking out that this could possibly effect how very beautiful she would be on Pageant Day, while Mom just ran in circles all flustered in a different smock.

Luckily Dad eventually saved the day and drove over 800 miles to pick up the dress because somebody who we won’t name apparently couldn’t get off their tuffet long enough to make it down to FedEx.

We also got to witness Danielle’s kitchen tanning ritual, complete with one of those pop up spray tents and gossipy Tanning Lady.  Nothing too exciting, but remind me to not take a swig off of that rather large collection drink bottles and half empty Pepto Bismols that were laying around the counter.  I guess when your kid’s bikini butt is already on the dining room table you have other things to worry about than second hand overspray.

Finally it was Pageant Day.  And for emcee Derrick Chrisinger, it was the most bestest day ever.  I will bet you money he does this for free it’s so much fun.

Dude was beyond excited to be there behind his folding table.  Wearing one of those headset mics and blasting out his “Contestant Number 205….Siennaaaaaaaah” radio announcer voice, at first I thought he was the ShamWow Guy who’s always in a booth at the State Fair next to that mop you never have to touch.

I’m totally answering my cellphone like Derrick from now on, and changing my outgoing message immediately.

I’ll call you back as soon as I caaaaaaaaaaaaaaan…..

He’s my idol.

The stage looked like a combination of leftover Hollister mannequins from the Mall and some Target beach chairs, but it got the beachy point across.

As soon as all the Moms ended up in the same room, the Bad Girls Club came out to play again.  Even the pint-sized version.

Kayla (allegedly) told Kailia that she was gonna beat her.  Kailia (allegedly) talked some smack right back at her.  The Moms got tightly wound and Marcy started throwing all those sportsmanship words around again even though her actions never quite matched up with her mouth.

I was actually going to give her one more chance, right about the time when she got on April’s case and said some garbled up something or other incorrectly using the word “objection” in a way that didn’t even make sense in the context of her rant, and I washed my hands of that one for good.

Check one more Pageant Mom off my holiday card list and call her a lost cause.

I say it every time.  I’ve met some ridiculously nice and funny Moms through this site.  I know they’re out there.  And I know it’s possible to hustle your kid on and off stage without making the other Moms want to wait for you outside in the parking lot with one of those really tall trophies that could crack a skull.  Chill out.

The pageant itself was no big deal.  No stage fright.  No stage collapses.  Pretty tame all around, except for a tense moment when Kailia’s naughty nurse magic act almost flat-lined when her brother almost forgot to sneak out during the hospital bed disappearing trick.  Trust me, in a few more years that boy isn’t gonna need any nudging to disappear from that house on his own.

It should be noted that Kayla wore a perfectly round hairpiece that looked like octopus tenticles, while Danielle’s first ‘do looked like 1960’s Priscilla Presley on a bad day before Elvis got fat.  No idea what was going on up there with that one.

When they took Danielle into the public  bathroom to check out her massive hair, it kind of looked like there should be smeared eyeliner on her face and line of coke on the sink.

Relax.  I’m not saying she does anything more than pixie stix.  I’m saying it was that kind of hair.  That’s all…no emails, please.

We got some booty pops and even Danielle not popping her cherry enough.

Whoa.  I’m just quoting the judge who thought her soda jerk outfit could have been blingier.  Don’t be a perv.  Remember, I’m out of chips and lemonade.

Regardless of the level of her popping, Danielle ended up winning enough to make her still feel beautiful and give her enough street cred to sashay across the ballroom rubbing it in everyone’s nose.

Kailia won the Big One which gave her a fan full of money that she then proceeded to slap on Kayla’s pudgy nose.  That made April cry and made me mad, too.

My only hope as we wind down from this week’s sugar buzz is that TLC decides to have a show that is nothing but three Pageant Moms sitting in a row talking s*** about each other, because this one ended in a classic Bad Girls Marcy vs. April showdown that made Tedi sweat through her last clean smock.

