Friday Confessional: Shake That

Ok, let's cut to the chase. It's Friday. On Fridays, we wear pink confess our deepest, darkest, most embarrassing thoughts, obsessions and musings. 
 
So, without further ado, I do hereby confess:

 I've been shakin' it

Shake it, sh-shake it...

EVERY SINGLE YEAR I make the same vow to myself: I will 100%, absolutely, no way in hell, become involved with any reality TV competition shows. This year, I finally managed to tear myself out of my dysfunctional relationship with The Biggest Loser.... only to wind up sucked in to not only American Idol, but also Dancing With the Stars.

I was once involved in a passionate affair with AI -- I religiously tuned in and voted from seasons Ruben-David Cook. Then I broke up with it the next season, out of the blue, because it just wasn't working for me anymore. It was a whole, "it's not you; it's me" scenario, and by "it's me" I totally meant, "It's Kara DioGuardi".

Despite being in its 12th season, though, DWTS was never on my radar. Perhaps it was because my 87-year old grandfather thought it was the second-best show on television, right after CatholicTV, but I just never had any interest in it. And then, one fateful Monday night late last fall, I came home from a class around 9:30 and tuned into ABC, patiently waiting for Castle to come on.

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One waltz later, I was hooked. And, despite my vehement declaration that I wouldn't be, I'm hooked again this season. #Damn.

Last year, I didn't really give a rat's heiny who won -- but this year, I have a definite favorite, and I don't care whether or not they're actually the best dancers; I love the star for reasons that reach far beyond the dance floor. Kirstie and Maks were two of the first people I started following on Twitter. Not just because Maks is rather droolworthy with abs of steel, but because as a kid, I was desperately on a mission to obtain Kirstie's fab head o' hair. I probably funded half of Pantene's stock options solely with the amount of their product I used to lather all over my head.

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Kirstie is, in short, my girl. But her hair isn't the only reason I admire her.

I'm talking, of course, about the issue of her weight, which I never really thought of as "an issue," but, judging by some of the vicious comments that are being made on comment forums and tv shows around the world, it has become one. Apparently some of the American public and some stupid late-night comedians think it's just totally ok to malign a woman for not being ashamed of herself for her extra fluff, and not letting them stop her from participating in something fun and good for her, and oh, btw, might even cause her to drop a couple pounds.

Because, you know, if you're overweight, you obviously deserve to be hidden away in a back room somewhere, and God forbid you do something enjoyable. Because you're barely human and don't deserve to feel alive, or good about yourself, or participate in anything that thinner people do. Heavens, no.

Seriously. Grow up.

Note to all you asshats out there pouncing on Kirstie's weight and using it in your jokes: YOU ARE THE REASON that people who want to get in shape are afraid to hit the gym/streets, and YOU SHOULD BE ASHAMED OF YOURSELVES far more than they should be.

As a self-conscious, overweight woman, I can tell you that a large part of the reason I gained so much weight in college was because I was embarrassed that I had let myself get to that point, and I was terrified that if I went to the gym, or even went for a run on the street, people would make fun of me. Or worse, they would pity me; "Poor fat girl", they'd say to their companions, a hint of sympathy and concern in their voices, "honey, if you'd only put the cheeseburgers down and exercise some self-restraint, you wouldn't be red-faced and ready to die after two blocks at 4 mph."

I voiced my concerns and insecurities to a few close, trusted people, and I almost inevitably received the stock answer: "It's all in your head; no one is looking at you." I WANTED to believe them, but my eyes and ears were telling me otherwise -- people whom I thought of as "friends" would comment on overweight joggers; "OMG, if I were that huge, I'd NEVER be out running on the street; I'd kill myself!" is a real direct quote from someone I used to count among my friends. "Wow, should that lady REALLY be eating that donut? Maybe she should try a salad" was a frequent refrain. Not to mention, of course, the barrage of insults and fat jokes that are made every day in the media; George Lopez is not the first, nor will he be the last, to hurl them.

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Oddly enough, though, those people's voices always sounded suspiciously like my own, echoing throughout my head to the point that they were all I heard. So, instead of hitting the gym, or going for a simple walk, I would hide myself under baggy clothes, break out the Double Stuf Oreos and settle into my dark dorm room and a marathon of Law and Order: SVU. Wasn't that what a fat girl was supposed to do?

When her phone call came, Kirstie could have taken the same road. She easily could have said, "Oh, you know, I'd love to do Dancing With the Stars -- and as soon as I lose 25 lbs, I'll do it, but right now I just can't...people might make fun of me." Because she's a strong woman, though, she didn't; she told her naysayers to eff off, decided NOT to wait for some arbitrary day when she's "good enough" and to LIVE HER LIFE RIGHT NOW.

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And because she did, I found the confidence to go and, for the first time, really let go at Zumba on Tuesday night. Honestly? I probably was one of the biggest girls there. Yet when I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror, I didn't see the lithe, tight-bodied former dance team members around me.

I saw a girl having a fabulous time, burning over 550 calories in 45 minutes and shaking her size 14 ass like Shakira.

A-ooooooo!!!!

Thanks, Kirstie.