Archive for the ‘Pop Culture’ Category

Mob Wives: Save The Mama Drama For Someone Who Cares, Because It’s Christmas In Sweet Home Arizona.

Tuesday, March 12th, 2013



My cosmetics line just launched Black Eye Blue and Fat Lip Fuschia, and I’m thinking of giving that bitch Ramona some free samples.




Yeah, it was a thong. But at least dat means she wears underwear. So dat’s kinda good, rite?






Seriously. But at least he works out.





Now I just got two more gigantic plastic ones to shove into the tree and then we’re good to go.




All I want for Christmas is a dog that will sever the artery in my neck while I’m ordering pizza for the girls.




Trust me, honey. You ain’t the first one to get on all fours and lick their junk when I’m around. True dat.




I mean…c’mon. Look at these chew toys. They’re like Staten Island-sized Snausages for really naughty Big Dawgs.




It was almost a Christmas Miracle, I tell you.

Like Barbie had somehow just landed on Sesame Street.

If Sesame Street was Benton Avenue and Barbie had just pulled a butter knife shiv out of the glove compartment of her convertible and cut a bitch, I mean.

This week’s episode of Mob Wives was brought to you by the Color Pink.

And the Letters F and U.

I swear.

And I know that for a fact because there was a lot of both being thrown hard and straight in our faces from start to finish this time around, in a festive pre-Christmas hour that began with a party and ended with a S.W.A.T. team fly over.

Just like any other Holiday Season on Staten Island, right?

It’s looking like Mob Wives might finally be getting their Mob Mojo back.  But Mojo…Mob or otherwise…ain’t cheap, which would explain the need for subliminal ad product placement.   And unless I’m mistaken, somebody clearly hooked them all up with that new L’Oreal Ombré hair coloring comb they sell at Duane Reade, because half the cast was totally rockin’ the latest on-trend dark to light look in every confessional shot.  Werk.

The whole thing started out at Big Ang‘s Ultra-Pink Christmas party.  Pink walls.  Pink dinnerware.  Pink table linens.  Pink wrapping paper.  And a Pink  Christmas Tree so vibrantly Pink that if you paused your DVR it would sting so bad you’d get Pink Eye.

It was like one of those Real Housewives of Beverly Hills White Parties they have every year.  Except Kim Richards wasn’t locked in the bathroom.  And it was Pink.

With just enough Jerseylicious Zebra print, of course, so as not to confuse the whole extravaganza with the little girl toy aisle at Target.  Cuz dat’s how they do on the Island.

Honestly, the only way I could differentiate between the actual artificial tree and Big Ang, all styled up in a well thought out coordinating outfit, was the size of her own ornaments as they overflowed that Pink blouse.  Love.  Her.  Especially during the holidays.

Every time Big Ang tokes on a smoke, an Angel gets their wings.

Drita, Karen and Ramona all made it to the party on time and got right to dissing about anyone not currently in the room.  Though Drita and Ramona had recently signed a peace treaty and were doing their best to uphold the terms of the agreement, their relationship was still a little awkward and it was clear that they’ll never be texting “BFF” on their brass knuckle iPhones.

Renee had chosen to skip the party to avoid any potential Carla drama, while Luscious Love Majewski had come down with Bronchitis and was also a no-show.

Bronchitis?  F’real?  Ain’t nobody got time for that.

(Seriously.  That joke will never get old.  How much do you love Sweet Brown?)

When Carla finally strolled in the door (…anyone else notice that the sun had completely gone down by the time she pulled up to the curb? Buy a watch, honey.  Lobster ain’t cheap…) it was immediately a little tense on the other side of the table.  Karen and Ramona were not big Carla fans at the moment, ever since that whole unfortunate ButterKnifeGate controversy had gone down at Big Ang’s last luncheon.

But enough with the cold shoulder.  Karen broke the ice and made certain that Carla knew Renee wasn’t at the Christmas party because of the way she had been treated at their previous get together, when Carla had played the Junky Card and swung that aforementioned butter knife all around the room like the Macy’s Parade baton girl.

Carla managed to spin the whole thing all backasswards in her head and somehow ended up proclaiming that she may have shown just the Tough Love that Renee needed, and…why yes, thank you…she probably was responsible for driving her into rehab.  So where’s the gold star?

