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. :)

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.