I started thinking long and hard the other day about all of those "lists" that you read on BuzzFeed, etc. You know what I'm talking about? The shit people on your Facebook feed are constantly posting links to: "Twenty-Five things to do Before You Turn 25," "What You Need to Realize Before You Hit 30." Well guys, I want to write a list about the real deal... the down low and dirty shit no one actually talks about. I call it:
10 Low-down, Dirty Raw Doggin' Shitty Things No One Every Speaks About in Their Twenties
1. You will think about suicide once a month-
Whether you are like I was when I was 24 and working as a server at a venue that had 4 dark days out of 7, wondering how you were going to pay rent with about $5 in your checking account, living off of a bag of frozen peas and a loaf of stale bread every week (but I was so beautiful and thin... sigh), crying multiple times a day and calling home once a week for money, or whether you have just gotten dumped by your very first boyfriend and feel as though it's the end of the world because all of your friends' prioritize drinking and whoring themselves before consoling you with shitty comedies and a pizza night the way that REAL girlfriends are supposed to, life in your twenties can be damn lonely and damn desperate at times. When you think you've hit rock bottom, just remind yourself of your one friend that is more of a mess than you (you know, the one who has slept with too many people to count, has a nasty coke habit, can't keep a job, and sucks dick for the finer things in life). Also, call your parents, because at the end of the shitty, fucking, lonely, desolate day of contemplating suicide, they're actually, probably, the only ones that will give a fuck if you live or die (because they have to pay your funeral expenses) and come to your aid whether it is emotionally or financially (the rest of your friends will probably be partying and high on MDMA or chasing the cock of the month).
2. You Will Still be a Poor Piece of Shit Unless You've Already Lucked Out With a Dream Job
No matter how much your friends on Facebook like to brag about how much they fucking love their jobs, we all know that unless you've graduated pharmacy school, law school, or some sort of trade school, chances are, the jobs you will hold in your twenties make shit. I don't care if you love your co workers so fucking much that you consider them your best friends, or if your job throws awesome office parties, chances are it still only pays well enough to cover the cost of your NYC rent and monthly metro card (and that is IF you are lucky... many of us poor slobs have to take on two jobs just to cover the cost of NYC rent). You are not alone if you have to feel guilt every time you go out for a few drinks or buy yourself some new shoes. It really fucking sucks having to shell out 50% of your monthly income for rent and student loans. It really fucking sucks having to choose one night a week to go out because you can't afford to go out multiple nights and still afford to buy food for the upcoming week. I can tell you honestly, and I can only do so because those days are behind me now, but their were weeks of my life when cream for my coffee was a fucking luxury. A LUXURY. Growing up in a nice, middle-class home, you never dream of the day when you will realize you only have enough money in your account that you have to choose between buying a four-pack of toilet paper, or some dish soap. I kid you not. I mean, I already told you about the summer I was living off a bag of rice and some frozen peas. I have no shame... I can't have shame because the older I get, the more I have realized I wasn't alone in my struggle.
3. There Will Come a Time When You Realize Your Only Friends Are Your Siblings or Parents
In your twenties, chances are you will be going out and getting fucked up.. A LOT. You will meet some really awesome party people with some really awesome drugs. These people are fun, but they aren't real. No. The only people you can ever depend on besides yourself, are your parents, and maybe your siblings. Some of us will be lucky if we have a few good and honest friends that pick up the phone when we call crying and suicidal at 3am, or a single friend who you know will come cry with you and smoke you up on a Saturday afternoon when you've confessed via text that you don't know if you can possibly make it another week working at the same dead-end job. True friends are few and far between in your twenties. Let's face it, the world revolves around us. We are all the center of our own worlds, and we all have pretty jacked priorities when we are in our twenties. For most of us, priorities revolve around making money to live, and then spending that money we make to chase fun or chase potential mates (if we are single that is). That's just how life works. Don't feel discouraged when the person you thought was a good friend doesn't pick up their phone at 2am because they're at the coolest party ever, and don't feel bad when that other person that you thought was a really good friend picks up the phone and tells you that they can't come over because they have period cramps on a lazy Sunday afternoon when you've confessed you just really need someone there with you because your boyfriend dumped you and you hate life. It's times like these you will be lucky to have siblings who know you inside and out and actually care about your well-being. It's times like these you are lucky that your dad loves you enough to pick up the phone at 4am when You're having an anxiety attack and can't breath through the tears. It's times like these when you should have a secret stash of xanax on hand because that is your ONE TRUE FRIEND IN THIS WORLD.
4. Easy Come, Easy Go, Little High, Little (or Major) Low
Yes, I just quoted a Queen song... because Freddy fucking knows, man. The highest highs you will ever experience are undoubtedly in your twenties. The problem with the highest highs, is that they are followed by the lowest, mother fucking lows. I'm talking sobbing uncontrollably for days on end because the weekend bender Upstate, that you've been planning and looking forward to for months, is over. When it's over, it's back to the reality that you hate, and the fact that you feel as if your reality is never actually going to change. If You are confused about what constitutes as a 'come down,' please refer to #1 (SUICIDE). If you've been spending your entire pay check in two nights, and have been out all, weekend long, rolling major-balls and blowing lines in between, meeting new/awesome party people, feeling good, and generally just neglecting all of your concerns, fears, the hatred you feel towards your job/boss/normal society, and the fact that your rent just increased $200, chances are you are gonna crash and burn like a motha' fucka' when you finally come down or go home from that after-hours party. No one wants to go from feeling like the king of the world (or like Uma Thurman's character in Pulp Fiction) to a lonely apartment with a barren fridge, an empty bed, and an empty soul. It's not fun escaping the sad confines of working reality in a party setting where you own the game, only to come back down to that black hole that leads you to go get fucked up in the first place. I can honestly say I've had more fun in my later twenties than I ever had in college or during my early twenties. However, I can also say that regrouping after such extreme fun has become increasingly hard because mommy and daddy aren't around to stop you from going out 4 nights in a row, and your college roomie isn't there to tell you "no" when you want to pull out the drugs at 6pm. When the come down is this bad, it's time for Xanax. Or pizza. Or sleep. Or all three. A good cry in the tub also helps. Or crying for three days on end until your boyfriend threatens to leave you... whichever comes first to snap you out of it.
5. When All of Your Friends Bail After saying "Oh Yeah, I'll come!"
Please refer to #3. You're friends are fake kid! Like I already said, the best friends you'll ever have are the ones you made when you were 7, the ones you peed in bathtubs with in college, or your siblings. There just is no in between. No. Most of the friends you acquire throughout your twenties are good for partying or the occasional hang out in a chill Sunday type setting, but don't count on people to follow through with anything to which they commit. I don't care if you're paying for the whole goddamn weekend. It's hard to get people to commit to something like a couple days out of town, coming to a party with copious amounts of booze, or even a girl's night. Again people, it's the fact that the world revolves around us... the fact that our priorities revolve around us, and the fact that no one has money. It's a sad reality, but it is what it is. Most people are too consumed chasing the dick/p*ssy du jour around town to let it go for a couple of days, or too consumed with something else that comes up and looks more fun than whatever bullshit you've planned previously.