Are you kidding me?  Karen and Ramona got all WTF?, grabbed some snacks to go, and hit the road to pack for their trip to Arizona.  Enough already.  Bitch is cray.

The food looked amazeballs, but once again Big Ang threw a party that tanked.

The next morning, Karen and Ramona headed to beautiful, hot but not humid Arizona to confront ex-boyfriend David Seabrook.  There had been a lot of unanswered questions lately surrounding Dave and his new girlfriend Rebecca, not the least of which was what the (bleep) was one of her nasty a** thongs doing in little Karina‘s bedroom?

Do NOT even tell me that you were living in the house, rent-free, and shagging yo’ girl when you were supposed to be feeding the dog?

Oooh, Child.  Karen smelled blood in the water.  And Ramona loves that shizzle, as she egged her on during the entire limo ride to the house.

When they finally arrived at Karen’s AZ home, it was like one of those quaint suburban houses where the family had been sucked into the TV set or through the back wall of the bedroom closet, leaving only a stray dog to wander around the kitchen and wonder what happened to his owners.

The place was empty.  No Dave.  No Dave’s clothes.  No Dave’s Playstation 3.  Not even a nasty a** thong hanging on the microwave handle.

Only Ozzie the Dog, who had to pee a manic mean streak by the time Karen showed up at the front door.

It didn’t take long for Karen and Ramona to do the math and realize that Dave wasn’t even living in the structure anymore, which meant that Karen had been paying a redoinkulously high mortgage on a dog house all these months.  My psychic powers told me that Karen was going to blow a nutty before next week’s previews hit the screen.

But we let that pot boil for awhile as we switched limos and drove up to Anytown, CT with Love, Big Ang, Drita and Renee in search of a brutally savage attack dog.

Since returning from rehab, Renee was finally sleeping in her Big Girl bed like a Big Girl, but was still terrified that someone might break into the house while she snoozed.  And she had already installed Best Buy video cameras and the same state of the art security system that laser beams the Hope Diamond.  But she was still stressing.

So the only thing left to do was buy one of those slobbery attack dogs that they leave in Nissan car lots after closing time.  (Trust me…it’s a fact, Jack.  Whatever you do, don’t try and stick your nose through the chain link fence at midnight to see if they still have that Turbo Z you test drove the morning before, unless you want to go home with wet pants and a dog on your face.  TMI?)

Now I’m not really sure why they had to drive 3 hours away just to watch some gigantic black dog maul a guy’s padded foam arm, but they did.

And it was totally worth it.  At least for me, because the whole scene was an odd cross between Cujo trying to get in the car window and that episode of I Love Lucy when she got a vase stuck on her head.

A lot of screaming and panic and bumping into each other.

Big Ang had enough fur on her body to pass for one of the attack animals if she wanted to try chewing on the dude’s wrist.  Drita pretty much laid a patch of yellow snow and ran as far away as possible.  Love the Dog Whisperer somehow managed to give the dog a bone, as we say in the porn biz.  And Renee ended up changing her mind and driving another 3 hours back home with no puppy in the backseat.

Six hours, people.  That’s gotta suck.

But not as badly as being in Arizona and walking blindly into a house full of hostile Karen and Ramona hormones.  Dave didn’t stand a chance.

Before his arrival, Karina had already shown up and given her Mom some serious 13 year old ‘tude.  The Duh You’re So Lame kind of ‘tude that somehow genetically and magically manifests itself when a girl hits that age.

You know exactly what I’m talking about.  It can hit anywhere.  She can just be walking down the street and it hits.  Or in a fitting room.  Granted, she’s usually directly in front of me in a Burger King line OMGing on her cellphone, but it can be anywhere.  Bitch.

Needless to say, by the time Dave walked into the Karen Trap, he didn’t stand a chance.

And it didn’t help that Dave’s kind of a DoucheBag.  Or at least his gum chewing is.

He has that Chump Dbag way of chewing his Nicorette that is truly an art form.  I can’t explain it.  But there’s just a certain way to chew your gum that just shouts to the world that you’re a DoucheBag even louder than any Affliction tee shirt ever could.

