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!