By the time Marcy opened her pie hole one last time and dissed Kayla, I put my Led Zeppelin CD on a backwards loop and deleted her from my iPhone contacts.

I smell cracker crumbs and a rematch.

Dance Moms: When The ALDC Goes Up Against Cathy And Jill, It’s Nothing But Big Ringers And Zingers. Ohio Chokes On A Mouthful Of Abby Jerky. How Do You Like Them Apples?

Wednesday, July 11th, 2012



I cut my own hair. What makes you even think I can’t choreograph a chair dance, bitch?





See this sausage finger? I’ve got five of them about to go upside your head.






Part of me just wants to puncture that aerosol can and then make a run for it when everyone passes out.





Oh. Hell. Yeah. Four more of these bad boys and I’ll cut everyone’s hair. Come to Mama.




Look at me! I’m a Bee! I’m not even doing the correct dance for this week. I seriously have no idea where I am right now. Taa-Daa!!




I think  it’s a pretty safe bet that Canton’s Jerky King is jerking it all alone tonight.

The Queen is definitely not home.  I can guarantee you that she is off drowning her sorrows somewhere in a big jug of Mike’s Apple Cider, after being humiliated on her home turf by none other than her nemesis Abby Lee Miller.

That’s right.  Chaos Cathy Nesbitt and her League of Evil PTA Moms played host to the Dance Moms crew this week, and right about now I’m thinking they would give just about anything for a do-over.

But you don’t get no do-overs in Dance Land.  Nope.  Nada.  Negative.

To quote an inspirational verse from the Book of Dance Moms Leslie…you suck it up.

This time around, after losing out to the Candy Apples Dance Team a few weeks prior, Abby and her posse were headed to Ohio on the Redemption Bus Tour 2012.

Losing to Candy Apples is one thing.  But to lose a competition by basically the same micro percentage that they always give a person for getting hit by lightening twice?  Let’s just say that Abby could already smell the apple sauce in the water before they even crossed the Pennsylvania state line.

But I’m getting ahead of myself.

Nobody can board any bus until the Pyramid of Shame.  You know the rules by now.

While the mini dancers all lined up in anticipation of having a little bit more self respect drained directly from their faces, Abby started the reveal.

As always, the Moms were also in formation, but it was hard to focus on them without my eyes watering, due to the hundreds of colors and patterns fighting for my attention.

If there was ever any question in your mind as to whether the Moms picked their own clothes each week or if a Lifetime wardrobe intern coordinates their looks like they do on the Martha Stewart Show…well…there’s your answer.

Now that everyone has gone to full HD, there needs to be some rule that certain Moms can’t sit or stand next to each other when they are all wearing Forever 21 jungle prints.

If that s*** is burned into my new plasma screen I am going to be so pissed.


Before the first Glitz photo was even uncovered, Abby broke the news that everyone was going to the Land of Candy Apples for the Nexstar Competition, and the resulting over the top, drama-filled reactions could very easily score an Emmy for at least two of the girls.  Maybe three.

Everyone gasped.  They covered their mouths, their ears, their eyes.  They slapped their foreheads as if they had just gotten the vapors while their Daddy was out in the cornfield.  I think Nia even had the Holy Spirit take over her body for a moment.

If they were old enough to wear pearls, they would have been clutching them with one hand and fanning themselves with the other like those crazy old ladies in big hats do on Sunday.  We’re going to Ohio.  Take me now, Jesus.

Once Abby brought in oxygen and some orange juice to bring their blood sugar back under control, she started ripping off the photo sheets.

Bottom row was filled up with Brooke, Mackenzie and Nia.  Trifecta.

Brooke was on the bottom because she bailed on everyone last week to go to her Farewell to 8th Grade Dance, which I guess is different than the Hello 9th Grade Mixer the week after.  Those young’uns sure have a lot of dances nowadays.  The Devil’s playground, I tell you.

