Posts Tagged ‘Reality TV Recap’

Abby’s Ultimate Dance Competition: It Was Time To Get Your Lady Gaga On. Too Bad Mom Was Born That Way.

Friday, September 13th, 2013




Giaaaaanna! Get that Philly Cheese Steak outta your Mom’s purse and get your lazy a** over here.






Seriously. Can you even imagine living with that kid in your house everyday?







We’re gonna have to wrap this up a little early, girls. I need to go fire my stylist.






Hello? Nobody puts a hoagie in a purse. That’s what fanny packs are for. And PS…your kid’s a damn brat and her bow’s all crooked.






BOOM! “C” for Crazy Bitch card straight up in yo’ face. Holla at dat!






Halleloo! Take all this fear from my baby and give her a nasty booty pop just for tonight, Lawd.







Just. Yeeeesh.






I can’t even keep a straight p-p-p-p-poker face.

It was only the second episode of Abby’s Ultimate Dance Competition and the Crazy was already starting to leak all over that shiny new Junior Prom dance floor.

Kids were crying.  Moms were getting on each other’s last nerves.

And Lady Gaga was in the house.  Sorta.

Abby Lee Miller got right down to business with this week’s pre-competition challenge.

It was Lady Gaga Week, with performances based on the license-free “sounds like–“ karaoke stylings of Mother Monster’s biggest hits, all sung by whoever that girl is that always sings on Dance Moms and does the “White Zone Is For Loading Only” voice.

The Skill was Individuality, because that’s kinda Gaga’s thang.

To emphasize the direction of the dances this time around, Abby asked the ten remaining kids (…Sarina, we hardly knew ya…) to name three things about Abby that made her unique.

Didn’t realize there’d be a quiz.  I raised my hand, but nobody seemed to notice.

Someone said “Confidence.”  Someone else said “Bold.”

And then Gianna‘s Mom Cindy blurted out “Mouth” and I knew it was gonna be a good week.  A big, loud good week.

Oh, Cindy.  Big, brassy, SillyPhilly Cindy.

You just know she flew to Hollywood with at least three Bingo markers and a lucky troll somewhere in that shiny zebra print suitcase, not to mention a trashy romance novel and about 23 OK! Magazines on her iPad.  Philly loves those Kardashians.


Especially What’sHerName the big one.

What da Hell?  I’m Cindy from Philly.  Bite me.

And who better to choreograph a Lady Gaga challenge than Lady Gaga’s own choreographer. right?

We’re talking everyone’s favorite two fingered judge Richy Jackson, all decked out in one of his sparkly signature sleeveless ensembles and feather-ized BluBlocker protective eyewear.  I was especially digging the Archie comics varsity letters.

As soon as Richy glitter bombed his way onto the rehearsal stage, the crowd went wild.

All the little dancers blew a complete spaz, but Eden Wood wannabe JoJo seemed to take it the hardest as she squealed and nearly lost the Disney bow right off the top of her head.  Pimp the Crimp, sweetie.  Pimp the Crimp.

Somewhere along the line, JoJo had already decided that she and Richy were genetically created in the same Fab Lab.

He was like Big & Fun.  She was like Big & Fun.  His Indian name was Sunglasses Divalicious.  Her Indian name was Sunglasses Divalicious.

You could see where she was going with all that.

Before he led the crew through the challenge choreo (…that’s what the cool kids call it, you know.  Choreo…) Richy directed all their short attention spans to a monitor to watch a greeting from Lady Gaga herself.

Insert complete spaz numero dos right here ____________.

Basically Gaga gave a quick pep talk  about individuality and then told Perez Hilton to go f*** himself.


Her usual.

This week’s theme was Dare To Be You, which made Mom Tiffany once again point out that Ally was biracial in case you missed it last week.

We get it.  And just so you know, we’re judging her on her dancing technique not her hair.  This could get really old, really fast if Ally lasts until the semi-finals.

As the gang all started getting their Gaga on, it was painfully clear that some participants were a little more hip hop challenged than others.

Chloe was definitely going to be needing some of Mama Angela‘s prayers if she was going to get that naughty shoulder roll perfected.  Haley was as confused as Mom Melanie‘s hair stylist back home and Richy had no idea what kind of electro-shock seizure dance tiny boy band dancer Travis was trying to pull off as he flopped around the stage like a salmon that had just slipped off a pile of shaved ice in the deli case.