It’s like the way tough girls can crackle their gum in one bite so it sounds like Pop Rocks.

That’s an art form, too.  And probably code for F*** You Up, because as soon as one chick Pops the Rocks there are like 5 more girls surrounding the picnic table.  They’re like bad a** seagulls or something.  Whatever you do…don’t feed ’em.

Anyway.  Dave fesses up to not living in the house and Dbags his gum and excuses all over the place.  He didn’t tell Karen because he didn’t feel like it.  And then he told her to stop trippin’, which on Staten Island immediately makes someone start trippin’.  And then the whole Whoa Is Me I Was In Prison thing started, which prompted Karen’s What Did You Think I Was Doing Out Here While You Were In There thing to kick in, which in turn took Dave’s gum chewing to a whole new level.

Yeah.  This one ain’t over yet.

Back on SI, Drita showed Carla where her new Just Me Cosmetics store was going to be located.  Nothing much to see yet, since the whole thing was still under construction and all.  But it did give Drita a chance to go on Twitter after the show and pimp out the website, so at least Mama can start making some money.

And Carla had a strange Mardi Gras mask-themed birthday party in an empty VIP room with two friends from Brooklyn, where Drita showed us all how she dogged a huge hoagie during labor contractions.  Don’t ask.

Finally, back in AZ it was nothing but full on MobStuff for the remainder of the show, which was probably a little slap in the face for those of you who keep forgetting that these are actual people involved in The Lifestyle.  And possibly a little disconcerting for anyone thinking about writing a snarky, though HIGHlarious blog on a television show about real life Mobster types who could probably find you if they really wanted to on their way to The Wendy Williams Show.


Karen took Ramona on a little tour/TV montage flashback to where her Dad Sammy “The Bull” Gravano was busted by the Feds.  We also saw the stop sign where his enemies had planned on blowing him up with a bomb.  Karen even opened up about all the bad life choices that she had made throughout the years, not the least being that hair style she was showing off in her mug shot.

Whoa.  Seriously?  Sorry, K.  Love you.  Mean it.  But I just can’t.

We finished the whole thing off on a remote, undisclosed mountain top location.

Seriously.  They said it, not me.

These people know they’re on a TV show, right?  Even if they arrived separately in two black Escalades like Destiny’s Child (…one for Beyoncé and one for what’s her name and the other one…) they can still see the camera guys, right?

Honestly, sometimes it’s better to just go with it.  I mean, if you can watch Superman and believe that a man can fly, then I think we can all overlook the fact that they probably didn’t blindfold the sound tech before dumping him in the trunk.  And that’s why I love me some Mob Wives.

Karen and her brother Gerard wanted to be cautious and meet somewhere secluded to discuss new developments in their father’s case.  Developments that could potentially have him back out on the street by next week.

Again.  Great for the Family.  Not so great if you still plan on writing that snarky, yet HIGHlarious blog for much longer.

Gerard had discovered a discrepancy in the plea deal their Dad had made with some legal mumbo jumbo about Upward Departure and living in The Hole.  Google it.

Then a Black Ops helicopter buzzed overhead, and Karen knew it was a sign.

We Go To War.

It’s on.

The Rachel Zoe Project: NY Fashion Week Is Everything. Rachel Gets New Bangs & Some Other Stuff Happens.

Saturday, March 9th, 2013



OhMyGod. I literally have the most fabulous son ever. Not even 2 years old and he can already stand up by himself in Louboutin heels.




OhMyGod. Last night I Dreamed a Dream that Anne Hathaway cut my bangs. Have you seen her hair?





OhMyGod. No son of mine is ever going to have long hair, wear jewelry and women’s scarves. Can you imagine? Dying.





OhMyGod. Andy. If you ever run into Brad, can you be sure to tell him to kiss my a**? Muah!





OhMyGod. I literally want this entire conversation to be over. And an Oreo. I really want an Oreo.







Dude. This is F’d up.






OhMyGod. Yes, I suppose that “technically” he’s a boy, but have you seen the Fall 2013 Burberry collection?





Literally.  Dying.

And out of practice.

Literally dying I’m so out of practice.

