Posts Tagged ‘reality tv’

Dance Moms: Return Of The Candy Apples. Careful…First They Rip Out Your Fillings, And Then Your Heart.

Wednesday, January 18th, 2012

 

 

 

A Candy Apple a day keeps the men away. Bite me.

 

 

 

 

 

You wish your nails looked this good, Apple bitch.

 

 

 

 

 

Tell me where you bought that shirt and you get the birth certificate.

 

 

 

 

 

Snookie sez: Status should be based on hair height.

 

 

 

You know how it goes.

Sometimes after a really hard day at work you just need to come home, grab some snacks, rat up your snood and kick it with some Dance Moms.

Thank you, Lifetime.  You must have read my mind, because this week there was more rat snooding and snood ratting than I could ever hope for in one episode.

Abby Lee Miller and her caravan of crazies were heading to Ohio for the Rising Star Competition this time around, and even though they scored a sweet trophy in their last competition the stakes were much higher on this road trip.

That’s right.

Ohio.  Home of pretty much nothing except (…insert dramatic 1960’s Batman TV theme music here…) Candy Apple’s Dance Center.

The Evil Dance Lair, as we like to call it.  Headquarters of the chunkily highlighted, revenge seeking dance villain Chaos Cathy Nesbitt and her League of Soccer Moms Gone Bad.

Like glittery little meerkats, Abby and her troupe are scooting across the highway to the enemy camp and getting up the nerve to stick their noses down the hole.  They’re looking for a fight.  And like any good Animal Planet throw down, even the cute ones stand a good chance of getting their heads chomped off at the neck.

But they gotta get there first.

We start out at the Abby Lee War Room with the reveal of the Maddie vs. Everyone Else Is A Loser Pyramid.  Why Abby doesn’t just frame Maddie’s headshot, toss everyone else’s on the ground and put out a cigarette butt with her toe on the pile, I’ll never know.

It’s always Maddie at the top.  Big eyes.  Big teeth.  Big star.

Naturally, Kelly’s daughters Brooke and Paige are on the bottom.  Right away that guarantees some form of Kelly meltdown later on the in the show which always makes for good TV.

Brooke is on the bottom because she has hit that mopey teenager phase where she writes on her hands with a Sharpie and blacks out the Yearbook faces of any boys who make fun of her at the Mall.  She is only 13, but morphs from a whiny 7 year old to a 19 year old video vixen in a heartbeat.

Paige was at the bottom because she did something 32 times on the way home from the last competition and it rubbed Abby the wrong way.  I forget exactly what it was, but I’m thinking it was probably trying to throw herself out the emergency exit door in the back of the bus.  Anything has to be better than that ride.

Instead of wearing “Candy Apples Suck” sandwich boards across their chests, Abby has chosen to go the subtle route to stick it to Cathy and will have the girls carry apples, wear apples, eat apples, dance to apple music and basically do anything short of tossing apple bombs on stage like the Green Goblin did with his pumpkin grenades in that Spider-Man movie.

Seriously.  If Abby could figure out a way to pry the gigantic Apple logo off the front of the computer store and drop it on stage from a crane that would be less obvious than the approach she is taking in Ohio.  But whatever.  Don’t poke a dog when it’s already growling.

The group number she chose was a 1940’s meets Katie Perry mash-up kind of jazz hand thang, but without the Katie Perry part apparently.  She kept throwing that line out in rehearsals, but I didn’t see anything even remotely Katie Perry, unless it was the whacky hairdos.

To capture the true essence of the 1940’s, and subsequently force Mom Holly into a one woman scavenger hunt for hair toys, Abby wanted rats and snoods.

Lots of them.

Hold up.  Before you waste your time Googling it, let me just break it down for you.

Snoods are those thinly crocheted hair bag thingamabobs that you stuff all your hair into in the back of your head.  Like the crazy cafeteria ladies wore in school when they slopped up hot lunches.  Except it’s more like that one crazy cafeteria lady who could never seem to keep it on her head and it kept falling backwards.  Remember her?

Like that.

Rats are basically…cover your ears, kids…foam wieners.

It is what it is.  Don’t judge.

Your roll your hair around it in the front until you look all Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy and you’re good to go.  I’m pretty sure New Real Housewife of Pittsburgh Jill wears at least 4 of them stuck together in the back of her head, but maybe she didn’t read the directions.  She’s got some major league Snookie going on back there.  Higher the air, closer to Jesus and all…

Anyway.  As the girls are rehearsing their group number, the Moms are up in that surgical viewing booth sniffing around Jill to figure out what her deal really is, why she is a Studio Hopper, and why she is suddenly so interested in invading their Mom turf.