Gianna won the challenge round and Mom cheered like her horse had just come in first on one of those OTB Harness Racing simulcast screens.

The prize for winning the challenge was to pick the competition routine based solely on Bob Mackie costume sketches, and since Mom Cindy was such a fashionista she gave her opinion while pointing out that Mommy Knows Best.

Which was a great segue into Abby calling Cindy out for wearing flip flops on the sacred Floor of the Dance.

And not just flip flops.  Cindy was rockin’ a pretty sweet pair of Too Lazy To Get Myself Dressed In The Morning flip flops.  The kind of flip flops that always get caught in the escalator on the way up to the Food Court and completely block access to the second floor of the mall until a kid from Brookstone runs over with an LED screwdriver.


That kind.

What da Hell?  I’m from Philly.  Bite me.

JoJo and the TBoyz were assigned a trio about being Fashion Addicts, where we learned that one of the twins had a freckle and that JoJo knows way too much about shoplifting oversized hair bows from iParty.

Not to be outdone, Ally and Kalani were working on their Piano Passion moves with studio hopper Anthony Burrell.  Fa Fo Pa Boom Boom.  He still hates everyone at Candy Apples and still wears his hat backwards.

Even though they were under a tight schedule, Mom Tiffany did find time to yell at Ally to get her s*** together and stop crying or they’d have to go back to the bungalow and start packing.  I’m going to assume that she didn’t mean the Gilligan’s Island kind of bungalow, but you never know with this crowd.

Abby was also doing some smack downs of her own on the other side of the building as she let Mom Jessalyn know that JoJo’s sassy, answer-for-everybody attitude was getting as played out as those gigantic Macy’s parade hair bows that she insists on stapling to the kid’s head.

Abby blamed part of JoJo’s delusional view of a world populated by cartoon characters and unicorns that poop rainbow pellets on the fact that homeschooling does not allow for a child to experience the real world thrill of being shoved inside a locker or given wedgies and purple nurples.

Mom’s glassy eyed smiley face during the entire conversation pretty much said all that needed to be said on that subject.

But that’s a whole other chat room.  So don’t even.

While everyone else seemed to have forgotten that this was still a dance competition, Trinity and Gianna were at least trying to learn some new Gaga moves.


Basically it was just some really bad stage lighting and the realization that the only thing Gianna could remember to do was cry again.

Saving the best for last, Haley, Chloe and McKaylee were werkin’ it out in a borderline S&M Bleeding Heart routine, inspired by that time when someone laid a ginormous Gaga egg at the Grammys.

Each girl was attached to something that appeared to be a cross between the aforementioned egg and the balloon that crash landed in Oz by a mile of iPod bungee cord dangling from their Beats by Dre headsets.

The set up, and Haley’s dancing, were just an accident waiting to happen.

Forget deer in the headlights.  Poor little Haley was looking like she had just seen her first Health Class filmstrip on the human reproductive system.  She wasn’t even blinking.

Luckily, choreographer Tarua Hall had thought to stuff a forth headset into her travel bag before she left the house, because she needed it to tie Mama Angela down to her chair once the music really kicked into gear.

Lawd have mercy.  Girlfriend was dying to get up and show them little things how they do it at the church social.

Watching Chloe’s Mom pop it and lock it from her seat was a little slice of that Heaven she’s always talking about.  Testify.

There was also a little Haley and McKaylee Mom Melee that went down during the rehearsal, but Angela and I were too busy doing our thing to even notice.

Finally, it was Showtime!  And Kevin Manno Time!

Unfortunatley, playing the role of my boy Kevin this week was Pee Wee Herman.

Dude.  Really?


Even Angela thanked the Lord that your bow tie wasn’t red.  Was your ice cream truck double parked?  Is that why you seemed so fidgety?

Just promise you won’t ever do that again.  Promise.

Clearly a Lifetime memo had gone out that it was Costume Day, because even the judges had Gaga-fied themselves a little bit.

Abby had rolled a couple Slim-Fast cans in her hair and if you squinted it kinda looked like the Telephone video, I guess.  Or not.  Richy still had his feathery BluBockers on, but had accessorized it with a new sleeveless number made out of flowers from the Teletubbies show on PBS.

(Side note:  If you’ve never seen Teletubbies, stop reading this and Google a show or two.  I’m sure that more than one stay at home Mom put a bullet in her head after 4 hours of watching Po run in circles until he fell down, but for some reason that show still makes me want my binky.)

