Posts Tagged ‘Kelly Hyland’

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

Friday, August 31st, 2012

 

 

 

Hey, bitches. Sup? Fix yo’ face, cuz the Tight & Right tag team is about to get all up in it. Mmkay?

 

 

 

 

 

 

Oh. Hell. No.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Can she spell Rond de jambe? What the hell does that damn genie on Pee Wee’s Playhouse have to do with krumpin’?

 

 

 

 

 

Do NOT get all ethnic on me, or I’ll whoop yo’ a** with my doctorate AND condition that nasty hair while I’m at it.

 

 

 

 

 

OMG. And then Holly was all like this and she went all like that up in her grill. Realz.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Umm. Yeah. I’m all set with Black Patsy. Thanks for asking.

 

 

 

 

Hey, Pittsburgh.

You might want to stock up on non-perishables and head to your Safe Room, because a big, sassy chunk of meteor from Planet Fierce just entered the atmosphere directly above the Abby Lee Miller Dance Company, and it looks like the shock waves from impact could potentially reach as far away as that joint in Ohio that sells beef jerky and tap shoes.

Dat’s rite.

St. Louis is in the hizzle, bitches.

Meet Kaya and Nicaya.

Dance Moms just took a page out of the Poor Man’s NeNe Leakes Handbook and unleashed a big a** bag of OhNoSheDin’t all up in our faces this week, with the arrival of a potential new Mom and her sassy braided daughter.

As you’ll recall,  last time at the party following the ALDC Recital Of All Recitals Ever In The History Of Recitals, Abby had mistakenly assumed that Kaya was one of the hired help waitresses and struck up a conversation in an attempt to score another plateful of those little wieners on a toothpick.  After realizing that the woman wasn’t wearing an apron or sensible shoes,  Abby discovered that Kaya and her daughter were actually in Pittsburgh trolling for new studios.

Much to the dismay of dancers around the planet who have spent the last 15 years of their lives sweating away at auditions and open cattle calls just for a slim chance at handing off a headshot, Kaya had somehow managed to get her daughter invited to Abby’s Garage for a quick check under the hood in the first two minutes of face time.

Sister’s got it going on already and she ain’t even through the front door.  Dang.

But even Fierceness has to wait for the Pyramid of Shame.  Rules are rules.

As the little dancers all fell into their Bob Fosse Army lineup (…in strict formation, but with one hip popped like you do when you hit the end of the ramp on Project Runway…) and the Moms all headed to the back looking like that JCPenney specialty catalog insert with all the crazy, blindingly bright summer handkerchief patterned dresses, Abby got down to business.

The lowest level of the Pyramid was the official landing strip for the Paige, Brooke and Mackenzie airline.

Paige was there once again because she had spent yet another long week dragging that big Quasimodo foot behind her waiting for her Hugh Jackman mutant healing factor to kick in.

(That joke is only funny if you know that Hugh Jackman played Wolverine in the X-Men movies and that he’s also a Broadway song & dance guy, and that in the comic books Wolverine had the ability to regenerate broken bones.  I’m not sure if dancers actually have time to read comic books, so in hindsight I may have just used up some valuable story time.  If I was going to Monday Morning Quarterback my decisions, I probably just wasted a paragraph.  My bad.  But if you can find me another Reality TV website that can get football, dance, comic books and a movie star who gave up his adamantium claws to jazz hand like a gay Peter Allen all in one story…well…yeah, good luck with that.)

Now I forgot where I was.

Wearing one of those enormous walking boots may help your toes all heal in the same direction, but it isn’t much help in your jazz hands routine.  So another week of non-dancing meant Paige’s photo was now officially rubber cemented to the bottom row.

Brooke was there because she was in a Hip Hop number, and she can’t do Hip Hop.

That’ll do it.

To find out why MackAttack was on the bottom, simply replace Brooke’s name with Mackenzie’s in the previous sentence.  Second verse, same as the first.

Sasha Nia and Chloe were bunkmates on the second row, mainly to allow Maddie top billing again.  Granted, Maddie won the scholarship at the Recital, but Abby would probably stick her girl on the top even if she was wearing two of Chloe’s boots and a neck brace.

Kendall got nada again, and Jill‘s Snookie Poof completely deflated.

