Mamma Jazz sez: It’s all fun and games until someone loses an eye.
My Strange Addiction.
Not MY strange addiction. I take offense to that, thank you very much. Granted, I’m sure that within a few minutes of logging into Facebook pretty much anyone could IM someone willing to spill dirt on one or two of my childhood quirks. I’ll let you win that one. But I don’t think a psychologist would in good faith file a yellow notepad detailing my quirks in that “special” locked desk drawer. And by the way, quirky is a personality trait. Google it.
I’m talking about My Strange Addiction, the show.
Our friends at TLC have managed to slice off another piece of crazy pizza and they’re now serving it to America in 30 minute force feedings. I would have lost that bet, but it turns out that there are actually people on TLC whose strange addictions do not revolve around inappropriate childhood beauty pageants. Who knew? Nothing even remotely spray tanned or glittered, and not one uncomfortable leer from a judge who looks remarkably like the sketch of that guy on the Post Office bulletin board. Raise your hands if you’re impressed.
And if you’re Mamma Jazz, raise them crazy a** hands with those whacked out 26 inch fingernails attached. Dat’s rite. Put your hands up in the air and wave ‘em around like you don’t care, girl.
Mamma Scissorhands has a personality as big as her nails. She has been growing out her technicolor claws for 22+ years, and they are dangling off her paws at 26 curly inches. Twenty six. And she is seriously attached to them. Jazz thinks of them like they were her children. Which I assume refers to those slap up the side of the head kind of children who are always in the way, get all up in your grill and make it impossible to do anything in your day to day living.
We got to see her shoe shopping, cracking a crab leg for the first time, skinning a cucumber and pretty much giving a powerpoint presentation on how she gets all Wolverine in the bathroom. Yeah. She did that. TMI doesn’t really cover that one. In what sort of looked like Origami on a PBS craft show, Mamma Jazz turned a roll of toilet paper into a neat little pillow looking thing and stated, “And then I get busy.”
I know, right?
If I could have gotten Jazz to straighten out one of those 26 inchers I would have stabbed myself just a little bit. But Mamma was working those nails. Loud and Proud. I guess if you spent $250 for a NINE hour manicure at Wong’s you would have to be proud. Nine hours. Time it. Go to work tomorrow. Eat lunch. Do a little work. Surf the web. Work some more. Wait for your boss to leave, and then leave for the day. That’s how long MJ sat still to have her knives sharpened.
To make sure that none of us got dry eye from staring at her on screen nails for a straight 30, TLC was thoughtful enough to intercut her story with the wide eyed woman who obsessed over her 52 hairless rats. Let’s just say the rats pretty much out numbered the cages, if you know what I mean. Picture 52 tiny, naked, wrinkled little old men crawling all over your bed and counters, sniffing at crumbs and chewing your bottom lip. Now try to sleep tonight.
Those saggy little pink things were EVERYwhere. Except in their cage, of course. I know the world is pretty open and accepting of most lifestyles nowadays, but there was way too much girl on rat kissing for my taste. Sorry. Not gonna happen.
While all this naked rat love was going down, MJ was still gettin’ her nails did. I almost felt bad for the nail tech who had to manhandle all of that for the whole day. Every nail gets a color, and a doodle or gemstone detailing. What’s the hand version of Vajazzling? She totally does that for real. The hand version…don’t be gross. Mamma Jazz is a good girl.
Some of the other Strange Addictionees in the series are your normal run of the mill pottery and dry wall eaters, or the guy who gets giddy by sneaking into neighbors’ homes and stealing the sludge from their shower drains. (They never really touched on the breaking and entering aspect of his hobby.) Every episode makes you want to brush your teeth and floss again before you go to bed, but Mamma Jazz has been the break out star of the new season. She has even taken her Talon Tour 2011 to CNN where she reenacted her toilet paper stand up routine again, while something about Rupert Murdoch scrolled underneath.
My strange addiction, mine now…not the show, is to find out how they track down all these people. Where’s the casting call? How did I miss it? Mario Lopez, when he’s not flexing or making dimples, is always showing us American Idol mob scenes or those annoying Kids from FAME wannabes waiting for the dancing call backs, but I have yet to see any line wrap all the way around the Izod Center made up of nothing but people holding life sized dolls and gnawing on paintbrush bristles while wearing adult diapers and inflated life vests.
Does an addiction to an addiction show count? Does it get you any points in line?
Could Reality TV really be addictive?
Awkward Moment.
I think I just earned myself a ticket to Hollywood Week.