Jill, who I swear is a host on Home Shopping Network, is not happy that her daughter Kendall is on the bottom of the Maddie Is Better Than You Pyramid.  She feels that her daughter should be higher up on the food chain, but if you do the math that means someone else needs to drop down.  She thinks it should be Nia.

Holly immediately gets all Whatchoo Talkin’ About, Willis on her and Christi decides to set Jill up by sending her down to interrupt rehearsal to speak with Abby.

Call it Freshman Hazing if you want.  I call it tying raw meat around someone’s neck and pushing them into a bear cave.  That one pretty much worked out exactly as you would expect.

Back at the Evil Dance Lair, Chaos Cathy is plotting her attack.  She is pulling out all her Big Dawg dancers to go up against Abby.  She handpicks Erica to compete against Brooke’s solo, and creates a sassy Flamenco Fan Dance for the group number.  That odd little red haired ginger kid just kind of rolled around on the floor for the entire episode.  I don’t think Cathy knew what to do with him this week.  He cracks me up.

Cathy’s daughter Vivi-Anne, who I believe hospital records will show came out of the womb wearing high gloss red lipstick, always seems to dance like she has a head cold.

Why a pint sized girl is wearing glitter eye shadow and crimson Maybelline at 10 in the morning is beyond me.  No wonder that red haired kid kept falling down.

To inspire Vivi-Anne to greatness, Cathy barks “Dance like you want a puppy!” over and over, using the best bribery techniques she could steal from Toddlers & Tiaras without infringing on copyright laws.  As a promise to make that pooch purchase if Viv doesn’t spin into a wall, Cathy pinky swears with her daughter…confirming a new puppy and slitting Viv’s finger open at the same time.

Curse you, over-sized cubic zirconia ring!  Jill didn’t mention it was a child safety hazard when she sold it as last month’s HSN Today’s Special Value.  Bitch.

Back at Abby’s, the Moms are hard at work stitching up the new costumes for the group number. Like gossipy little kids in an overseas sweatshop, they stitch and dish on each other until I thought Jill would get a needle in the eye before they even made it to the bus.  Betsy Ross would have never finished the flag if she yakked it up as much as these Moms.

At some point Kelly did her weekly cry and then it was off to Ohio.

On the bus Melissa and Jill gave Abby another suck up gift.  Remember last week Jill had presented the Holy One with a gift from the Walgreens perfume shelf.  If Abby scores a present every time they get on that bus, she could potentially regift her entire holiday list this year and not spend a cent.

When they arrived at the hotel, all the Moms were invited to a cocktail party/booby trap set up by Cathy, which was basically a chance to liquor them up and have them all talk smack about Abby.  They would have done more smack talk if there weren’t so many appetizers.  Dance Moms like their free food.

Next day it was an explosion of sparkles and foam wieners.

(I’m dying to make a Pride Parade joke right now, but I’ll save it for another day…)

The competition went on, and as soon as the troupes hit the stage it seemed that those Candy Apple Girls were awfully close to becoming Candy Apple Women.  Beside the fact that they were 2 feet taller than anyone in Abby’s Team and they didn’t have to pad their bras…something wasn’t right, but no one could seem to put their finger on it.

Could they…umm…be older than they claim?

Hmmm.

Cathy had her first tasty bite of crow when Abby’s Team won first place in the group number.  They didn’t actually dance as well as the Candy Apple Girls/Women did, but foam wieners apparently cover a multitude of sins.

(Again, I’m dying to make a Pride Parade joke about bringing home the Gold by simply putting a foam wiener on your head but this is a Family site, and I already said I wouldn’t…so I’m not gonna.  Don’t ask again.)

Brooke did her solo, and then Erica hit the stage.  And then it really hit the fan.

Everyone started questioning how old Erica really was, and if she should even be competing in the same category as Brooke.  Since there is no 7 – 19 category to cover all of Brooke’s personalities, she is in the 12/13ish year old division and no one believes that Erica is that young.

Leigh, who may just be my new all-time favorite Reality TV star even though I had recently given that coveted title to Big Ang from Mob Wives, hustled into the back room to get to the bottom of this scandal.