The Rachel Zoe Project finally worked the Season Five Runway this week and within the first two minutes it was clear that I really needed to brush up on my Zoe-isms.

Big Time.

Rachel & Co. have been off the radar for awhile and I forgot how totally Ba-na-nas this show can be once her 4th espresso mocha grandé kicks in.

Everything is big drama.  Everything is the End Of The World.  Everything is over the top.  Everything either makes you want to throw up in your mouth a little or is totally Maj.

Which is like Major, but way cooler.

Since we last saw Rachel, a lot has changed.  She is no longer just a stylist to the Stars.

Please.  That is soooo Season Four.  Now she is also a fashion editor, a couture clothing designer with an ever growing empire of equally dramatic office staff associates and a QVC accessory guru.

Because we all know that women can’t live on Quacker Factory alone, right?

Face it…sometimes your blinking LED Santa sweater just screams for a luxe faux fur scarf and adjustable strap hobo bag that you can buy without ever getting off that couch.

And while the rest of us can’t even hold down one job and still make it to Zumba class twice a week, Rachel somehow also manages to find time between Starbucks runs to be a Mom to Skyler Morrison Berman.

You remember him.  He’s the little Boy/Girl fashion spawn that Rachel gave birth to last season after putting us all through what seemed like 24 months of Super Pregnancy.

Well, he’s out now.  Out and Proud.  And werkin’ it like a true fashionista, all dolled up in an uncomfortably GenderBlender assortment of bloomers and Burberry coats that are guaranteed to get him at least one black eye on the playground if Nanny Rusty doesn’t get off her cell phone and pay attention.

Seriously.  I have no clue where Mom is finding some of Sky’s outfits.  Or those sparkly crystal surfer girl puka shell necklaces.  You know the clothes that never really belong in the Boys Department, and yet don’t really belong in the Girls Department either, so they always end up in that Babies ‘R Us back aisle with all of last season’s markdown toys and diaper wipes?

Yeah.  There you go Sky Sky.  Who’s my pretty Goy?

Goy.  See what I just did there?  I just turned Boy/Girl into one word.  And it’s trademarked now, so don’t even think it…

And don’t be asking Rodger for any support on the whole Skyler thing, because Daddy appears to be going through his own mid-life crisis as we speak.

Last season’s Bieber meets Muppets haircut is long gone and has been replaced with what one can only hope is some kind of transitional stage of growth.  I’m not sure what’s going on up there right now, but if you missed the episode just swing by any independent bookstore/cafe in SoHo and find that one stubbly waiter who still listens to his favorite songs on a turntable while he’s making jewelry out of old flatware and sea glass.

He’s got Rodger Hair, too.  Literally.

VP of Rachelopolis Inc., Mandana Dayani, is also back for another round this season.  She’s basically the black haired Taylor Jacobson, except that her hair doesn’t get in her face as much.  Rachel cleaned house over the last few seasons, so Tay Tay has been long gone.  Just like Brad Goreski and now Jeremiah Brent.

Everyone knows all the dirt on Tay and Brad’s less than cordial departures over the last few years, but nobody seems to know much about Jeremiah’s whereabouts in the Land of Zoe.  The poor Sad Sack with the amazingly thick hair was fired and rehired last year and looked to have a promising career with a potential Zoe Home line, despite his nervous tick and inability to blink.  But then that never happened.

I wouldn’t put it past Rachel to have enough pull in the biz to banish Jeremiah into some kind of Wardrobe Witness Protection Program, because nobody has heard much from the guy since we last saw him hyperventilating and putting together Skyler’s IKEA crib.

Which is kind of a bummer, because I really liked the guy.

Actually, the last time Jeremiah really did anything truly newsworthy was when he got caught making out with fellow interior designer Nate Berkus in the Barneys tie department.  Turns out that Jeremiah has been dating Nate and they certainly knew how to undo a double Windsor that December day in Barneys, though I’m not sure I’d want to kiss someone who probably tastes like Oprah‘s butt.

OhNoSheDin’t just go there.

Sorry, Nate.  I’m just jealz…no couple should have that much great hair power between them.  And with your tight pants and smiley face, I’m sure you could have done it without Ms. Winfrey.  You get a show!  You get a show!  You ALL get a show!    

