I’m Her Home Skillit!

There was a time, when I was younger, when I was fond of the alcoholic beverage.  Well, OK.  Let me be fair. I’m still fond of the alcoholic beverage, but there was a time when I was younger when I was excessively fond of the alcoholic beverage and would look for, and forward to, any opportunity to partake.

Maybe it was because it felt like a rebellion, or like a secret “naughty” action. As far as I knew it was against my religion (it’s not) and there would be no end to the lecture and grief from my mother.  I never touched the stuff in high school and barely touched it when I was in college (all one semester of it.)  My first taste of alcohol was when I was 18 years old and I took exactly one sip out of my of-age friend’s wine cooler.  Woo hoo!  Party time!  On occasion I had a drink or two with this friend, always at home and never something I purchased.  (I’ve always thought there was a bit of gray area about whether it’s illegal for people under 21 to drink alcohol, or if it’s just illegal for them to purchase it.)  The most I ever drank at that time was the day I wrecked my sister’s car and was sure I was going to pay dearly.  I was panicked and freaked out and hiding at this friend’s house till I was sure my sister would be asleep so I wouldn’t have to face her.  I had a couple of coca colas with some peppermint schnapps. (Just to be clear, the drinking didn’t start until after the wreck.)

This was followed by a long dry spell where I never even considered trying to purchase alcohol until I was 20 years old.  I was managing a retail store in the mall in Oklahoma City and had my very first apartment.  I was at the grocery store one day and as I was filling my cart I saw that the wine coolers were on sale and I was craving some.  I put a couple four packs in my cart and decided on a plan.  I’d act calm and collected and if the cashier asked for my ID I’d just tell them, “Oh shoot! I left it in the car.  You know, that’s OK.  I’ll just leave those here.”  I’ve always looked older than I am and the cashier didn’t bat an eye lash when ringing up my groceries and selling me the forbidden nectar.  After this it was easy.  It was usually the same cashier and she’d ring me up and put my wine coolers through and move on with the day.  So imagine my surprise when, on my 21st birthday, I put my wine coolers on the belt and she asked me for my ID.  Same cashier who had several times sold it to me when I was under age.

I didn’t really start whole-heartedly drinking until I moved to California.  My first full-time job in California, my office was in the Financial District of San Francisco, with lots of drinking establishments in the area and lots of co-workers who knew each of them.  Many evenings I went for drinks after work with one friend or another and more often then not, I got downright stupid.  I think it’s probably a good thing that I can’t clearly remember many of the conversations that took place on those evenings but the ones I do remember, I’d like to forget.

These days, my interest in the alcoholic beverage has certainly lessened.  I enjoy a nice glass of wine with dinner and the occasional cocktail in a more social setting.  This week-end was a party to celebrate Michelle’s 40th Birthday, which is technically tomorrow.   Michelle is my closest friend in California and I wasn’t going to miss the party but I had reservations because I’m not especially comfortable with most of her family and a lot of the friends that I knew would be there.  One of the friends, a woman named Christina, moved to Las Vegas several years ago and I believe I had very limited interaction with her before she moved away.  I wasn’t even sure, from the name who she was, though she turned out to be the person I was thinking of.  She spoke to me, however, as if we’d been old friends.  She said she asks about me on a regular basis, that she had pictures of me from a New Year’s party at Michelle’s sister’s house and that we were good ole buddies.

The liquor was pretty free flowing though I didn’t really have a tremendous interest in it.  I had two margaritas before 10:00 and that was it for the evening.  (It was nearly 1:00 in the morning before I drove home.)  Christina on the other hand, had quite a bit to drink and around midnight she turned into the chatty, clingy “emotional/sensitive” drunk that I can only hope I never was.  Suddenly she approached me:

“Why don’tchu marry Michelle?” she asked me as she was leaning on my shoulder.

“Why would I do that?” I asked, already knowing this conversation was going to be uncomfortable.

