I cut my own hair. What makes you even think I can’t choreograph a chair dance, bitch?
See this sausage finger? I’ve got five of them about to go upside your head.
Part of me just wants to puncture that aerosol can and then make a run for it when everyone passes out.
Oh. Hell. Yeah. Four more of these bad boys and I’ll cut everyone’s hair. Come to Mama.
Look at me! I’m a Bee! I’m not even doing the correct dance for this week. I seriously have no idea where I am right now. Taa-Daa!!
I think it’s a pretty safe bet that Canton’s Jerky King is jerking it all alone tonight.
The Queen is definitely not home. I can guarantee you that she is off drowning her sorrows somewhere in a big jug of Mike’s Apple Cider, after being humiliated on her home turf by none other than her nemesis Abby Lee Miller.
That’s right. Chaos Cathy Nesbitt and her League of Evil PTA Moms played host to the Dance Moms crew this week, and right about now I’m thinking they would give just about anything for a do-over.
But you don’t get no do-overs in Dance Land. Nope. Nada. Negative.
To quote an inspirational verse from the Book of Dance Moms Leslie…you suck it up.
This time around, after losing out to the Candy Apples Dance Team a few weeks prior, Abby and her posse were headed to Ohio on the Redemption Bus Tour 2012.
Losing to Candy Apples is one thing. But to lose a competition by basically the same micro percentage that they always give a person for getting hit by lightening twice? Let’s just say that Abby could already smell the apple sauce in the water before they even crossed the Pennsylvania state line.
But I’m getting ahead of myself.
Nobody can board any bus until the Pyramid of Shame. You know the rules by now.
While the mini dancers all lined up in anticipation of having a little bit more self respect drained directly from their faces, Abby started the reveal.
As always, the Moms were also in formation, but it was hard to focus on them without my eyes watering, due to the hundreds of colors and patterns fighting for my attention.
If there was ever any question in your mind as to whether the Moms picked their own clothes each week or if a Lifetime wardrobe intern coordinates their looks like they do on the Martha Stewart Show…well…there’s your answer.
Now that everyone has gone to full HD, there needs to be some rule that certain Moms can’t sit or stand next to each other when they are all wearing Forever 21 jungle prints.
If that s*** is burned into my new plasma screen I am going to be so pissed.
Anyway.
Before the first Glitz photo was even uncovered, Abby broke the news that everyone was going to the Land of Candy Apples for the Nexstar Competition, and the resulting over the top, drama-filled reactions could very easily score an Emmy for at least two of the girls. Maybe three.
Everyone gasped. They covered their mouths, their ears, their eyes. They slapped their foreheads as if they had just gotten the vapors while their Daddy was out in the cornfield. I think Nia even had the Holy Spirit take over her body for a moment.
If they were old enough to wear pearls, they would have been clutching them with one hand and fanning themselves with the other like those crazy old ladies in big hats do on Sunday. We’re going to Ohio. Take me now, Jesus.
Once Abby brought in oxygen and some orange juice to bring their blood sugar back under control, she started ripping off the photo sheets.
Bottom row was filled up with Brooke, Mackenzie and Nia. Trifecta.
Brooke was on the bottom because she bailed on everyone last week to go to her Farewell to 8th Grade Dance, which I guess is different than the Hello 9th Grade Mixer the week after. Those young’uns sure have a lot of dances nowadays. The Devil’s playground, I tell you.
All that gets you is a bad reputation and a Dynamo label that says “probation.” Hope it was worth it.
Nia had some turning issues, and MackAttack didn’t swallow her gum when Abby yelled at her…so say hello to the bottom row, kids.
Second row was Chloe and Paige.
Paige was also on probation, which was probably still due to that age inappropriate hairdo that I can’t stop obsessing about. Unless Lifetime plans on smearing vaseline over the camera lens and start filming this show down at the Pittsburgh Galleria Glamour Shot kiosk, someone needs to just lay off the hot rollers and stick a Scrunchie back on her noggin.
When the time comes, you do not want Paige saying farewell to the 8th grade with that sassy ‘do or she’ll be getting dropped off at her 9th grade homeroom in a pickup with jacked up treads and under-carriage neon lighting, if you know what I mean.
If it’s rockin’, don’t come knockin’…
Chloe made a goober or two in the Group Dance, so there you go.
Top spot was Maddie. (No surprise.) And the other top spot was Maddie. (Ok…maybe a little more of a surprise.)
Abby had slapped two…count ‘em…two Maddie glossies up on top, thanks to her having scored matching titles last time around. Knowing Abby’s fascination with Maddie, if Copy Cop didn’t charge so much for color printing I’m sure there would have been another dozen or so Maddie faces for everyone to gawk at from down below. But you have to tighten the strings somewhere, I guess.
Since the ALDC was going up against those Candy Apples Crazies, Abby was pulling out all the big guns. And some old guns, because she wanted Paige to perform a solo number from last year that never quite made it to the stage. Mom Kelly had already pulled the number twice before because she didn’t feel Paige was prepared, and that Abby hadn’t given her daughter the attention she deserved, and then a whole bunch of other Maddie stuff that I tuned out.
Kelly does like her cocktails and Maddie comparisons. Make them both at least a double and she can go on for days.
Paige was going to do the solo up against Kendall, offspring of that Real Housewives of Pittsburgh Jill. The one with the hair.
After butting heads and Bump-Its against Abby for months, Jill had finally lost it and packed up all her cowboy hats, faux furs and Pennsylvania couture and was now making daily Ohio road trips in order that Kendall could dance where she was appreciated.
Because we all know how cheap gas is and how appreciative Cathy can be, right?
How’s that all working out for you, honey?
As you’ll recall, the Candy Apples tend to slip hormone induced older dancers into every number they perform at competition, in order to skew the age levels and to guarantee that some meatier grips are available to carry Cathy’s luggage on and off the bus.