All that gets you is a bad reputation and a Dynamo label that says “probation.”  Hope it was worth it.

Nia had some turning issues, and MackAttack didn’t swallow her gum when Abby yelled at her…so say hello to the bottom row, kids.

Second row was Chloe and Paige.

Paige was also on probation, which was probably still due to that age inappropriate hairdo that I can’t stop obsessing about.  Unless Lifetime plans on smearing vaseline over the camera lens and start filming this show down at the Pittsburgh Galleria Glamour Shot kiosk, someone needs to just lay off the hot rollers and stick a Scrunchie back on her noggin.

When the time comes, you do not want Paige saying farewell to the 8th grade with that sassy ‘do or she’ll be getting dropped off at her 9th grade homeroom in a pickup with jacked up treads and under-carriage neon lighting, if you know what I mean.

If it’s rockin’, don’t come knockin’…

Chloe made a goober or two in the Group Dance, so there you go.

Top spot was Maddie.  (No surprise.)  And the other top spot was Maddie.  (Ok…maybe a little more of a surprise.)

Abby had slapped two…count ’em…two Maddie glossies up on top, thanks to her having scored matching titles last time around.  Knowing Abby’s fascination with Maddie, if Copy Cop didn’t charge so much for color printing I’m sure there would have been another dozen or so Maddie faces for everyone to gawk at from down below.  But you have to tighten the strings somewhere, I guess.

Since the ALDC was going up against those Candy Apples Crazies, Abby was pulling out all the big guns.  And some old guns, because she wanted Paige to perform a solo number from last year that never quite made it to the stage.  Mom Kelly had already pulled the number twice before because she didn’t feel Paige was prepared, and that Abby hadn’t given her daughter the attention she deserved, and then a whole bunch of other Maddie stuff that I tuned out.

Kelly does like her cocktails and Maddie comparisons.  Make them both at least a double and she can go on for days.

Paige was going to do the solo up against Kendall, offspring of that Real Housewives of Pittsburgh Jill.  The one with the hair.

After butting heads and Bump-Its against Abby for months, Jill had finally lost it and packed up all her cowboy hats, faux furs and Pennsylvania couture and was now making daily Ohio road trips in order that Kendall could dance where she was appreciated.

Because we all know how cheap gas is and how appreciative Cathy can be, right?

How’s that all working out for you, honey?

As you’ll recall, the Candy Apples tend to slip hormone induced older dancers into every number they perform at competition, in order to skew the age levels and to guarantee that some meatier grips are available to carry Cathy’s luggage on and off the bus.

Abby don’t play dat.

Well, she didn’t used to play dat.

This time, when faced with the prospect of losing another one to Cathy, Abby was suddenly a born again Ringer supporter, and introduced three of her own hormonally superior dancers.  See that Cathy?  Two can play this game.

Plugging in the same coordinates that Jill uses in her GPS, we were then transported to Ohio and the Candy Apples Dance Center, where the whole place smelled like Jerky and Revenge.

Holding the world’s most blinged out crystal iPad evah, Chaos Cathy plotted out her evil plans to a captivated audience of Moms, awkwardly dorky boy dancers and her collection of seriously overly made up girl dancers.

I don’t know where these kids are going at 10am in the morning that they need that much eyeliner, but I don’t live in Ohio, so I won’t judge.  Maybe the cows like you to look pretty while you’re yanking on some teats at the butt crack of dawn.  I don’t know.

I do, however, know that domestic cows usually have four of those little danglies, but sometimes they can have additional ones that are non-functional and are called supernumerary.

Kind of like Marky Mark’s third one, but they’re low hangers.

So there.  Knowledge is power, kids.  Google it.

The Candy Apples group number was going to be a little Asian ditty, with everyone’s favorite piece of dead weight Vivi-Anne as the Princess.  My psychic powers immediately told me that she was going to be lifted up and passed around on stage like a hay bale, and that Mom Cathy had just refilled her daughter’s extra strength decongestant prescription.

