Lawd, shut the church door. What the eff is that thing on her head?
I’m practicing to carry two waitress trays when I grow up. Mo’ money.
Oh. No. Hell. No. Who gonna check me, Boo?
Maybe it’s just the Pixie Stix kickin’ in, but wasn’t this show supposed to be about that girl?
True dat, Miss Thang. MmmHmm Girlfriend.
I blame RuPaul.
If she hadn’t dangled the crowning of the Next Drag SuperStar right up until the very last second of the show, and then punk’d everyone right before the credits rolled by announcing that we had to wait one more week to see which Queen got all that free makeup…well…I totally would have changed channels before Eden’s World started.
Trust me. In a heartbeat.
What? I would have. For realz.
And I would have gone to bed early with my brandy snifter and settled in with a nice New York Times bestseller and…
Ok. Wait. I can’t even finish that last sentence with a straight face.
But don’t give me any flack for RuPaul. It was strictly research.
No, you shut up. You never know when they’re going to ask a RuPaul question on Jeopardy. It’s gonna happen.
Sooner or later they are going to have to stop asking questions about the Spanish Inquisition and Math. And when they do, and they ask what shape upholstery foam should be carved into in order to create the perfect LadyBoy butt…who’ll be laughing all the way to the bank?
Not you.
So before Ru had even finished punking everyone into a Glamazon coma, little Eden was already slipping under the channel clicker radar and starting another episode. I swear they dress her up in the same outfit that RuPaul wears just so we don’t notice when one show ends and the second begins.
And there she was. Again. I know, right?
They actually made more than just last week’s premiere episode.
This time we started out with Eden’s agent/puppy combo Andrew getting all Rachel Zoe again in his fur vest, spritzing on his cell. I’m still not 100% positive yet that the little puppy he’s always holding is real, because the thing is always just kind of there like a white furry version of a Reborn baby doll.
You know the Reborns. The ones that you always see being pushed around Walmart in a Barbie stroller by some lady wearing pajama bottoms who still puts tinfoil on her television rabbit ears. That’s a whole other show, kids.
Andrew was setting up an impromptu showcase of sorts for Eden since they were back in New York again, and hit up sassy Broadway Producer Tom for a quick drive-by audition.
If you are presently working four waitress jobs to help pay your portion of the rent for a studio walk-up in the Bronx , all while trying to light your own nonexistent Broadway star, then I’m thinking that seeing Andrew make one local call and get Eden a meeting probably didn’t sit well. Especially considering he didn’t even have to put down the Reborn to take any notes. I feel your pain.
Now channel that in your next audition. Use it. You’re welcome.
Luckily for the E-Team, Tom just happened to be sitting all by himself behind a bake sale folding table in the dance studio, so Andrew caught him at a good time.
Actually, after only five seconds of screen time, I’m thinking of starting a Broadway career of my own now, just so I can have Andrew set up a meeting with Tom.
Let’s just go there. I’ll say it right now and get it out on the table.
There isn’t much out there in the world nowadays that makes me happier than seeing white boys who think they are fierce african american girls.
There. You thought it…and I said it.
And it’s not offensive since I just slammed about ten different categories at once. It just cracks me the f*** up.
And I’ll say it again cuz I don’t play, bitch. M’kay?
I mean, seriously. What’s not to love? Girrrl, pleez. Two snaps and a circle. And a fierce head snap. And a jello booty shot.
Throw in a Singles Ladies wrist flip and I swear it’s like Christmas came early. Wrap it up for me. Just don’t break a nail tying the bow.
As soon as Eden walked in, I thought poor Tom’s head would sashay off his shoulders.
By the time he got done performing his intro act, I forgot whose audition it was.
Naturally, Eden’s Mom had dressed her in yet another understated lunchtime ensemble of fur, feathers, sequins and flowers. For Mickie, even using the using the restrooms at Macy’s is a potential opportunity to pimp out Eden, so better safe than sorry.
Tom couldn’t get over Eden’s slightly askew RuPaul hat (…a blatant shout out to LogoTV on someone’s part…) her precocious attitude, her airbrushed headshot or her general KidSpaz attention span.
He also couldn’t get over the fact that she really couldn’t sing.
I mean…really.
After screeching a few chunks of her “hit” Underpuppy, Eden bellied up to the bar for her critique. Seriously, if Tom doesn’t put all his key catch phrases into one manual and publish it by the Fall, I will be devastated.
Dude was the SnarkMaster. I bow to him. After discussing annunciation vs. backwoods word spitting, Tom finished her off with the soon to be classic “Not everyone is Judy Garland,” which was followed by a head jut, smirk and “MmmHmm?” which I immediately downloaded as both my screensaver and ringtone.
Then we were off to Indianapolis to meet Tom’s Brother from another Mother, Mr. Nick.
Let’s just say Christmas came twice this week.
Since the producers still need a way to actually get Eden into the storyline each week, aside from letting her run through the background in every scene, we got to meet another untrained Glitz wannabe in desperate need of Mickie’s Yoda-like wisdom and Eden’s mystical, magical unicorn-powered pageant touch.