MackaDoodleDoo, Nia and Chloe were all handed solos this week, and then in a psychotically split personality moment,  Abby refused to give top spot Maddie a solo because she was still holding that grudge from when she and Mom Melissa refused a last minute solo a few weeks back.

Or maybe it was 2009.  I dunno.  That one seems to be going on for a long time now.

This week the gang was headed to beautiful California for the iHollywood Dance Competition.  For those of you who missed it last time, iHollywood is the one with the ginormous movie camera backdrop graphic that looks exactly like Beaker from the Muppet Show is undressing you with his eyes.

Check it out.  Big creepy eyeballs that follow you wherever you walk in the ballroom.  Even when you go to the bathroom at intermission.

The group number was another spoken word coffee house routine, similar to the now infamous Where Have All The Children Gone?  Except this time there wouldn’t be 72 pounds of Sand Bag Vivi-Anne aimlessly swinging on a swing set waiting to get abducted.

National exposure and my face on the opening credits of a television show about dancing without ever having to actually dance?  Hell, yeah.  I’ll be down at the playground if you need me.

No worries, though.  This time around the spirit of Vivi-Anne would still be ever present, because the dance was based on inmates in an insane asylum.  So yeah, it would almost be like she was still back there sucking on a Life Saver waiting for somebody to pick her up and toss her off stage.

Once all the busy work was done, the Moms headed to the MomPerch and the girls got to practicing.

And then it happened.

Kaya and Nicaya entered the building.

Sashaying her ’70s Dy-No-Mite hair and ’80s pink track jacket all over the studio, Kaya handed off her daughter to Abby for a consult and joined the Moms in the Perch, where she was greeted by whatever the opposite of open arms is called.

MmmHmm.  Introduce yo’self, bitches.

After a quick run through on the Moms, Kaya was asked what she thought of their kids in the Monster Truck Pull Recital last week.

Boom goes the Dy-No-Mite.

Kaya tried to break it down for them.  The girls all had good technique and could dance, but they weren’t entertaining.  They didn’t have no Divatude.

Jill, who was uncomfortably sitting as far away from this new Cup o’ Crazy as she could, didn’t know what to make of the whole thing and went back to figuring out what to do with her new hairstyle while Christi leaned forward and worked on a few new facially flabbergasted expressions.

Melissa then tried to lighten the mood by asking what the embroidery on the front of Kaya’s 3D track jacket boobage was all about.

MmmHmm.  It said “Black Patsy.”

Like Patsy Ramsey.  But Blacker.

Wha–?  I just can’t.

Google it.  And then come up with 400 reasons why you would never want that thing anywhere near your own jugs.

To break the silence, Melissa awkwardly mumbled “I love that name.  It’s really pretty” mainly because she couldn’t think of anything else to mumble.

Lawd have mercy.  Please let her be talking about “Nicaya” and not one of the Patsy Ramseys.  Please.

As Kaya threw shade all over the Perch, Abby put Nicaya through a few drills only to discover that the girl couldn’t spell or demonstrate most of the requested dance techniques.  Once Kaya joined them in the studio, Abby laid down a few rules and sent them home to buy a dictionary.

MmmHmm.  And now you want us to learn how to spell them stupid a** dance terms?  Just put in the damn CD and watch my daughter dance, bitch.

The next day, Jill had located her Bump-It and it looked like things might calm down a little, until Kaya showed up at the front desk telling Abby that she would do whatever it takes to get her daughter on the dance team.  Personally, regardless of who made the offer, I would have taken the opportunity to get that hot mess of a front desk cleaned and organized, but turning Kaya into the token sassy ALDC maid probably wouldn’t be in anyone’s best interest, even though I would so love to see Abby Lee Miller go head to head with Al Sharpton.

(And you know he’s such an ambulance chaser that he was probably driving around and around the parking lot just in case anything went down on Day 2.  I’m pretty sure that was his ironically white station wagon out front.)

Real Housewives Marathon, anyone?  In what would normally take Andy Cohen about 4 to 6 weeks to fully reveal, somehow in under 10 minutes we found out that Kaya had loads of kids, was working a job while the other Moms were texting on their iPhones, was either divorced or no longer with at least one Baby Daddy and now a lesbian with a weird Gaydar take on Melissa.  Oh, Snap.  NoSheDin’t.

MmmHmm.  You got a problem wid dat?

