Dancing with the Stars: Julianne Hough, a Guilty Pleasure

I never thought I would admit this to anyone besides my mother, but I've been watching Dancing with the Stars. That's right; you heard me. I watch it. Well, actually, I DVR it. Yours truly, the original, died-in-the-wool So You Think You Can Dance fan, has been consorting with the enemy.

Why am I willingly subjecting myself to Len and Bruno and Carrie Ann Inaba? (Even more concerning, why do I actually know their names?) Well, I have a confession to make. I am a Julianne Hough fan. Derek too, I guess, but mainly Julianne because boy, can that girl dance! She even looks good in a piano skirt...

Let's face it, Julianne and Derek were stellar this week, and that's no exaggeration. Even Nigel from SYTYCD would have to agree that the two of 'em rocked it.

Still, the thing I liked best about her was the ridiculously corny quasi-therapy session with Dr. Drew. It had to be the lamest idea for a segment ever, and I was happily mocking the whole concept until she and her tweenish partner actually had a genuine, bona fide "moment." I was shocked. Moved. I may have even shed a little tear.

Don't get me wrong. There is every reason to hold out hope for my eventual return to sanity. I can state affirmatively, right here and right now, that I have not purchased her country western CD.

(Okay, just one song from iTunes, but I haven't burned it to a disk or anything...)