This week it was young Ivy, who was under the questionable tutelage of the faboo Mr. Nick…who can do it all, Girlfriend.
He’s a cheer coach, a pageant coach, a female illusionist (…shout out #2 to LogoTV…) and all around finger wagging all up in yo’ face Miss Thang.
If I’m ever trapped in a Ramada elevator on Pageant Day with both Tom and Mr. Nick, don’t call for help. Just wait for my head to explode and then call Housekeeping. Take comfort in knowing I died with my brain so full of OhNoSheDin’t that my skull couldn’t contain all the fierceness. It was a quick death…but it was painless.
And sparkly. Very sparkly.
After getting into a heated debate with Fran the time management challenged Stylist and Eden’s Manager Heather on whether or not a 7 year old needs sensible yet fake bottom lashes applied before a pageant, Mr. Nick showed off some of his coaching skills under the watchful eyes of Mickie…and Eden when she could focus.
After discerning that Ivy was too robotic, the scene collapsed in on itself and everyone got up to do their runway walk. Mickie finally got the chance to be an aging pageant girl while Mr. Nick worked it like a photo shoot for the new Gay Lands’ End 2012 catalog.
Andrew just clutched his cell and his Reborn and lived the Dream.
Eden finished us off with yet another gem by reminding everyone that to make it in pageants you “Gotta get the Boom Boom Pow.”
Before the show was even over you know that at least two people stalking the website that Dateline always spies on had already chosen that as their chat name.
One of the tidbits that Producer Tom had tossed out to the E-Team was that in lieu of sparing us all any more ear bleeding and ending this nonsense all together, Eden could probably benefit from some vocal training. One more puppy hug and phone call later, Eden had an audience with Steven Sorrentino who according to Andrew and Heather, pretty much invented singing and acting.
He’s got white teeth, I’ll give him that. As he sat mesmerized by Eden’s spot-on Margaret Thatcher and Crocodile Dundee imitations, Mickie hooted and hollered in her seat like she was front row at Caroline’s Comedy Club, slapping anyone in her orbit as she screamed “That’s my baby! That’s my baby!”
We know it is. No one else would want it.
Much as she did with Tom and his head bopping, Eden zig zagged her gaze all over Manhattan as Steven tried to give his feedback. Unless she has some powers to see Poltergeists that the rest of us can not yet visualize, that kid has some serious focus issues. I’m thinking she was also probably looking for the cue cards that they write out for every one-on-one shot she has to sit through.
Boom Boom Pow.
After realizing that they had forgotten about Ivy, the E-Team bolted back to Indy just in time for the pageant.
Mr. Nick was running Ivy through a few last minute rehearsals. Though we never actually saw it, I’m pretty sure one of the exercises was to limbo under his legs because Mr. Nick always stood in a really uncomfortably awkward half split in order to get down to Ivy’s level. It was just low enough and wide enough that it would definitely get you fired as a coach in most junior high schools, but I guess the pageant world runs on a whole different rule book.
Finally it was Pageant Day. Once again, Fran was behind schedule with the whole hair and makeup thing.
As we touched upon earlier, math is not really my thing…but even I figured out that if there have only been two episodes of this mess so far and Fran has been running behind in both episodes…well…if I had my calculator I’m thinking that it would probably add up to bad averages.
And besides that, isn’t the whole hair and makeup thing…I don’t know…her thing? Get it together Miss Fran, before someone calls you out on it.
Never mind. Too late.
In came Mr. Nick with all his finger wagging fierceness, checking the time, slurping his Starbucks and unleashing more early Christmas right up in Fran’s face.
Wait for it….
Boom! DivaWars.
As a random assortment of pageant babies sucked down sugar and chugged The Dew, Fran and Mr. Nick got their CrazyBitch on, while Andrew clutched his Reborn and waffled between horror and total, unadulterated bliss. Luckily for all the kids trapped in that hotel room, as well as the LogoTV legal department who would never be able to cover the damages to the furniture, the pageant kicked into gear and they had to break up the street fight.
Mickie ran through all her signature verklempt poses, which I still live for, and predicted that Ivy would take the Supreme Deep Dish crown without a doubt.
Eden ran through the background a couple of times to satisfy the share holders, and then Ivy lost. Even with her Wilma Flintstone Jungle Boogie outfit. Bone and all.
Mickie couldn’t believe it, and shoved her way through the crowd to hit up the judges. And then Eden ran around some more.
Back in the hotel room, Mr. Nick and Miss Fran picked up right where they left off, but this time we had the added bonus of a Stylist Turf War with graphic female body part names being used against each other. That was a nice touch with those little sugarized kids in the hallway. Poor little niblets don’t even know they have those lady parts yet, and they’re already scared to death of them. Nice.
Mr. Nick was disgusted and not impressed, to the point where he called it a really bad word.
Mickie had to break it all up and lay down the law to the E-Team. I have no clue where Eden was.
Probably at the bar singing Underpuppy.
Girrrllll…..we are definitely not in Kansas anymore.