“Becuz you luv her,” was her slurred response.

I sort of shrugged and said, “Yeah, I suppose I love her.  But so what? I’m not in love with her.”

“Yesh you ore,” she replied emphatically.

“I am?  How do you know?” I asked smiling.

“Becuz.  I know luv win I see it,” she said wobbly.

“You do,” I said smiling.  This was not so much a question as a statement of doubt.

She replied, “Yesh.  I’been ‘n luv lots of times.”  How am I supposed to take this seriously?

“Well, maybe that should tell you something,” I replied.  And at the same moment that she delivered her next line I said, “Besides, I’m gay.”

“Wut, that I shouldn’t shack up with every guy I fall for?”  She hadn’t heard what I said.

“Well, that.  But no.  Michelle and I have been close for ten years and we haven’t gotten together by now, ‘cause we’re not in love.  Besides, I’m gay,” I repeated.

“Wull, that doesn’t mean anything cuz—“  it sank in.  “Wut?”

“I’m gay,” I said for the third time.

“Ore yew shur?” she asked, because, you know, ‘I’m gay’ is something we run around telling people for the hell of it, like we just want to try it on for size or something.

“Yes, I’m sure,” I told her.

“Now you have to hold my hand.” She said as she thrust her hand out at me.

“I do?” I asked as I took her hand.  This was a big mistake as we were locked in a death-grip hand shake for at least five minutes.  “But I wanted you to be my bruther-in-law.”  There’s no in-law with Christina.  She’s not a relative.  “I wanted you to be part of my faaamily.”

“I’m sorry,” I lied.

“Well…  You’re still faaamily.  I still luv you.”   Drunk love is the best! “You’re still my home skillit.”

“I am?  You gonna use me to, like, cook breakfast in?”  I really wanted this conversation to end.

“Yeah-uh.  I’m gonna cook potatooooes, and ehggs, and pan cakes.”  Kill me now!  “I still luv yew.”

“Do you?” I asked sarcastically.


“Would you love me more if I told you the only other person in this room who knows it is Michelle?”

“Wut?”  I repeated myself.  “Yesh I do luv you more, ‘cuz that mean you respec me enough to trus I won’t tell anybody.”  That’s not what it meant.

Yes, there was a time when—Wait!  Did I just turn into Mary Alice Young?  “Yes, there’s a certain time of day…”  Never mind.

There was a time when I was excessively fond of the alcoholic beverage, but that time has passed.  Dear God, I hope I was never the crunchy,
sappy, leany, over lovey type of drunk.  More importantly, I’m never gonna be that guy again!


Riggledo’s Story: Magic Pills

Riggledo (and so will you) is a very new blog which I have only just begun.  Its purpose is to serve as a constant reminder, to myself and to anyone who see it, that we are OK just the way we are.

The subject matter of this post is something that is very sensitive for me and I was not sure when I created this blog if I was going to address it, let alone how soon.  But after reading what prompted this post and thinking about how it affected me, I realized, this blog can not serve its purpose if I do not address this topic.  So, proceed with caution and be kind of thought and word should you choose to comment. Thank you.


I just read a blog post that has really got me thinking.  It started with a tweet on Twitter.  Anita1956 said, “Would I take the straight pill? Here’s my answer.” with a link to her blog http://tinyurl.com/aa78mp. Here’s what she said:

The Straight Pill

Date March 13, 2009

If there was a pill that could make me straight

…..Straight in body

…..Straight in mind

…..Straight in heart

…....I would not take it.

If taking such a pill would restore all my lost friendships

…..And regain my parents pride

…..And give back my families respect

…..…..I would not take it.

If taking such a pill would return me to my former ministry

…..And the admiration of the congregation

…..And the loving welcome of the church

…..…..I would not take it.

If taking such a pill would replace the love I have for my wife with an equal love for a man

…..And we could legally marry

…..And we would be granted full rights under the law without fighting for them

…..…..I would not take it.