6. You Will End up The Last One to Be Engaged, Married, Pregnant, or With three Kids.
Yes. Yes, yes yes YES YESSSSSSS... I mean, I don't want kids right now, or anytime soon. I swear to you when I say, that EVERY TIME you log onto Facebook for the day, at least ONE new person on your newsfeed will either be 1) Engaged 2) Having a Wedding 3)Announcing a pregnancy 4)Showing off a bullshit ring on their fat fucking hand 4)Showing a sonogram 5) Having the actual kid 6) bragging about how smart their 1 year old is. Now, I understand that we are growing up and this is a natural progression of things. However, I don't need to know that your kid won't sleep for shit as you openly post things like "Hey all of my Mommy Friends, what do you do when your baby won't go to bed". Ew... "mommy friends?" aren't they real people? I don't brag about the fact that I just stayed up until 5am partying because I have no kids, so why are you announcing that your kid peed in the potty to the entire world? There is a time and a place for everything. I'm not against posting pictures of kids etc... but when you start detailing your feeding routine and treating all of Facebook like it's a goddamn mommy board, it's just not cool. Maybe I should start asking open questions on Facebook to all of my party friends, like "Hey all party peeps, my best friend has been up all night vomiting from some bad drugs, anyone have any party peeps advice about how I can make her feel better and keep her hydrated?" Thanks.
7. The Never Ending Story (AKA. The Never Ending Search for a Better Job)
Yes, this is the true story of my life. MTV should do a "Real Life: I go on interviews every week but still don't get hired." I don't fucking get it. I think it's because I live in NYC so the competition is fierce... like, I'm talking, I don't get the job, because after I walk out, someone with the same skills and education comes in but they have fake lips and are a foot taller... so they get it. Yes. That must be it. At this point, I should really just make a career of applying to and interviewing for jobs. All of the time and energy I put into scouring indeed.com/craigslist/findspark.com, etc., should really be compensated. I'm pretty sure that in addition to my 43 hour work-work weeks, I spend an additional 43 hours applying to and searching for potential jobs. It's a real ball buster, let me tell you. I used to feel sad when I didn't hear back, but now I just laugh. I'm gonna burn all these mother fuckers who didn't hire me someday when I finally get my book published, and they're the motivation behind it. It sucks to be me, but I wouldn't have it any other way... you know why? Because it's pretty fucking laughable at this point. Like my mom said, maybe it is this blog... maybe, this is why I don't get hired ;) :)
8. DRINK DRINK DRINK
Enough said- it's the one thing that will keep you stabilized, and the one thing that might also set you off like a fucking atomic bomb.
9. Did I mention the Party People You will meet?
I've met some real crazy, cool peeps these past few years. Even if they aren't my best friends, they're cooler than they people you hang out with.
10. My Poor Boyfriend, My poor friends, My poor family, and Everyone who sees me cry
Make sure you let all of the people who actually do give a shit about you know that you also give a shit about them. Tell people you love them when you love them, don't take the real friends for granted, don't take you father, mother, sister, brother, cousin, best friend, or significant other for granted, for they are the only ones that will love you even after you mentally abuse them in the midst of a break down. Make sure you are good to them when you can be. And the most important thing is karma: Make sure that you take care of them when they are having a moment/breakdown/comedown/suicidal thoughts. I would go to the end of the world to make a friend or loved one feel better if I know they would do the same for me.
Tuesday, June 30, 2015
Thursday, June 25, 2015
Reality Bites Hardcore
I'm sitting here with the same Mascara I applied Tuesday afternoon, and it is currently Thursday evening. I have about two eyelashes right now because of how clumped together they are. I am covered in bugbites, bruises, and a cigarette burn (accidental burn that occurred in the hot tub... I know... I'm a mess) but they were all worth it. After a fun filled mini vacation to Woodstock, reality chewed me up and spit me back out today at 6am when I woke up to go into what is hands-down the worst job on Earth (just today, one of my co-workers said that he would rather be in the middle of gunfire on the Mexican border than going into that place... that is really saying something about where I work).
Woodstock was absolutely amazing... I really never wanted to come back to NYC. I'm so obsessed with that house that if it should ever go on the market, I will sell a kidney to put a down payment on it. I wish that I could convince its current owner to let me stay free of charge for the remainder of Summer and renovate it by hand for no cost- she would just have to pay for materials and my labor would be free of charge. It has an awesome layout and awesome architecture, but It could use a few improvements in the way of a kitchen renovation and some new tiles in the bathrooms.
It is so hard coming back to NYC in the summertime and coming back to the job that literally crushes my soul after being away for a few days. This happens every single time I have a few days off of work and especially when I go away, but returning to this city and to 666 5th Avenue (yes, I literally work in a building with the number 666... it is a sure sign), is absolutely devastating. I don't know if I could live in Woodstock on a permanent basis at this point in my life, but I sure do wish I had the financial means to go there every other weekend or for a week at a clip to escape NYC living. The town is nice because unlike the part of Upstate where I grew up, there are really awesome little shops, awesome restaurants and eateries, scenic mountains, a beautiful little town, and way more stuff to do than Chenango County. The townspeople seem pretty awesome as well. There is an abundance of dirty hippy types that I ascertain came for the 1969 festival and just stuck around afterward, but at least everyone is nice and super friendly. Unlike the vagabonds of NYC, they aren't crazy and screaming obscenities and causing a scene on the subway. We always end up meeting random, awesome people when we go as well... crazy attracts crazy in a good way haha.
It was a real slap in the face today returning to a city with streets that smell like dead rat, human shit, and piles of garbage festering in the 85 degree humidity. I miss the smell of fresh cut hay and the scent of the woods. I miss the silence at night as opposed to the sounds of sirens I hear even now as I type this, and the fucking sound of construction across the street every morning at 7am. I miss waking up to birds singing and looking out the windows of the bedroom I stayed in to see mountains and trees. I don't know why I live here sometimes... I really don't know what I'm doing here.
I can't even put into words how much fun I have every time I am there- I mean it helps that I go with my awesome boyfriend and crazy-awesome friends, but like, shit... I am still having fun even when I drink to the point of throwing up. I think I still find the perfect balance of partying and chilling. I wish my entire life could be like that always. I wish I could occasionally just do things at home to make money like customized festival costumes and writing novels. The rest of my life would be spent actually living and enjoying all that it has to offer.