But that was then.  This is now.

Mercedes Benz Fashion Week was fast approaching, and Rachel was prepping for her first ever Runway Show.  Which meant it was time to unleash the Drama Hounds.

Mandana and Collection Assistant Kelsey (…who seemed very nice but looked like she was cast on the wrong show…) were helping pull together outfits in the office.  It was the usual chaos that has ensued for the last four seasons.  Hundreds of shoes, racks and racks of sample sizes, thousands of empty Starbucks cups and Rodger doing his best to get in the way.

Sweetie.  Babe.  You know that thing where you don’t talk until you’re asked a question?

Oh, snap.  You tell him, Rachel.  Maybe you can even make some Chanel chandelier earrings out of his nibblies when you rip ’em off with your bare hands.

To make things even more exciting this year, Mandana Banana had developed a double bleeding ulcer, courtesy of Rachel Zoe, Inc., which severely cut down on her dietary options.  It certainly didn’t cut down on her ability to Drama Queen any of her symptoms, but it did limit the amount of chocolate that she was allowed to digest as Rachel slapped her hand every time she picked up an M&M.

Even when Skyler waddled in and tried to put on high heels, Rachel caught Mandana trying to smuggle a Snickers.  That’s right.  She didn’t stop her son from slipping into some stilettos, but she did prevent her VP from a sugar crash.

It was gonna be a long day.

Since Rachel was juggling two hats (…Stylist & Designer….Der…) she had to keep abandoning ship to run over and catch random runway shows.  First up was Marchesa at Grand Central Terminal during rush hour, where RodgePodge, Mandana and Rachel all got lost and ended up at that new Apple Store.  They missed the fashion show, but at least they didn’t have to wait in line very long for the new iPad Mini.

The next morning, Rodger and his LadyMan Ritz Carleton Spa housecoat found a New York Post article that was not very complimentary of Rachel’s new line of clothing.

Oh, Zoe.  He wasn’t happy.

First, he apparently couldn’t find his hair brush.  And now Page Six.  Rachel died a little, and then they got dressed.

Next up was the Prabal Gurung show.  Say that ten times fast.

If you DVR’d this fashion mess and can only watch 30 seconds, fast forward the box to this point just so you can witness Rachel’s MAJ Bitch Diss of Brad Goreski backstage at Prabal.  The Majest of the Maj Disses.

Quit my company and talk smack about me, will you?  Wait till I run into you with Andy Cohen and then kiss him and walk by you and your flushed cheeks like you’re invisible.

OhMyGod. Dead to me.

It was a Moment.  And probably a moment that happened so quickly that most people didn’t even catch it.  But I have a gift, you know.  And I died a little myself.  After I spit out my Diet Coke all over my vintage Yves Saint Laurent smoking jacket, that is.

I’m officially going on record here and requesting that Brad make one random cameo stroll through each episode, kind of like a live action Where’s Waldo, just so we can see how many different ways Rachel can Bitch Out on his pink face.  It gave me life.

Then, for a brief second or two, we put down our Botox syringes and tried to inject a little testosterone into our face when Rodger met up with his Boyeez Neil and Daryl for some white wine.  Not exactly slamming brewskis at a Sports Bar, but Rodger’s scarf was probably against dress code, so you get what you get.

The spritzers must have gone right to their heads, because Neil and Daryl tried to convince Rodger that his son was actually…ummm…a Boy, maybe…and that he should try and save Sky from the Pink Side.  The three of them had a few giggles at Rachel’s expense as Rodger tried to justify her fantasy that Skyler was actually a gift from the French Embassy destined for frilly pantaloons.  Until his ankle GPS alarm went off, that is, and then Rachel tracked him down outside of the agreed upon office perimeter and the party was over.

With one day to go before the show, it was crunch time.

The white orchid floral backdrop wall that Rachel had visualized was not  working out too well so far, thanks to a pokey florist and budget constraints.  But it did give Mandana a chance to go so far over-the-top fab dramalicious that I think there might be an Emmy in her future.

I want this conversation be over.  More than anything in the World.  Even Beyoncé tickets.  OhMyGod.  Seriously.  It’s orchids.  How hard can it be?  OhMyGod.