And a special shout out to whoever that guy in the audience was who did THE best sissy boy clap ever after Richy was introduced.  Ever.

New judge Rachell Rak seemed to still be getting used to the whole AUDC circus, because I think she thought it was Paula Abdul Week unless I’m forgetting one of Gaga’s earlier videos.

Backstage, Angela was working hard to keep Satan from breaking through the floor boards and spreading negativity throughout the studio, while one of the TBoyz was getting his hair painted red so we could tell him apart from the other one.

Freckles don’t show up very well if you’re any further back than Row #2.

We also got a quick montage of everyone except the janitorial staff making fun of Cindy by screaming “Giaaaaaaaaanna” in their best Philly accent.  I swear that lady’s voice could steer freighters away from the jagged rocky coastline during a foggy night at sea.


Then everybody danced like it was still only Week Two.

Good, but not great.

When it came down to it, Abby felt that there were no Lady Gagas on the stage that night.  Not even close.

As the judges chiseled away at the lineup, Melanie and her crazy hair walked right on stage and started tossing Moms under the Gaga tour bus like it was her day job until Abby got the hook and dragged all that friz biz back offstage.

In the end, it was down to scaredy cat Haley and a hyperventilating Chloe, who looked so sad up there trying to choke back tears.

And then Chloe was eliminated.  Mama got sad and the little dancer could barely take a breath as she thanked everyone for the opportunity and the corrections and the—

Wait.  What?

Stop the presses.

Call Back Card!

Psych.  Richy pulled out a piece of Martha Stewart craft paper with a sequined letter “C” hot glued to it…and suddenly, Chloe was back in business for another week.

SAVED by the elusive Call Back Card.

And then Mama took it to church, y’all.  Took.  It.  To.  Church.

Hands up in the ayah and everything.  I was waiting for her to run off stage and come back wearing a big hat and flicking a fan, accompanied by that choir that always follows Mariah Carey wherever she goes.

Gah.  I love that woman more than Teletubbies.

Angela, I mean.  Not Mariah.

And then there were ten.



Dance Moms: It’s True. What Happens In Pittsburgh Never Seems To Stay In Pittsburgh. It’s Diva Las Vegas, Baby.

Wednesday, August 28th, 2013




Why? Because it says freakin’ Abby Lee freakin’ Dance Company in IMAX 3D on my boobs. Maybe that’s why.






Soon, my precious. Soon this will all be ours and then the whole world will be dancing Gangnam Style. I promise.





I thought I did really well. And honestly, I don’t know why all these other bitches behind me are even sticking around for awards. As if, right?







Whoa. Just hold up. I haven’t even had time to make all my crazy faces yet. Pump yo’ brakes.






OMG. That cute boy is behind us again, isn’t he? Don’t look. Is he looking? He’s checking me out, right? I can’t breath.






I specifically said I was gonna wear stripes today, and now this chick with the earrings shows up in that? I don’t think so. Not cool.





It’s not like it’s rocket science, honey. Just lay on your head, do an upside down split and wish you were as fierce as me.




Luck be a Crazy Lady tonight.

More than one, actually.  Almost an entire tour bus full of them, if you’re counting.

Roll the dice, shuffle the deck and don’t make me tell you to fix those damn feet again, because we’re in Vegas, baby.  Entertainment Capital of the World.

This week Abby Lee Miller (…nice you could show up for work…) and her posse were all in Sin City for one of their final competitions before Nationals.

When you see a Dance Moms charter pulling up to the curb at the Flamingo, it doesn’t take a high stakes bookie to know the odds are pretty good that at least one person packed a bag of quarters for the slots and a trunk full of drama for the stage.

At first I thought I might have missed an episode since the whole gang was already in Las Vegas, unpacked and ready for the traveling Pyramid of Shame as soon as the credits stopped rolling.  I don’t remember them talking about a road trip last week and we never got to see any of the usual bus ride hilarity with Jill regifting another shrink wrapped eau du toilette box set as a token of her love for Abby’s butt.

I swear.  Jill would stop at Walgreen’s every day if it helped get her kid a solo. You know she totally has one of those loyalty cards on her Louis Vuitton keychain.  And probably a Honey Boo Boo stockpile of paper towels and Chanel No 5 cologne back home on some Home Depot shelving.

As the Moms all rolled into their temporary studio, Abby noted that everyone was already copping an attitude before the party even got started.