Summertime is not meant to be spent amongst concrete buildings in an ugly, filthy city with polluted air... it's meant to be spent running around barefoot in a garden. It's meant to be spent BBQ-ing with friends on a deck overlooking the woods- it is meant to be spent sitting in a hot-tub under the stars with a bottle of Prossecco. I want to wake up every day and sit in a hot tub with a mimosa. I want to have the luxury of moseying on downtown to the local pub for an afternoon drink on the patio with friends. I want to cook meals for my friends and family every weekend and see everyone have fun. I hate that reality here consists of working my ass off for what oftentimes seems like a means to no end. Will things ever get better? They have to, right?! Right???
I wouldn't be so depressed right now if work didn't keep getting worse and worse. I sincerely feel as if the best days of my life are slipping by sometimes because this is the youngest, healthiest, and most alive I will ever feel. I hate that all of my energy and time is wasted on a job that doesn't even provide me with a disposable income to actually do things and explore the world. I hate that I don't even have two consecutive days in a row off now so that I have some sort of semi-weekend type deal. I used to at least have some fucking consistency in my work schedule. I mean, because I work retail I accepted the fact long ago that I will work most weekends and holidays. However, despite the fact that we have more managers than we have had in the past year and 8 months that I've been working at this job, we have more fucked schedules than ever before as the direct result of power-trips and micro-managing.
For a while, we had a team of 7 managers... SEVEN. Even when we had only seven managers, everyone had a more consistent schedule and one which they were happy with. We now have SIXTEEN (16) managers, and no one is happy with their schedule. It makes no sense either, since we all have different wants and needs in terms of days off. For example, most people would love to have off Friday and/or Saturdays... I will work closing shifts every goddamn Friday and Saturday as long as I can have off Sunday since my boyfriend and the majority of my friends work those nights. It is absolutely pointless for me to be off on a Friday night, because all of the people I want to hang out with are working so I will spend it alone. Even if I get out at 10pm I can still go do something as long as I close again the following day. Other people love to have their days off at separate points of the week because it breaks the week up for them. I personally cannot stand having my days off separate. Unless I have two consecutive days in a row, I feel like it's not an actual break. I get nothing done, I don't feel at all rested, and I just feel fucked-over. Next week, I don't have a SINGLE DAY OFF with my boyfriend. I am off on Wednesday and Friday, neither of which is he off. Two other managers would love Friday off and have offered to trade their Monday off for my Friday off, however, even though we used to trade shifts all the time with no problem, apparently we can no longer do so... it makes no fucking sense. It's like they literally want us to be miserable and hate our jobs and our lives. It wouldn't be so bad if work wasn't 45 hours of my fucking life every week. It wouldn't even be so bad if I made enough money to make up for how dicked around I am. I am not sure how much longer I can hold my shit together while I search for a better job. I am looking at serving and hostessing jobs just because I can't continue to work under these conditions. It is absolutely uncalled for.
I guess I will try to peace together my mental sanity for the sake of everyone in my life. I almost cried multiple times at work today it was so mentally torturous to be in that dark fucking dungeon of a stockroom and that awful sales floor with the crap music that makes me want to end my life by jumping from the second pier and the smell of cologne polluting my fragile lungs as it leaks from the scent system on our ceiling. If there is a God (and I believe there is), I truly hope he hears my pleas for help. I'm definitely doing all I can to GTFO. I don't know what else to do... if I did, I would surely do it.
Woodstock was absolutely amazing... I really never wanted to come back to NYC. I'm so obsessed with that house that if it should ever go on the market, I will sell a kidney to put a down payment on it. I wish that I could convince its current owner to let me stay free of charge for the remainder of Summer and renovate it by hand for no cost- she would just have to pay for materials and my labor would be free of charge. It has an awesome layout and awesome architecture, but It could use a few improvements in the way of a kitchen renovation and some new tiles in the bathrooms.
View from the Tower... so fucking awesome.
My sexy legs: a combination of bug bites, and bruises incurred from dancing like a stripper... don't ask. You should see the cigarette burn on my arm and the road rash I got from itching the bug bites on my back... I am so disgustingly beat up right now it is comical.
It was a real slap in the face today returning to a city with streets that smell like dead rat, human shit, and piles of garbage festering in the 85 degree humidity. I miss the smell of fresh cut hay and the scent of the woods. I miss the silence at night as opposed to the sounds of sirens I hear even now as I type this, and the fucking sound of construction across the street every morning at 7am. I miss waking up to birds singing and looking out the windows of the bedroom I stayed in to see mountains and trees. I don't know why I live here sometimes... I really don't know what I'm doing here.
I can't even put into words how much fun I have every time I am there- I mean it helps that I go with my awesome boyfriend and crazy-awesome friends, but like, shit... I am still having fun even when I drink to the point of throwing up. I think I still find the perfect balance of partying and chilling. I wish my entire life could be like that always. I wish I could occasionally just do things at home to make money like customized festival costumes and writing novels. The rest of my life would be spent actually living and enjoying all that it has to offer.
The stairs leading down to a stone patio on a hill... I definitely failed to take more pictures of how beautiful the garden and actual house were. Oh well, I have airbnb.com for that :p
Summertime is not meant to be spent amongst concrete buildings in an ugly, filthy city with polluted air... it's meant to be spent running around barefoot in a garden. It's meant to be spent BBQ-ing with friends on a deck overlooking the woods- it is meant to be spent sitting in a hot-tub under the stars with a bottle of Prossecco. I want to wake up every day and sit in a hot tub with a mimosa. I want to have the luxury of moseying on downtown to the local pub for an afternoon drink on the patio with friends. I want to cook meals for my friends and family every weekend and see everyone have fun. I hate that reality here consists of working my ass off for what oftentimes seems like a means to no end. Will things ever get better? They have to, right?! Right???
I wouldn't be so depressed right now if work didn't keep getting worse and worse. I sincerely feel as if the best days of my life are slipping by sometimes because this is the youngest, healthiest, and most alive I will ever feel. I hate that all of my energy and time is wasted on a job that doesn't even provide me with a disposable income to actually do things and explore the world. I hate that I don't even have two consecutive days in a row off now so that I have some sort of semi-weekend type deal. I used to at least have some fucking consistency in my work schedule. I mean, because I work retail I accepted the fact long ago that I will work most weekends and holidays. However, despite the fact that we have more managers than we have had in the past year and 8 months that I've been working at this job, we have more fucked schedules than ever before as the direct result of power-trips and micro-managing.