And then Rachel got bangs.

I know, right?  Craziest.  Thing.  Ever.

I realize this has been a long one, so if you have to go…go now.  Because nothing really mattered after Rachel got bangs.  That’s all she talked about.  That’s all anyone talked about.  I think CNN even covered it.

Odile the Hairdresser, who reminded me of Cloris Leachman in Young Frankenstein, convinced Rachel to get bangs.  And I think the Earth momentarily shifted off its access.

OhMyGod.  She was going to Oscar de la Renta‘s show.  With bangs.  Just.  Stop it.

It took him awhile, but even Rodger finally noticed she got a two minute haircut.

Babe.  Do you like them?

I Love.  Because that’s how you say it in the Land of Zoe.  I Love.

Then she went to the Oscar de la Renta show, and told Oscar de la Renta that she just got bangs.  Oscar de la Renta Loved.

And Oscar de la Renta’s show had so many Anne Hathaway Moments that Rachel almost blacked out, which I guess meant that she either wanted to do a piss poor job at hosting an Awards Show or wanted to shave her head out back by the dumpster.

Ok.  Fine.  You got me.  I’m not really sure what an Anne Hathaway Moment actually is if we’re gonna sit here and nitpick the subject.  But there were a ton of them.

Finally, it was Runway Day!

Before the Zoe Show, Rachel and Rodger raced across town to see Michael Kors because she’s kind of fascinated by his dangly ear lobes and wanted to show off her bangs again.  No lie.  Michael Kors Loved.

They all hugged and air kissed it out, and then Michael sealed the deal by stating that he had “plugged her Twitter,” which sounded increasingly more creepy the longer I thought about it.  Nobody should be plugging anybody’s Twitter if they’re rocking that kind of Toddlers & Tiaras spray tan.  Thanks, but I’ll pass.

And then Rachel actually got to put on her own show if I’m not mistaken.  I know she was backstage showing everyone her new bangs, and they were all dying a little and putting on lipstick, but I can’t remember if anyone actually made it to the runway.

But they probably did.

And I’m sure it was Maj.

Now if you’ll pardon me, I’m need to go and have my own Anne Hathaway moment.

I hope my Catwoman onesie still fits.


Dance Moms: Slow Dancing And Fast Dating Have Everyone All Worked Up. All Is Fair In Love And War. XOXO

Wednesday, March 6th, 2013



Can you stand it? Another new hat. I got this one at the Amtrak gift shop. Could you just die?





OhMyGod. Is he behind me? Don’t tell me. I mean, tell me. Is he there? Don’t look…but is he? I can’t breath.












What. The. Hell? Seriously. Is that thing alive? Where do you find this crazy s***?



No, really. Back it up, girls. There’s enough of me to go around. Bitches gotta learn to share the candy, ok?





I said…”I haven’t had dark meat since last Thanksgiving! What’s your name?”





MmmHmm. And I can smell what The Rock is cookin’.





Move over, Paris.

Pittsburgh is the new City of Love.

It’s true.  Something toxic must have leaked into the local water supply overnight, because everyone on Dance Moms was feeling exceptionally giddy and romantical this week.  Love was definitely in the air.  And Abby Lee Miller, of all people, was more than willing to take a big whiff and get down on it.

Thanks in part to the somber mood brought on by the unfortunate passing of Abby’s stubby little pup Broadway Baby, the ALDC had actually managed to make it out of last week’s competition without a major post-show throw down in the makeup room.

Even Christi and Kelly hugged it out after the awards ceremony, which kind of made me wonder if maybe the government should consider sending sick dogs to Third World countries in an attempt to end conflicts around the world.  I mean, seriously.  If those two could get it together over a puppy with bad kidneys, then who knows what the United Nations could accomplish with an airlift of beagles in diapers.

Ouch.  Too soon?

Anyway.  All things considered, as everyone rolled in for the newest Anti-Chloe Pyramid of Shame, the mood was still fairly chilled.  Or at least more subdued than the Mom’s outfits, which were as always, still impressively glittered-up for so early in the week.

I’m really starting to think that even Christi‘s housecoats are encrusted with Swarovski crystals around the collar and cuffs, because Mama does like to Sparkle, Baby.