Somewhere in the middle of all this fierce chaos, Paige was cleared to dance without her Hunchback foot and Kelly had yet another meltdown because Abby was doing the usual Mind F*** with her kids.

Turned out that Paige could dance, but not do tricks.  That meant she couldn’t balance a ball on her nose or do whacky back flips until competition day, and when she asked to wimp out a little and just mark her moves during rehearsal, Abby implied that she may just stick Nicaya in Paige’s spot at iHollywood and then began messing with her brain.

As Jill and Kaya both visualized their daughters’ faces superimposed over Paige’s body on stage, Kelly blew a major nutty.

I seriously need a spreadsheet or something to keep track of how many times Kelly blows a major nutty, because it’s gotten to the point where I can’t tell if they are all separate ones or just one long drawn out spaz that has been going on all season.

And then it was Showtime!

Back in the makeup and screaming room, Abby had still not decided if Paige was going to dance or not, and Kelly was either getting ready for another nutty or just pausing the current one for a second.

When Abby asked about Kelly’s behavior back at the studio, Kelly denied that anything really dramatic had happened.

MmmHmm.  That’s a lie, bitch.

Yeah.  Kaya went there.  And then it was on like NeNe Donkey Kong.

Hard as it is to believe, at some point they did manage to get some dancing done.  Nicaya and Paige both ended up dancing.  No big surprise since they both shlepped all the way to California.  That would have sucked.

But the dancing hardly mattered with all this good dirt flinging around the room like monkey poo.  Sorry kids, but this week it was all about the Moms.

Before and after the competition Kaya managed to head snap and finger wave herself right off of everyone’s Holiday greeting card list so hard that the Moms were starting to line up alphabetically for a chance to slap that constant half smirk off her face.

MmmHmm.  Where’s my Sistah at?

Yeah.  She even tried to pull the LaQuifa Card on Holly.  The same doctorate-holding Holly who has spent the the majority of the last two years trying to get all the afro picks out of Abby’s supply closet and let Nia just be a freakin’ dancer regardless of her ethnicity.  The last thing you wanna do is start any conversation with Holly that is going to include the words “As A Sister…” and then try to drag a school principal down to the ghetto on your Crazy Bus.

Black or white or John Deere green, I love Holly.  And she gave it right back to Kaya without taking her earrings off, losing a track or popping one single nail.

All she had to say was “Do NOT…” and I ran behind the couch.

MmmHmm.  That’s how we do.  You stay classy, Girlfriend.

Yup.  The Real Housewives of Pittsburgh are getting ready to rumble.  And it ain’t gonna be pretty, ladies.

But it’s gonna be fierce.  Cuz Kaya’s in the Dance ‘Hood.

And she don’t play.

MmmHmm.

Dance Moms: Potty Mouths And Body Shots, Hip Hop Flops And Booty Pops Can Only Mean One Thing…It Must Be The ALDC Recital To End All Recitals.

Wednesday, August 22nd, 2012

 

 

This is Abby, your Captain speaking. Please turn off your cell phones because this s*** is about to get real.

 

 

 

 

I can count on one hand how many times I’ve been to Walmart today.

 

 

 

 

I can count on one finger how many times I’m gonna do my hair like this again. WTF?

 

 

 

 

Do I remember the Class of 1985? Girl…Seriously? I don’t even remember what shoes I put on this morning.

 

 

 

 

Oh. Hell. No. The bus driver told me this was Bravo TV. I can already tell these bitches are Cray Cray.

 

 

 

Overture, Curtain, Lights.

This is it…the Night of Nights.

…On with the Show, this is It!

Before we proceed with this week’s Dance Moms hilarity, you need to Google youtube and the musical opening number for the classic Warner Brothers Bugs Bunny Show.

Then you need to find someone who knows Photoshop and have them cut & paste the faces of Abby Lee Miller, Holly, Kelly, Christi, Melissa, Jill, Cathy and bat s*** crazy Leslie over the bodies of all the cartoon characters.

And then you need to watch it again until milk shoots out your nose, because that pretty much sums out how it all went down this week during the 2012 ALDC Concert.

Which was really a recital.  But I didn’t ask why Abby kept calling it a concert.  Maybe because it had music.  I dunno.  By now, we all know I don’t make the rules.

