I see Kim Kardashian in the mirror.

It's a new year and I've made no new resolutions. I'm dealing with enough from last year's commitment to Super Heroism. I've been feeling guilty the past couple of weeks, because my gym attendance has been at best, paltry. But I regained some sense of self-worth when it was brought to my attention that Kim Kardashian is apparently my twin.

I know, I couldn't believe it either, but after careful thought I see the resemblance. She is 20-something; and I'm 20-something plus 20-something. She is well-endowed in the hindquarter and, well, I just have a big ass.

She dates rich and famous guys; and I've been known to flirt with disaster by spending my time with the Infamous ones. She has paparazzi constantly stalking her for pictures; and I have friends constantly asking me to take their pictures with other famous people.

And that's not all, she has given up dating in 2011 - and low-and-behold, dating has given up on me. She doesn't drink much; and I don't drink much bad wine. And the Pièce de résistance is - she is drop-dead, stunningly beautiful; and let's just say, (and I'm going out on a limb here) - that I've got to be at least a Yerington, NV 10, a town where meth is what's for breakfast.

So with that said, I'm going to have to muster up the energy to get to the gym so I can hold my own when the not-so-tolerant 8 and 9s of Yerington start looking to bust my face. I still have my teeth and I want to keep them.