For a while, we had a team of 7 managers... SEVEN. Even when we had only seven managers, everyone had a more consistent schedule and one which they were happy with. We now have SIXTEEN (16) managers, and no one is happy with their schedule. It makes no sense either, since we all have different wants and needs in terms of days off. For example, most people would love to have off Friday and/or Saturdays... I will work closing shifts every goddamn Friday and Saturday as long as I can have off Sunday since my boyfriend and the majority of my friends work those nights. It is absolutely pointless for me to be off on a Friday night, because all of the people I want to hang out with are working so I will spend it alone. Even if I get out at 10pm I can still go do something as long as I close again the following day. Other people love to have their days off at separate points of the week because it breaks the week up for them. I personally cannot stand having my days off separate. Unless I have two consecutive days in a row, I feel like it's not an actual break. I get nothing done, I don't feel at all rested, and I just feel fucked-over. Next week, I don't have a SINGLE DAY OFF with my boyfriend. I am off on Wednesday and Friday, neither of which is he off. Two other managers would love Friday off and have offered to trade their Monday off for my Friday off, however, even though we used to trade shifts all the time with no problem, apparently we can no longer do so... it makes no fucking sense. It's like they literally want us to be miserable and hate our jobs and our lives. It wouldn't be so bad if work wasn't 45 hours of my fucking life every week. It wouldn't even be so bad if I made enough money to make up for how dicked around I am. I am not sure how much longer I can hold my shit together while I search for a better job. I am looking at serving and hostessing jobs just because I can't continue to work under these conditions. It is absolutely uncalled for.
I guess I will try to peace together my mental sanity for the sake of everyone in my life. I almost cried multiple times at work today it was so mentally torturous to be in that dark fucking dungeon of a stockroom and that awful sales floor with the crap music that makes me want to end my life by jumping from the second pier and the smell of cologne polluting my fragile lungs as it leaks from the scent system on our ceiling. If there is a God (and I believe there is), I truly hope he hears my pleas for help. I'm definitely doing all I can to GTFO. I don't know what else to do... if I did, I would surely do it.
Friday, June 19, 2015
Pre-Bender Post
Currently sitting here listening to NIN Pandora and a Marilyn Manson song I've never heard before came on- the lyrics are "I don't like the drugs, but the drugs like me" ... Mami Likey ;)
It was another uneventful day in the life of moi. I was off today and as usual the following happened:
1) Job applications sent.
2) Two interviews gone on.
3) Groceries done.
4) Floor/apartment scrubbed.
5) 2.5 hour meal prepared (Homemade chicken cordon Bleu, mushroom risotto, and asparagus... I'm a regular ol' Betty f*cking Crocker, I know).
6) Self tanned (fifty shades of varying orange/alabaster/tan going on now... slightly looks like vitiligo but it's better than being pasty... at least in my eyes)
7) Slutty selfies taken.
Almost One Week Later...
Yep, just another typical day off in the life of Moi. I started this entry four days ago on Monday, but didn't finish it, so I'm finishing it now :D I had another interview today that I was thoroughly excited for. It was for an Executive Assistant position for a company that basically grows other companies and helps to market them. Not only was it in Meatpacking district across the street from STK and Cielo, but the offices were the nicest I have ever seen... I'm talking antique looking pillows on the couches with the faces of David Bowie and Dave Grohl dressed as Civil War soldiers. Alas, the actual interview there only lasted five minutes and I heard back only two hours later from the girl who interviewed me telling me I didn't get it :D :D :D AWESOMMMMEEEE. She literally only asked me like two questions and seemed in a rush the whole time. It was kind of rude. Maybe I wasn't what her boss was looking for. Maybe he wanted an assistant that is Russian and 5'10" or one who is ugly and went to Harvard and is chubby so his wife knows he won't cheat on her. Who fucking knows. I can only assume she made a judgement based on how I looked since she didn't even spend the time to get to know me. Maybe I'm ugly. Oh well, even though the offices were sick, I guess it was meant to be. I don't think I'd be happy working a 9-6 Monday thru Friday anyhow. But that office :(....
I cannot wait for Sunday to come so I can get my party on at Woodstock Bender 2015. I hope the weather is as hot as it was this past week so I can play outside all day and night wearing next to nothing (you know how I like it). I want to have a bonfire, BBQ, drink champagne in the hot tub, and generally be a wild animal. I need it... actually, I DESERVE it. ;) Life has been pretty taxing lately with work being worse than usual (hard to believe, I know), my rent increasing a hefty chunk, and the fact that I am still searching for a better job to no avail. I am trying to stay positive despite the circumstances. I guess when my job finally comes it will be the one it's meant to be. I'm not really sure if there are any places left to apply to that I haven't already. Sigh. At least I have other things to look forward to... like all of the concerts I'm going to this summer/fall and warm weather.
Tan as f*ck... I didn't get the job, but at least I'm tanned.
My job provides me with a discount on slutty summer apparel at least.
I know.
I have my grocery list ready to go, the booze is being picked up tomorrow, and I have some 25% DEET bugspray and some SPF 50 ready to go. I am going to go hotdog crazy: two dogs, one bun... I am going to sip prosecco in the hot tub and vodka tonics in the bathtub overlooking the mountains. If I can make it through only two more days I'll be ok.
I am thinking about what I'm going to wear to all of the concerts I'm attending this summer as well (since this is how I spend my days off). I mean ACDC is kind of a given- crop top and my 6 inch platrom booties, but what does one where to a U2 concert? I think I might just wear the Irish flag and this way I can grab Bono's attention and storm the stage... jk. hahahahah. Hmm... well I still have a month to think about it.
I guess I should go do something semi productive now so I don't waste my night or even worse, go absolutely bat-shit psycho on my boyfriend while he works until 5am. Maybe I should go out... oh nevermind, I can't... since I work at 11am :D #blessed #charmedlife
Sunday, May 24, 2015
I hate NYC
I hate NY. I hate this city. I love this city too, but only sometimes. Less often do I find myself in love with it than loathing the fact that I live here. I have a love-hate relationship with this shitty, fucking awful, dirty, filthy, disgusting hell hole. I think if I had a better job, perhaps I wouldn't hate it as much as I do at times. Or, if I had a car and more money and could get away every couple of weeks as opposed to every couple of months, I might appreciate it more. As much as I hate New York, I do love a handful of things in this life. I do love Jack White, and David Bowie... and coffee. I love slutty clothes. And wine. And drugs. And sunshine. I love expensive cheese, heels over 6 inches tall, and big hats. I love days off. I hate work though... immensely. I love myself (sometimes). I hate a lot of people. I'm filled with hate today (and most days). I look inside myself and see my heart is black. I see a line of cars and they're all painted black... I love the Rolling Stones.. I also love the Doors. I hate the music of today. I hate Taylor Swift. I love my family. I love my boyfriend. I love my friends. I hate my boyfriend's job. I hate my job more though. The combination of our jobs is why we're lucky if we have one day a week off together... it's the reason I work on weekends and am currently sitting here alone because he is working like 72 hours straight and since it's Memorial day weekend, all of my friends are out of town or they're working. I wish someone would ride in on a white horse and tell me they'll pay for me to live comfortably for the rest of my days with no expectations of sex or love in return... I wish I would get rich myself actually and then just never really work again. I would just do things I love that may or may not be financially successful endeavors- but none of that would matter if I had money already.