Seriously.  When is someone going to sit that poor kid down, snap their fingers until she focuses both eyes and just lay it on the line?

In order to guarantee success, and apparently free up her own time to shop at the Apple Store, Cathy had hired two outside choreographers to create the Asian Wok Dance.

Meet Michael and Mitchell.  Or Mitchell and Michael, I can’t remember.  One way is the dance duo, the other way is a furniture store if I’m not mistaken.  Either way, the boys were fabulous, in that “We’re gonna have the best summer stock Fantastiks that’s ever played in Poughkeepsie!” kind of way.  Vivi-Anne was gonna get tossed around like a Star!

Back in PA, the combination of stress, lack of attention from Abby and multiple pastel Cosmos that went down way too easily all led Kelly to decide that she was now qualified to re-choreograph Paige’s number for the competition.  Sucking down matching Cosmos, Christi couldn’t feel her own face or agree more, so after paying the bar tab Kelly and Paige hit the family room to reinvent the wheel.

Up at the farm, Cathy was also trying to work some choreography magic of her own on Kendall.

Decked out in head to toe Kohl’s, Cathy looked like that office administrative assistant we all know who has two sips of a Kahlúa sombrero at lunch and then two hours later you find her dancing in the copier room to the muzac speakers.  By the time Jill showed up in her tie dye HSN top to insist that Cathy step it up with the choreography, it was almost more than I could handle.  Or hope for.

Finally it was showtime as the ALDC and CADC teams arrived in those matching track jackets they always wear.

Making their grand entrances into the venue, it kind of looked like a school trip to the set of Phantom of the Opera, complete with ornate architectural details and rolling Hello Kitty suitcases.  Everyone scoped out the competition and the surroundings and marveled at how excited the Furniture Boys were to be part of the show.

For some odd reason, the thing was actually running ahead of schedule, which meant that Abby would probably not have time to hit the concession stand or run Paige through her newly tweaked routine.

Kelly’s nerves and Abby’s cholesterol level both let out a big sigh of relief when they heard that one.

We’ll skip most of the dance parts and get to the good stuff.  There has to be another (less entertaining) blog out there somewhere that can show you scans of the judges sheets if you’re dying to know all the deets.

Chloe’s earring flew off during her number, which almost gave Christi some kind of Dance Moms seizure.  The bald emcee guy seemed pretty excited to run on stage and snatch it up for his collection after she finished.  Just something I noticed, that’s all.

Paige did her bootleg number and Abby got a little twisted.

Kendall’s music skipped and dragged and just generally f***d up her performance.  How can they not be using iPods by now?  2012 anyone?

Jill, who was dressed in full on QVC host attire, finally melted down, screamed at Cathy for not worshipping Kendall and then collapsed on the stairs in the fire exit hallway sobbing like she just got dumped at her 8th grade farewell dance.

Mitchell or Michael…one of them…ended up stuck in the stairwell with her, which meant he had to awkwardly attempt a hug without getting Girl Cooties or wrinkling her outfit.

Cathy called Jill a studio hopper.  A few times.

As I predicted, everyone flung the Asian Princess around the stage like a bag of rice until some kid rolled out a fake Gong Show gong and put an end to our misery.  You’d think as often as Vivi-Anne is airborne that her ears would eventually pop and she could finally stop mouth breathing.  But no such luck.

Abby yelled at anyone who would listen about what a sneak Kelly was and how she is raising her kids to be sneaks.

Quick as she could, Holly (…Girlfriend’s been working out.  Check out those Michelle Obama guns!…) shoved as many of the girls out the door as possible before Abby completely lost it on Kelly.  Classic Dance Moms cattle rustling.

When it all came down to the end, Abby’s team didn’t score Top Dawg in anything.  But it didn’t really matter, because they still beat the Candy Apples, who scored a whopping goose egg on their racing form.

