Imma ’bout to pop these acrylics and show you all how Mama likes to dance.
Oh Hell No. Why is Anthony yelling at me? And why is he wearing a dress?
Umm. Hello? Excuse me everyone, but my name is Payton. And I’m better than you.
Really? You’re just lucky little Britney back there is taping this on her iPhone with the pink bow, or these damn earrings would be off already.
Srsly? Where the hell is the waiter? My burger’s cold and this beer’s been empty for like ten minutes. Dang.
Did I miss a memo while I was in LA? When did my show get so ratchet?
Meanwhile, at Walmart…
Who gon’ check me, Boo?
Who, you ask? Well, since there were about 110 Moms to choose from on the latest episode, I guess you could probably just take your pick.
Holy Dance Moms Overload, Batman.
They were coming out of the woodwork and dropping down through the air ducts like ninjas this week. Moms everywhere.
Old ones. New ones. Missing ones. Classy ones. Sassy ones. Returning ones. Guest star ones. Senile ones. Questionably attired ones. Ones that could mess you up and still be home in time for dinner.
It was literally Mamas fo’ Miles, which coincidentally enough, is the new charity organization I just invented that will ensure every overprivileged kid in every white collar suburban school gets their own 64GB iPad so they can Google the word ‘Ratchet.’
What the Hell did I just watch?
I need to go back and check my notes to see if anyone actually danced on the show this week. I’m so disoriented that I can’t even remember.
It was full on Real Housewives of Pittsburgh, I tell you. So let’s not waste any time.
Coming off another successful annual ALDC Recital, it was time to hit the studio and get ready for the next competition. After the Pyramid of Shame, of course.
Basement seating had been reserved for Paige, Brooke, Asia and Nia.
Paige and Brooke has missed yet another recital, thanks to yet another (bleeped) out meltdown by Mom Kelly, so they kind of deserved the bottom row even though it wasn’t really their fault. I felt bad for them, but honestly I was more jealous that Kelly had so much money that she can afford to pay for a dance studio that she never uses. Feel free to adopt me. Those girls are screaming for a whacky big brother.
Nia was down there once again because she was good, but not great. Abby wanted more from little La Quifa. She also wanted Asia to stop wearing her pants backwards.
The middle row was filled with Mackenzie, Maddie (…say Wha–?) and Chloe.
Maddie was knocked down a peg because she didn’t immediately raise her hand and offer to do a solo last week. Chloe was considered the MVP of the recital, but her Mom was still Christi and you know how that usually goes down. MackAttack was chastised for not knowing enough Nerd Moves, which I guess is now a bad thing in schools today.
Whatever.
Top of the heap was Kendall and her Mean Girls magazine cover shoot. Werk it, girl.
This week they were all headed to a brand new competition in Lancaster, PA called Believe National Talent Competition. Which doesn’t even have the word ‘Dance‘ in the title, so it wasn’t really clear if you could also sing and juggle for prizes. I assumed that they would be editing out all the ventriloquism acts since this is Dance Moms, after all, but Abby kind of skimmed over all the rules.
Chloe, Kendall and Nia would be doing a solo, just so Maddie could make a pouty face.
The group routine was called ‘Open Waters’ and would be performed with a prop which basically looked like a repainted wedge of cheese that MackSplat probably used for backflips during one of the gazillion times she was dressed up like a country mouse.
And speaking of country. It was off to Ohio and the Evil Dance Lair known as Candy Apples! Cue the drive-in movie music.
After losing out again to the ALDC, Chaos Cathy Nesbitt-Stein had apparently shipped her entire boy band dance team off into the Witness Protection Program, because they were just gone.
I mean…gone. Like vanished. Without a trace. Not even Jalen‘s crybaby Daddy Rick or his box of kleenex was left as evidence.
In their place was yet another newly created team fresh off the Anthony Burrell assembly line.
AUDC alum Hadley had stuck around so Lifetime could continue to pimp out the upcoming season. (Coming September 3rd to a television near you.)
The fact that her Mom Yvette is about 110 pounds of Crazy in a Crazy Sack probably didn’t hurt her chances either. Plus, if there’s ever an opportunity for my girl Kristie Ray to pop off on Yvette…well, you can just sign me up right now.
Hit Me! Go ahead. Hit Me! Those were good times, weren’t they?
Nicaya was back again, mainly so America could keep saying ‘Black Patsy‘ every time her ‘hood Mama walked into a scene and not get judged. If she picked the name, you can’t be getting all Paula Deen on my a**, mmmkay?
Mari and Mom Gina D. were also back at Candy Apples, but now Mom was allowed to lose the “D” off the end of her name due to Zack‘s Mom having gone MIA.
Some newbie Brooke #2 showed up, along with her mouthy Mom Michelle, who pretty much got up in Anthony’s face before they even chose seating arrangements.
But the big dealio news flash was the Return of Lucas Triana.
Yes. Hold on to your panties, girls. Lady Killer Lucas is back in the Dance Moms hizzle.
You remember Lucas. Twenty years after Dance Moms: Miami got the axe and he still looks exactly the same. Still made of the same goop they use in Stretch Armstrong toys and still busting out that one leg up in the air move that he invented.
Mom Bridget, on the other hand, looked a little traumatized at having to give up all her comfortable teal surroundings at the beach and shlep her kid all the way up to Ohio, but you do whatchoo gotta do, I guess.
