Confessing from afar

I have a confession to make. I wanted to post this yesterday, but I wrestled over whether or not this was something I should share with the people. It's a reasonable certainty that the Man Card committee will meet to discuss my eligibility after reading this. My counsel, Mis Hooz, advised me that I might not want to make such a confession so soon after admitting that I wanted to see Brokeback Mountain again.

But like Jack Twist, I want to be myself and live as I really am in this world, regardless of whether or not society is ready to accept it.

I've been watching Dancing with the Stars.

(If you heard a loud noise at approximately 10 p.m. EST last night, that was Mis Hooz, saying "Oh. My. Gahd.")

And I don't just watch it; I enjoy it. I'm a fan. I won't go so far as to call myself a big fan. But I talk about it with people the next day, wondering which pair will be eliminated from the show that week. And I get emotional while watching. When P. Miller (Master P) stayed on instead of a pair that was clearly better, I got mad. The next week, I said I would stop watching if Master P wasn't kicked off (despite my infatuation with his adorable dance partner). But he was, so I'm still tuning in.

I don't have a wife or girlfriend who's making me watch this. I'm not hiding behind anything like that. This was my decision. I will argue to you (and the Man Card committee), however, that I have some very masculine reasons for watching this show.

The women are hot. The first time I sat down to watch, after dinner with my mother, I sneered, said this had to be the stupidest thing ever put on television, and it only drew viewers because there's nothing on during the summer. Then I saw Jerry Rice's dance partner, Anna Trebunskaya. Good. Lord. That woman's hips are hypnotic. I couldn't take my eyes off of them. I didn't know you could shake your thang like that. She makes Beyonce look stiff. How does she move like that? It's like her limbs are made of rubber. Great googaly moogaly.

And I'm not a "leg guy," but I'm beginning to rethink that stance after seeing Stacy Keibler fling her appendages all over the dance floor. Is she really a professional wrestler? Female wrestlers didn't look like that back when I watched that stuff. Believe me, my puberty would've remembered. You could put a lampshade on one of those legs, and your room would be forever brightened.

I realize some will say my man card should be revoked. One piece of evidence used against me could be the Detroit Pistons games on TV during two of the Thursday nights in question. I watched the game during commercials and after the show was over. But from 8 to 9:30 p.m, more of my attention was devoted to C-list celebrities ballroom dancing. (As a counter-argument, I would note that one of the contestants, the aforementioned Jerry Rice, was one of the greatest players in NFL history, and as a football fan, I was simply curious to see what he was doing after retirement.)

So now you know. And I feel better after letting this side of myself out. Keeping it inside was becoming painful. I might not be in front of my TV tonight to watch this week's results show, but I'll definitely be taping it. And I'll probably have some opinions and feelings on which dancers stay and which of them go. But I'll be honest about it, and that makes me feel good. I can walk proud. Will this inspire me to take up dancing? Oh, hell no.