If taking such a pill would mean no one would reject me for being who I am

…..And for saying what I believe

…..And for standing boldly as one who follows Christ

…..…..I would not take it.

If taking such a pill could take the world back in time,

…..Before I came out of the closet,

…..Before I said I was gay

…..Before I knew I was gay

…..Before inequality touched me

…..Before hate revealed its ugliness to me

…..Before anyone rejected me

…..Before anything was lost to me

…..Before I ever questioned God’s love for me

…..…..I would not take it.

If taking that pill would make me straight

…..And famous

…..And wealthy

…..And talented

…..And adored

…..And beautiful

…..And thin

…....I would not take it.

…....I would not take it.

…....I. Would. Not. Take. It.

I would never take a pill that would make me straight because

…....I love being who I am

…....I love being whole and free

…….I love seeing the world from where I stand

…....I love knowing God from this place

…....I love feeling passion burning in me for equality

…....I love being part of a people who are courageous and relentless

…....I love being one in Spirit with every queer youth

…………..With every gay man and woman

……………With every bisexual man and woman

…………..With every transman and transwoman

……………With every ally and friend

……………With everyone who questions, doubts and searches

…….And I love being one in Spirit with you

……………Bound in hope, and faith, and love

……………Bound in God

If there was a pill I could take that would make you straight

………..And taking that pill would end all your confusion and anxiety

……….And remove your fear that God has rejected you

……………I would not take that pill even for you.

You are gay.

…..You are not wrong.

…..…..You are not sinful.

…..…..…..You are not evil or perverted.

…..…....…..You are not unworthy.

…..…..…..…..…..You are not a mistake.

…..…..…..…..…..…..You are not to be ashamed.

You are gay.

…..God loves you.

…..…..God holds you.

…..…..…..God stands with you.

…..…..…..…..God delights in you.

…..…..…..…..…..God calls you “My own.”

If there was a pill that could make me straight

…..And make you straight

…..And you

…..And you

…..And you

…....I would not take it.

…....I would not take it.

…....I. Would. Not. Take. It.

Before I even clicked the link to her blog I answered that question for myself.  “Yes!  I’d take that pill in a heartbeat!” Being gay is one of the biggest struggles I’ve ever dealt with in my life and most of the time I feel like if I could chose not to be gay, I would.

Growing up in a “Christian” home as a gay boy is an incredible challenge.  It is made abundantly clear to you from the beginning that homosexuality is wrong, that homosexuality is a perversion, and that homosexuals are damned for all eternity.  There is an incredible amount of fear that is driven into Christian children about hell and sin and damnation and we learn from a very young age that we want to do everything in our power to make sure we don’t go there.  This results in tremendous amounts of guilt and shame.

For me, the shame was too much to bear and I denied who I was for most of my life.  I chose to believe that I was not gay, that there were other, perfectly legitimate reasons why I was aroused by the images of the male models in the International Male and Undergear catalogs I subscribed to when I was a teenager.  I convinced myself that one day, when I met the woman God had in store for me, I would be physically attracted to her and I would feel normal and complete.

I finally began to admit to myself that I was gay and accept who I was about four years ago and I said it out loud for the first time when I told my therapist two years ago.  By this time, I had read the bible, The King James version, from cover to cover and learned that what I had been told my entire life was cut and dried, well, it really wasn’t.  I learned that there were a lot of discrepancies between the things I had been taught to believe and what I determined for myself in those pages.  I learned that while the Bible is an important resource that there is more research to be done and so I did.