I think I might be the only 27 year old in this city who doesn't have facial fillers yet. I swear to fucking God, every single bitch has their lips done and already has started botoxing. I fear I'm beginning to look really old. It's really sad. But at least I'm not full of injectibles and fake as fuck. Sigh. I wonder if you were making out with a girl with lip filler and you bit her lip too hard if they'd leak out into your mouth and you could taste them? Gross. I wonder what will happen to humans who had injectibles 40 years from now... will they cause cancer in their face? I know.. I'm morbid.
What am I doing here anyhow? I think I should move to Maine. I need trees, and silence, and animals, and clean air. I need the ocean, and mountains, and normal people who are down to Earth. I don't think I'm suited for this lifestyle. I can't take the filth anymore... the unclean air infiltrating my fragile lungs and polluting my mental sanity. I can't take the homeless people screaming on the subways, or the fat fucks who take up three subway seats with one obese body. The fat people who are fat because they take the subway elevator instead of marching their asses up the stairs. The Russian gold digging prostitutes hanging around Tao and Meatpacking in general (gimme coke and I suck you're dick in the men's room babyyyy), the blonde, blown-out sluts blowing lines in the Ladies room and hooking up with the gross dudes buying bottles and working in finance. Living in NYC has turned me into a monster. I think I always had the propensity to be a mean bitch, but this city has truly brought out the worst side of me at times.
This is me being a mean bitch ^
What do I love about my job? NOTHING... except that sweet employee discount :D crochet bikini for only $16? Yes please... this would have cost like $80 from Victoria's Secret.
The only things I truly love about this city are that I am able to be myself. I can go out with 6 inch heels to a party, I can wear crop tops casually walking to the store, I can be wild, I can be free, and even in doing all of that, I am still considered "normal" here in New York. I can party any night of the week and I can meet people who feel and think the way I feel and think. I can eat any type of cuisine I can think of... I have a pharmacy that is open 24 hours. I am bored voluntarily sometimes by my own accord, but I never actually HAVE to be bored here, because there is always something going on. I can go to a museum, a concert, a bar with live music, an EDM/deephouse club on a Sunday night... I can do groceries at 11pm. I have opportunities galore even if they aren't exactly calling me right now. I am not expected to be married with a kid by the time I'm 30 years old here. The possibilities are infinite as are the people I can meet. I am happy to say that as miserable as this city can be on a bad day, I have made some great friends since moving here.
This blog is just all over the place. Kind of like my crazy eyes (yeah... you know it's true.. Demi Moore's childhood photo has nothing on mine). I really want a double-decker hotdog right now. I wish I had the photo of me that's somewhere out there shoving a double decker hotdog into my mouth last year in Woodstock... it's a real beaut ;) I've been sitting here for the past two hours sending obnoxious snapchats to my friend, listening to Jack White radio on Pandora, and contemplating the meaning of my existence. Naturally because I'm bored as fuck, I've consumed two bowls of pasta with pork meatballs and an icecream sandwich to seal the deal. Good thing I walked like 5 miles today. I want vodka now. And hotdogs. I thought about becoming a vegan the other night after watching yet another heart wrenching ASPCA commercial... it just makes me so sad that I think about refuting all products involved with animal captivity. Then I remember how much I love meat.
I'm going to have to go wild tomorrow to compensate for this lame weekend I've had.
Thursday, May 21, 2015
I love Dominos.. and Champagne... and Not working.
Just getting over a really nasty Spring cold and still feeling like I could sleep for about three days straight. I was pretty sure that I had both dysentery and pneumonia at one point a couple of days ago, but my body has stopped aching like I was a geriatric, arthritis patient, and I no longer sound like I have emphysema when I breathe or laugh, so that's a sign of sure improvement. I'm pretty sure a crazy night of partying last week was really what put me over the edge, coupled with erratic work schedule (working 4pm-2ams and then having to be back at 11am... NOT OK). Speaking of last week, I've never seen anyone who partied so hard or spent so much money in one night... It's a good thing I'm not rich because I'd probably be dead within a month if I lived that lifestyle. I think the dominos I had for dinner last night, along with the pistachio latte I made for breakfast helped (yes, ladies and gentlemen- I ran out of cream/half&half so I was forced to put a scoop of pistachio icecream into my morning cup of coffee... I call it the "Pistachio Late").
I am off next week for a "staycation," and even though I wanted to do nothing but relax and apply to jobs, my week is now pretty much booked solid with obligations and appointments.... oh well, at least I won't be bored. I will be going home for one night just for a re-scheduled doctors appointment, and then coming back here for a couple of fun-filled nights with my niece. I'm watching her overnight one of the nights, and am thinking of all of the fun things we can do during the day. Hopefully the weather is nice! I am also trying to hit up the beach if it's nice at some point during the week, and plan a girls night with copious amounts of wine and cheese. I just know that I'm going to be ecstatic to be away from work for a week :D :D :D :D ... Now, if only we can make that a lifetime away from work.... ;)
Why can't I just be rich so that I can open a restaurant and spend my days cooking and planning vacations and parties? I am a different person when I'm not going into the job that I hate. I should be this better version of myself always. For the good of my boyfriend, family, and for the good of humanity...
I am also going to spend the next week off gearing up for Woodstock... I cannot wait!!!! :D
My summer concert uniform. Mollister THOT shorts (aka "festival" shorts), Jeffrey Campbell Lita Twos (the bigger, taller, better version of the original Lita bootie), and a crop top cropped by yours truly... And no, I will not sport the pigtails in public because that is a definite NO-NO unless your a child under the age of 7 or a porn star.
My fake tan looks orange. I am an oompa loompa. How come no matter how expensive the fake tanner is it just comes out stripy or orange???? Like, what is ghostly pale girl to do?! I can't risk skin cancer and wrinkles by real-tanning. And I sure as hell don't want to be pasty white all summer long. Everyone knows that a woman looks healthier, thinner, and more toned with some color. PS... I love that Mollister now carries all of the slut clothes for summer previously only found for inflated prices at Urban Outfitters.
Saturday, April 25, 2015
Untitled.
Acne Update: (as if you care)
My skin is back to it's original, clear state, and cheese is once again a staple in my diet (along with coffee, cream, meat, wine, vodka, etc.) thanks to Doxycycline working miracles. Why I didn't just go back on doxy the first time around blows my mind. The doxy stopped any new zits from forming the moment I started taking it, and the cysts that could still be felt under my skin that had persisted through almost four months of spironolactone treatment have subsided into nothingness after only 3 weeks of doxy. I mean, I almost passed out one day on the F train due to nausea that was so terrible I thought I was going to faint, but at least my skin is clear :D :D :D :D There is a saying my sister always used when she was putting eyeliner on my lower lash line for dance recitals when I was but a young girl of 8: "Beauty is pain." Ah yes, those words still ring true today. lol.