Even though she is a Player in the Dance World, Leigh was either intimidated by Cathy or had just gotten off a treadmill, because there was a lot of sweating going on there.  But that didn’t stop her from digging up the truth.  Don’t mess with Leigh.  She will mess you up, wipe you up and not even get her Quacker Factory top dirty.

She wanted birth certificates, DNA samples and first borns before she was going to hand out any trophies.  I think she wanted an ashtray, too.

Cathy got as googly eyed as her daughter when she was confronted, and it turned out she had pulled in a ringer.  Erica was disqualified for being too old.

Brooke managed to stay 13 long enough to get first place, and Cathy pretty much ground her back teeth into chalk dust.

The Candy Apples choked on their own sticks this time.

But this is far from over.

Abby Lee Miller better watch her snood.

Mob Wives: The Things I’d Like To Do With Yous. Make-Ups And Break-Ups. Start With Yo’ Heart, Then Yo’ Knees.

Monday, January 16th, 2012

 

 

 

I was this close to freakin’ dyin’ and no fruit basket? Seriously, Carla?

 

 

 

 

 

 

Oh yeah. Now it’s all comin’ back to me. Now I remember why I cheated.

 

 

 

 

 

 

I’m looking for love. Only Wise Guys wid money and smokes need apply.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Be glad you’re in jail. These bitches are krazy. Kra…zy.

 

 

 

 

I (bleepin’) love dis show.

Seriously.  Each week when it’s over I can’t decide if I want to order a pizza or smack somebody around a little.

This late at night neither of the choices is probably a smart one…so don’t try this at home, kids.  Just go to bed.

Mob Wives may not fall into the Role Model category, but who really (bleepin’) cares when we get a ginormous, juicy serving of Big Ang every week?

After Drita and Karen showed up at Renee’s Celebration of Life Party bearing fists instead of gifts last week, half the Eastern seaboard is still suffering a few after shocks and Big Ang thinks it’s time for a group hug.

I love me some Big Ang.

Decked out in her best Galleria leopard print, she barreled into her lunch date with Drita like she owned the joint.  Given Big Ang’s unique taste for bad fashion and filthy rich men, there’s a good probability that she actually does own the place…but regardless, she walked in like she did and that was good enough for me and that one scared waiter who wet his pants and bolted out the back door.

Even with your eyes closed you can imagine what Big Ang looks like, thanks to her one of a kind voice. It’s as big as her personality, and just as overwhelming.

Let me see if I can break it down for you…

Her voice is a lyrical combination of that skinny kid in junior high who always coughed when he laughed, that woman from the Tanning Salon who has already booked her daily appointments for 2012, and that other kid in junior high who always forgot his inhaler in gym class.

Add to that any Toddlers & Tiaras Pageant Director who moonlights calling Bingo numbers at the Elks Lodge, and that middle aged waitress who worked at Ground Round since the days when you could smoke and throw peanut shells on the floor.

(“Shells…not butts.  I’m not telling you again or you’re outta here.  Who ordered the curly fries?  Was that you, sweetie?”)

Put all those people in a dump truck delivering gravel under the Brooklyn Bridge…and there you have it.  Big Ang.

Oh.  And the dump truck just hit a cat while it’s coughing up a fur ball.

I love her laugh.

Anyway.  Long story short: she wants everyone to get along.

While Big Ang is laughing so hard that only dogs can hear it, Ramona heads over to see Renee and apologize for the throw down at her party, and for mistakenly accusing the wrong guy for hitting her in the face in the midst of the chaos.

Renee is tired of the drama and wants the Wives to all just get along.  Turns out that Ramona, who dropped in out of nowhere this season and is so far best known for her ridiculously white teeth and sucker punches, is like “family” to Renee and Karen and is quickly forgiven for yelling HeHitMeHeHitMe over and over again while poor Derek Tobacco ran for his life from the Goombah Guards.

Since her botched full body reconstruction, Renee has not spoken with Carla.  As you will recall, Carla never checked in on Renee during the procedure and therefore never even knew that she had ripped a hole open in her backside that was bigger than the pit they roast pigs in during Little Italy Street Fairs.

Renee wants everyone to start acting like women, since…umm…that’s what they are, you just wouldn’t know it.

“We cross our legs.”  Thanks for the visual.

Ramona thinks that Carla is Drita’s puppet.  That immediately got me wondering where she puts her hand to make her talk, and after that I may have lost consciousness for a minute because all of the sudden I was watching Carla and Drita having drinks talking about the same issues.  Carla was drinking what looked like gasoline out of a martini glass, garnished with a strawberry as red as Drita’s bloodshot eyeball.