Candy Apples tanked, which sent Cathy into some stoner vegetative state where all she could do was comb Vivi-Anne’s hair and stare blankly out into space while Jill continued her rampage.

As the lights went down in Ohio and everyone headed home to put on a fresh coat of eyeliner before bed, the last thing we saw was Cathy poking her finger into the elevator door button until her knuckles started to bleed.  She couldn’t get out of there fast enough as all the Moms circled around her like victorious meerkats.

Victorious, apple-flavored jerky eating meerkats.  And they looked really hungry.

Mob Wives Chicago: Heartbreak And Betrayal And Really Slow Go-Carts. It’s Time To Take A Few Emotional Trips Down Memory Lane And A Couple Of Laps Around The Track. Buckle Up.

Monday, July 9th, 2012



Nope, sorry. It wasn’t the same thing. It was only for 3 months. You’re not a whore unless you do it for 4 months.













Nora’s not such a Goombaloompa when you can’t see or hear her. I should buy one of these in every color.





I swear if my hair hadn’t looked so Goombalicious I would’ve slapped that bitch like a birthday piñata.





For the last freakin’ time, Nora. It wasn’t a Yo Gabba Gabba music video. You really were a stripper at a strip club!




It’s one thing to try and embrace your Inner Child.

It’s another to want to take that Child by the throat and strangle it before the rental clown even makes any balloon animals.

This week Mob Wives: Chicago gave us a child’s eye view on life in the Windy City, as we learned a little bit more about what it’s like growing up in The Lifestyle.

Being a child of the Mob has to be difficult.  You go from crib guards, to school crossing guards to those guards who tell you to sit there and don’t move while they go get your father out of his cell.  It can’t be easy.

Our favorite ladies all had a story to tell that was somehow touched by children this time around.

Children and Parents.  Children and visiting hours.  Children and divorce.  Children and poorly attended parties with way too much leftover uncut birthday cake.

Some stories tugged at your heart strings while others…well…you know.

Fresh off her Don’t You Point Your Finger At Me throw down with Renee, Nora was back at home licking her wounds and putting eyedrops in those enormously wide crazy orbs of hers when Pia showed up at the door.

Right away I wanted to know what was in that massive CVS bag that Pia lugged into the apartment.  She has to have one of those cards that gives you back CVS Bucks when you buy stuff, because that bag was packed full of pharmaceutical goodness.

But no such luck.  Guess I’ll have to drop by Pia’s some day while she’s downtown…ahem…”working” and go through her medicine cabinet, because she didn’t show off any money-back ointment purchases this time around.

Nora loves to obsess.  There is no doubt about it.

Whether it’s the endless conspiracy theories revolving around the location of her Na-ahh No He’s Not A Hoodlum Dad Frank “The German” Schweihs and his possibly MIA body, to her ongoing battles with Renee, Nora can’t seem to let go of anything long enough to even wash her hands.

Right away she relived the smack down with Renee, complete with a full on charades game demonstrating how the whole finger pointing thing went down.

Now it’s well documented that Pia is not a big Renee Fan, due largely in part to Renee’s Holier Than Thou attitude when it comes to getting dollar bills stuck anywhere near your cooch.  So I’m not really sure whey Nora continues to ramble on and on every chance she gets ahold of Pia’s left ear.  But she does.

This time you could sense that it was starting to get under her skin a little more than usual, and Pia had to lay down the law before her fist found its way down Nora’s throat.

She don’t like that bitch Renee.  And she doesn’t wanna talk about that bitch.  And Nora needs to let it go because it is starting to effect their own friendship.

Next up was my Goombalicious TV Girlfriend Leah.

(No, I haven’t gotten up the nerve to actually mention it to her yet, but thanks for bringing it up.)

Leah, her massive electro-shock therapy hair and too tight tank top, were all going to lunch with Mom Jacquie.