I will say, however, that nothing is more embarrassing than when you're on a crowded train and start sweating profusely, get weak in the knees, and start dry-heaving. The only thing worse is actually vomiting in a train station (yes, I have been there also... I keep it classy guys ;) ). I took my meds at an unusually early hour after getting NO sleep one night and taking the pill on an empty stomach at 6:30am, and the results were not OK. If you've ever passed out, you'll know what I'm talking about when I describe the feeling of the corners of your vision getting black and the sweat that starts dripping down your forehead and how your whole body goes tingly and weak. It's one thing to feel like this in the safety of co-workers and/or friends (yes, I passed out once when I was working part-time at Claire's in college... but at least I got to leave my shift early), but it is quite another to feel this way in the already grimy and scary atmosphere that is the NYC subway. I was forced to get off at 34th street and sit on the nasty, wooden bench, dry-heaving as men in suits walked by me with concerned looks on their faces. I should have just called out of work right then and there since I felt like I was about to die... alas, I still went in after calling my mom. You know the situation is bad when you feel so sick that you call your mother crying despite the fact your a grown-ass adult. My poor mom... The only other time I've had to de-board a train mid-journey was the day I vommed sitting next to two bums on a grimy, wooden bench after I drank two bottles of wine on an empty stomach. WORST HANGOVER EVER... I would NOT recommend to anyone.
I am going home next weekend for the first time since Christmas. I'm pretty excited to have some quality time with my brother and cousin and friends. I can't wait to cook for my parents, see my son (Bijou) and baby (Ceely), and wake up to a pot of already made coffee... the best part about being home is definitely being spoiled by my parents. I'm happy I don't go home regularly anymore, otherwise they might take my visits for granted and not treat me so well... jk (but not really). I am sure my mom and dad will cook me all of my favorite things (London Broil on the grill, crab cakes, chicken dumpling soup... OMG, salivating at the very thought). Nothing says 'true love' the way food does. I think this is where I get the cooking gene. They always say the best way to a man's heart is thru his stomach, but I find that the best way to show people how much you appreciate and love them is to cook for them in general (yes, even if you're just making me Easy-Mac or a PB&J sandwich it probably means you love me).
It will also be nice to actually have off a real "weekend" since my "weekends" have been consisting of Monday/Tuesdays the past couple of months. I think the last time I had a legitimate weekend was last summer when I went to see NIN and took off a Saturday and Sunday together. I don't really know what a weekend feels like anymore... especially not one spent with people who are also simultaneously off with me. I haven't even had two days in a row off with my boyfriend in over a month.... :D #blessed. GOD I LOVE HIS JOB :D :D :D :D :D :D (in case you didn't already know :D ).
In other news, I live a boring ass life.
In other, other news, I'll leave you all with some slutty selfies and a lil' story I wrote.
First The Story:
Once upon a time, (yes, that's how every great tale of woe begins...), there was a big, fake-titted, fake-silicon-worm-lipped maiden who worked at a strip club and also as a "VIP bottle hostess." Her name was Candy, Candy Cane. She claimed she was 22, but everyone knew bitch was AT LEAST 32 (and that is being generous). Maybe the two silicon, bolt-on, Frankenstein, titty-sacks on her chest were 22, but she sure as hell was NOT. Like a bicycle, she'd been around the block numerous times, and she knew exactly what was up. In addition to "VIP bottle waitressing," she also moonlighted as a high-paid escort; she flew on private jets, lived in one of the most exclusive NYC hotels (I know... right???!!!), and regularly went on "solo" vacations to luxury destinations like Dubai, the Cayman Islands, Paris, etc. How she afforded such luxuries on a "bottle waitress salary" really blew the minds of her friends, because clearly she never admitted the truth. The truth being that she made the bulk of her money peddling her beat-up pussy around the financial district of NYC. If you meet a 55 year old, overweight dude driving a Maserati or some other sports car, and if this dude works downtown or owns a series of steak houses around the world, chances are, he has fucked Candy.
But you know what? At least she wasn't tied down. In fact, she was using men to her own, personal gain the way they used her- just in different ways. Candy had her freedom, and through her sluttiness, she was able to support herself, travel the world, meet new people. discover new things, and live in perfectly content luxury compared to most of the other single girls her age she knew. Unlike the others, at least she wasn't slaving her life away at a job she fucking hated, making only enough money to make ends meet. At least she wasn't tied down to some boyfriend who was never fucking home and when he was home was still working and didn't pay attention to her. At least she was traveling the world at the expense of someone else. She didn't have to scrimp and save for a vacation; dude's flew her to exotic locals just so they could smother themselves in her fake breasts (Please note- if a man is ever into this look, he is not a classy man at all). So what if she slept around? So what if she looked like a monkey with two inflated earthworms on her face and two inflated life-rafts on her chest? She was happy and thriving... while most were not.
In another room, in another part of town, in another realm of twisted reality, was the very opposite sort of girl from Candy...
Eleanor sat alone listening to Nirvana, drinking an expensive, red wine better suited for a dinner party than solitude and a laptop. She was contemplating jumping off of her terrace. She had a pretty nasty coke comedown... I suppose that explains her suicidal tendencies at the moment that this story is unfolding. In addition to a heavy intake of coke, she also indulged in adderall the entirety of the week preceding up to the time and date upon which this story is meant to be taking place. Let's just say- she was fucked in more ways than one... and none of them were sexual (sadly)... She was sleep deprived, depressed, in the midst of one nasty comedown. To put it bluntly, she was basically like 50% of all young New Yorkers at any given time. She was one of the masses, even though she liked to think she was special. She was trying to be special, and just coming out generic. She was low-down, wanna be intellectual, creatively crippled hipster trash.
This wasn't her first rodeo and it wasn't her last. She basically hit this low every-other-week following a night of partying and recreational drug use. The ultimate New York high followed by the ultimate New York low. She didn't really even know why she lived in New York anymore... her acting career was going nowhere, she hadn't been on one audition in the past year and a half. The job she had to pay her rent was the very bane of her very existence, and even her relationship made her sad... She felt as though she was never enough. But that wasn't anyone's fault but society's... yeah man, society... SOCIETY SOCIETY (she was having a Christopher McCandles moment...).