I researched on-line the question of whether homosexuality is an immorality, whether it’s a sin and what it means to be gay and a Christian.  When it all started, I went in search of something definitive that would tell me what I was already sure must be true:  That Homosexuality is, in fact, an irrefutable sin.  What I found instead, was a whole lot of the same rhetoric, the same answers and explanations about why homosexuality is wrong, with all of the same holes that I had yet to explain away.  The same holes that made me question the accuracy, the validity of what I’d been taught.  These holes left me with questions and doubts.  The explanations didn’t sit well with me.  They didn’t feel… They didn’t feel true.  I believe that we all, each of us, possess a spirit that is to some extent or other, in tune with the Holy Spirit.  I started to realize that the reason these explanations didn’t feel or seem right to me is because my spirit knew they weren’t.  My spirit was hungry for the truth.

So I dug deeper and I found several resources with more information.  I found resources that did a better job of explaining what the various Biblical references which are used against us might have really meant.  I found scholarly authors who had a deeper understanding of what the times and the languages were like, and how the Bible might have been translated incorrectly over the generations and centuries that have passed. And I found a reminder that the God I love and serve is a loving God who wants the best for me, who wants me to be happy.  I finally came to accept that the thoughts and feelings and urges that I was stifling for so many years, close to 30 of them, were normal and natural and a part of me, who I am, the way God made me.

I didn’t take this information lightly, and I didn’t set out to find justification for me to behave in a way that was not morally right.  Honestly, I set out to prove, once and for all, that what I was taught my whole life was absolute fact and that I had to continue to suffer until God saw fit to change me and make me “normal”.  I resisted the things that I read that told me that I was OK as a gay man.  I resisted the urge to rejoice at the affirmations that I found because surely, as my mother would have told me were she involved, I was “possessed of the Devil”, I was “being deceived.”  Surely it wasn’t possible that I could, in fact, be gay and be acceptable in God’s sight.  But the evidence mounted, the case was made over and over again… and my spirit?  My spirit was at peace.  I stopped hurting.  I started healing.  I told my four closest friends.

I still struggle with the internalized homophobia that I was raised in.  I still struggle with accepting myself, but now, it’s because I’m programmed this way, not because I really believe that there’s anything wrong with who I am.  I have to believe that as time moves on, I’ll struggle less and less and be more and more content in my life.

What I really struggle with, though, is the shame.  Not shame because I think there’s something wrong, but shame because I’m so sure everyone else will.  I get anxious when I write something like this because I’m sure that someone will read this and tell me that I can’t be both gay and a Christian.  (Of course I can.)  I’m afraid someone will read this and begin to scrutinize me and my behavior in a different way now that they know I call myself a Christian.  (I’m not living my life for those people, but no one likes to be judged.)  The truth is I hold myself up to the measure my mother has set out for me and I know I fail miserably.  Most days I’m OK with that.  I know I will never measure up to her expectations and I know that most of her expectations are unreasonably high anyway, but part of my internal programming is to see her expectations as those of all Christians and I assume I’ll be judged and condemned by all of them for one reason or another once they learn that I call myself one of them.  (I don’t really call myself one of them and I suspect that will make for another lengthy blog post in the future, but the terminology is the same even if the intent is different.)

The shame that I struggle with has crippled me with regard to coming out to my family.  Not a single member of my family knows that I’m gay while I have to believe some of them may suspect.  It is with this knowledge that as I bring this post nearer to its conclusion and prepare to press that “publish” button I am shaking and feeling genuine anxiety about putting this information out there for the world to see.  You see, my Twitter account updates my Facebook status.  My brother is my only immediate family member who is on Facebook.  I post links to my new blog posts on Twitter which means they’ll show up on Facebook as well.  It is not a stretch to think that my brother will actually see this post and because I am such a coward, this is how he’s going to learn the truth.  Will he say anything to me?  I don’t know.  Will he tell other members of my family?  He might.  Am I disappointed in myself that I can’t just say it to them? Of course I am.

So if such a pill existed that could make me straight, would I take it?  I’m afraid that is not as simple a question as I first thought it was.  I’d be inclined to take it.  I’d never have to worry about telling my family the truth.  I’d never have to worry about facing the internalized doubts and fears that persist.  I’d never have to worry about having to tell people in my daily life.  And I’d never have to worry about trying to learn how to date as a gay man, or find someone that I could happily spend the rest of my life with.  Life would certainly be easier if I were straight.