On a sad note, Jacquie had just been diagnosed with Cancer, and all of America pretty much gave her one big Twitter hug that slowed down my internet for a few minutes.

On a happier note, Jacquie looked exactly like someone who could be on TV playing the next Ultimate sitcom Mom, and that made me smile.  I could also totally picture her on Golden Girls playing Sophia‘s normal cousin or something.

She had pretty fly glasses for an older woman, too.  Diggin’ the specs, Jacko.

After getting all Mom on Leah and demanding that she pull her top up a little to prevent those two Goombagrenades from falling out onto the salad plate, Jacquie went on to give a rather inspiring mini-speech on Cancer survival that made my Xfinity modem stop blinking again.

Mom made Leah cry, which required Leah to bust out one of those soap opera-style straight into your eye socket folded origami napkin blots that everyone always does in restaurants when they get bad news.  I don’t know how they do it without getting a paper cut straight across their retina, but everyone always does it and nobody ever bleeds out, so I guess it’s safer than it looks.

Maybe I’ll try it one day at Burger King.  I tend to get emotional in there anyway, ever since they raised their prices and got rid of The King.

Everyone’s pulling for you, Jacquie.  You go, girl.

Then for a brief moment, I thought I might have rolled over onto my DVR remote when I was reaching for a snack, and accidentally pulled up an old Project Runway episode.

My bad.  It was just Christina and Renee in one of those massive fabric supply houses where the designers always went to spend their $100.

Who knew?  Back before marriage and a top secret divorce and all that Mob nonsense got in the way, Christina used to dabble in Fashion Design.  Which is kind of fitting if you really analyze it, since Mob snitches and Dress designers really do all follow the same mantra.

One day you’re in.  One day you’re out.

And be careful or you’ll get cut.

See?  It all makes sense now.  Six Degrees, as they say.

Christina was going to be whipping up a gown for Renee in an effort to get her crafting mojo back, so they needed to pick up some fluorescent stretchy fabric and dish about Nora.

As Tim Gunn ran behind them shouting “Designers! Ten more minutes!” Christina and Renee relived the same event that Pia and Nora had just relived.  I’m pretty sure that I’m clear on all the details by now.

Gotta admit that every time Renne exclaimed “…pull my finger…” I couldn’t help but laugh.  I mean, come on.  Does she ever listen to herself?

Then we were back to Nora and Pia, who I swear are trying to mate their dogs, because it was Puppy Play Day again.  Since Puppy Bath Day went so well awhile back…they figured why not, right?

Except for the dog smell, I would swear we were all watching the same scene again from earlier in the show as Nora went into yet another Renee Rage.

This time Pia blew a full on Nutty, and tried to shut the whole thing down.

Pia also called Nora out on that whole 40 year friendship with Renee song that she always sings.  It hasn’t been 40 years.  So learn how to do math, and knock it off before someone does a real 40 years for manslaughter.

Somewhere between picking the fabric and cutting the pattern, Christina ran into some issues with her daughter.

After thinking that she could actually keep something like a divorce and a live-in ex-husband a secret until college graduation, Christina was confronted after her daughter had gotten the full scoop from a neighbor’s kid.

Der.  Facebook much, Christina?

That whole circus sent Christina back to her therapist, who apparently had paid good tuition money to be able to ask questions like “What’s making you sad right now?”

Seriously?  Sign me up for Harvard.

I’m not even going to address this issue, or why the therapist only shops at Liz Clairborne.  Moving on.

Throughout the episode we also had numerous developments in the ongoing drama known as the Renee/Giana/Baby Prison Daddy triangle.  I’ll just hit the good parts.

Giana really loves her father, despite the fact that he is in prison for murder.  And I quote:  He’s the funniest, most caring, most thoughtful man she knows.

No.  Not even with a ten foot pole will I touch that one.