Thank fucking God for the adderall in her kitchen cupboard she thought... otherwise she might not wake up nor would she be thin. It was a pitiful living situation, if you could even call it living. Merely "existing" was the term she most preferred. She remembered the most beautiful days... the days when she was young enough that none of the material things mattered... her job didn't matter because youth was on her side then. When she first moved to this city, full of dreams, full of hope and possibilities, full of love... things were different. She was a different girl and she had the world by the balls. Now she was consumed by hatred. Hate for almost everyone around her, hate for her life, and hate for herself. She hated herself for working so hard just to get by, and in turn, putting her dreams on a back-burner. If only there was a way to pay bills and do what she loved without selling herself or becoming one of the Candys of the world, life would be so effortless and carefree.
One fine day, Eleanor stumbled across a dominatrix ad whilst job searching on Craigslist. She decided to answer just for the hell of it to see if she would get a response. Sure enough, she did get a response. For even though Eleanor had nothing real going for her, she was still pleasing on the eye and men loved her.
And so it was that little Eleanor became a cold-hearted, domineering bitch who beat naked men with a riding crop for money. One day, Eleanor actually decided that she wanted to be a man. She started dressing like one and even going out as one. She was inspired by Bruce Jenner, whom was the only cast member of "Keeping Up With The Kardashians" that she ever really took a liking too. "If ol' Brucey can come out of the closet and openly live his life as a woman, than by God, I can live my life as a man!" she thought.
On a beautiful summer night, Eleanor (who now went by Ethan) was making the rounds in Meatpacking. She had become a club-scene-kid-type-regular. In fact, women and gays flocked to her more than they did to Amanda Lepore. Yes, Ethan (formerly known as Eleanor) had stolen the hearts of gays, MDMA users, silicon-titted slutbags, and club kids the world over. She was an Instagram sensation!!!!! Shit, she he, almost had more followers than Miley F*cking Cyrus. Anyhow, I digress...
One night, Ethan was making the rounds downtown. First she hit up Le Bain, than it was onto STK, and finally she went toooooo (drum roll please...) DDDDDDDDddddddDDDdddddddddl.......... TAO!!!! Yes, ladies and gents, he ended up at Tao, the most preferred club/restaurant of gold-diggers and old, rich men the world over. At this point, Ethan (pronounced E-taan), had made a name for himself. He was "Instagram" famous, and got all manner of free shit from brands looking for a spokesperson. As known as he was though, Ethan was technically not rich, although people were fooled into thinking he was given the fact that he dressed in expensive, custom tailored jeans and jackets, the finest Italian calf-leather shoes, and got the VIP treatment everywhere he went. Well, the point is, that on this fine night in June, Ethan met Candy. YES- Candy Cane. Candy Cane was a fame whore/gold digging bitch and was fooled by the finery that caressed Ethan's slender frame. She followed him on the gram and knew that he traveled to all the hottest spots, dined at the finest restaurants, and generally assumed he was rich. She had no clue that Ethan was once a girl, and that she actually used to work with Ethan at the club where she bottle waitressed. Ethan was the bathroom attendant back then... just a lowly, albeit pretty, bathroom attendant in the women's room. Even though Candy did not recognize Ethan, Ethan surely knew Candy and decided to play a game by leading her on. You see, Candy used to always steal Ethan's lollipops, tampons, and use the free hairspray and NEVER ONCE did this bitch tip poor, poor Ethan (whom was still Eleanor back then).
Ethan got a table for the two of them, and made sure to order a fucking parade of Doms with ALL THE SPARKLERS... aLL THE FUCKINg SParkLERS!!!!!! YES. He ordered the most expensive things on the menu for Candy, even though he knew she was the type that would take one bite of each course before spitting it secretly into her napkin and then hiding it in her clutch. Yes, sadly Candy had a serious chew-and-spit eating disorder (although you'd never actually realize how thin she was because her ginormous breasts were very deceptive and made onlookers think she was curvy). Poor Candy. She was the most insecure girl you'd ever meet- which is why she sold her body and got monthly injections of botox at the "tender age of 22."
Anyhow, Ethan roofied Candy's champagne. Once Candy was falling asleep at the dinner table, Ethan told one of the fine Tao bottle servers to call a car service and slipped her a $400 tip for doing so (I know, I know... Ethan isn't rich.. he used fake bills). The car arrived and Ethan took Candy home. Home being a ghetto-fab loft he shared with 3 other dudes in Bushwick. Hey!- I told you, he isn't actually rich... he just gets a lot of freebies and therefore seems rich. Anyhow, Ethan took Candy into his room and tied her up. When she awoke 12 hours later, (remember now kids, she was roofied...), Ethan asked her "Do you know who the f*ck I am??? What's my mother fucking name bitch?" Candy was dumb-founded. And then Ethan stripped naked and she realized he was a woman. Then Ethan got up in her face so that they were nose-to-nose. "Do YOU KNOW WHO I AM NOW????" GASP! "Like, OMG, Like, You used to be a bathroom attendant at the club!" Ah Ha!
Now that Candy knew what was up, Ethan could execute his plan with maximized satisfaction on his end. Ethan buzz-cut Candy's hair, pulled off her fake eye lashes, pulled off her acrylic nails, and put a mirror in front of her on the floor. She was still tied to the end of his bed, and she was forced to stare at her own reflection in the mirror. She started sobbing. "Well, that's enough damage for today... I really shouldn't do anymore harm" Ethan said. And with that, he chopped her head off with a pair of fabric scissors and dumped her sad, fake body down the garbage shoot. The end.
My favorite outfit ever, still going strong after a year.
Last summer... selfie noir.
In other news, I'm going to three awesome concerts this summer (ACDC, U2, and Incubus) and currently planning a three day, Woodstock Bender. That's about the only thing keeping me going right now. I give up on finding another job. I will die penniless, and alone, wearing Mollister clothes.
Tuesday, April 14, 2015
I'm Writing this Entry on the Brink of Insanity.
If you're reading this, it's only because my skin is better and I am mentally more sound as a result. I wrote this over two weeks ago now, when I was nearly suicidal, could hardly look at myself in the mirror, and spent two hours sobbing on the phone to my mother. I am only posting this blog, because despite the fact that my audience of readers consists of maybe 2.5 people total (hahaha), I want anyone who is in the same boat I was in to know that they are not alone if they are struggling with acne or other skin issues. It sucks because it isn't always genetic, nor is it caused by what you put in or on your body. I thank God and modern medicine that Doxycycline has cleared me up in a matter of two weeks (KNOCK ON WOOD... hope I didn't just jinx myself ;p ), otherwise I'm not sure how I would have gone on. I pray that my acne does not come back as I finally have my self confidence restored and no longer feel like hibernating in my apartment or avoiding public situations as I wanted to do the past few weeks.