Especially Kelly, who seemed overly traumatized by not only the events of the past few weeks, but also the fact that Kristie Ray was standing next to her showing all of America how you’re supposed to wear stripes.

Poor Kelly.  I know you tried.  And I’m sure it was a pricey dress you were wearing.  But when my girl Kristie rolled up with those earrings and that pony tail and all that sassy JLo-ness, you kinda looked like the Where’s Waldo boy.  Sorry.

Oh, that JLo.  Love.  Her.


Abby and Kelly got right into another argument, complete with tinted flashbacks and some dream sequence music that made me feel a little trippy, all culminating with Abby having to explain (…once mo’ time…) who was The Boss of this Organization by groping her own ample bosoms and reading her shirt upside down.

It says Abby Lee Dance Company.  Who do you think is in charge?  And yes…there may be a quiz at the end, so look at my bazongas and pay attention you crazy bitch.

But anyway.  The Pyramid.

Bottom of the pile was reserved for Paige, Brooke, Nia and Kendall.

Paige needed to improve her technique and Brooke needed to show that she was still the reigning National Contortionist Champ.  Waldo took some offense to that and tried to get Abby off track again, but she wasn’t having it this time around.  Time is money.

Nia had some issues with her body not listening to her brain or something.  It was a little vague, but Mom Holly can always make a couple of good WTF? faces and everything seems better already.  I love how Principal Frazier can take a negative and turn it into a learning experience without even blinking.

It’s called Edukashin, kids.  Stay in school.

Kendall had been inconsistent lately.  Plus Abby didn’t really like that last box of perfume that stunk up the bus.  So there you go.

The middle of the pack was Mackenzie (…who was MIA…), Maddie and Asia.

MackaWhack was benched this week as punishment for basically not being Asia and was back home watching cartoons and eating Jawbreakers.  Maddie needed to set her goals even higher than the top of the Pyramid, which I assumed meant working for NASA or becoming the first woman president.  Asia just smiled like Class Picture Day.

Asia always smiles.  She’s a happy little scamp.  I think it has something to do with the magical flower power of those hair accessories she always wears on the right side of her little nubbin bun.  God help us if Mom ever pins one on the left by mistake or completely spaces out and forgets them all at home.

To finish it up, Chloe took the top spot because she beat Zack last week.  And beating a boy in a dance competition always gets you the top spot.  It’s just the rule.

Asia, Kendall, Brooke and Paige were all handed solos for the competition.


But wait.  There’s more.

Since Waldo always seemed to complain about the quality and complexity of the routines that are choreographed for her daughters, Abby brought in a guest choreographer to work with Brooke and Paige this week.  Someone who could challenge them, teach them new tricks and show them how a real girl wears booty shorts.

Ladies and Gentlemen.  Ricky Palomino.

Girrrrl, pleez.

Jill only wishes she could find a perfume that smelled this Fierce & Fabulous.

I have no idea what was going on in Ricky’s shorts.  Or outside of Ricky’s shorts.  I don’t know if they were riding up, or were supposed to be Civil War pantaloons or what.  But Miss Thang can work it like nobody’s bidnezz and I gave my television two snaps and a Miley Twerk as soon as he hit the screen.

And P.S….Paige’s costume cost upwards of $500.  Didn’t I previously mention that the days of Moms hot glueing pieces of cut up tin foil onto Danskin leotards are long gone?

Yeah.  Five.  Hundred.  Dolla.

The group routine was going to be an homage to the Las Vegas Rat Pack.

(Google it if you’ve never even heard of a vinyl 33rpm record.  This show makes me feel so old sometimes. I swear my joints are swollen every Tuesday night.)

Except it was called the Brat Pack.  Not the Rat Pack.  See what they did there?

As the girls all got down to rehearsals and Ricky got down with his bad self (…Give yourself chills, gurlll…) the Moms hit up a temporary MomPerch to slam a cup o’ joe, diss about Abby and phutz with their cell phones.

Kelly even received a call from KVVU-TV in beautiful downtown Las Vegas regarding an opportunity for Brooke to come on their local news show and pimp out her iTunes album that was about to drop.

Because that’s what 33rpm albums used to do, kids.  They dropped.  Which is different than being downloaded.  But you couldn’t really drop an album or it would crack.  It’s kind of hard to explain.  Ask your parents.


Seriously.  Sometimes I watch this show and feel like I’m gonna break a hip getting in the tub the next morning.