But, whatever.  It was the annual ALDC tribute to…well…ALDC, and a chance for anyone in Pittsburgh without basic cable to buy a Xeroxed paper ticket and watch every dance number that the rest of us had already seen on Lifetime.

As Abby explained it before the Pyramid of Shame was revealed, every dance aficionado in Pittsburgh would be in attendance, which would explain the four folding chairs set up around a card table at the front of the stage.  Count ’em.  Every one.

Not that I would recognize an aficionado if I stepped on one, but the way she went on and on about it before rehearsals began I expected at least two of the So You Think You Can Dance judges to show up.  But nada, unless the aficionados were incognito or something.

Regardless, even the Concert of all Recitals had to wait until the Pyramid was unveiled.

Rules are rules, people, whether I make them or not.

Still hanging tight at the bottom were Paige and that big, clunky boot.  Turns out that breaking your foot when you’re on a show about dancing doesn’t really open up much opportunity for advancement.  Climbing stairs and pyramids are just way too much work nowadays, so Paige was content to lean on her pirate leg and let the other girls fight it out for top honors.

Fallen Angel Maddie was also on the bottom row because last week she had refused to learn a new number in under 42 minutes and then retain it long enough to go head to head with those scruffy boys from Candy Apples.

She told Abby NO.  And people don’t tell Abby NO.  Nobody tells Abby NO.

Proof of that fact can be found not only in the crumbled dust of broken young dancer souls that Abby keeps in a mantel urn, but also in the increasing number of Pennsylvania All-U-Can-Eat Country Buffets now filing for bankruptcy.

Whaddayamean I can’t have any more ribs?

Third spot in the basement went to Chloe, because she had ruined any chance at a Starbound clean sweep when she lost by 1/10th of a point.  Which had to suck.  I would rather lose by a bazillion points and then fall off the stage head first than lose by 1/10th.

I hugged my television.  Poor peanut.

Second row went to Brooke and Mackenzie.

Brooke took some heat for last week’s Children of the Corn dance when she was supposed to tie a bonnet on Maddie’s head at a Star Trek warp speed of mach 8, and she nervously fumbled the ball a little.

Cut her some slack, lady.  I’m pretty sure that Amish people are in no hurry when it comes to putting their bonnets on.  It’s not like they’ve got anywhere to go…the cabinet shop will still be there no matter how long it takes to strap on their head gear.

But you know Abby.

MacAttack beat 2 boys and her front teeth were coming in nicely, so it was all good.

Top spot for the second week went to Miss Sasha Nia, cuz that’s how we roll, bitches.

But before Nia could even bust out a celebratory Death Drop, Real Housewife of Pittsburgh Jill got all up in Abby’s grill about Kendall once again not being scotch taped to the mirror.

Kendall deserved it.  Kendall deserved this.  Kendall deserved that.

Don’t get me wrong.  I’m a big supporter of parents who cowboy up for their kids.  But Jill is the kind of Stage Mom who would show up unannounced at the U.N. and shut down half of New York City under a suspected terrorist threat as she melts down over Kendall not being able to perform with those multi-national kids who are always in the Radio City Christmas Show.

Somebody needs to spend a little more time figuring out her new hairdo and a little less time making her daughter cry on national TV.  Just saying.

The new number for the recital was a hip hop bootay poppin’ thang.  Please pause here and Google a group photo of these little ALDC dancer girls.  I’ll wait.

Got it?  Yeah.  I can pretty much guarantee you that this is the only time you will ever see the words Gangsta and Chloe in the same sentence.  If you really need to go, you basically already figured out how that one was gonna work out.  Thanks for stopping by.

Paige had previously been told by her doctor to not dance for 4 weeks, but since she seemed to be able to stay upright on her own, Abby wanted her to participate in the hip hop routine.

Never having broken my toe in a backward handspring on cement flooring, I can’t really verify any assumptions, but I’m thinking that on a tiny girl like Paige, that gigantic boot probably works much like one of those sand-filled deck umbrella stands.  Girl ain’t toppling over in a wind storm if you know what I mean, but thinking that she could pop and lock and grind and stomp on stage may have been a little premature.

The next day, as Jill arrived at the studio, she was intercepted by NutWad Ninja Leslie who literally came out of nowhere and pounced on Jill with a bucket load of crazy.

