Puh, puh, puh pizza face...puh, puh pizza face...

*Here's your warning that this post is a little gross*

I sing that little pizza face diddy to myself to the tune of Poker Face. In fact, I sing it every morning to myself while I'm getting ready for work. Why would I want to torture myself the way one would torture a pubescent teenager? Because my face looks like Pizza the Hut from Spaceballs. Minus the cheese. Seriously...I'm turning 29 in a week and my face resembles a pepperoni lovers from Papa John's! Yeah...I could go for days with the acne jokes.

But what the fuck? It's totally uncool that my once flawless baby face has been turned in to a breeding ground for all things disgusting. I already went through my terrible teenage years. Well, actually I coasted through them because my skin was so damn fabulous! Of all the things I worried about in high school...my skin was never one of them. Sure, every now and again I'd get that stress pimple that would pop up...but it didn't bring any friends with it. Seriously, I had some really great luck with that.

In fact, I can think of only one incident in my entire life where I was ever made fun of for my face. It was my freshman year and this one asshole in my class pointed out a large zit that had formed on my face somewhere between 1st period and lunch. In fact, this particular piece of shit announced my new face friend to the entire lunch table. So I did what any 14 year old girl would do...I ran crying to the bathroom. Then I popped it. Then I ran home--skipping the entire 2nd half of the day. Lucky for me, I lived right around the corner from school the first two years. That was probably one of the only times I skipped school...hehe...I was such a good girl.

Later when we were learning how to dance in gym class--and he was up next to be my partner--I stood there with my arms crossed and refused. My teacher came over and asked why we weren't dancing and I said "I refuse to touch him." We then quickly switched partners. To this day I hate that guy. I don't think he ended up graduating with us anyway. And I couldn't care less about what is going on in his life today so I ignore Facebook every time it suggests we should be friends.

That's it though. I have no other hurtful memories packed away in my memory that revolve around the state of my face. I consider myself damn lucky for not ever having to put up with that crap. I had pretty low self-esteem already in school because I wore jeans in a double-digit size...unlike my cute skinny friends. But I always had good skin, no matter what. I couldn't commiserate with people who had bad skin. I just couldn't imagine what life would have been like if I had to go to high school with the face I have right now.

How is it, you ask, that I have this crazy adult-onset acne? Well...my 10 readers...this girl lost her health insurance when she quit her last cushy job. With the health insurance goes the cheap ass prescription for birth control pills. I know now what Alicia-not-on-birth-preventing-hormones looks like...and me no likey.

Sure, I could've gone to Planned Parenthood...but it wasn't all that important to me to be on birth control at the time. The sex I do get around to having is always intermittent. There's nothing like a daily reminder that you're not having sex. Every time I'd pop the pill I'd think--what's the difference? I haven't had sex in 3 months... But Planned Parenthood scared me. I had visions of protesters screaming at me and throwing things, dirty exam rooms, hairy old ladies with forceps...ahhhh...it was enough to keep me away. Well, that, and I wasn't having regular sex or irregular periods so it seemed an unnecessary expense. I mean, I couldn't even afford food so it was real low on the totem.

So my last prescription ran out sometime last fall. And even though I got hired at a real full time job in the insurance industry (i.e. access to some damn good insurance)...I was technically a temp for the first few months so my coverage didn't even start until December. So why didn't I go to the doc in December and get my prescription filled you ask? Well for chrissakes, get off my back...who are you, my mother?

Seriously though...I hate going to the doctor. I know, I know...in the past I have let a lot of strangers get personal with my lady bits...so why should going to the doctor be scary? Well, it's not the exam part that I'm afraid of. If you've seen one vag, you've seen them all. I just hate the whole part where the doc gets on their high horse and starts judging your lifestyle and telling you that you need to eat better and get your cholesterol checked and blah blah blah. I don't like being judged by skinny doctors.

