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. :)

Call Me Kevin Bacon, I'm One Degree Away From a Murderer

Hi. My name is Kim and I'm a recovering tabloid junkie. This is a problem I can't stop---stemming from the first time I ever laid my eyes on an US Weekly. I get the shakes if I don't get my Perez Hilton fix and I'm addicted to The Superficial. My dream job is to be a snarky/sassy commentator on VH1 like Michael Ian Black and Hal Sparks. Now, my dream has become one step closer to coming true.

I work for a trade publication in this beautiful city that I call home. Along with three fabulous ladies (yes... even you, Megan), I manage all the advertisements that go into every one of our magazines. The day began just like any other--checking my email, making follow up phone calls, chatting away about our favorite tv shows (among other things) and Megan Wants a Millionaire just so happened to be our flavor of the month.

As per usual, I'm call a particular advertiser and everything is peachy keen. It was just another follow up about a proof I had sent out. The secretary tells me that my contact is not available because he is dealing with "heavy issues" and that he will not be back in the office for a while. Because this is just an excuse I hear everyday, I just ask her if she had herself had any feedback. She told me that she didn't and that the owner of the company was really the one I had to wait to speak to, but he now he was dealing with family issues since his son had been all over the news. Of course, I didn't really care; I just wanted to do my job. Then she revealed that his son was RYAN JENKINS!

In case you didn't know, Ryan Jenkins (also known as "The Smooth Operator") was a finalist on Megan Hauserman's reality show, aptly titled, Megan Wants a Millionaire, is a "person of interest" in being charged with the murder of swim suit model, Jasmine Fiore, as of late. There is literally an "international manhunt" for this man. He fled on foot to Canada!! (source 1 source 2)

Out of shock and my own curiousity, all I could respond with was, "Megan Wants a Millionaire Ryan Jenkins?" With what could of been substituted with a "DUH!", the secretary very professionally stated that the owner of the company would not want to speak about it. After she said she would relay my message, I could tell that she was a little relieved and happy that she was able to tell me about the news.

I hung up the phone. How crazy is that? I mean, what are the chances? As far as I know, Megan and I were the only people in the world that watched MWAM and we are basically directly working with this guy's father! I am basically working directly with a murderer's father! He is my client. It is pretty intense and I'm definitely the wrong person to be working with them because I definitely have the biggest mouth in the world, but holy crap. I'm one degree from a murderer VH1.

If this ever gets on Best Week Ever, I would dump--just straight out dump. If only there was some way that I could work with Real and Chance, Bret Michaels, Daisy de la Hoya, and New York...then and ONLY then would my life would be complete.

In other news, Happy Birthday, Dad! Thanks for making me. :)