Bottom row of the Pyramid was home to Paige, Brooke and Kendall.

When you already know that Maddie is going to be on the top again, it doesn’t really matter why the other girls are down below anymore.  Something about not using their faces and not standing out and not sticking out and having a Mom who’s a bitch.

The usual.

The higher priced seats on the second row went to Nia and Mackenzie, who I still swear is missing a different tooth every week.  It’s like a Where’s Waldo? game or something.  When all her enamel grows in and she loses those braces, she may hold the record for biggest smile ever.  Love her.

Nia scored 3rd overall last week and MackAttack was über overall for the Mini category.

Laquifa Nia was getting her Sassafrass back, and MackaWacka would soon be getting another $100 from the Tooth Fairy.  So they were both happy campers.

And for the third week in a row Maddie was hogging the top again, while Chloe’s photo was apparently being auctioned off on eBay.

Abby is not cutting that poor Beanie Baby any slack.  She still isn’t on the Pyramid.  But my psychic powers tell me that Chloe will soon rise again, and before you know it she’ll be scotch taped right up there like a Superstar.  And then Mom can rip off some sweater glitter and toss it in the air during the victory parade.  So there, Haters.

This week the gang would be heading to Bernardsville, NJ where ever that is, for yet another Xpression Dance Competition.

Jersey may be home to a lot of gravitationally awesome big hair and tight fitting animal print, but it’s also always a big hot mess when the ALDC shows up.  Let’s just say that it hasn’t been their finest hour when they roll through the Jersey toll booth, so Abby was determined to make a better Xpression Impression this week.

They may not be feeling the Jersey Love, but Jersey was definitely gonna feel some Pittsburgh Love when the ALDC hit the stage this time around.  Like I said…Romance was in the air.  The group routine even had a BOY dancer!

Cue the hysteria.

Lady Killer Nick Dobbs strutted into the studio, and at least three of the girls wet themselves like Abby’s dog used to do on the kitchen floor.  Little girl dancers loooove when the boys roll into town.  Especially when it’s dreamboat Nick, who we last saw dancing around like a Twilight vampire giving the girls hickeys on stage.

As the girls…and BOY!…got to rehearsing their routine, the Moms hit the Perch and decided that Abby needed a booty call.

According to Kelly and TMZ and a bunch of 12 year old Twitter girls, Abby is already in a relationship with John Corella.  Or maybe not.  Or maybe it’s another guy.  Kelly wouldn’t say his name.  But she did blurt out that the mystery boyfriend was gay.

And though gay men make fabulously great dance partners when you can’t get a date on a Friday night, they don’t always make the best husbands for big girls like Abby Lee Miller, no matter how many Vodka and Red Bull drinks you buy them.

So who knows.  There have certainly been enough photos circulating lately of Abby inappropriately groping the dude’s butt in that mall store where you buy little girls clothes (…what the hell?…) but nobody seems to know for certain what’s going on.

So in a stellar demonstration of covert multi-tasking, Jill figured that she should take Abby speed dating.  That way she could potentially get Abby a little sumthin sumthin on the side while her gay boyfriend is doing ball crunches at the gym, and score herself some Mom Points at the same time.

Oh.  Jill got another new hat.  Nice she could take time out from filming the live action sequel to Thomas The Tank Engine.  And that’s all I have to say on the matter.

And then when she showed up the next day wearing some crazy feathered mini capelet kind of thing….well…I just can’t.  You’ll probably recognize that ensemble from when Cruella De Vil wore the black & white version and stole all those puppies.

Oh, Jill.

When I came to after a momentary blackout, the shiny stretch limo from Real Housewives of Beverly Hills was already waiting to take everyone speed dating.  Everyone except Christi that is, who was forcibly removed when Abby refused to climb inside if she was going with them to the restaurant.

By the time they popped the champagne I was expecting Kim and Kyle to get in some alcohol induced screaming match in the back seat.  You’re a drunk and you have lipstick on your teeth!  Totally RHOBH.

Speed Date Night at the local eatery was everything you could have hoped for…and more.  The whole place must have smelled like broccoli cheese soup, Estée Lauder and desperation as the Moms chowed down while watching Abby work her way through a steady stream of potential suitors.