On the other hand, maybe taking that pill would be like turning my back on everything that I learned in this process; that God did not make a  mistake when he made me; that I am gay because that is how God intended it; that there is nothing wrong with me just because I’m gay; and that God loves me every bit as much today as he did the day I invited him into my heart as my personal Lord and Savior and the only thing that has really changed is, now, I know the truth.

If there was a pill that I could take that would make me straight, would I take it?  I’m sad to say that it would be a tough decision to make, but in the end, No, I would not take it.


My special thanks to Anita, author of the blog that started this, first for writing the post to begin with and second, for granting me her blessing to re-post it here for all to see.

The Post With the Name that Shall Not Be Spoken (Mostly ‘Cause I Can’t Come Up With Anything)

Here we are at the end of another week in the Fad of the Month experiment and things have not gone quite the way I had hoped.  This months Fad is salad for lunch and with two exceptions I have held to that.  The great thing about not  being “on a diet” is that you don’t have to feel any guilt when you’re not perfect.  The truth is there’s no need to feel guilt anyway.  When you make a mistake (or a conscious decision to diverge from the intended plan) it would be better to  simply acknowledge what you’ve done, dust yourself off and move on.

I mentioned in a previous post that I had been trying to eat sensible meals when not eating lunch and that I’d been making fruit smoothies for breakfast most days.  And most of the time, I did just that.  While this started out as a good plan there was a flaw in my execution.  I had purchased a bunch of bananas for my smoothies, but you see, bananas continue to ripen until they turn black and so in an effort to be conscious of my spending habits, I decided to use the bananas I had that were not going to last long enough, to make banana bread.  The fact that I had to purchase a pint of buttermilk which I would never use for any other purpose in addition to a bottle of vanilla extract, also not something that will be used regularly and baking soda which I also have no use for otherwise was inconsequential.  The fact that the bananas that would have gone to waste couldn’t possibly have cost as much as those three items was never factored in.  The thought had crossed my mind to make banana bread and I was sold.  The banana bread, while home-made and therefore not filled with processed ingredients and therefore not as lacking as it could have been in nutritional value was, nonetheless, there to serve as a temptation for me.  On the other hand, with the presence (and consumption) of the banana bread I managed to forget (for a time) about the four boxes of Girl Scout Cookies in my cupboard.  With the final two pieces of banana bread given to Michelle on Wednesday night, I no longer had that hanging over me.  On my drive home from work yesterday, however, I suddenly remembered the Girl Scout Cookies and in a flash I had a craving for them.  I told myself, “Not tonight. You have to weigh-in tomorrow. You can have some cookies tomorrow night.”

So as I sat in my recliner watching The Biggest Loser and sipping a glass of Chardonnay I remembered again that the cookies were there and I lost the desire to resist (what is it about watching The Biggest Loser that makes me crave unhealthy foods?) and so I went to the kitchen, opened that box of Tagalongs and pulled out five.  Only five and the rest of the package went into the refrigerator.  Now people, understand something here.  In years past, I would have sat down with that box of tagalongs and eaten all 15 of them in one sitting.  Possibly without stopping for air or actually taking the time to truly enjoy the flavor.  In years past, I would have scarfed down that box of Tagalongs and given serious consideration opening another box.  Last night, I ate five.  This is a triumph in my mind.  I made the conscious decision to eat only five of my favorite cookies, knowing fully what I was doing, having read the box and knowing that a serving was two cookies with 140 calories and that by eating five cookies I added 350 additional calories to my intake for the day.

I only lost two tenths of a pound this week.  Not what I expected or hoped for but nothing to get upset about either.  You see the way I look at it, if I hadn’t been eating salads for lunch, I would likely have been eating something far less nutritionally valuable and the numbers on my scale would be likely to be far worse than what they were.

