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.

I'll Bet Living in a Nudist Colony Takes All the Fun Out of Halloween

At age 9, I found out Santa Claus wasn't real. I found red lipstick on the glass of milk I had left out for him that Christmas Eve to wash down the chocolate chip cookies I had left for him. The innocence of my childhood was shattered at that very moment. From that point on, I knew it was just my mother and father behind every major figure of my childhood and I made sure that they knew about it.

When Christmas rolled around again, instead of writing a letter to Santa, I addressed my mother and referred to my father as the reindeer. Every time I lost a tooth, I asked her for the money instead of putting it underneath my pillow for the Tooth Fairy. Come Easter, I was picking out every item that was to go in my basket because I knew that the whole Easter Bunny thing was garbage. As I grew older, my parents grew tired of my smart aleck nonsense. Needless to say, I became less and less enthused about the holidays. Christmas, Easter, Thanksgiving, even weddings, graduations, and birthdays were definitely not my cup of tea. Though there is one holiday in particular that grew on me as I became older, and that, my friends, is Halloween.

I wasn't into dressing up for Halloween in my teen years, but as soon as I turned 21, I discovered the liberty that alcohol brought when you are in a costume. I've dressed up as everything from Laura Croft to a sexy Leonidas (sans the beard, of course) and Batman (not Batgirl because she is lame). To this day, I don't fully remember exactly what happened on a Halloween weekend. However, there was a lot of photographic evidence that proves that I had a lot of fun. It is the one weekend of the year that you can let go of your inhibitions and be anyone that you want to be. Best of all, no one can take that away from you.

No one has any responsibilities on Halloween. There are no family obligations tied to this wonderful holiday. There is no Halloween dinner to be at at on time and there are no presents to be exchanged. You will never come home to find out Halloween is not real. Your parents can never suck the joy out because you will be with your friends balls deep in jello shots. No one will never be too old to celebrate this fine holiday. Anything goes on Halloween.

Think about it, instead of candy, you get booze. Instead of handing out candy, you get drunk. No one is ever too old to wear a costume. If you don't want to wear pants that day, you don't have to. Want to make out with a penguin? Do it because you know someone will be wearing a penguin suit. No one will judge you. In fact, every one is friends on Halloween. It's the law. And did I mention you can drink... a lot... in a costume? For some reason, beyond me, getting belligerent in a costume, is always better than getting drunk in civilian clothing. I think it's science.

Remeber, if you are coherent, you're not celebrating the spirit of Ol' Hallow's Eve hard enough. So, get drunk and be merry. Get crazy and have fun. I better see some vomit on the sidewalks (that isn't my own). :)

Happy Halloween, kids.

If It's Tourist Season, Why Can't We Kill Them?

I don't know about you, but I hate walking around Michigan Avenue (or anywhere with shops, statues, pigeons, restaurants, bars, etc.) and not being able to walk at a normal pace to wherever I need to go because some honky tonk from Wisconsin gets distracted by the way Water Tower place catches the light. If you are going to take pictures of trolleys and fountains because they don't exist in your hometown because your town is not civilized, at the very least do so on the side of the street and not in the midst of traffic. That is just rude and ignorant. As a resident of this fair city, I am not above walking through your photo, pushing and/or shoving to get through and I do not care if you happen to be in my line of fire. There are buses and trains that I need to catch. It is not my fault you're a retard that stops in the midst of crowd of busy people rushing to get somewhere.

In short, what I'm trying to say is: tourists suck. They are hillbillies who are amazed by us city folk for some crazy backwards reason. I mean, I'm happy that for the first time in your miserable life you've finally reached your dreams and walked through a revolving door, but get the f out of my way. The normal weekend influx of tourists gives me enough anxiety as it is and now, they want the 2016 Olympics here? You have got to be joking! Not to sound like a selfish brat or anything, but I'm really thinking about how this will inconvenience everyone as a whole. After all, it takes a village...

Sure, this tourism thing is good for Chicago, but think of this city's people. It's already moderately congested here, but that's bearable. It's tough to get on the Red Line going north when there is a Cubs game, think of what a pain in the ass it will be to go anywhere when there are Olympic Games! Northbound. Southbound. We're all screwed. And you know how annoying is it now when people ask you for directions on the bus or train? Yeah. It is only going to get ten billion times worse when are more tourists running a muck around town with their don't-cha-know's and we're-not-from-around-here demeanors.

Also, with the crazy influx of people, there will only be more homeless people and they will only be crazier and more dangerous. This would only threaten our lives more since we live here and have to deal with them. I mean, it's bad enough that sometimes we find homeless people sneaking into our bathroom at work (and yes, it's true!!!), but these tourists are going to give them more money because more likely than not, they have never seen a homeless before since they usually populate metropolitan areas.

