On Dancing With The Stars B-list, has-been celebrities are paired with the world’s top ballroom dancers to compete for a hideously gaudy “disco ball trophy” on live national television. Yes, I watch it every week (because I’m a dancer and reality game show freak) as they eliminate one couple at a time based in part on votes from a panel of professional ballroom judges and half from votes called in by the rest of America (that care.)

Last week two show stopping performances were given by Mario Lopez (formerly of ‘Saved by the Bell’) and Joey Lawrence of ‘Blossom’ fame (you can see what I mean by B-list celebrities) which had the studio audience up off their feet with applause. BUT they were slammed by the judges for breaking the rules! Considering that I was cheering in my own living room (again to absolutely no one) I was shocked to hear them being ripped apart for their “crowd pleasing” moves. Wasn’t that the point?

My good friend, Marina (also a dancer), called in several times over to vote for the condemned couples, as did I. (I also voted for Jerry Springer because that’s just plain hilarious.) We were determined to protect our viewing pleasure by keeping the couples that may have broken all the rules but entertained us the most with their heart stopping numbers that had us clapping in awe. Fox television really put the remote in our hands this time, as Harry Hamlin from ‘LA Law’ was eliminated despite praise from the judges and our favorites continue on to the next round. So will Jerry Springer.

What made the experts unhappy made us ignoramus happy. It got me thinking about what we do in our daily lives that breaks or bends the rules but makes us look or feel better so that we come out on top. What’s your mojo? What moves do you pull out to put yourself on top or just out there? We all have our mojo. How much do you flaunt your ASSETS? And when does flaunting your assets become a liability?

I’m not always appreciative of my assets. Being 5’3 with DD’s, there are days I think I look absurd. When faced with the gigantic mirrors in the dance studio, stripped down to dance pants and a tight tank top, I sometimes think I look like a porn star compared to the other dancers. I’m positive many think mine are purchased and not a gift from Mother Nature, because girls regularly cop a feel in bathrooms at clubs, with or without my permission. I have considered breast reduction surgery but refuse to deface my body with the horrible scarring it leaves behind. Well, there’s more to it than that.

I once had a dream where my breasts disappeared and I found that as a flat chested person I didn’t know how to act confident and sexy. I’d never imagined it would be a problem, but I realized I had lost my mojo. I’ve only ever USED my breasts in direct sexual situations, but I’ve done more than learn to live with them since adolescence, they’ve become a part of my character. I’ve had to grow an awareness that people are going to find me sexual even when I don’t intend to be, even when it’s totally inappropriate, even when it’s gross. I’ve accepted that sexiness is somehow going to be a part of the package because of the lumps on my chest. So I'm going to wear them well. They are big, this we know, but why not have them be perfectly perky as well (with a little lift from a well constructed, yet attractively supportive, underwire bar!) Just so long as intelligence and dignity go along with that, I think I can strike a balance that will score highly with America; even if it doesn’t go down with the judges that live inside beauty magazines that tell me I should look like a fourteen-year-old boy. Screw the judges! I win!