So, stepping onto the scale this morning I hit a nice square 300 (isn’t that more round) pounds.  But that’s OK.  It’s a new week.  I acknowledge what I’ve done.  I’m dusting myself off.  I’m moving on.

Riggledo’s Story: Anti-Depressants

I have struggled my entire life with Clinical Depression.  It’s something that I didn’t know much about growing up other than that it was apparently a very bad thing to admit to and I should never talk about it.  I remember once when I was a child, probably ten or eleven years old, I heaved a heavy sigh and said, “Oh, I’m so depressed.”  I had barely uttered the final syllable before my mother snapped, “No you’re not and don’t ever say that again!”  I just knew I wasn’t very happy, I didn’t feel loved, or worthy of being loved, and I felt hopeless.

Over the years there have been instances of more severe depression that have come and gone and then a little over a year ago, I began to really feel like I was losing control.  I was exhausted from trying to be a positive upbeat person and trying to hide the expression that had a strangle hold on my life.  Finally, I had nearly reached the end of my rope and I told my therapist I just didn’t know what else to do and I wished I would die.

With her support and encouragement I took three weeks off of work to participate in an Intensive Outpatient Program (IOP) for Clinical Depression which is operated by my health care provider (which just happens to also be my employer).  I went into the program absolutely miserable and feeling so desperate for something to happen.  Something to help me get out of this place I was in and make me feel alive and healthy and happy.  IOP wasn’t it.  I found it incredibly unsatisfying.  It was almost painful to sit through listening to all the other people, in my estimation, sounding pathetic and feeling sorry for themselves.  We’d take turns talking about what we were feeling and why we might be feeling that way and then everyone else would offer suggestions about how we could handle things differently, as if anyone else could possibly understand what I was feeling!  I hated it.

The doctors upped my dosage of Anti-Depressants suggesting that would help me feel better.  I’d already been on them for four years so why wouldn’t it make me feel better?  It didn’t.  The only thing that helped me was being away from a job that I hated and in which, I felt completely trapped.  As much as I hated IOP I was desperate for them to allow me to stay longer so I wouldn’t have to go back to work so soon.  The irony was that even as I was hating IOP and internally criticizing everything about it, I was also getting better.  I suppose it’s not fair to say that the increased dosage of drugs wasn’t helping.  I was getting better but I don’t believe it was the drugs that helped.  I returned to work, only working part time the first two weeks, with a renewed sense of self and determination not to go back to the way I was before starting the program.  I was determined to find a new job as soon as I was able.  (I’m sorry to say that a year later, I haven’t found something new.  But in these tough economic times I don’t imagine that comes as much of a surprise. On the other hand, I have learned to be grateful for the work I do have.  It may not be much of a job, but it’s a job, which is more than so many people today can say.)  The one thing that was still nagging at me was the medication.  I did not want to take the medication and I did not feel that it was beneficial to me, but rather was holding me back.  I made the decision in May to wean myself from the medications (yes I was on two) and on October 31, 2008 I took my last anti-depressant.

Don’t misunderstand me.  I’m not criticizing medication in the least.  I know that there are many people who benefit from the meds.  My Brother feels that he can’t live without his medication and says that every time he stops taking it he makes bad choices and screws up his life. For some people Anti-Depressants are life savers, for me, not so much.  For me they were more like a band-aid and did nothing to heal the source of the wound.  They made it impossible for me to really feel anything and therefore impossible to process my feelings and move on.  It’s been four and a half months since I stopped taking the medication and I can honestly say I’ve never felt better in my life.

In future posts I’ll delve more into my process and some of the things I’ve learned.  I’ll get more in depth into what I think has helped me to become a happier person, the things that have challenged me and the things that have taught me that I’m OK just the way I am.

Conspiracy Theorists Unite!

Dancing with the Stars
I have been a fan of Dancing with the Stars since the beginning and as far as I am concerned it just gets better each season.  More stars, more extremes, less training time and more injuries, all make the show more and more compelling to watch!