The doxycycline makes me feel nauseous as fuck, but at least all I have left at this point are fading red marks and I haven't gotten a single new blemish since I started taking the med two weeks ago. My skin was super dry the other day, but I'd rather take a few flakes then another cyst deforming my face. I feel so much better that I can't even describe it. Nothing has radically changed in my life with the exception of my face, but I feel like I am on top of the world again and in control of my life. I think it's the boost in confidence, but I already scored two interviews for this coming week (wish me luck)!
Below, is an entry I wrote approximately two weeks ago when I was quite convinced nothing would ever help me again and the end was very near...
March 31, 2015
I plan on posting this blog after my acne is resolved... if it ever is... I know this sounds overly dramatic, but I cannot possibly go on like this. My self-confidence is non-existent despite the fact that I post a plethora of slutty selfies on my social media accounts, which might have lead you to believe I feel otherwise. I think that I am mostly trying to convince myself that I'm attractive since it's a daily struggle to even look at myself in the mirror after a shower with no makeup on. I don't even let my own boyfriend see me without make up on anymore... and the dude has seen a lot of shit many would consider worse than a face full of zits with the antics I pull... You know it's bad when you'd rather have your boyfriend see you naked and vomiting off the side of the bed then without your concealer on...
After a lot of research and weighing the pros and cons, I've made a decision tonight that I will go on Accutane if the doctor can't provide me with a slightly less traumatizing treatment plan. I'm willing to give it one more attempt using a slightly less harmful drug alternative Friday when I have yet ANOTHER dermatology follow-up appointment. If I have to plead with my dermatologist and get down on my knees and cry to get my point across I will. That's what this has come down to. This is an issue that just hasn't resolved despite months of being on Spironolactone for hormonal acne and upping the dosage from 50mg to 100mg a day. I was so hopeful that this shit would work, since I read so many reviews and it is supposedly had positive outcomes in 85% of cases. I guess I'm not the 85%... At least I didn't experience any negative side effects. That's a plus I guess...
MY EXPERIENCE WITH CYSTIC, ADULT ACNE
When I experienced my first breakout in Fall of 2012, I assumed it was from the environmental change I experienced after moving from clean, Upstate New York, to dirty-ass NYC. I honestly just thought it was an extra bad case of the usual 'monthly zit,' and I thought I could take care of it without seeing a doctor. After trying to cut out sugar and "bad" foods from my diet and trying a variety of over the counter products, I couldn't take it any longer. After a month or so of trying to fight the cysts appearing on my chin and then gradually on my cheeks, I made a dermatology appointment and demanded meds. I was put on Doxicyline (an antibiotic used specifically for treating acne) along with two topical cremes- aczone and another one I forget the name of now...
After about 3 months, the doxicycline seemed to have had a positive effect. My acne was gone, my face was back to normal, and I only broke out during 'that time of the month,' which is no biggie after you know what it's like to have cysts that don't come to a head or really go away. The doxicycline was pretty brutal on my body while I was on it though. It caused me to have major headaches that wouldn't go away even with copious amounts of water and advil, and I always felt nauseous for a couple of hours after I took it so I lost weight because I wanted to vom at the thought of food. However, it worked in that it made my cysts disappear and new ones didn't pop up. I was acne free for about a year and half. During that time, I probably took my clear skin for granted and forgot how that brief bout of acne really even affected me. Then, in October 2014, THIS HAPPENED:
.JPG)
I know, right??? My entire chin was distorted by two MAJOR zits... they were painful as fuck- like, I swear to God they had a pulse. I could feel them hot and pulsing underneath the surface of my skin, and I was in terrible pain. It hurt to smile or perform any sort of facial expression that stretched the skin on or around my jaw/chin. Not to mention they just couldn't be popped because they were underground and wouldn't come to a head. They seriously distorted my entire chin, as you can clearly see. I was not only in physical pain, but emotional pain as well since I looked like Jay Leno. I felt like a goddamn monster. This is when I realized something was not normal and I first went to the dermatologist demanding help. Sadly for me, I looked like this over Christmas with my family and even on New Years Eve. To some it may sound petty, but when you're fucking face looks distorted, it's hard to feel hot/pretty/appealing.
One myth about acne that I fucking hate is that people who have never had cystic acne think you can clear it up yourself with diet and lifestyle. I only WISH this were the case. I was complaining to someone at work and they were like, "Do you wash your pillow case?" UMMMMM WTF?! lol. I was highly offended. No shit sherlock- I wash/change my pillow case on a bi-weekly basis and it still makes no difference. "Have you been eating chocolate?" Um no... I've basically been subsisting on fucking health food for the past two months in coincidence with the meds trying to treat my body as kindly as possible and am breaking out worse than fucking ever.
I just want to be able to feel comfortable in my own skin without excessive amounts of foundation and concealer on. I want to be able to wear makeup less often and in smaller amounts. Either I walk around with red spots and lumps on display without makeup (which I absolutely will not do), or I do what I have been doing and cake on the liquid foundation and concealer. This covers the redness, but it creates flaky, awful looking skin when the zit starts drying out or pealing. It also doesn't help when your zit is the size of a fucking chickpea and/or Mt. Everest, and no amount of makeup can disguise it. The concealer balances out the color, but I'm still left with a huge, flesh-toned, painful cyst that creates a lumpy jawline and shadows on my face. Makeup doesn't make the zits go away. I hate seeing myself without makeup because it truly makes me want to cry. I'm a control freak, and I have no control over my own face, despite my best efforts of controlling what I put in my body or on my face in a futile attempt to exert control over my skin's reaction.
.JPG)
This is me, right now with no makeup on. Sexy, right? ;)
.JPG)
It started on my chin, and in the
past two weeks, despite the increased dosage of Spiro, it has manifested itself on my cheeks now... FUCKING SWEEEEEEET :(
I'm afraid if my acne gets any worse, I'll have terrible scarring. When the cysts go down (which seriously takes them about a month each), I am left with red marks that literally take like 7 months to fade away. It's pretty awful.
Since I've tried pretty much every option out there, and this week I've decided to do a brutal diet/cleanse as a last resort. It can't hurt at this point right? At least I will be proving to myself that it isn't what is going into my body that's causing my skin to react like this. I eat plenty of fruits and veggies, minimal meat, minimal dairy (with the exception of cheese once a week), and It's not like I'm abusing Meth or other hard drugs... so if by further limiting myself by cutting out all sugar, gluten, all dairy, and acidic foods I still can't tame this beast internally, then I'm going for the hard shit... meaning the mother of all the acne meds on the market...
I hope something works soon because I am driving myself and everyone who has to deal with me in this state absolutely INSANE. I hope that when this entry finally sees the light of day and as you sit here reading this, it is because I have had success with something and my face is finally clear to the point where I don't mind airing my dirty laundry and hideous, makeup free pics in contrast to my new and improved acne free face. Pray for me. ahahahahahah. jk. #blessed
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)