Either put a patch on that thing or wear your shades, woman…people are trying to eat.

In an attempt to bring the peace to all the Wives, Renee decided to write a note to Carla instead of risk another brawl and burst her sutures again.  She bragged about her literary skills after all the years of penning love letters to inmates or something, so why not give it a try.

Ok.  “A” for effort.

But she wrote it in one of those school notepads with the cover that you used to use for 5th grade book reports.  Did you spend so much money on lipo that you really couldn’t afford some stationary? Even the cheap kind?  You don’t need the fancy stuff with the matching pencil cup.  C’mon.  And where did you even find that thing?  It’s not even Back To School season at the Staten Island Target.

Seriously.  I love these crazies, but sometimes they just don’t think.  Presentation is everything.

Not quite as disturbing as Renee’s penmanship was Big Ang reliving her night out with BFF Linda, who appears to also carry a frequent shopper card to Animal Prints “R” Us down at the strip mall.

While Big Ang whips up enough food to feed that whole family on Jerseylicious (“When you gonna marry Gigi for cryinoutloud?”  “Leave me alone, Ma.”) Linda tries to remember where they went and who bought them all those drinks.

Turns out that Big Ang loves her Wise Guys.  The cute ones.  With the wallets.

The gigantic Indian Dream Catchers that Big Ang was wearing as ear rings must have brought her good luck while they were clubbing, because she didn’t even spend “one dollah” the whole night.  Love them Wise Guys.

Besides drinks and smokes, Big Ang reveals that over the years the Guys have also bought her jewelry, houses, cars, three implants and a pair of shiny lips that would give any Chapstick CEO a wet dream.

But she wants more red sauce, and more surgery.

If someone doesn’t give Big Ang her own show soon I will bankroll it myself.  I swear I will.

Now that Drita is going ahead with her divorce from Lee, she is going through some Mob Cleansing, which includes hawking some jewelry and possibly selling the house.  Since she has not told her daughter yet the whole thing is kind of on the down low, but she needed to get the ball rolling and met with the realtor.

The Century 21 lady was nice enough, and didn’t squirm too much knowing that she was inside a Mob house with 15 locks on the front door.  She even professionally noted that the home had everything that a buyer would be looking for, except for God knows whatever lays behind that locked door that Drita wouldn’t open.

I didn’t see any potpourri, and the place didn’t smell, so I’m pretty sure there are no bodies behind the door.  But never say never.  Go ahead and put in a bid if you’re interested.

Speaking of interested.  Karen and Ramona were interested in meeting some boys, and went out on the prowl.

It was a good opportunity to grab some liquor and learn a little bit more about Ramona and her white teeth.  I already knew that she probably used White Strips twice a day, but I didn’t realize that she had married an Arabic dude.  She travelled the world, ate lots of food that most of us only see on the Food Network, and apparently learned how to suck on one of those Hookah smoking cords like a porn star.

Whoa.  Good thing the kids were out of the room.

When Lawrence of Arabia decided to go into the Mob, Ramona left the Middle East but kept the Mob mentality and the bad ass attitude.  Don’t mess with her.

Seriously.  Send her back over there and all our troops will be home by the end of the month.

My girl Big Ang tried a softer approach, and managed to get everyone together for lunch to clear the air.  Carla and Renee made up, but Renee wouldn’t read her the book report until they were somewhere private.  I told you…just like in 5th grade.  Maybe she wanted to ask her to the dance in the cafetorium.  Everyone’s going.

Maybe not though, since Renee is getting back together with Junior.  After 22 years of therapy and screaming matches and divorce attorneys, it looks like the two of them are going to try and make it work again.  Despite the fact that Junior is just about to go back into the slammer again for more of the same, after their Chick Flick stroll in the park things seem to be going well.

At the Steak House for a romantic dinner, Junior finally admits to doing her wrong over the years…ie, cheating…which makes Renee break down into her weekly cry.

They agree to give it a go again, as long as Renee doesn’t yell about his Goldfish crackers all over the house and Junior stops boinking Jersey Hooters girls.

I don’t know.

I’d like to wish them well…but somebody is probably going to leave nasty crumbs in bed somewhere, if you know what I mean.

We finished off the episode with two Reports.  One from the Police.  One from Renee.