Seriously.  Where did Leslie come from?  I swear she dropped out of the trees like that monkey did in James Franco‘s Planet of the Apes movie (…which was sooo not how the Apes really came to rule Earth, thank you…) because as soon as Jill hauled her junk out of the car, Leslie was right there in front of her babbling gossip.

It’s no wonder Leslie makes such a great Walmart greeter, because you can’t walk by her without getting an ear full.  She went on and on about loyalty and backstabbing and warnings and something about Melissa not having enough Milky Way bars for Halloween and having to take Leslie with her to CVS and then driving past CVS and taking Leslie to meet her Secret Lover and his enormous big package…of bank checks.

And Leslie talked just like that, but with fewer punctuation marks.  I swear.

Finally Jill bolted inside and Leslie scurried back up the tree with her Walmart bananas.

Only 65 cents a pound.  In a smiley face bag.

Quick change of scenery to Cow Country and the Evil Dance Lair, better known to the locals as Candy Apple’s Dance Center, where we found Chaos Cathy mulling over an envelope of ALDC tickets that had mysteriously been delivered to her studio.  Should she attend? Mmmuuuahahahaha.

A bigger mystery should have been why Candy Apple’s felt they needed that security camera set up that was above Cathy’s messy desk.  Did you catch that?

It was one of those split screen television monitors you see at convenience stores and nuclear plants.  Or like they hang at Burger King over the fries to track how long it takes them to get one lousy freakin’ Single Stack in the bag.

Is there a whole black market out there I’m not aware of that specializes in stolen tap shoes and jazz canes?  I’m checking ebay tomorrow.

If I don’t find anything, I’m going to assume it’s to protect all that valuable beef jerky next door.  Or maybe it’s just Cathy monitoring Canton’s Jerky King.

Because you know…nobody jerks it like the King.  I saw it on TV.  Cathy might want to keep an eye on that one.  Just a suggestion.

Since the teeny bop hip hop number was not going so well, Abby whistled for Amazonian Payton to join the group and show the little white girls how a big, tall white girl gets it done.  Taking a cue from her Mom, Payton also apparently dropped right out of a nearby tree because she was there before Abby even finished calling her name, and immediately started doing the Sprinkler, Windshield Wiper and what I assumed was her awkward version of the Dougie.

Hollah Back, Girl.   And duck when you go through the door.  Word to yo’ Crazy Mother.

Next it was time for the Tech Rehearsals.  Abby was up in the light booth like some exhausted air traffic controller, trying to keep her headset from falling off into her pudding while she screamed at everyone within her orbit.

Since Leslie and Kelly cannot breath the same oxygen without breaking out into an argument, they were chewing at each other’s face the entire time they were down in front of the stage.

Screaming.  Yelling.  Bleeping.  The usual.

When Leslie made the sweaty hike all the way up the auditorium into the booth to insist Abby change the dance lineup to give Payton more time to change costumes, the coffee really started to percolate.  After blasting Leslie for her smart a** mouth, Abby made a new Clubhouse Rule:  NO parents allowed!

She even had one of the hired help boys scribble out a treehouse sign on what I assumed was unused homework binder paper which the girls should have been using for their book reports.  But you can’t chest pump and worry about Catcher in the Rye at the same time, so the dude swiped a sheet and taped it up on the door like you would if you wanted to keep Girl Cooties away from your pillow fort.

Klassy.  With a K.

After way too much jammin’ and gettin’ down on it, Paige’s one remaining good foot finally realized it couldn’t do all the heavy lifting alone, which caused her to overdo it on the bad one.  It didn’t take a medical degree to figure out she needed to take a chill pill.

It also didn’t take a psych degree to know that Leslie would be all over that one, since her motto has always been “Suck It Up.”

Screaming.  Yelling.  Bleeping.  The usual.  Again.

This time, though, Kelly snatched up her two kids and headed out of Dodge, vowing to never come back.  With Brooke looking out the window like those kidnap victims do when they try to blink SOS in code to a gas station attendant, Mom layed a patch and was gone.

Then in a strange spliced in snippet, all the Moms suddenly hit the Club to unwind after their hard week.  And apparently, when Dance Moms need to unwind, they hit the Gay Club because I only saw two girls in the whole joint, and I think one of them works at Jiffy Lube.  All the other club kids were boys trying to kiss Christi.