Abby don’t play dat.
Well, she didn’t used to play dat.
This time, when faced with the prospect of losing another one to Cathy, Abby was suddenly a born again Ringer supporter, and introduced three of her own hormonally superior dancers. See that Cathy? Two can play this game.
Plugging in the same coordinates that Jill uses in her GPS, we were then transported to Ohio and the Candy Apples Dance Center, where the whole place smelled like Jerky and Revenge.
Holding the world’s most blinged out crystal iPad evah, Chaos Cathy plotted out her evil plans to a captivated audience of Moms, awkwardly dorky boy dancers and her collection of seriously overly made up girl dancers.
I don’t know where these kids are going at 10am in the morning that they need that much eyeliner, but I don’t live in Ohio, so I won’t judge. Maybe the cows like you to look pretty while you’re yanking on some teats at the butt crack of dawn. I don’t know.
I do, however, know that domestic cows usually have four of those little danglies, but sometimes they can have additional ones that are non-functional and are called supernumerary.
Kind of like Marky Mark’s third one, but they’re low hangers.
So there. Knowledge is power, kids. Google it.
The Candy Apples group number was going to be a little Asian ditty, with everyone’s favorite piece of dead weight Vivi-Anne as the Princess. My psychic powers immediately told me that she was going to be lifted up and passed around on stage like a hay bale, and that Mom Cathy had just refilled her daughter’s extra strength decongestant prescription.
Seriously. When is someone going to sit that poor kid down, snap their fingers until she focuses both eyes and just lay it on the line?
In order to guarantee success, and apparently free up her own time to shop at the Apple Store, Cathy had hired two outside choreographers to create the Asian Wok Dance.
Meet Michael and Mitchell. Or Mitchell and Michael, I can’t remember. One way is the dance duo, the other way is a furniture store if I’m not mistaken. Either way, the boys were fabulous, in that “We’re gonna have the best summer stock Fantastiks that’s ever played in Poughkeepsie!” kind of way. Vivi-Anne was gonna get tossed around like a Star!
Back in PA, the combination of stress, lack of attention from Abby and multiple pastel Cosmos that went down way too easily all led Kelly to decide that she was now qualified to re-choreograph Paige’s number for the competition. Sucking down matching Cosmos, Christi couldn’t feel her own face or agree more, so after paying the bar tab Kelly and Paige hit the family room to reinvent the wheel.
Up at the farm, Cathy was also trying to work some choreography magic of her own on Kendall.
Decked out in head to toe Kohl’s, Cathy looked like that office administrative assistant we all know who has two sips of a Kahlúa sombrero at lunch and then two hours later you find her dancing in the copier room to the muzac speakers. By the time Jill showed up in her tie dye HSN top to insist that Cathy step it up with the choreography, it was almost more than I could handle. Or hope for.
Finally it was showtime as the ALDC and CADC teams arrived in those matching track jackets they always wear.
Making their grand entrances into the venue, it kind of looked like a school trip to the set of Phantom of the Opera, complete with ornate architectural details and rolling Hello Kitty suitcases. Everyone scoped out the competition and the surroundings and marveled at how excited the Furniture Boys were to be part of the show.
For some odd reason, the thing was actually running ahead of schedule, which meant that Abby would probably not have time to hit the concession stand or run Paige through her newly tweaked routine.
Kelly’s nerves and Abby’s cholesterol level both let out a big sigh of relief when they heard that one.
We’ll skip most of the dance parts and get to the good stuff. There has to be another (less entertaining) blog out there somewhere that can show you scans of the judges sheets if you’re dying to know all the deets.
Chloe’s earring flew off during her number, which almost gave Christi some kind of Dance Moms seizure. The bald emcee guy seemed pretty excited to run on stage and snatch it up for his collection after she finished. Just something I noticed, that’s all.
Paige did her bootleg number and Abby got a little twisted.
Kendall’s music skipped and dragged and just generally f***d up her performance. How can they not be using iPods by now? 2012 anyone?
Jill, who was dressed in full on QVC host attire, finally melted down, screamed at Cathy for not worshipping Kendall and then collapsed on the stairs in the fire exit hallway sobbing like she just got dumped at her 8th grade farewell dance.
Mitchell or Michael…one of them…ended up stuck in the stairwell with her, which meant he had to awkwardly attempt a hug without getting Girl Cooties or wrinkling her outfit.
Cathy called Jill a studio hopper. A few times.
As I predicted, everyone flung the Asian Princess around the stage like a bag of rice until some kid rolled out a fake Gong Show gong and put an end to our misery. You’d think as often as Vivi-Anne is airborne that her ears would eventually pop and she could finally stop mouth breathing. But no such luck.
Abby yelled at anyone who would listen about what a sneak Kelly was and how she is raising her kids to be sneaks.
Quick as she could, Holly (…Girlfriend’s been working out. Check out those Michelle Obama guns!…) shoved as many of the girls out the door as possible before Abby completely lost it on Kelly. Classic Dance Moms cattle rustling.
When it all came down to the end, Abby’s team didn’t score Top Dawg in anything. But it didn’t really matter, because they still beat the Candy Apples, who scored a whopping goose egg on their racing form.
Candy Apples tanked, which sent Cathy into some stoner vegetative state where all she could do was comb Vivi-Anne’s hair and stare blankly out into space while Jill continued her rampage.
As the lights went down in Ohio and everyone headed home to put on a fresh coat of eyeliner before bed, the last thing we saw was Cathy poking her finger into the elevator door button until her knuckles started to bleed. She couldn’t get out of there fast enough as all the Moms circled around her like victorious meerkats.
Victorious, apple-flavored jerky eating meerkats. And they looked really hungry.
