Auditiongasm Finals 2012: My Big Fat American Gypsy Wedding Fighter One

My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding on TLC! Or, as I call it: A show I have never seen or heard of before! 

I can only expect Nia Vardalos and enough rhinestones to choke a unicorn as the only other show I know from this network is Toddlers and Tiaras. Man, what would I give to see Nia Vardalos in a cupcake dress!?! Instead, the footage starts out of hilljack (borrowed from the esteemed T&T recapper, mea culpa) USA and the voice over lady with the serious you-will-learn-something-but-we-shot-this-on-a-budget voice starts telling me about vestiges of Romanian gypsies that live in BFE Georgia in campers and trailers in rural USofA. Oh. Bumm-er. Or…  great TV? 

We meet Pricilla, who is a 14 year old teenager living in one of said campers, that is tastefully ornamented with filled with dead flowers and and less tastefully with people who talk a lot about “gypsy tradition” in standard southern American accents. Pricilla’s parents talk a lot about her duty to be married soon and her destiny to not work but focus on taking care of her man, they extol her virtues as a good girl, however I mostly just see her polishing porcelain angels over and over and over. Seriously, and over. Also their camper must be an alternate entrance to Narnia, because there are way more ceramic angels inside than the size from the outside would allow. Timnus weeps for Pricilla. The mother has an adorable autistic toddler who she pawns off on our little bride to be in the name of tradition and because Pricilla seems to “have a gift” with him, but is generally more known as laziness. Honestly he hasn’t sold me on autistic (he has scant air time) since I’m not sure a doctor has ever seen anyone in this family. Maybe a vet? The mother happens to be fat, slow eyed, slow witted and mush mouthed. Have another Turkish Delight.

Pricilla, Queen of the Dead Eyes, is a very mature looking 14year old (but what do I know?) with a the rocking bod of only a pre-metabolism smack-down can provide and suspiciously large bosoms. I’m not saying she’s seen the inside of a plastic surgeon’s office for them, but its more likely than the dentist at least. She also is really very pretty, which in this situation does not seem to be portentous. Pricilla, Queen of the Dead Eyes, (seriously, they follow you around the room wherever you try to snark), talks about how much she loves her life as a Gypsy and feels empty and unfulfilled without her chores; angel polishing has become an MBA course recently after all.  She looks very forward to marrying and slaving for someone new. If I’m telling you this in a dry manner it may be because she says it like she’s auditioning for Wednesday Addams. She sits around in a befuddling sequined dress that I’m guessing is her nicest outfit for the cameras and orders a new dress for her Gypsy Debutante Ball. Which is better described as a Halloween party her parents are throwing to find a local Gypsy boy to marry her off to. No use raising an old maid. Or a go fish. The dress is apparently in Boston and specializes in lies, er, gypsy dresses. This expert listens to about a thousand specifications about this dress including varied skirt length, color, Swarovski crystal detailing and makes a face like she’s not sure if she should call CPS. The dressmaker goes the route of kidnapping and suggests Queen Pricilla come to Boston. 

Now we meet the dad, Pat Baby. Not joking. He is footing the bill and works in paving, “A skill passed down for generations” by gypsies. (Or taught to convicts, illegal immigrants and anyone else unfortunate enough socio-economically to work all day in the sun on a hot surface spraying black sticky tar on an even hotter surface. Also known as hell on earth) Pat Baby believes in a woman sleeping all day and taking bubble baths and not working. He forgets decorative angeles are not going to polish themselves. The men start paving and I must say given all the paved roads in America, there might be some other groups that have cracked the gypsy paving code. That or there are a lot more gypsies than I ever realized. Brb, locking my doors.