The Candy Apples team would also be heading to Lancaster this week, so Anthony had created a Four Seasons group dance (…the actual seasons of the year, not the hotel…) which was basically four girls running in a circle around Lucas while he stuck his leg up in the air. But they still needed to rehearse, just to be safe.
As did the ALDC girls back in Pittsburgh. Except that there were some noticeable holes in the choreography with Paige and Brooke being held hostage in their own home. So Abby called in some replacements.
Payton was back…again. All 8 feet of her.
Up in the MomPerch they all braced themselves for what they knew would be coming next: Payton’s Mom Leslie.
No lie. It was just like in a Godzilla movie or something as she clunked up the stairs.
The camera wobbled like the ceiling tiles were about to drop to the floor. Go back and watch it again. I’m not making it up. It was perfect timing.
Seriously. How much does this chick weigh? Or maybe Lifetime just needs to hire cameramen who can handle 40 pounds of camera on their shoulders while walking backwards up a flight of stairs. I’ll cut her some slack since I don’t have all the details.
Plus we need to talk about Kristie some more.
This week she had gone to the salon and got her hair all did up in one of those really tight JLo buns that make your earrings look even bigger than they already are, so naturally I couldn’t wait for the first head snap.
And how much do you love Kristie’s posture? Straight up proper spinal alignment like they teach you in the military. She always looks like she’s sitting in the middle of that couch on The View waiting for Whoopie to ask her a question about self defense while the rest of the Moms slouch back like they’re watching the Superbowl.
And even better than that, did you see when Leslie plopped all her Godzilla goodness down in Kelly’s spot and Kristie gave her some SideEye? Tell me Mama Ray didn’t look like some socialite taking public transportation for the first time because her stretch limo was in the shop.
Jeeves. Who are all these common people…and why are they sitting so close to me?
Get me my hand sanitizer. It’s in my Louis bag.
Love. Her.
And then, with absolutely no advance warning at all, there was a commercial for Lifetime’s Double Divas show and I saw Abby Lee Miller in a bra that didn’t fit.
On a widescreen plasma.
I now have to sleep with a nightlight and hope that maybe one day I’ll get the vision back in my right eye. You’ll be hearing from my lawyers, Lifetime.
The Momapalooza continued with Chaos Cathy taking her mom and sniffly Vivi-Anne out to lunch to discuss the upcoming competition. Grandma had no idea where she was and Vivi-Anne just sat there snarfing up burgers for the winter.
Nana noted with a breaking newsflash that Vivi-Anne was certainly ‘an Eater.’ Which is pretty much right up there with acknowledging that the sky is blue. Duh.
There was also some really poor editing where there was absolutely no food on the table anywhere and then all of a sudden, in the middle of a conversation, Cathy was leaning over her plate globbing up a bowl of nachos like the meal had just been beamed down with that machine they used to use in Star Trek: The Next Generation.
Get it together, people. Probably the same guy who couldn’t hold the camera steady.
Back in the MomPerch, Leslie continued her mission to take over Kelly’s spot permanently while Kristie phutzed with her touchscreen…either tweeting me or blocking my account. It was hard to tell.
Yes. Kristie tweets me. Don’t be hatin’.
Finally, it was Showtime! And Pre-Showtime, which was even better.
Payton mouthed off (…again…) by making sure that everyone in the room knew her name after Abby accidentally called her Kendall. Say my name. Say my name.
Unless you spell it “B-E-Y-O-N-C-É“ I think you can dial it down a notch, honey.
Out in the lobby, Kristie and Yvette got right down to bidnezz in front of the Believe CEO Gary, who kind of looked like an actor and my mailman all at the same time.
In the heat of the battle, JLo’s new bun made her look like Patti LaBelle werkin’ the last chorus of Over the Rainbow as her earrings flapped all around the room and she did that sharp point the finger/pull it back even faster thing that I still have yet to master.
Really, Yvette? Really? Take your spanx off. Take your spanx off.
I just can’t. How do I make that my ringtone?
Then there was actually about 45 seconds of dancing, but nobody really cared because it’s always about the After Party.
And Anthony’s Mama.
Girl, pleez. Lifetime, if you’re not going to give Vivi-Anne her own spin-off, you damn well better be coming up with something for this piece of work. Or I will.
All techno-weave and back tattoos, Anthony’s Mom had overheard somebody talking shiz about him (…that’s my baby!…) and pretty much just left a burning cigarette on the window ledge and came inside with her lady friends for a beat down.
Bring it on sez Jill. I see where Anthony gets it.
OhNoSheDin’t.
Apparently, after you’ve had Black Patsy push your nose half way across the room, you completely lose all fashion sense as well as your fear of Death.
Anthony’s Mama got all up in Jill’s grill while the other 109 Moms gathered around like they were filming it for youtube.
Screaming Moms. Yelling Moms. It was like 4:59am in a Target parking lot on Black Friday when you know there are only 12 pairs of Air Jordans in the whole store.
Let’s just say that it gave me life…and that the unedited Director’s Cut DVD is going to be the best Christmas present I’ve ever gotten. Ever.
Coming and going, Anthony’s Mama was just a wrecking ball in a racer back.
Luckily, she took off to Sears for a new Ratchet Wrench before she could pummel Jill into a puddle of fake fur and lace, and everyone got to leave the competition in one piece. Flustered, but with all their veneers intact.
Lawd. Anthony’s Mama.
Who would’ve guessed that Abby Lee Miller in a poorly fitted bra was no longer the most traumatizing thing I had to witness this week?
I seriously need to take off these damn spanx and chill. It’s been a rough night.