Brooke’s trip to the news station was pretty uneventful, though it should be noted that their set looked like Pee Wee’s Playhouse.  There was a lot going on in that tiny colorful space.  A lot.

No dress code, though.  Nice jeans, dude.  You’re on TV you know.

Back at rehearsals, Paige was having the first of multiple melt downs.  Over the past season, the tension between Kelly and Abby had dripped down onto Paige’s head and she was terrified of Abby.


By the time Abby made each girl perform the group routine on their own for the rest of the team, Paige’s lungs locked up and she completely lost her noodle. She couldn’t breath.  She could cry.  But couldn’t breath.

And then Kelly cried.  And then everyone freaked out and just went total spaz, myself included.  I hate seeing little kids lose it.

I even tried using one of those Vicks menthol inhalers to regain my composure, but it turns out that they’re actually made for stuffy noses and not anxiety attacks.  I guess I never really read the box.

Finally, it was Showtime!

Holly was all excited because Abby had stayed in a different hotel and Ricky was still redoinkulously fabulous, though I was very disappointed in his choice of non-fabulous back to school wear for the event.

Paige seemed to have calmed down a bit, but now Kendall was starting to show a few cracks in her foundation.  Oy, this kids.  If it’s not one, it’s the other.

Side note:  It always makes me snicker when the camera pans across the judges and then scrolls “JUDGES” across the bottom of the screen.


Glad they cleared that up, because I always wondered why some people were allowed to bring their own laptop, headset mic, Poland Springs water bottles and folding table to a dance competition.

Oh.  Wait.  They’re judges.  Now I get it.

Kendall’s solo started off ok, then kind of fizzled.  She knew her shiz, I think she was just distracted by that poorly lit backdrop.

C’mon, people.  I’ve seen how much you charge to participate in these competitions and yet you insist on using grade school science class projection equipment to get your logo up on that hanging fitted sheet?

What’s next?  Shadow puppets spelling out your name?

Asia’s solo was 400% Asia.  She was a hot pink lawn flamingo tossing attitude all over that trailer park.  Her pants were on the right way and she snapped and ripple-armed her way across that stage so hard that I just wanted to stick her in my front yard next to my Travelocity gnome.

If you ever find yourself face to face with that bird in the middle of the night, run like the wind in the opposite direction because that flamingo don’t play.  She’ll cut you.

Brooke did a pretty good job of tying herself in a knot, but she was just as scared as Paige to have Abby watch her dance.  This whole ALDC thing is getting a little dysfunctional if anyone wants my opinion.

Now it’s one thing when a 2 year old Toddlers & Tiaras princess forgets to booty pop on stage and just stands there picking her nose until Dad comes to the rescue, but when you’re 12 and you have a complete breakdown it’s a little more uncomfortable.

Poor Paige.  Not good.  She froze and then freaked and then bolted off stage into Nia’s arms.

(Go Nia.  You are sooo yo’ Mama’s daughter.)

Backstage the whole thing imploded into a full-on battle between Abby and Kelly, complete with untinted flashbacks of Kelly as a child dancer who gave it all up for whatever reason.  It’s not my fault.  It’s your fault.  I’m the best thing for Paige.  You’re the worst thing for Paige.  The best.  The worst.  Rinse.  Repeat.


It’s not meeeeeeee!  Let’s all scream at once.  Maybe that will speed up the process.

I swear they almost forgot to go back out for the group dance.

Then some kids won some stuff.

Asis’s pink flamingo scored First Place, as did the Brat Pack.

I know you shouldn’t call a little girl a bitch.  But that bitch can dance.  Dang.

Side note #2:  I need to come up with a solo routine that I can perform at one of these things just so I can do that flash mob dance on stage before awards start.  It’s like they slipped sugar cubes into the water system or something right before the emcee comes out.  Asia and I would wreck that stage.

(That’s not creepy at all, right?)

When it was all over, nobody really new which end was up.

Kelly and Abby had taken two steps forward and one step back.  Or maybe just a side shuffle with some jazz hands.  It was hard to tell.

Melissa knew that she had better get Mackadoodle into some workout clothes asap or the 5:45pm Asia Train was gonna run right over her on the way to Nationals.

Holly channeled her inner Yoda and preached about the fundamental issue of ‘Trust” and then everyone got ready to go home.  Packed it up, they did.

Abby said goodbye to the Moms and told Kelly that it was nice talking to her today.  The same way you would say that line to your ex-boyfriend’s new girlfriend if you saw her buying birth control pills at CVS.  That kind of nice.