Plus, it's not like I'm not hip to my situation. I know what size I am. I know what my BMI is. I know exactly where I fall on their goddamn chart and I know I'm far far away from what they have deemed my "healthy weight." If some doctor thinks I'm oblivious to the fact that I need to eat better or exercise more...then they need to pull their head out of their ass. I'm ALL TOO AWARE of my lifestyle choices and what size pants it's put me in. If they think, for one second, that I am lying to myself about it... I live in fucking Wisconsin...we add cheese to our beer for chrissakes!

But anyway, I digress... I am glad to report that I finally did make that appointment. I go to the lady doc in two weeks. I can't wait to get back on my sweet sweet hormone therapy! Most girls are excited to go on birth control because then they can have as much sex as they want and not get pregnant. Me? I just want my beautiful face back.

It wouldn't be so bad if I wasn't a picker. But I am. Ever since that zit incident in 9th grade...I make sure to take care of any situations that may result in a-ready-to-pop-zit. I pick so much at my face right now that I've really made the situation about 200 times worse than if I could just keep my hands to myself. I can't help it. I never used to have this problem and I just want it to go away!

No amount of zit cream, pimple gel, or salicylic acne fighting ointment will make my face better. I could wash my face three times a day...or never...and it would still look the same. I've tried every OTC medicine out there but nothing helps. Nothing even phases it. My acne has this big ego now. It's totally immune to everything I do to try and get rid of it. I don't even put a dent in it. The best I can do is cover it up. Which I do. Religiously.

Every god damn morning I look at the blank canvass that is my pizza face and shudder in disgust. Then I have to hold back tears for the face I once had. Then I sigh and get to work. After singing the Pizza Face song that is... I have so much work to do to make my face public-ready it's fucking ridick.

I thank my lucky stars that Mary Kay minerals foundation exists. It is the ONLY makeup that will even attempt to cover up my face. I have to use both concealer and mineral powder foundation just to make it so my face isn't red. No matter how many layers of foundation I put on...I can't cover everything. They don't completely disappear. I'd say I have a 50 ft face...as in, if you look at my face from 50 feet away, you probably won't be able to tell how bad it is. But get up close and you can totally tell that I'm covering up a war zone.

As bad as the makeup over the acne looks...it's 10 times better than just my naked face. I'd rather people see my attempt to cover it up...then just let it fly free like a 16 year old boy who doesn't even have the luxury of owning foundation. That's, like, our one thing we have as women over men. If a guy has pimples for days...he can't exactly layer on the Cover Girl.

The worst part is that since I pick at my face I always have open wounds. Just try covering up a pot hole on your face with powder. It doesn't effing work. It's kind of like filling in that hole you punched in the wall with newspaper. Sure, the hole will be filled, but it will be a completely different color and texture and anyone looking at it will know what you did.

For anyone who has ever experienced this...or may be currently experiencing it...you know that it takes an entire week or more to completely rid your face of one of these little life ruining inflamed asshole skin lesions. And that's just one. While that one is clearing up you have five more show up. And then as those five are clearing...you'll get five more new ones. It's a never ending cycle of horror!!

At the same time...when you have a really bad one and it finally clears up--it's a great feeling. For a day. Until you get another one the size of a volcano.

When I talk to people now I'm always wondering if they are talking to me...or my zits. Are you looking at me...or are you looking at my pimply chin? My only saving grace is that I'm an adult and therefore get to bypass all the bitchy teenagers. Most adults have more tact than a high school bully so they don't laugh and point at my face whenever I walk in to a room. In fact, I'm willing to bet most adults have bigger problems of their own to deal with than my face. That's the only positive thing about this whole face debacle is that I don't have to deal with the ridicule...to my face anyway. I have no idea what people say behind my back so I can't account for that.

I'm just hoping and praying that I'll be getting back on the hormones in enough time to clear up my skin before I get to California. I'm going out to visit my pops and his family over Memorial weekend and I can't go out there looking like this. In fact, my next three months will be spent doing whatever I can to make myself not look anything like...well...myself. I'm going so far as to quit drinking. But that's a blog for another day. For now I will continue to slather my face up with Clean & Clear products and makeup and hope people keep their opinions about my pizza face to themselves because I do a pretty good job of ridiculing me all by myself.