Renee met Giana for lunch on Ash Wednesday, proving that neither priests nor MAC cosmeticians have a clue on how to blend a smokey eye.  Between the smudge on Renee’s forehead, her hat hair and the sloppy job someone did on her purple lids, she just needed to go home, shower off and start over.  For some reason Renee now wanted to accompany Giana to jail the next time she goes to visit Dad.

Trust me, no inmates are going to give her any hassles if she shows up looking like she did on Ash Wednesday.  Girlfriend could walk in naked carrying a cake with a file in it and nobody would budge off their bunks.

Giana also met up with her best friend Marco after talking to her Dad on the phone.

The only two important points here being that one, Giana needs to get a case for that iPhone 4 before she cracks the glass.

And two, Marco is totally the kind of guy whose cheeks and ears get really pink when he’s flustered.

Then it was Party Time!  And Party Bus Time!

Nora had invited everyone in Chicago, except Renee to prove a point, to a mystery birthday party that she was throwing for herself.

After luring the Wives onto one of those big limo buses that bad girls always lose their virginity in during Sorority Rush Week, they headed off to who knows where to celebrate the day that Nora was unleashed on Planet Earth.

Basically, what I got from this scene was that the Real Housewives franchise can afford to shoot their girls all around the world every season to bitch and sit on camels, while the Mob franchise is still too new and can only afford an expensed trip to a Go-Cart joint.

Because if memory serves me, isn’t that where the Original Recipe Renee (Graziano) took her mopey kid for some Staten Island bonding?  And sure enough, the Chicago Party Bus pulled right up to the bumper as well.

After trying to pry open a window and throw herself out into traffic as Nora rambled on and on about the joys of self pleasure during the ride across town, my girl Leah almost melted down when they finally arrived at their own Go-Cart destination.

You didn’t need a degree to figure out that all Leah’s Lion King hair, in combination with all that glorious junk in the trunk, was going to have a difficult time fitting into any of the racer gear in the locker room.

Two gallons in a one gallon onesie.  But she made it work, and ended up looking like a cross between someone you’d shoot out of a cannon and an Italian Power Ranger.

Pia couldn’t participate because the jello in her new boobs hadn’t completely congealed yet, and good luck zipping those things up into the suits.  But they all had fun.

After putt-putting around the tracks at .5 miles an hour, everyone kicked back with a cocktail and heard about one of Nora’s childhood birthday parties when only one little girl showed up and they both sat around crying until all the candles burned down into the frosting like the end of a sad movie.

Having an alleged Mob Dad in the family tends to cut down on the RSVPs I would imagine.

That story could also explain why if you slit Nora open like a Star Wars Tauntaun you would probably find a lonely 9 year old girl still trapped inside all that spazzy goo.

And finally, to burn off some of that cake, Nora and Pia hit the gym the next day.

In what was most certainly the wimpiest workout ever in the history of wimpy workouts, after about 7 leg presses without a pin in the weight stack, the whole thing just turned into one big bitch fest.

Nora started in on the whole Renee thing again, and then Pia started in on the whole Renee thing again.

Then Pia questioned why Renee always looks down her nose at Pia for stripping, but doesn’t look down her nose at others who did the same thing.

Huh?  What does that even mean?

Wait for it.

Boom goes the dynamite, and the secret came out.

Nora used to strip at the same club!  Shut.  Up.

No.  You shut up.

Except Nora only did it for 3 months, and in NoraMath that doesn’t count as being a big bag of Ho like Pia.

Then there was a ton of screaming and (bleeping) and accusations of being a whore and spending 5 hours in the private booth showing off way more than just your new boobs to anyone with an Amex card.

Yeah.  Nora went there, accusing Pia of taking her stripping to the next level.  The horizontal level, if you know what I mean.

The rest of the argument was all (bleeped) out, so it must have been good.  I should ask all the poor people who live and work in the hallway where they were screeching what really went down before Nora dove into an elevator and disappeared.

Looks like somebody is really going down next time.

But until then…me love you long time.

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