Karen got a call from Ramona, who was pulled over with her non-Arabic boyfriend by 7 police cars.  I’m thinking he didn’t just roll through a stop sign, but we’ll have to wait to find out what happened.

And in a Hallmark Channel moment, Renee finally read the letter to Carla complete with (bleeps) and grammatical errors.  I think even Renee got bored with the whole thing though, because she started skimming through the boring parts straight to the good stuff almost as soon as she began.  But Carla got the gist of where Renee was going with it, and they seemed ok by the end.  For now.

Renee’s in a good place, what with Junior back in her life and all.  And she does look pretty slick after the surgery mess.

It was (bleepin’) touching.

Dat’s rite…(bleepin’) hug it out.  But watch your backs.

The Real Housewives Of Beverly Hills: Nice You Could Join Us, Kim & Ken. You’re A Day Late, An Apology Short.

Friday, January 13th, 2012

 

 

Whatsamatta for you? How ’bout you buy a watch?

 

 

 

There ain’t enough booze on the island to cover this one.

 

 

 

Yeah. What she said. Hit me again. Hard.

 

 

 

 

Both hands where we can see ’em, Mister.

 

 

I think I finally figured it out after all these years of waiting for the Cable Guy to show up.

After multiple afternoons sitting around (…gasp!…) reading a book while cussing out the dude for never being on time to reboot the whatchamacallit on my cable box so I could finally watch something besides Spanish Home Shopping, I think I know what the problem was all along.

The Cable Guy runs on Kim Time.

Now it all makes sense.

Kim Time is based on getting your lazy butt out of bed when you want, leaving the house when you want and finally getting your lazy butt to your destination when you want.

And we were lucky enough to witness the phenomenon in all its glory as The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills all got some quality time sitting around waiting for Kim to show up.

This week the Wives and some random Real Husbands were still in Hawaii, trying to relax and decompress from the pressures of…well…just being Beverly Hills Housewives.

With both “Hawaii” and “Beverly Hills” in the same sentence, I’m finding it a little difficult to feel sorry for their hectic lifestyle, but I’ll go along with the whole concept to save some time in the end.

I’m sure it’s not easy having to shlep all the way to Hawaii on Bravo’s dime, what with all the packing involved and remembering to kiss all your kids and your sissy dog goodbye on the lips.  Yet somehow they managed to pull themselves together and make it to the Islands in one piece.

Adrienne and Paul even managed to get in a romantic walk around the Island without someone getting shoved off a cliff.  They are definitely more fun when Paul is poking her in the eye with his finger or unleashing his patented sixth grade humor on his wife until she cracks…but it was nice to see them go a few minutes without someone getting underwear pulled up over their head.  They might actually like each other.

A day late, Kim and her new boy toy Ken finally show up.  Nice you could join us, kids.

They had both missed multiple planes for multiple reasons unknown, and immediately scooted right into their hotel suite upon arrival without even a quick aloha to their friends.  Naturally the suite was conveniently located next to sister Kyle’s room which gave her the opportunity to try and eavesdrop.

Let’s just say that right before dinner is probably not the time I would want to try and over hear Kim blowing a conch shell, if you know what I mean.  But if you’re going to do it, any good Frat brother will tell you to use a beer glass on the wall…not just your ear.

Der.

As Kim and Ken don their Walmart Hawaiian shirts they discuss whether boy or girl ducks are better looking, but in all honesty their attire was so fugly that I forgot what Ken said.  If you’re dying to know I’m sure you can Google it or wait for Alex Trebek to tell you the answer for $100.

In Beverly Hills you are not allowed to go to dinner without some serious primping, and just because you are in Hawaii doesn’t mean you can slack on your skills.  It took Lisa and her Dog Walker/Husband Ken a long time to get ready for dinner, mainly because Ken was picking at his Rod Stewart hair instead of putting his shoes on.  After watching him for awhile I started to wonder if maybe he was just picking out stray Giggy fuzz, because I swear that little sissy dog is either in his arms or on his head every time you see them together.

Since there are now too many Kens on this show, I’m going to begin referring to him as Rod for clarity and ease of reading, at least for a week or two until the novelty wears off.

After everyone is dressed and de-fuzzed, they meet for dinner and immediately address why Kim and Magnum P.I. missed their flights.  (Seriously…go back and check out his shirt.  Only Ken could find a store that sells blue collar Hawaiian shirts.  He should be a personal shopper at Nordstrom’s with that eye for fashion.)