Jill even did a body shot off the 12 pack of that guy on the Abercrombie shopping bag, which was wrong on so many levels.

After witnessing…and processing…all of that, my vision returned and the Show of all Shows actually kind of paled in comparison.

Kelly showed up with the kids.  No big surprise.

The Candy Apple’s Brigade showed up, looking like a bad catalog photo from some local store specializing in Mother of the Bride dresses.  What the F*** were they all wearing?  Get out of Ohio much, girls?

Jill was spread out all over her chair in a really…really…yellow dress, still apparently feeling the residual after effects of gnawing on too much Abercrombie ab.  She did manage to find the strength to present Abby with two dozen kiss up roses, to go along with the previously sucked up lobby bench and cologne gift sets.  Jill does like to get her bribe on whenever possible.

After the curtain call where Maddie and Nia were presented with dance scholarships and Brooke and Mackenzie wandered around in Toddlers & Tiaras, everyone headed outside for a few cocktails and photo ops.

Lucky for us, Andy Cohen just happened to be driving through town and shoved a potential new Dance Mom and her kid out the passenger side of his Reality TV Escalade and then squealed off into the night before they even hit the sidewalk.

Kaya and Nicaya have arrived.

Girrrl, pleez.  Not only the best new Girl Group name ever, but more than likely the best new OhNoSheDin’t Mom & Daughter act to hit Lifetime in a Longtime.

MmmHmm.  I feel some sassy coming on.

Oh, snap.

And another snap.

Dance Moms: Boyz In Da Hood? It’s The Revenge Of The Candy Apples When Cathy Unleashes All Her Man Candy On The Starbound Stage.

Wednesday, August 15th, 2012

 

 

We’re gonna rid this town of every Candy Apple in existence, even if I have to eat them all myself!

 

 

 

 

 

Please. When I open my eyes, Vivi-Anne is suddenly a mean dancing machine. Is that really asking too much, Lord?

 

 

 

 

Umm. Hellooo? My Mom said there’d be M&Ms on stage…? And shouldn’t someone be picking me up by now?

 

 

 

 

 

Sweet Jeezis. This really is my life.

 

 

 

 

 

You go there. And honey, you go there. Now just pretend to be as Fierce as we are…and good luck with that, bitches.

 

 

 

This week’s Dance Moms DVR Drinking Game?

Take a shot every time Abby Lee Miller said “Clean Sweep.”

Just be sure to program your Comcast box to keep the recording for a future viewing before the festivities begin, because the first time around it’s pretty much a guarantee you’ll miss approximately 55 minutes of the show due to blacking out from alcohol poisoning before the first commercial break.

It’s true.  Abby wanted a Clean Sweep this week when she went up against her Evil Nemesis Chaos Cathy Nesbitt and all those rotten to the core Candy Apples dancers.

And she made certain that we all knew it.

Over.  And over.  And over again.

After wiping the dance floor with most of the other studios at last week’s event, Abby was looking to continue the winning streak as the ALDC headed to Myrtle Beach for what I believe was their 4,386th trip to a Starbound National Talent Competition.

Though the trophies and bragging rights are always a nice touch, this trip to Starbound was not going to be complete unless Abby could return with Cathy’s head securely mounted to one of those Things Remembered mall plaques that they always give out with that folded t-shirt during the award ceremony.

(See…and you didn’t think I paid attention during the last five minutes of the show.)

But even plotting the downfall of an adversary has to wait until the Pyramid of Shame is revealed, so in pranced all Abby’s little dancers.  All the little dancers except for Paige that is, who did more of a Budweiser Clydesdale kind of clomp due to her left foot still being strapped inside that walking boot.  The injury from her backwards somersault belly flop onto concrete seemed to be healing nicely, but it was definitely cutting into her dance routine and sort of slowing down the cafeteria line as well.

But they all made it in eventually, and Abby immediately started ripping off the photo covers like an exceptionally sturdy Price Is Right girl.

Bottom row was made up of Brooke, Paige and Mackenzie.  No real shockerzzz.

Brooke was in the basement because her back was still sore from slouching and moping around about boys.  Anyone who ever got dissed at a Junior High cafetorium dance can relate to her teen sourpuss face, so I won’t get all up in her grill just yet.