The tourists aren't just going to be at the Olympics either. You know they are going to want to see the museums and see what it's like to shop at a store that isn't Wal-Mart. The lines are going to be so much longer. We'll never get to do anything we normally do because it will take too long and we will be forced to do all of our shopping online since we don't want to deal with all the craziness the tourists cause. We'll be traumatized when our orders are wrong and we don't get our meds from the doctors in time. I can see nothing but bad things to come.

The tourists are really the main reason I don't want the Olympics here. They're pretty much just going to ruin everyone's lives. As far as I am concerned with Chicago being the 2016 Olympics, I say no thank you, World. Though I do appreciate the consideration, I don't want to deal with the tourists.

Quit your job. Start a fight. Prove you're alive.

My mom, Cheyenne, says that I have too much pent up frustration and that I should channel all my anger into something positive. I really don't think that I get angry that often. So what if I get a little cranky when there's traffic in the morning because of stupid tourists wandering around or because of Oprah deciding to close off 1/3 of The Loop to tape the premiere of her show. And just because I made one person cry with a few low blows about their family being inbred or how their friend looks like Princess Fiona because they didn't like my shirt, it doesn't mean I am overly defensive. Last I checked, not getting your way is something to get upset about. It's not just "a little spilled milk" when that happens to me. And I hardly ever get aggressive. Who hasn't been known to throw an elbow into a face or two? He who hasn't thrown a squirrel across an open field in their hey day cast the first stone, k? Exactly. Don't go around judging me. I've never lost my temper... per se, but long story short, when mom said I needed a hobby to harness all of my negative chi, I realized my true calling: FIGHTING.

Ever since I could recall, I've wanted to start some sort of "fight club", if you will, where you can just gather a big group of average Joes and beat the crap out of each other. We would use this fighting as some sort of therapy or as some sort of escape from our mundane lives. I don't know how this would crossover in middle America especially with today's economy, but it would be fun to gather in some sort of bar basement and fight. I guess I would just have to find a group of people who didn't ever speak about this aforementioned fight club I am proposing. (Insert shifty eyes here.)

Now that I have insurance, I wouldn't mind punching someone in the ear just because I could since I can afford to pay for the repercussions of my actions and since I'm half ninja and all (little known fact about me... write that down). Personally, I think unnecessary violence as seen in such films as Rambo and Gamer, is funny but some people frown upon it. To think about it, I don't know too many people who would, so I guess I would have to find other people that wouldn't mind getting punched in the ear by me. The more I think about it, the more realistic alternative to this would be to just take boxing lessons and take them I shall.

From boxing lessons, I plan to start kickboxing, and from kickboxing, I will probably get into Muy Thai and eventually become a regular on the amateur fight circuit. Everyone in the underground fighting ring of Chicago will know the new "Thrilla in Manila" (sorry Paquio) and the name Kimmie Kerosine---one punch to the face will leave you looking like a burn victim or something equally catchy. Some kid will make up the catch phrase later. But anyways, from there, I will take over and become Queen of the Fight (Get it? It's a play on words refrencing the popular Whitney Houston song, "Queen of the Night").

Then on one gloriously cold day in the midst of December, Dana White, will discover me and ask me to join the UFC because I would have already beat up every single woman MMA fighter as far as the eye can see. I'd beat everyone up with one swift round house kick, a quick one-two punch, and a quick elbow to the face. With those three moves, I would earn every belt from every weight class. That's right, every weight class. The only way, I could be better is if I beat the crap out of myself, but that is just way too existentialistic (yes, that is a real word). I'd be so good that they would have to make a NEW new American Gladiators just so that I can tear up prime time television just as much as pay-per-view. By the time I surpass my prime, which is probably going to be when I'm 27-years-old, I think that I will have to retire on top and join the cast of Dancing with the Stars. I can only be 99.9% sure that I would champion that show too.

God, I'm awesome.

The point is, I'm not an angry person and I don't have anger issues. I just like to fight and/or cause fires.

"I WILL EAT YOUR BABIES, BITCH."

Eric Northman, Be My Maker

Dear Eric Northman,

This may not be the time or the place since you are dealing with the loss of Godric (who was very bad ass if I may say so), but please be my maker. I think that I would make a kick ass vampire minion. I wouldn't even drink True Blood because if I'm going to be a vampire, I sure as hell will not half ass it and drink synthetic crap. If it helps, I already own a pair of leather pants, so I will fit right into your nest and if you want to move this vampire craze up north, I will be more than happy to be the sheriff of whatever area Chicago is.

