All I’ve got is a little bit of the random today. Considering the fact that I have been mostly masturbating to old Rick Springfield albums in the broom closet absent from the blog world, I’m lucky that I can even pull “random” outta my ass right now.
I would like to discuss my zit. I know- boring as a pap smear right? No. This one is different. It’s taken up seemingly permanent residence to the right of my nose and by permanent I mean that it’s been there for OVER A FUCKING MONTH. (Being that I wasn’t a zitty kid growing up and missed most of that horror in high school, this fact amuses Susin greatly.) If you’re still wondering what the hell I’m whining about, let me elaborate on my month long face tenant that has affectionately been named Guadeloupe.
It’s size is such that it casts a shadow on my nose.
This is serious business people. One of the ever helpful gals at work tells me this toothpaste trick which is “guaranteed to work.” Unbeknown to me, toothpaste apparently kind of sort of burns it away and said co worker failed to mention any required restraint on my part with regards to amount of toothpaste applied or duration that it was to stay on my face. Being the clever girl that I am I slathered that shit on and left it there for practically an entire weekend. This of course resulted in Guadeloupe being transformed from a happy go lucky zit mountain that refused to erupt to an angry shiny red and then later peeling and brown BURN. Yes, you heard that correctly. I burned my fucking face with toothpaste. As for that “guarantee” of it working……the burn incident healed about 2 weeks ago. Guadeloupe is still there, proud as ever and ready to put together her own fucking facebook page.
The girls at work are now convinced it’s a tumor. I no longer care and am shopping for mini sombreros to help her accessories.
I would secondly like to mention my new underwear. I bought a fuck ton in Van but this one particular style- silky lacy boy shorts- are the Stanley cup of underwear. (Feel free to use the word “panties” if you like but know that I’ll whack you upside the head with your stupid Holly Hobby lunch kit.) So I’m wearing a pair of them to work under a loose summer dress the other day and not once, not twice, but three fucking times I felt the cold hard knife of panic slice through my chest.
“Oh Fuck! I’m wearing a short dress to work and forgot to put on underwear.”
THAT my friend, is what I call comfort.