Turns out he had to work, according to Kim, which was odd considering he is retired as of the last employment update.  Kyle got all scrunchy with her nose, and Mauricio kept badgering them until Ken claimed he has to work one day a week.

I don’t know what job that would be, because I remember from years of college retail that even Mall Cops have to put in at least two nights and one weekend day.  So right away that’s a red flag.

To break the tension a little Mauricio gave a Mexican language lesson as he toasted himself on his birthday, and then said some other stuff that I didn’t understand because I’ll never be able to afford the full Rosetta Stone Program.  Someone said that Ken’s story was Bulls***.

That was in English.  I got that one.

Kim gets defensive and claims there is nothing to explain.  Nothing to ‘fess up to, even thought she has been late or no-showed to pretty much every event this season.  Usually it is due to power failures, sleeping late or alien spaceship abductions in The Land of Kim…but suddenly she won’t even come up with another ridiculously implausible story.  And I was counting on another good Time & Space Continuum excuse.

Bummer.

Kyle cries a little like she does every time Kim is in her orbit.  Mauricio feels that they should just tell the truth, and quit f***ing up his birthday.  That was the gist of it anyway.

The next morning Kyle had chartered a catamaran so everyone could go out on the water and either deep sea dive or gawk at Brandi’s micro butt strip of a bikini.  Even with those enticing options, Kim and Ken were late again to no one’s surprise.

Lisa and Kyle stormed back to their suite to get them out of bed.  As they scaled over the dividing wall between the two balconies, Lisa got her British scones stuck in the cement opening.

When your butt can’t get through a dividing wall passageway, it’s either time to lay off the Villa Blanca appetizers or quit snooping on the neighbors, Missy.

Luckily they managed to wake up the happy couple without having to witness any Ken on Kim action.  Kim’s excuses ran the gamut from no clock to no alarm was set to the clock didn’t work to no wake up call and then no working phone in the room.

Yeah.  She didn’t even notice for the first few days that the phone didn’t work.  For real.

Good thing Ken didn’t have to call in to his one day a week job on that day.

Giving up, Kyle pushed Lisa’s fat butt back through the secret passageway like a pink Indiana Jones and they all went off to sea, leaving Kim and Ken behind.

While the rest of the Housewives were out on the ocean filming what looked like a bit for the Hawaiian Department of Tourism & Breast Augmentation, Kim and Ken had a quiet lunch of self pity and word slurring.  If those two were back in the dorms you would swear they had post-party munchies as they rambled on and on….and on…like stoners from the ‘hood.  How they (…allegedly, Bravo..gah…) got that many sedatives in a 3 ounce TSA bottle is beyond comprehension.

After a sunny afternoon of watching Camille’s bikini top push the limits of network censorship while Brandi hit up the ship’s captain, it was back to the Island for dinner before the poor guy threw himself overboard.

At dinner you could cut the tension with the same knife Kim uses for Brie cheese, if she could only remember whether she liked it or not.  Seriously.  She and Ken use up more oxygen on the most insignificant pieces of mental trivia.  It’s just cheese.  Move on.  And either wear your pashmina or take it off.  Quit futzing with it.  I mean it.

Kyle asks them what they did all day after blowing off the catamaran and the whole thing goes down hill from there.

Kim feels that Kyle is being an eggbeater by constantly stirring things up.

Her words, not mine.

Kyle thinks that Kim is being a 9 x 13 loaf pan full of fruitcake.

My words.  Sounded funnier in my head.

Kim says lots of people miss flights, it’s not important and everything happens for a reason.

Adrienne slams back a few to make it go away.

Lisa and Rod Stewart just sit there missing Giggy.

The rest of the meal turns into a discussion on accountability and respect and whether or not Kyle drives while talking on her cellphone.  Kim never claimed to have “focus” on her resume.

Brandi calls Kim out for her actions, then Ken finally takes his hands out from under the table and announces that “they don’t care.”

Dead silence.  Like in the cartoons when everyone’s eyeballs bug out, or the commercial where the snacks are so good that everyone stops talking for a minute.

Kim and Ken don’t care.  Oh snap.

They are also not very good at making entrances and exits as Kim untangles herself from her pashmina knot and they leave the room in a huff.  Someone should tell Ken that if you are making a soap opera exit you don’t stop and shake the hand of the dude next to you.  Kind of ruins the momentum.

Brandi was the most level headed one at the table.  I swear.

Maybe there was a tear in the Time & Space Continuum after all.

At least the Kim Time one.


%d bloggers like this: