As Seen On Yelp...

It's that time of year again and I need me a haircut. The last time I got a hair cut it was awful. Anyone know someone? Hook a sister up. Please make sure it is not at the Aveda Institute. I have qualms about that place and here is why...

Being in dire need for a long overdue haircut, I decided to try Aveda after seeing the great reviews posted. I'm sad to say, I was pretty disappointed. I'm sure that there are a lot of talented stylists there and I saw a lot of very happy clients, but unfortunately for me, I drew the short end of the stick.

The stylist that they gave me looked very uncomfortable from the moment I sat at her station. When I told her how I wanted her to cut my hair (I even showed her a photo), she looked like a deer in headlights, which made me feel very uneasy since I didn't ask for anything difficult--just choppy layers and textured bangs.

Throughout my appointment, she apologized at least 6 times since she was a little clumsy. She got water in my eyes when she was shampooing my hair (not a big deal), but then she also managed to spritz my whole face with her water bottle while attempting to fix the nozzle. I'm surprised that I don't have little cuts on my face from her since she kept poking me with scissor blades while she was cutting my hair. Also, she kept burning my scalp while she was blow drying. On top of that, I basically sat in silence the whole time, since she wasn't much of a conversationalist, which is fine, just kind of awkward. When I told that I was expecting the layers to be a little more choppy and I preferred by hair to be blown out straight, she became a little defensive and frantic.

Towards the end of the hair cut, when she was touching up my hair with product, I was trying to rush her and told her everything was fine just because I wanted to get out of there. Needless to say, the outcome was not exactly what I wanted. I managed to walk out with the "Rachel" and I would have been okay with it if it was 1995.

I understand that the stylists at Aveda are students and still learning, but I was still expecting to get someone who had some sort of idea of what they were doing and something close to what I wanted. And I am not saying that this is a horrible place to go, because it was very nice and everyone was very professional. I'm just saying that the only way I would be willing to give this place a second chance is if they promise to never give me Stacy as my stylist ever again.

Don't Cry For Me. I'm Already Dead.

It is true what they say, you never know what you have until it's gone and I learned that the hard way. It's only been two weeks, and I am trying so hard to pull through. The days are much longer now and the nights are so so cold. I can't eat. I can't sleep. I can't even stand being in the same room because I can still feel the presence of what was. My life isn't the same and I feel like I am just going through the motions in these doldrums I've created with my grief.

You taught me how to laugh and cry. I know this may sound a bit cliche, but you helped mold me into the person I am today. You were always there for me when I needed you most. If I could turn back time, I would've shown you that I cared a little more and let you know how truly special you are to me. I never should have yelled at you the way I did and I hope you know I am sorry. I guess I always knew how to push your buttons. (Insert awkward nervous laugh.)

I hope that one day you will come back to me and that we can just pick up where we left off. You know, Gossip Girl starts up again in September. I hear they are picking up in Paris with B and Serena. Nothing would make me happier than to watch it on you like old times. We'll be going on season 4 together if you ever make it back to me. And yes, there is something there to help me get through the lonely nights, but I just want you to know that it's just a temporary fix. It doesn't even compare to you and what we had. You are everything to me and just know that I'm doing everything I can to fix you. I miss your flat screen so much.

And you know what, screw the people who think we have an unhealthy relationship. I didn't know how to love until you came into my life. They don't know what we have. We'll be together again if I have to go through hell and high waters. I knew you were the one from the very moment I saw you sitting there on display for all the world to see. You were always a cheeky little monkey. I knew right then and there that I had to have you. When you finally made it over to my place, you officially made my house a home. 

Please come back to me soon.

I love you, Samsung LCD.

Beer Pong For Kids?

So I was watching the Disney Channel per usual (it's fine because I'm pretty sure I'm going to be a cougar when I grow up), and I came across a commercial for Cuponk. You don't know what that is because you're not down with the kids like me. Let me know explain to you what it is, Cha Cha. Basically, it is an extreme version beer pong sans alcohol (as far as we know). This cup makes noises and flashes lights at you when you get the ball in there. Also, it looks like it comes with a sweet deck of cards.

Why this is remotely cool and why it is being targeted to children and not college students is beyond me. As soon as I saw this, I thought this would be awesome when your all crunked up. With this said,  though I feel like this product/commercial is subliminally promoting underage drinking, I also feel like it's prepping kids for college. Whooo! What do you think?

MMMMM... Joe Jonas

So, I was perusing the cool haps on the Disney Channel and came across a commercial for JONAS L.A. Now, I'm no cougar, but I will say, Joe Jonas was looking fooooooine. Check him out in their new video for "LA Baby". I got dibs. (Rawr.)

She Was Like John Rambo Meets Polly Pocket.

Dear Hit-Girl,

I must say that I was very impressed with your new film, Kick-Ass (which is in theaters now). Not only have I become the biggest advocate for this movie, but I have also decided to live my life according to its  philosophies. Personally, as a super hero enthusiast, it stood for everything I stand for: sweet costumes, gratuitous violence, and sassy one-liners. In other words, it is good old fashioned American fun for the whole family.  The fight scenes in this film are epic and you, my friend, are the baddest mother trucker this side of the Atlantic. You literally had me at the edge of my seat with my mouth wide open throughout the entire film. I was STUNNED and all of sudden everything in this sick sad world made sense to me. I haven't been this stoked about a movie since 300 Dark Knight Watchmen.


All my life, I wanted to a superhero and I wanted to be exactly like Batman. He is rich and powerful and also, pretty bad ass. My only qualm about him was that though he was able to beat the living be-jesus out of his foes, he never took the time to actually kill them and actually make them pay for their crimes other than putting them in Arkham Asylum. Now, that I have seen you in action, you are what I aspire to be. You are this crazy bad ass little girl that doesn't even mind if she cuts a bitch. The fact that your long term life goals involve $3 Million of stolen mob money in a duffel bag, a collection of sweet guns and knives, and beating people up makes me feel like I'm not alone in the world... figuratively. The fact that you can take on a whole slue of mobsters by yourself without even scared of getting shot makes me believe in dreams again.

Anyways, I just wanted to tell you that you are the coolest person I have ever seen. I know you are only 11-years-old, but I was hoping that I could maybe be your sidekick or see if wanted to be best friends or something. You have seriously made me reconsider a career as a Disney Channel super star. Though, I thought it was pretty awesome when you and your dad crushed that goon in the trash compactor AND got another guy to shoot himself involuntarily in the face with nothing but a knife and rope (double sweet), most people would say that your morals are a bit questionable. But lucky for you, I barely passed my ethics class. Whatever. Sure, you are a bit of a lone wolf (and I respect that), but I think that we could have a really good dynamic together. You with your too cool for school attitude and me with my rapier wit. Personally, I think that we would kick a lot of ass and take a lot of names.Taking over the world would definitely be realistic possibility. I may need that bazooka... and some knife training, but I'm a quick learner and I loves me a good fight and have a tendency to drop a few elbows.

Go ahead think about it and have your people get back to my people.


Warm Regards,


(idk my bff) Kim

PS You don't even need to pass my Batman vs Superman test. I totally know that you think Superman is a douche and that you prefer Batman. We're totes gonna be BFFL!

I Love You Like A Fat Kid Loves Cake... Or Do I?

Everyone is familiar with the Oedipus Complex and the Napoleon Complex. Today, I would like to take this time to educate you about the Fat Kid Complex. This complex is a group of largely unconscious, repressed ideas and feelings which center around the desire to be accepted as a fully functional, healthy normal adult instead of the bucket of pudge they were as a child. According to modern psychoanalytic miotic bioposy motion picture theory (Big words make it sound real, right?), the complex appears post puberty once the subject loses their baby weight, but close family and friends refuse to recognize them as a different person and still percieve them as some sort of freak Baby Huey. Growing up as a chubby kid, I have developed this complex innately and have suffered its repercussions.

For some reason, if you were a fat kid growing up, it will follow you for the rest of your life. Even if you lose the baby fat, your family and friends that knew you growing up will only see you as a fat kid. Take Jerry O'Connell for instance. Even though he is married to Rebecca Romijn and has had slue of crappy shows and horrible movies, he will be forever remembered as the fat kid from Stand By Me. You will always get XL sweaters from grandma for Christmas. When you visit distant relatives in far off lands, they will always tell you how they remembered how you were yay big and this wide. Even though you have taken your sweet time to hide mortifying photos of you in your bigger days, somehow your mother will always manage to bring out the one photo you have in a yellow polka dot bikini with all your little rolls hanging out when you bring someone over. (No, I'm not bitter at all.) Sure, it was cute then, but there is no need to relive the past.

Carl Jung insists that the core of this complex is the archtyple figure of the Maury Povich Baby, but he does not go on to explain the relationship between the subject and the said architype. The image of the Maury Povich Baby is not to be taken literally of course, but the meaning behind the Maury Povich Baby,  paired with the fact that parents actually feed babies eight sticks of melted butter instead of milk and 17 Denny's Grand Slams with a side of bacon, points to the ubiquitous existence of this particular archetype. Think about it. Babies on the Maury Povich show are morbidly obese because of their parents' needs to appease them and make them happy. Growing up, they may or may not lose this weight. If they do, great. But since they are already predisposed to this, their parents and other family have grown accustomed to them being a certain way and this way is apparently the chubby kid, that they never want to be again.

Case in point, Mom parental units of former chubby kids--we are no longer the chubby kids you raised, but young adults. We do not need to be reminded that we were overweight as children and no, we do not need to wear extra large clothing. Please slow your roll because your overparenting will only lead us to develop additional complexes and turn to binge drinking, promiscuity, and/or bulimia. K? Thanks. :)

...And You Thought Earth Girls Were Easy.

So I know that I may be late to the party when it comes to ABC's new show, V, but I'm just catching up on my new guilty pleasure that only further perpetuates my irrational fear of aliens. Anyways, after watching the first new episode, I have come to the conclusion that Anna, the head of these "visitors", is actually Baraka from Mortal Kombat. She manifests herself into this beast after mating (but right before eating her sperm donor) and getting herself all 16 and pregnant. Oops! I forgot to say SPOILER ALERT. I just wanted to share a little observation with you. :)

Working Out or Having Sex?

Contrary to popular belief, I'm a pretty laid back person. It takes a lot to get to me. Yeah, I don't like many people, but that doesn't mean I'm not nice to them. On the rare occasions, I see a fellow tenant in my building, I'm always sure to give them a smile and hope they have a pleasant day. It's just the courteous thing to do. In fact, I'm pretty sure it's in every lease and in the friendly neighbor handbook you get when you move in. (If you don't have one, you can obtain your copy at: www.itscommonsense.com.) Also, in this aforementioned handbook you will find your apartment's noise policies, which state on page 54 Section XXI Paragraph M:

...As a courtesy to your neighbors, there is no need to furiously fornicate and/or jump rope at all hours of the day/night... especially if your building is not sound proofed and your wholesome neighbor below you can pinpoint your exact location at every point in time.

Okay. You got me. There is no handbook, but there should be. Seriously though, folks, my upstairs neighbors are either hardcore about working out or hardcore porn stars. I find myself constantly asking an age old question: Are they working out or having sex? Whatever they're doing up there, they need to stop or at least do it at, I don't know, not peak sleep hours. Everyone knows I need my sleep or I'm not a joy to be around, as I usually am.

Whenever I am home, all I here is jumping and whipping sounds. At first, it was just jumping, but I could hear their bed creak, which led me to believe that they were just bumping uglies. Totally understandable. It happens. But then I started hearing it in other parts of my apartment. The jumping noises have moved from above my bed to above my bathroom and then above my kitchen. I thought nothing of it and thought my neighbors were just getting frisky all over the place. Again, nothing wrong with that. They are in the privacy of their own home. Before I knew it, these noises started to involve some sort of rope. (Let your imagination do what it will with that.) Were these people getting kinky? Or jumping rope? The noises became more and more frequent. All day and all night, I would just hear constant jumping. I was fine with it at first, but now, it's starting to get to me.

There have been a number of occasions where I have been tempted to march up there and tell them to cut it out, but part of me doesn't want to be that neighbor. I've wanted to do the old broomstick the ceiling, but I don't have a broom and if I did, I would not want to muck up my ceiling. What do I do? I'm asking for your advice, friend of friends.

Help!

Lost Lessons By IDK My BFF Kim

First and foremost, I would like to apologize for neglecting to update this blog, but trust me, I have a good reason. See, my life, as of late, has become consumed by a little phenomenon I like to call, Lost. Yeah, I know. I'm a little late to the party, but so what! I started watching this show a few weeks ago and became obsessed. Not only is this show wildly entertaining, but it taught me a few things about life that I never knew and/or confirmed what I already knew. So, friends, I'd like to share with you some Lost Lessons. (Oh, and for the sake of crazies who aren't up to date with the show (Meegan) and I know I'm not going to tip toe around things that happened, I guess this is where I am supposed to say: SPOILER ALERT.)

Lost Lesson 1: It's a Small World After All.

You know that game, 6 Degrees of Kevin Bacon? Or that social networking site, Facebook? In a nutshell, life is basically like that. We are all interconnected in a weird way. Lost shows this in its characters' flashbacks/flash forwards. Regardless of whether or not Flight 815 crashed on the island, these people's lives would still impact one another for better or for worse. Take the Jacob character for instance. He took it upon himself to see the main characters of the show at their most vulnerable moments (Kate and Sawyer as children, Jin and Sun at their wedding, Locke after he was thrown out of the window, etc.). And if the plane never crashed, Sawyer would've become a cop and he still would've worked with Miles who would set him up on a date with Charlotte, who he would still f the mess out of. I guess what I am trying to say is that fate has a funny way of working and the people who are meant to be in your life, will be in your life no matter what crazy path you choose.

Lost Lesson 2: You can take the girl out of the bull dyke, but you can't take the bull dyke out of the girl. (That doesn't sound right, but you get where I am going.)

Girl Fight, Fast and the Furious, S.W.A.T., and Lost. These are the most memorable movies that actress, Michelle Rodriguez, is most known for. FACT. These roles all call for the same type of woman: butch, intimidating, scary, borderline man-hating lesbian with emotional issues. FACT. Michelle Rodriguez is unfairly being typecast into these roles because she is the only woman in the world who's aura can emasculate a man, terrify a woman, and be the main suspect in a rape/homicide and still not be convicted for fear that a potentially more obscene and graphic Shawshank Redemption-esque rape scene may ensue. FACT. If anyone were to make a movie that called for a scary butch lesbian type that hides her feelings under a very scary butch exterior Michelle Rodriguez would be at the top of their casting list. FACT. Michelle Rodriguez scares the gum balls out of me. FACT. You get my point.

Lost Lesson 3: Ethnic people can be attractive too.

If you knew the pre-Lost me, you knew about my aversion to people of color. It's nothing personal. I just like my men like I like my teeth---straight, white, and strong. (Trust me. This was the least offensive analogy I could come up with.) Lost showed me that I should keep an open mind because there are good looking men from all over the world. The ageless Richard Alpert showed me that not all Spanish men are gay. Just because they are clean and pretty doesn't mean they enjoy the company of men. They are just more in touch with their feelings (duly noted after this passed episode) and have lush eyelashes that only make it look like they are wearing a lot of eyeliner. And when Sayid wasn't being the island's Geek Squad and assassinating/torturing/beating up people, he wasn't too shabby. He was also pretty romantic when he was trying to woo Shannon in the first season. Am I right, ladies? Then there is Jin, the light at the end of the tunnel. Just when I thought the Asian man could only evolve into rice burner loving racers or a contestant on ABDC, Jin proved me wrong. He's smart, sweet and loving, but he can still beat the crap out of someone. When the freighter blew up and he wasn't on the next few episodes, I was genuinely worried about his well being. I really didn't want him to die. If it weren't for Sawyer, Jin would definitely be the hottest guy on the island. (Insert obnoxious hoots and hollars here.)

Lost Lesson 4: Stereotyping is wrong.

To some extent, George Clooney's character in the film Up in the Air was right. It is "faster" to stereotype people. Hell, I'll even say it's just more convenient, but let me tell you, it is wrong, dear friends. You hear me? Wrong! After all, how wrong were the survivors of Flight 815 when they first got on the island? Sawyer accused Sayid of being a terrorist just because he is an Iraqi. Sayid assumed that Sawyer was the felon being escorted by the Air Marshall just because he was the southern man with a bad attitude and a gun. Michael hated Jin and Sun because he assumed that just because they were Korean, they hated all black people, but Jin only hated Michael because he thought that he stole his father-in-law's watch. Also, Jin and Sun were alienated because they couldn't speak english. Because of all their prejudices, it took a while for everyone to bond and work together to try to get off of the island. After opening their minds and having a little more patience, everyone seemed to grow more and more fond of each other.

Lost Lesson 5: Matthew Fox is really boring.

Remember the joke Seth Rogan told to Kather Heigl in the movie, Knocked Up? Well, you should. He asked, "You know what's interesting about Matthew Fox? NOTHING!" And after the first few episodes of Lost, I couldn't agree more. I mean, yeah, we get it, Matthew Fox aka Jack Shepherd, you are a doctor and you have daddy issues. Get over it. Everything he does episode is predictable: bitch/moan, woo Kate then cry over her, suture someone, flashback, daddy issues, back to the present, cue meaningless epiphany, ponder life, fade to black, rinse and repeat. Sure, he is crucial to the plot line of the show (debatable), but grow some balls and I'll fain a little more interest, Doc. With that said...

Lost Lesson 6: Love Triangles are Overrated.

Love triangles are always supposed to be juicy and keep the interest of the audience. Take a look at the kids of Dawson's Creek, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and even Saved by the Bell. They follow one simple formula: 2 Hot Guys + 1 Hot Girl + Crazy Sexual Tension Between All Parties = Successful Love Triangle. Right? Wrong. Lost just happened to f up this formula by using Matthew Fox, who may be easy on the eyes, but happens to be crazy boring. They got the hot girl part right with Kate, but she gets boring too since we are constantly reminded that she is a fugitive on the run. Unfortunately, this cancels out Jack Shepherd. They have one ace in the whole that keeps us entertained for a little bit. This is where Sawyer comes in, but unfortunately Lost still manages to prove this equation false. Watching scenes with Jack and Kate were almost painful since Jack was this lovesick puppy who was trying to act cool around Kate, but he would continue to fail. Kate knew about Jack's feelings and obviously liked the attention, but totally had a thing for Sawyer because let's face it, who wouldn't? But when the Jack would be distant, she felt the need to get physical with Sawyer. And since he is real life grown up, Sawyer would get all mushy and tell Kate know how he felt about her. This scared her and drove her to the good doctor. So she went back and forth between Sawyer and Jack, which got old real quick.

Lost Lesson 7: The Pompous A-Hole Always Gets Laid.

As long as we are on the subject, who would you rather sleep with: boring and lame Dr. Shepherd or hot bad ass con-man, Sawyer? I think the answer is blatantly obvious. If you wouldn't rather sleep with Sawyer, you're un-American. Every girl loves a bad boy (it's science). For some reason, the emotional insecurity and unstableness that they provide you when they decide to come around is so.... well, sexy. The woman on the island are no exception because Sawyer is the guy that gets laid the most. He's bedded Kate many a time, Ana Lucia (despite her huge wanger), Charlotte in the alternate universe, and even the baby doctor, Juliet. Le sigh. Sawyer. He's just the boy all the good girls want.

Lost Lesson 8: Everyone Should Have a Chubby Friend.

I'm pretty in love with Hurley (in a very platonic kind of way). So he sneaks ranch dressing into the jungle and sees dead people, but doggone it, I think it is part of his charm. Out of everyone on the show, he is definitely the most loyal and genuinely caring. Hurley made living on the island bearable--building the golf course and having a food party. He was the comic relief and he was sooo sweet. But when something is going down and Hurley doesn't like it, you best be listening to him. Had Locke listened to Hurley, the hatch probably wouldn't have blown up. Plus, I wouldn't not listen to him because he talks to dead people and stuff. Duh! It makes me wish I had a chubby curly haired friend named Hurley.

Lost Lesson 9: People who you think may be Jesus just may not be.

So, I may have Lostpedia-ed a few theories about the show and this led my to believe that John Locke may be Jesus. I know. I know. I couldn't have been more wrong. But in my defense, there was a lot of evidence pointing to him being Jesus. Locke had these healing powers, loved helping everyone, and the ability to talk to this Jacob (who I thought was God to some extent). Not to mention, he was super wise. Boon hung on his every word. He helped Charlie get over his drug addiction and eased Claire into motherhood. Locke also always spoke about his faith openly. His voice was almost motivating and his words were very sincere, which probably led him to have a lot of people trust him and become his follower. Then Locke decided to die and raise himself from the dead, which is also pretty Jesus-like (Happy Easter). From that point on, it was kind of down hill. Turns out that it was his blind faith that got him killed and made him into the murderous smoke monster. No. Big. Deal. He's a pretty bad man now and I don't know much about him. I just know he's definitely not supposed to be Jesus anymore. (Ruh roh.)

Lost Lesson 10: Don't Take a Beach Day for Granted.

When it's smoldering hot out and all you want to do is lay out, just be glad that you can leave. Somewhere out there, there could be a plane that crashed on a deserted island and they can't leave. These people may have to find away to just get by. And yeah, they may go a little stir crazy and paranoid which may or may not lead them to kill, but they have to do what they need to do to survive. Darwinism. Bitch.

This Valentine's Day Give Her Herpes... It'll Last Forever.

Joyce Brothers once said, "No matter how love sick a woman is, she shouldn't take the first pill that comes along." This couldn't be proven to be more true on Valentine's Day. How many valentines have you gone through in your life? I know I've been through a few. All a guy needs to do is give you flowers, take you to dinner, and tell you that you're beautiful. Sounds pretty simple, right? Wrong. For some reason, it never turns out this way--at least for me. Since the dawn of my dating career, I have been doomed to have the worst valentines ever.

I had my first real valentine when I was 15-years-old. At this point, I wasn't sure if I was allowed to date, so I kept it a secret and for the most part it was a relationship of convenience. He was old enough to pick me up from school and I didn't like taking the rape van my high school called a bus home, so I stuck it out for a little bit (And by "a little bit" I mean five years! WOOF!). Anyways, I ended up sneaking my much older boyfriend into my house after school when no one was home. We exchanged presents. He got me some sort of stuffed animal and a flower and I stole some visor from the mall (I really didn't care to spend money on him). Blah blah blah. My mother came home early from work and it got awkward. Knowing she wouldn't approve of my male guest, I had to think fast. My best idea at the time: he had to escape through my window. Throughout my high school career, I would become infamous for this. So much so that my mother found it necessary to rearrange my room in way that prevented me from accessing my window.

This is bad, but it gets worse...

Freshman year of college, I found out I had to get all four of my wisdom teeth out. My mother decides to schedule my oral surgery the morning of Valentine's Day. Groggy from the anesthesia, I felt like I was drunk/roofied for the majority of the day. Since my face was all swollen and my mouth was numb my mom decided that I be bedridden. My date that evening shows up and I'm still in my pajamas. He obviously couldn't take me out so we stayed at my parent's house, which was weird because hated him since, they found him under my bed a few times. I spent the rest of the evening watching The Notebook with Ramen noodles dribbling off my face and onto my Justin Timberlake t-shirt.

Kind of embarrassing, but given the circumstance... still really awkward.

Sophomore year, I started seeing a sophisticated upperclassmen while I was still technically dating my aforementioned boyfriend. He had recently moved to Florida, and I didn't want to make it work. I decided to tell him that I wanted to break on up with him the night before Valentine's Day. Relieved and thought to be in the clear, I finalized plans with the new boy for the big day and went to bed without a care in the world. Early the very next morning, I am bombarded with text messages from my ex-boyfriend telling me he is on his way to my dorm. Remember, how I said that he had recently moved to Florida? Yeah, I went to Loyola University in Chicago. He decided to take the first flight out of Florida and surprise me at my dorm. I know what your thinking and no, it was not romantic.

After grabbing all of my things, I staked out at my friends house across campus all morning and spent most of my day in class downtown without being seen. My ex-boyfriend spent the day in the lobby of my dorm from about 8 AM to 6 PM. He texted and called me all day crying and wanting to fix things. I remember him refusing to leave until he saw me in person so I could at least accept the flowers he got me. Since I didn't want to see him and had to get ready for my date, I had one of my G.P. (gay posse) go down there, get the flowers and kick him out. (Thank God for the gays.) Thankfully, he left and I made it back to my dorm just in time to get ready for my date.

Luckily, my regularly bitchy roommate was understanding/had a date with her one-eared man friend (a story for another time) and left our room so I could be alone with my date. He was a little put off by all the flowers in my room (my roommate and I also got some from my G.P. and some of our girlfriends). I told him everything that happened that day and he was really sweet about it. He also got me flowers (yes, they were nicer than what my ex had gotten me) and had a message written in binary code (Shut up! He was Computer Science major!), which I had to translate into English since he had it written in Tagalog. The note said: Will you be mine? (Aww.) It would've all been super sweet, but I was put off when he decided he told me he still had his "flower". Things got weird. We only dated for a few more weeks.

It was a pretty hectic day.

Going into Valentine's Day my junior year, I had an amazing boyfriend (at least I thought so at the time). He was much older than all of my other boyfriends and we had so much fun together. Blindly, I thought that this was it. I was wrong--so very, very wrong. (I'll probably explain why in a future post.) Anyways, he decides to tell me that he doesn't believe in giving a girl flowers or candy on Valentine's Day and for some reason, I accepted that. Instead, he booked a room at the Drake for us. I thought this was great since I had never been there before.

We get to the hotel and I thought it was fabulous. Everything was very rococo and old fashioned. I just wanted to relax in our fancy room. He didn't, but obliged and decided to eat some of the chocolate I got him. This guy was a choco-holic to the extreme, which is fine, except that chocolate made him gassy--and not just a little gassy. When this guy farted, it smelled like he had a dead skunk inside of him and its remnants came out of his ass through a rotten onion and poopy baby diaper scented air diffuser. Now that you have way too much information about that, I was taking a nap and he wanted to wake me up because he was bored. Now, there was a number of ways he could have woken me up, but he decided to wake me up by putting his hairy pasty ass in my face and farting.

The stench that came out of him was so wretched that I started tearing as soon as it hit my face. I screamed and pushed him away from me. He thought it was hilarious and I wanted to kill him. I was livid. I had to take a shower in order to feel clean again. The rest of our stay was awkward since I would not speak to him. Worst. Valentine's. Day. Ever.

Needless to say, this was bad, real bad, Michael Jackson.

Hearts, flowers, candy, and a baby shooting you in the ass so you fall in love? Poor marketing and an endorsement for child labor? That's all you got, Valentine's Day? To be honest, I'm not impressed. None of that truly embodies the actual chaos that ensues on this stupid day where you are obliged to celebrate this stupid thing we call "love".

On that note, Happy Valentine's Day! :)

Holy Missing Batman.

Loose Skin & Old Balls... Gross!

If you're like me, going to the gym can be somewhat of a drag. After a long day at the office, the abundance of caffeine that you had throughout the day is making you crash and burn. (Womp. Womp.) The last thing on your mind is working out. In most cases, you just want to have a drink at the bar and some chicken wings. No big. Let me tell you guys, that is not the answer. Your answer is at the gym. Trust me. Look passed the treadmills and the douchey personal trainers. Go beyond the weight room and the awkward men in spandex. Enter the locker room. In there and only in there, will you find the ultimate motivation: big sweaty naked old people.

Strange, I know, but true. Nothing makes me want to work out more than seeing a locker room full of awkward naked people because they are exactly what I don't want to look like au natural. It's awesome that old people work out, don't get me wrong. They have to get their blood pumping somehow since I'm not willing to accept the fact that they are, you know, "active" in the biblical sense. In fact, I say, more power to them. Live long and prosper or whatever it is you say to old people who are preventing dying at a reasonable age. I'm glad that they have such a positive body image and feel the need to flaunt it. I'm not glad that these awkward naked people feel the need to just hang out... well, awkwardly, while everyone is getting dressed. And if you noticed, these nudists are 40-years-old and beyond. Everyone younger than that is rushing in and out of the locker room and staring at the floor while these blue hairs are having tea. Saggy full frontal tea. (Yes, I hope you vomited in your mouth a little thinking about that because I did.)

I don't know what it's like in the men's locker room, but in the women's, there are big old naked ladies either doing their make up in all their glory or standing underneath the dryer to punish all the young people who have this image emblazoned on their retina for the rest of their lives. (Cringe.) These naked folk are always old and always big. There is a lot of floppiness and poor personal grooming. Things are saggy where they aren't supposed to be. And you realize that gravity is not... well, you realize how gravity can be an evil, evil bitch. 

If the sight of old naked people, literally, flopping around doesn't make you want to fix your own situation and prevent what is to come, I'm sure it will help you develop an eating disorder. You have my guarantee. (Thumbs up.)

Chill Out, Freckles McGee.

Dear Jersey Shore Cast (aka The Classiest People I've Ever Seen In My Life),

In just eight frickin' weeks you changed my frickin' life. Your show spoke to me in a way that, you know, was so frickin' relatable. Every frickin' Thursday, I like frickin' loved all of your crazy drunken bar fights and misadventures. With all the Gotti hair gel and cheetah print and bedazzled t-shirts, I totally like lived vicariously through alls of you guys. (Okay, I'll stop with the poor grammar.) It's safe to say you seven (let's face it, Angelina is a chump and no one even remembers her anyway), are my heroes and when I'm 27-years-old, I can only hope to be like all of you.

Yes, I am well aware that I am not of Italian descent, however, as proven by this fine program, being a guido or guidette is a lifestyle that one becomes accustomed to. Had my parents been responsible and thought about my future and my well-being from the day I was born, they would have stayed in Jersey where I could have possibly reached my star potential. Being the only non-Italian person on The Shore, I would have helped the break boundaries as your cool neighbor or something. Also, I feel like you guys would've received less flack from everyone for "negatively" depicting Italian-Americans. I didn't see a single Italian stereotype. I just saw seven (remember, I don't count Angelina because she sucks) young individuals who were looking to party, get in fights (whether or not it be with other individuals or the music at the bar) and smush. Who am I to judge? Personally, it sounds like a lot of fun. He who hath not smushed, cast the first stone. Am I right or am i right?

On the real, I feel like the person who I am today is made up of little bits of you guys. Vinny, like you, I have a college degree. (High five for higher education.) Like Sammi, I, too, am "the sweetest bitch you will ever meet but [you] don't fuck with me" because I will literally cut you. I mean, I keep a razor in underneath my tongue. Coincidence alert: Ronnie is juiced and I LOVE juice (preferably grapefruit, pineapple, and/or cranberry). When I go out, I tease the mess out of hair so I can get a poof just like Nicole "Snookie" Polizzi. Just like sweet, sweet Pauly D, I like to end all of my war stories with a random fact of the day (Remember when you told us about how you punched a guy in the nose and then wrapped it up with: "It only takes nine pounds of pressure to break someone's nose"? Or the other time you were talking about how sometimes you have to hang out with a girl a few times before you engaged in smushing and explained that was how you knew they weren't a whore?). JWoww, I'm not there yet, but because of you, I'm inspired to invest in a ginormous pair of knockers (Why not, right?), especially since I feel like they aided you in gaining the opportunity to see Pauly's... uh... piercing. (What I'm curious?) Mike, I'm sorry, brah, but I really have nothing in common with you. But you know, you are cool. Whatever.

Anyways, I basically wanted to make sure that you guys don't flake out on your upcoming appearances like you did a few weeks ago because I will get real heated. I've already got my tan, my "sexy sophisticated" club shirt from JWoww's line (in the yellow AND blue), and so much hairspray in my poof that I could literally be set on fire if someone lit a cigarette, ah-right?! Fact, Sammie and Ronnie broke up on the reunion show, but I'm counting on you guys to be at McFadden's on Feburary 4th to frickin' party. (So what?) I don't care if there have been reports about Ronnie creeping on other girls. Get over it and party in Chi-City. Pauly D, JWoww, and The Situation: I swear to God if you don't show up to Joe's on Weed Street on the 19th of February and on March 6th, I will back hand you so hard that you will think that you are The Three Frickin' Stooges. So don't be a bunch of frickin' mooks. Alls I want to do is beat the beat up with you.

Well, I've said my peace. So don't f up. See you, kids soon.

Warm Regards,


(idk my bff) KIM

P.S. If I can be frank for a second, you guys need to stop being a bunch of jabronis (Mikey and Pauly D, sources say you're the cause of the problem. So quit it and be good.) and accept whatever the f MTV wants to give you for season 2. Getting $10,000 per episode for your sophomore season is a pretty sweet deal for 12 episodes. Jenni, that's a lot of ham. Snookie, that's a lot of frickin' pickles. You all better be back (minus Angelina because she's a bartender and that means she does "like, important things"). Don't forget, I don't like change.

If Morgan Freeman Can, So Can I.

Life. What a silly little topic, right? We've only got one and we have to make the most of it. But what do we do with our lives? What are we doing with our lives? What are we supposed to be doing with it? What do we want to do with our lives? What do we need to do? Do we live life on the edge or do we play it safe? I'm sure these are all questions you ask yourself when you're in your early mid-20's and trying to figure it all out. It's a little cliche, but I'm finding it to be very true.

I mean, don't let the face fool you. I'm 23-years-old and I'm not getting any younger. I have no idea where my life is headed and I'm not exactly sure where I want it to go. In the wake of Cha Cha Lee's birthday (What are you like 50 now?) and in honor of MTV's new, The Buried Life, which despite all of my unwillingness to tune in, I probably will since Glee and Gossip Girl will be on hiatus until April (WOOF!), I began to ponder my own life--where I am, who I am, and where I want to be. You are only young once so I thought, what the hell. I've compiled my very own bucket list where you will find everything that I want to do before I turn 30 (because let's be real, we all know 30 is synonymous with death).

1. Travel the world. There are so many places I want to see. I want to be able to say that I have been to all seven continents and that I have visited all 50 states at least. I would love to back pack through Europe while my hips and knees are still working. And of course, by "back pack through Europe" I mean, stay at snazzy hotels and go on fabulous shopping sprees and eat the finest cuisines. Duh. I guess, it doesn't even have to be Europe. It would just be amazing to go anywhere in the world.
   
   
2. Buy a pair of Christian Louboutin heels. I know that it is impractical to spend 6 months of rent on a pair of heels that I would rarely wear because I want to preserve them and keep them immaculate, but come on! I'd be fabulous.
   
   
3. Learn to swim. I think it's time. Standing in 4 ft of water in the pool gets annoying when the little kids start splashing around and you get the butt of a noodle in the face (okay, the noodle in the face may or may not be my fault when I try to stand and balance on it). For some reason I'm deathly afraid of deep body's of water. I have no idea why. It probably has something to do with almost drowning in the Atlantic Ocean when I was 12, but I don't know probably not. I just feel like I need to learn how to swim. It's probably that survivor instinct I have.
   