Been there.  Done that.  Just knock it off before Graduation Day.

Paige was right there next to Brooke because of the whole concrete face plant fiasco.  If you don’t dance, there ain’t many spots available, so she was ok with her third place status.

MacAttack was bringing up the rear because she cried like a little kid.  Which is what she is.  But for reasons that escape me, that logic doesn’t fly in the Dance World.

Second row was all about Maddie and Chloe.

Now even though Maddie had basically taken every trophy off the lobby display table last time and still somehow found the time to clog my television screen with 57 commercials for Drop Dead Diva, she had actually only won her title by 6 1/2 points…and Abby wanted 20.  So hang on the second row and see how that one feels, missy.

Chloe needed more intensity.  And she also needed to get her a** out of the way because Sasha Nia was coming through, beeotch.

Dat’s rite.  Girlfriend made it to the top, thanks to her channeling RuPaul’s Drag Race and getting all LaQuifa Part II on the judges.

Mom Holly chest bumped a few of the other Moms and almost went into her Arsenio Dawg Pound impersonation she was so excited.

I love when Holly puts the Doctorate back in her purse and goes all VH1 on people.

Since Kendall still fell under Abby’s “guest” status, and Mom Jill was still having some pretty serious styling issues with her new haircut, they both got nothing but attitude.

Sorry.  No room at the Pyramid Inn.

Besides being top o’ the heap, Nia was also named Dance Captain, which I honestly thought was a title only given out on Gay Cruise Boats.  But I was mistaken.

As she explained her duties, I was so distracted by her headpiece that I missed most of the deets.

Now I love me some Nia.  It’s well documented.  But WTF was that thing on her head?

Seriously.  If that wasn’t a BeDazzled Maxi-Pad I’m quitting my blogging job.

As the Moms all trotted up to the Perch, everyone got down to rehearsing.  The group number was another one of Abby’s poorly veiled salutes to Maddie’s superiority, this time disguised as a Children of the Corn Cult thing where the other mediocre girls try and bring Maddie down to their level by tying a funeral bonnet on her head.

Christi smelled that one coming, and quickly jumped right up Melissa‘s skirt and down her throat at the same time.

Now I watch a lot of Bravo TV.  Probably too much.  But let me tell you, a few Jersey Housewives could take a page out of Melissa’s Flip Out Book, because somehow a discussion on Amish headwear suddenly turned into a full on BitchFest.

You’re a Bitch.  You’re a Bitch.  And you’re a Bitch.  No, you’re a Bitch. Oprah says you’re all Bitches and here’s your present!

I lost track of what happened about midway through the argument.

But trust me, I was paying full attention when Christi accused Melissa of living with a married man.  And by the time Melissa shrieked that she did NOT have an affair with her boss, I expected Andy Cohen to burst through the glass doors and push Teresa back down in her chair.

Say it with me:  Prostitution Whore.

It was like all my worlds were colliding.  If I smoked I would have gone out on the fire escape to regroup.

The next day, needless to say, Melissa and the girls were a no-show, much to Abby’s chagrin.  Do the math.  They were now short two dancers.

As the Great White known as Jill once again began circling the blood in the water, we jumped on the tractor and headed to Ohio and the Evil Dance Lair, where Chaos Cathy was unveiling her plan to bring down the ALDC.  Again.

Noticeably missing was my favorite bad a** red haired Mom, who must have been getting her roots done or the Harley detailed.

Love.  Her.

Luckily, though, she was replaced by one of those women you always see in country music videos standing on the porch with a baby on her hip, waiting for her cheatin’ no good man to come home smelling like restroom perfume.

No clue who this Mom was, but she needed to get a better grip on that infant, because he looked like he was slipping off the burp rag on her shoulder.  Being blessed myself with a substantial noggin, I know how hard it is to maintain an upright position after a warm bottle.

To guarantee a win at Starbound, Cathy had brought back everyone’s favorite plain and peanut M&Ms, Mitchell and Michael, to choreograph the Candy Apples dance numbers and to just generally wander around the Jerky Store being fabulous.

Knowing that male DNA almost always ensures a higher judge’s score, Cathy had also snagged some stray boy that she found dancing down at the General Store and was pairing him up with that little ginger kid Justice in a Mad Men kind of office routine. 