The elimination of two of the show’s stars before the curtain even went up was certain to make for an eventful season premiere.  Nancy O'DellThis season the stars only had four weeks of rehearsal time, which seems little enough time already, but then when disaster struck for two of the contestants and producers announced that they would recast those two couples, it seemed sure that the replacements would be among the first to go.

When the show began and the thick plotened, it was announced that Nancy O’Dell had dropped out of the competition on Friday, giving her replacement only 48 hours to prepare for the premiere episode on Monday night.

JewelPoet and singer Jewel, it was announced, had fractured tibias in both legs and was unable to continue in the competition.  Producers replaced her with former “Girl Next Door” Holly Madison (not to be confused with Dolly Madison, something the “star” is clearly not particularly familiar with).  Holly’s bio on the DWTS web page states her profession to be “Reality Star”. (Hmmm…  Reality… star… By definition that doesn’t seem possible, but I digress.)

Holly-madisonMy hopes were not high for this former Hugh Hefner honey, but I was pleasantly surprised to see her do a passable job on the dance floor.  After scoring a mere 18 points, things look less than certain for this insane brave young woman, but given that she’d had only one week to learn the dance there’s a chance that she’ll improve in the ranks and make a decent showing.

Melissa_rycorftThe real surprise came when it was announced that Nancy O’Dell had a torn Meniscus, a piece of cartilage in the knee intended to evenly distribute your body weight in your knee, which left unrepaired could result in arthritis in the knee.  O’Dell dropped out of the competition on Friday and was immediately replaced by recently jilted Bachelor “star”, Melissa Rycroft, who is beginning to come across as a little bit of a media whore.  With only two days to learn and “perfect” her routine it seemed unlikely that Rycroft could possibly make a good showing so it was quite a surprise when she tied for second place with Olympic Gymnast Shawn Johnson (who, by the way, slipped just walking down the stairs in the shows opening).

Actually, Melissa Rycroft’s performance was quite impressive and she absolutely deserved the 23 points she got.  Head Judge Len Goodman, however, outed Rycroft as being a trained dancer, pointing out that she clearly had some dance training and he believed it to be ballet.  (Correct you are, sir!  Plus when not plastering her face all over your reality TV shows, she works as a Dallas Cowboy’s Cheerleader.)

Can you say “Ringer!”?  It has got me thinking…

Now, I should probably be wearing a tinfoil hat, as I’m turning into a bit of a conspiracy theorist, but here’s what I think is going on here.  Ms. Rycroft wants to be famous (and really, who can blame her.)   This is why she studied ballet to begin with.  This is why she became a Dallas Cowboy’s Cheerleader.  This is why she auditioned to go on The Bachelor.  And things were looking really good for a while there.  I never have, and never will, watch an episode of the Bachelor so I can’t speak to how things went for Rycroft while she was there, but I know that she made it to the end and received the marriage proposal.  I also know that in the “after the final rose” special that immediately followed The Bachelor Season Finale, this past Monday, she was unceremoniously, and from what I’ve read (thanks bloggers) rather cruelly dumped.  What a bitter end to an otherwise decent run.  What to do?  What to do!?

And then it became abundantly clear!  Dancing with the Stars was just about to start and she had a background in dance!  She may not win the entire competition but at least she can make a nice showing for herself.  But, damn!  The show has already been cast.  No problem!  Tonya Harding has nothing going on and she needs to eat… A lot!  (Seriously, have you sent his?)


So she hired Tonya Harding who conspired to attack Nancy O’Dell and injure her knee, put her out of the competition and then Melissa can step in at the 11th hour and save the day.  A brilliant plan!

On the other hand, I suppose it’s possible that Nancy suffered her injury legitimately and Melissa was the first person they could get to take on the challenge with such short notice and she only did it because she already has some dance experience and won’t look a total fool.  I suppose it could be that.  Maybe.