   
4. Join the next Real World cast. Yes, I know this show sucks and has sucked since the season after Las Vegas. Yes, Real World: Washington, D.C. is weak. But come on, guys! Remember when we were 13 and you watched The Real World religiously? If you were anything like me, I bet you thought, Yup, when I turn 18 I'm sending in my audition tape. Then you turn 18 and then you realize you're not old enough to drink and you would be that lame underaged roommate who couldn't party. Then you turn 21 and realize alcohol makes you crazy and lose your inhibitions; and you don't want your mom and dad to see you hook up with everything with a pulse in the hot tub. Blah. Blah. Blah. You end up embarrassing your family and giving your grandmother a heart attack because you win a wet t-shirt contest. Yadda. Yadda. Yadda. Time flies, and all of sudden, BAM! You're 23 and a half and only have a year to even be considered to be on the show AND you realize your audition tape would've been so much better if you taped it right after your skeez ex dumps you. But hey, pop quiz: Whaddaya got to lose? Answer: Nothing because you're pretty sure ass is on the internet anyway. To quote a great man named Ricky Bobby, "I've sent in my application to The Real World, so I'm puttin' a lotta eggs in that basket, the MTV basket."
   
   
5. Attend Comic-Con. Not Wizard World. Not Emerald City. I need to make a pilgrimage to the Comic-Con. It is an absolute must. We all know I'm kind of a nerd and this is my mecca. Don't judge.
   
   
6. Buy a condo. Slowly but surely, I'm going to make it happen. It's about time I buckle down and own some property.
   
   
7. Star in my own successful Disney Channel sitcom. I only have a good ten to fifteen years of looking like I'm 17, but I will only have the tolerance and patience to deal with my overwhelming tween fans for about seven. Anyways, if you haven't heard me plead my case as to why I should be the next Disney Channel star go ahead and click here.
   
   
8. Start a fight club.. or at least a crazy bar fight. If you know me, you know I love punching and kicking. I've really only been in one real fight and that was when I was like seven. Some kid whipped a baseball at me and I twisted his arm til he was begging for mercy--NBD. What was I supposed to do? He drew first blood! Anyways, I've been hankering to be part of a good old cat fight for a while now. Watching The Jersey Shore is only helping to reignite that inner fight I have in me (i.e. JWoww beating the crap out of that girl). I would love to feel raw human flesh being crushed by my fist from my mad right hook and seeing the large imprint of my massive cocktail ring on some broad's face. I like trouble, so why can't I cause a ruckus of my own... just once. Plus, sometimes you just need to choke a bitch. Am I right?
   
   
9. Get arrested. Well, at least cuffed. I think it would be cool to have a real mug shot. It would also be pretty sweet to be in a line up... and try to look especially suspcious. (Insert shifty eyes here.)
   
   
10. Go to Vegas and party with my girlfriends. Basically, I'm thinking The Hangover meets Sex in the City sans the weird looking red head. What's one crazy weekend of partying with free drinks (because let's face it, having a vagina is basically like having a Black Amex in the sense it's guaranteed VIP) in fabulous clothes and amazing weather with a group of great girls? I hope that we all get black out drunk and find a tiger in the bathroom because that would be AWESOME.
    
    
11. Get married. Womp. Womp. Don't get it twisted. I had to drop this bomb. Note: I definitely don't want to get married any time soon and absolutely not right this second, but yes, I do want to get married before I am thirty. Whatever. Sue me.
    
    
12. Become a YouTube sensation. I need a catchy tune, a clever rhyme and a universal vision. To be honest, I've been so close, but kind of blew it. This is definitely a work in progress, but, oh, it will happen. There are a few ideas a-brewing in this little noggin of mine. My time will come and I will be a YouTube queen. You will see. Trust me, I'm going to be as big as the Dramatic Gopher. Just you wait and see. I'm gonna make something out of myself, mom!
    
    
13. Go for a ride on an elephant. F horses. Everyone can ride a stinkin' horse. Big whoop. Going for a ride on an elephant would be sweet! Maybe it's because I just saw Aladdin recently, but wouldn't that be the grandest entrance ever? I'd be scared to fall off, but whatever, then I could say I broke my arm because I fell off an elephant.
    
    
14. Have a drink in every bar in the great city of Chicago. This has been a goal of mine since the ripe ol' age of 21. At first, I wanted to achieve this goal in a year from my 21st birthday, but soon found it was impossible especially since I would black out and stumble into places. Basically, I just lost track. I know that I have been to a handful already, but I will get there. It is only a matter of time. Don't mind me if you see me peeing in an alley or throwing up in front of your building.
    
    
15. Be an extra for one of the Christian Bale Batman movies. I mean, duh.
    
    
16. Reunite the best band in the entire world, NSYNC. I am very vocal about this cause. I've written letters and waited outside of Justin Timberlake's house and even watched him sleep. Whatever. We all know it is JT's stubbornness and solo success that this group is failing to reunite. We need to band together as fans and show them that the world would be a better place if, and only if, they got back together for at least one show. I mean, the Spice Girls did it.

I'm sure I will be adding to the list. So stay tuned, kiddies...