Cathy and the M&Ms wanted to give Justice a…“male friend”…which sounded a little too Dance Captain for my liking, considering that the kid doesn’t even own a hair comb yet.

Inappropriate Skee Ball on the Lido Deck, anyone?

Back in civilization, Nia had finally tracked down the MIA Maddie and everyone got back to bidnezz.

After chastising Maddie for being born into a family where the parents still decided what the kids can and cannot do, Abby received a top secret call on the BatPhone from a Starbound snitch who filled her in on all the Candy Apples dirt.  When she realized that Cathy had put an Apple into every category that the ALDC was signed up for, she made a bee line to Melissa and tried to get Maddie an overnight solo routine.

Since Melissa was still peeved about the whole sleeping with her Boss thing, she refused.  Insert more drama here _____________.

Two totally unrelated points before we hit the actual competition…

What is in that big, fat envelope that Melissa always carries around with her?  Is it a coupon thing or something?  It kind of reminds me of the envelopes that New York City vagrants always carry that are stuffed full of every lost or stolen bank card they find still sticking out of the ATM slot.  I just need to know for some reason.

And secondly, did you see Mackenzie’s Snookie hair?

You tell me that Jill didn’t have Bump-It envy.  I don’t know how that little tyke even sat up straight for that camera shot.  It was the Über Snookie.

Finally it was Showtime.

It was hard to make the usual windblown Desperate Housewives entrance that Abby always likes to make into the hotel lobby, given that this shindig was being held at a high school.  Getting there is usually half the fun for Abby, so I could tell she was a little disappointed in the venue.

The Candy Apples have apparently adopted one of those fraternity type rituals, much like the Olympic athletes who all get matching tattoos.  But since none of the Moms would sign the waver for getting inked, all the kids showed up with one lone curler in their hair.

I know, right?  Say it wasn’t just me that saw that.

I swear even Justice was styling his carrot top with a foam roller.  The cheap kind that Monique would pop into your weave down at that salon next to the Target store.

I won’t lie.  Sometimes my attention to insignificant details tends to keep me up at night.

There was no actual high rise stage for this competition, much like the last hotel ballroom set up.  But instead of that rogue housekeeping cart I obsessed about last week, this time I was waiting for one of those AV Club rolling TV stands to wobble half way across the gym floor and then come to a stop right in front of Vivi-Anne.

Oooh.  Cartoons!

At least that would have finally given her something to do on stage, since Cathy has yet to figure out any significant purpose for her daughter being out there once the music starts.  Sooner or later there is going to be a number that does not require hoisting spacey Vivi-Anne up like a bag of Columbian coffee, and Cathy is gonna be screwed.

Chloe did a good job on her Leave the Lights On solo.  I think it would have been funnier to have her dressed in a Motel 6 chambermaid outfit, unless you don’t live near a Motel 6 and have never heard their “We’ll Leave The Light On” radio commercials.  Then it wouldn’t be as funny.

Justice came out with no shirt and lifted one leg up a lot.

Sorry dude.  That’s Dance Moms: Miami territory.  And you’re no Lucas.

Plus it was a little creepy given all that Dance Captain innuendo.

The ALDC Amish Corn Kids number went well.  Brooke managed to tie Maddie’s grey bonnet on without cutting off her oxygen supply, so that was a good thing.

Right when the Candy Apples were going to lug Vivi-Anne onto the dance floor Cathy realized that the prop was missing from center stage.  Screaming from the audience was a nice touch.

One of the M&Ms flitted around like a Pride Parade grand marshall, grabbed a Staples folding office chair and flung it onto the stage.  Crisis averted.

I’m not sure if he was the plain or peanut M&M, but there was definitely some hard candy shell going on down there during the whole process.

Then some kids won some stuff.

Backstage, as usual, the whole thing deteriorated into Cathy vs. anyone and everyone.

Honestly, if it wasn’t for Jill’s weekly hair style updates, I would swear I’ve been watching the same episode for two years.  Do you think Lifetime is just messing with us?

Screaming.  Yelling.  Cathy suggesting that the ALDC kids never go to school.

Needless to say, Melissa was just having an all around bad week and therefore had no problem laying into Cathy, which resulted in more screaming and yelling.

Someone get Andy Cohen on standby, because it was almost Bravo-worthy.

Almost.


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