But Las Vegas survived a weekend with the Dance Moms.  And vice versa.  Nobody lost an eye or a limb or their kid’s college tuition money at the casino.

And most importantly, for everyone who lives in Vegas…what happened there isn’t even staying there.

It’s all going back to Pittsburgh to get ready for Nationals.

Somebody really lucked out this time.


Here Comes Honey Boo Boo: It’s Time To Jiggle Those Redneck Rolls And Vacuum That Chin. Let’s Get S’mages!

Sunday, August 25th, 2013




It’s true. My Costco Milkshakes do bring all the boys to the yard. All of them except for that one guy who used to thin out my shrubs.







That’s just nasty.







Seriously. I have no idea what the hell they’re all talkin’ about, but I’ll bet it has something to do with biscuits again.






I love June and the girls, but I dunno know if I love ’em enough to fish my cufflinks out of a damn public toilet.







Oh. My. Gawd. This is my life? I’ve never actually watched this show before.







French tips ain’t just for glitz pageants anymore. Don’t be hatin’ on my Manly Mani, Bitches.







Phthhhhhhfffffft….. That’s what I think.





It is what it is.

And it’s always sumthin.

It looks like somebody is finally trying to put the ‘L’ back in TLC, because so far this season Here Comes Honey Boo Boo has definitely been a learning experience.

I don’t know about you, but I’ve already seen, touched, heard, tasted and smelled more new things than I did in all four years of college.

And trust me…that’ saying something.  (Sorry, Mom.  I told you not to Google my site.)

Seriously.  I freakin’ love every single Boo in BooVille, but they are costing me an arm and a leg in eye drops and hand sanitizer.  Some things just can’t be unseen or hygienically wiped down, no matter how hard you rub your TV screen.

The Countdown to Commitment continued this week as Mama June and Sugar Bear‘s non-wedding grew closer.  The shiz was starting to get real.

While Mama ran (…ok…probably shuffled…) around the house making lists and cooking something with butter, Sugar Bear was outside on the front steps bonding with the girls.

As nice as it was to see Shugie show the love for his family, it was even nicer to see that Nugget the Chicken had finally made it outside and wasn’t rubbing his egg chute all over the kitchen counter again this week.

Don’t get me wrong.  I appreciate a well prepared omelet as much as the next guy, but when your living room couch doubles as a chicken coop…not so much.   On the other hand, it probably is a real timesaver to have your chicken already sitting in a pot when it’s time to leggo my eggo.


The big question out on the porch was whether or not Sugar Bear would be wearing a fresh pair of tighty whities during the ceremony, or just stick with the undies he’s worn since Nixon resigned.

(Political history reference.  I told you this was a learning experience.)

I’m not sure I really want to know what’s going on down there inside his Carhartts, but whatever it is…he called it a Wedding Surprise.  Lightening Bolt Pumpkin even offered to go commando in a show of solidarity and then Baby Kaitlyn‘s little beanie popped right off her head.

It did.  Check it out.  She dropped her milk, too.

Since the stress of planning a non-wedding can really wear a girl out, everyone decided that they should all head to the park to burn off some steam and shovel down some freshly grilled hot dogs and sausages.

Nobody was allowed to mention the Commitment Ceremony or say the M Word for one afternoon.  This was their time to chillax, snarf down some snacks and watch Mama straddle a chain link fence.

Well…ok.  That last part probably wasn’t on the original itinerary, but when they got to the park and were faced with the barricade, June mounted it like a true Kardashian.

Wasn’t it Brooke Shields who once said that Nothing comes between Me and my discounted Oscar Mayer Wieners?

Bow Chicka Boo Boo.

As Mama set the picnic table with generic Chinet and watched Sugar Bear try to light 3 pounds of charcoal with a convenience store Bic, the older girls prepared for battle.

Because it was Ball Wars.  And it was on, bitches.


Basically, the game pits two people against each other, each holding a giant inflated bouncy ball.  The goal is to run towards each other like that last scene in Braveheart, screaming some kind of Redneck WarCry until you collide, knock each other down and the balls going flying out into traffic.

If someone blacks out or cracks their head open…bonus points.  And more wieners for the winner.

The showdown was Anna vs. Pumpkin, which Sugar Bear compared to an 18 wheeler running over a 4 wheeler on black ice during a white out blizzard on the highway.