I want you to be my maker because you have power. Power is hot. Even if you weren't Sherriff of Area 5, you would still own Fangtasia, which means you have ambition and drive since you are an entreprenuer. It is also very important to me that you are my maker because you answer to no man and I like that because I hate authority (F the police... yeah, I said it, WHAT?).

Also, you are so much cooler than those TWILIGHT nobodies. They're all virginal and too scared to suck blood. If Edward Cullen were my maker I would die. He's so sensitive and always wants to talk about feelings. I know that you can be sensitive too, but I like that you are more about business time... if you know what I mean (insert cat noise here). And even though I like glitter, I'm glad you don't get all shiny in the light. That's a little too flamboyant... even for a vampire.

Bill is cool and all, but I would rather have you be my maker because you are so much more broody and mysterious. He's all pastier than a normal vampire and all about doing the right thing. I'm more for ripping people apart and trying to not get blood in my highlights. So hot. Also, you seem to have Pam in check and I like that. Mr. Compton doesn't even know what to do with Jessica.

Speaking of Pam, I like her and all, but I would do whatever you wanted without question. I wouldn't care if I ruined my favorite pumps. If you were my maker, I wouldn't even think and just do because like you said, there is no bond stronger than that between a vampire and his maker. ;)

Unlike Sookie, I don't even need to drink any of your blood to be attracted to you. Hell, I don't even need to be glamoured. To be honest, I wasn't even attracted to you until you got hair cut because I really wasn't feeling you with long hair and I'm not a fan of blonds. But your so tall and broody. And I like that your not afraid to cry.

If you do not want to be my maker, that is cool. I can be your human pet, whatever. You're just way hot and if it were possible, I would like have your babies. Too bad we cannot procreate. Our babies would be pure sex. :)

Anyways, I hope you think about being my maker. We could rule the world, Eric Northman, and it would be sweet.

Love Always,

(idk my bff) Kim

Good Morning, Chicago.

Ah. The sun is shining. There is dew on the leaves. Birds are chirping... kind of. The construction site across the street is overpowering the birds, but you can hear their faint song somewhat as a gust of fresh air rushes to your face as you walk out of your building and make your way to walk. It is going to be a good day.

You see the joggers jogging about with their noses up in the air and their smug yeah-I'm-better-than-you-because-I- get-up-early-to-work-out demeanor. (Why is that the majority only wear really short shorts or really really tight clothes?) Then the little old woman you see rain or shine passes you with her dog who looks more like it is taking her for the walk since she can barely control him. You walk underneath at least one scaffolding before you arrive at your bus/train stop and pace anxiously with the other commuters waiting for your favorite mode of transportation to arrive.

It does not matter if you take the bus or the train, but for some reason it always smells the same--that homeless/haven't showered in months smell. But for some reason, there is something about the scent of piss and last night's vomit on an early morning that just starts your day off right. If it didn't smell as rancid as it did, it wouldn't be public transportation, would it?

The best feeling in the world is getting on an empty bus or cart. Having your own seat is basically a miracle. All your problems disappear. You put your Ipod on and just lose yourself, jam out a little bit--perhaps read the Red Eye because you can since you have so much room. Hell, you even pull out a pen and start the crossword puzzle. It is just amazing. Everything is turning up Milhouse.

If you make it to your final destination with your own seat, you are just on top of the world. But if somewhere between point A and point B someone sits next you, you best believe that person becomes your mortal enemy for violating your personal space. The whole rest of the way you are picking out every possible thing that could be wrong with them in your mind. It gives you anxiety and you have mini panic attacks when someone sits next to you. At that point, they are ruining not just your day... but your whole life.

It is all a mind game too--like it is a personal attack on you. They brush up against you while they are rummaging through their crap. You give them a dirty look and kind of "accidently" nudge them with your elbow... hard. The a-hole pulls out a newspaper and totally invades your person space. You sigh loud enough for them to hear and roll your eyes. Before you know it, this mother fucker is all over your shit and basically sitting on your lap. You start breathing heavy and freaking out. It gets really hot and you notice this piece of shit is sweating all over you... and they are wearing so much eau de toilette that you start dry heaving. You wonder, WTF! Why me, God? There are 700 open seats, even rows without people in them! (God points laughs because He hates you.)

The commute you take every single day feels about five hours longer. The calm morning turns into a neverending nightmare. There are friggin pigeons everywhere. The cars honking in the midst of traffic give you a major headache. Those goddamn Green Peace people are asking you to save the children/polar bears/environment. As you flick them off, a huge gust of wind comes and ruins your hair as your about to walk into your office.

Man, I love this city.