There was a bartender, an insurance salesman, some skinny guy that didn’t even warrant a full scene and a “man of color” who got Abby all flustered.  I’m thinking Abby might like a little Russell Stover chocolate during the holidays.

But the show is supposed to be about dysfunctional dancing, not hook ups, so before you knew it we were all back at the ALDC for more rehearsals.

Nia and Kendall had scored another duet and were swinging plastic snow shovels around like DOT workers until Nia’s hard hat fell off.  Again, with the hats?  See what you started, Jill?

Maddie was also doing another solo, because that’s what you do when you’re at the top of the Pyramid.  Der.

During all the commotion, Jill managed to slip out of the Perch and score a private rehearsal for Kendall with Gianna, which was a little odd considering Baby Vertes was doing a duet, not a solo.  So one would assume that her dancing partner should have been involved in the process at some point, correct?  Or at least do your private somewhere besides a studio that is clearly visible through wall to wall panes of open glass.

Yeah.  After locking in on that visual, Holly and Christi went downstairs and had a few choice words with Jill, who was all What What What? when confronted.

Oh, Jill.  Those hats are cutting off the blood to your brain.

Finally, it was Showtime!

And poor little Sasha Nia was sick.  She had Bronchitis.

Ain’t nobody got time for that.

But she was gonna suck it up and werk that hard hat like a Boss.  Don’t you worry.

There was a little pre-game bickering between Holly and Jill, when Mrs. Vertes suddenly produced a medical degree and decided to be Nia’s pediatrician in an attempt to turn the duet into a solo for Kendall.  Because it’s all about her kid.

Gah.  Give it up, lady.  We get it.

MackaLoJacka’s solo was great, even though Abby felt she did not show enough face.

Or teeth.  (Ok…I made that part up.  That joke never gets old.)

Proving that no matter how many times she gets burned she’s gonna keep touching that hot stove, Jill went right back out into the hallway and scored yet another private with Gia before the duet went on stage.  And once again Holly stormed out and confronted her about sneaking around behind her back.  And once again Jill was all What What What? when pushed into the corner.

I’m not messing with Dr. Holly.  That one is ALL you, Jill.

But even without any private rehearsal time, Nia rocked the duet without falling or coughing up anything nasty.  So there.  Boom.  Pow.

Maddie’s solo was good.  Not great.  But good.  And it was kind of overshadowed by the Moms making up for lost time and getting into another throw down out back in the makeup room.

Christi brought up the whole limo episode.  Kelly felt that the Moms were not a team.  Jill was all What What What? for the third time.

Then Dreamboat Nick and all the little brides hit the stage for the “Your Dream Is My Dream” group number.  It was a Phantom of the Opera meets Nutcracker kind of thing, but sung by some Josh Groban wannabe.

Whatever.  It was just nice to not hear that Karaoke Beyoncé girl again.  The females all looked pretty, and Nick was chock full of teen angst.

And one of the judges was like totally 11 years old.  I swear.  Did you see him?

Then some kids won some stuff.  But not necessarily Abby’s kids.


MackSmack came in 2nd Place.  Maddie only scored 2nd Place.  The duet unfortunately dug themselves into a 5th Place pot hole.

Even with Nick going through puberty on stage and breaking the hearts of every girl in the first 5 rows, the group number only scored 2nd Place.

Combine all that with Abby’s boyfriend skipping the entire competition to go to the Los Angeles Pride Parade (…ok…I may have made that one up, too…) and you pretty much already know how Ms. Miller handled the scored results.

For an episode all about Love, she wasn’t showing much by the end of the day.

Looks like some of you need a break.  I’m talking about Love.  L-O-V-E.  Do you love to dance?  Do you love what you do?  Do you love my crazy black ostrich top?

It wasn’t a full on post-show blow out, but she wasn’t very happy and there was a lot of eye rolling and uncomfortable moments of dead silence.

It’s called Tough Love, kids.

Think about what you’ve done.  Think about what you really want.

And then Abby left to meet her boyfriend at the Chelsea Piers for a Tea Dance.

Sashay Away.

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