It’s pretty technical, but it’s basically a mathematical equation involving mass, force, velocity, speed and square footage based on cheese ball absorption.

Technical, but not pretty.

After Pumpkin spread Anna out on the turf like Nutella on day old white bread, she explained that her momentus was responsible for the win.

You heard me.  Momentus.  It’s Science.

(TLC.  Never stop learning.)

The next day, Mama was back to stressing out as the girls all took Sugar Bear on the hunt for a tuxedo.  Just because he was going to be wearing dirty undies on the inside didn’t mean that he couldn’t be pretty on the outside, right?

So it was off to the House of Hines to Experience the Elegance of Macon’s premiere destination for wedding and formal wear.  Where their customers are treated like royalty, their employees cater to your every need and their selection is second to none.

And their motto is “You Flush It, You Bought It.”


What.  The…?

This place has been in business for over 47 years.  They are based out of a refurbished three story plantation house and have basically hogged all the tuxedo business in the middle of Georgia for the last four decades.

But they made Sugar Bear try on his tuxedo in the employee bathroom.  With the lid up.

What.  The…?

Forty seven years later and you haven’t figured out how to turn any of those Civil War Underground Railroad closets into a fitting room?  Really?

(History lesson.  You’re welcome.)

Let’s just say that if you have people trying on clothes in the bathroom, I don’t even want to know what the other guys are doing in the actual fitting rooms.

Somehow Sugar Bear managed to get his tuxedo on without clogging the neighbor’s septic tank and gave an impromptu fashion show for the girls, who all squealed in delight.

He thought he kind of looked like a secret agent guy, so we got to see him pose like he was squirrel huntin’ in a tux.  I’m pretty sure I even heard Adele singing that catchy new James Bond song from somewhere in the building.

She must have been in the other loo trying on Grammy gowns.  She’s British, you know.

Back home again, all the girls pig piled onto the bed and tried to brainstorm how to keep Mama from losing her nutty.  I love when they all plop down like a crime scene and put their feet in each other’s faces.  Because I’m klassy like dat.


Alana suggested that they all get s’mages, which I thought was a fancier redneck version of s’mores that I had yet to experience.  But it turned out that what she meant was just going for massages.

Spa Day!

Hopefully the Posh Spot strip mall day spa had some specials on chin vacuuming and neck crust removal this week, because the girls totally threw all that nastiness in my face right before I blacked out.

The last thing I remember was a closeup of Mama’s rogue neck hair beckoning me into the moist darkness like some curly finger.  Then everything went black.

When I finally came to, Anna was asking Mama something about ladyscaping her overgrown naughty bits for the Commitment Ceremony and I made myself pass out again by holding my breath under a pillow.

I swear, these Boos are literally gonna be the death of me one day.  Literally.

Spa Day went exactly as you would imagine a Spa Day would go with this crowd.

Alana got her nails did, Mama got her meat tenderized and some poor salon sistah drew the short straw and had to touch Jessica’s feet.

As Mama paid the bill and they all left the salon, I swear I saw at least half a dozen guys in white HazMat suits going in through the back door with hoses.

Not to be outdone, while all the womenfolk were off getting shucked and plucked, Sugar Bear hit the barbershop for his own mini makeover.  A little trim, a quick shave and some deep fingernail excavation and he was gussied up real good and ready to go home and sit by his Burn Barrel.


Because that’s where real men go to think and do stuff.

The Burn Barrel.

I don’t know what you actually burn in a Burn Barrel, but it was seriously torched up as Sugar Bear kicked back in his lawn chair and attempted to write down some vows for the upcoming ceremony.  He wanted to express his love for June and the girls and got that teary eyed look he always gets when he thinks about Family.

D’oh.  Love that scruffy guy.

Inside, real women don’t need a Burning Barrel.  They just need to be surrounded by the tranquility of 476 rolls of toilet paper and enough liquid detergent to flood the Astrodome to inspire their creative juices to start flowing.

As Sugar Bear scribbled down his thoughts in the backyard, Mama was in her Coupon Cave trying to do the same.

June was struggling a little bit, but Shugie had some help as Alana scooted up and gave him pointers on how an 8 year old puts their feelings into words.

From the mouths of babes, and all.

I mean, c’mon.  It shouldn’t be that difficult if you love someone, right?


The Wisdom of Honey Boo Boo Child.

Redneckognize it.

And then go shoot some squirrels like a Boss.

Pull my finger, Goldfinger.


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