She's gonna blow!

I'd like to say a few words about middle-age acne. What the F---? That's really all I can say. Actually no, it's so heinous it requires more than a few words. It seems cruel to add this battle with Mt. Vesuvius on my face, to the list of other "fun" women get to experience at this age. And I'm not naturally pimple-prone, mind you. I went through puberty with barely a scar or scab on my face. Beautiful skin. I suppose that's exactly why I'm being "blessed" with the Clearasil conundrum at this point in my life? Same with being the last of my teenage pals to get my period. Looks like I'm going to be the first to go-- on this side. It's fantastic how that higher being tries to "even things out." Glorious good times.

Now, when I talk about zits--I don't mean a widespread breakout, entire crater-faced disaster every time hormones act up. I'm just talking about one. One. Strategically placed zit. And no, it's not a tiny imperfection--it's large. Big. Red. Boulder. Like the one I have right now. (right, lower chin quadrant) And no matter how much cover-up you put on it--it only looks bigger. Like trying to hide a cake baking disaster by piling on more frosting. The bump only gets bigger. And looks more obvious. Now I don't want to jinx it--but I'd almost feel more comfortable if I got more than just one. At least balance out my face. And wouldn't stick out like a sore--um--thumb isn't big enough. Anyways, it's the first thing you see when I say hello. I feel like it crosses the street before I do.

And at this age--when you get a volcano-sized blemish--you don't want to put too much of that drying medicinal crap on it, for fear it'll be too drying and add wrinkles along with the stress of the lone facial mount. So yes, you can get rid of the zit--but you're now left with a wrinkly hole that peels, cracks and contributes to the make-up flaking. Usually while you're making a presentation.

It's embarrassing because they last so long. These aren't those teenage here-today, gone tomorrow zits. And inevitably, they show up on a day when you have to meet someone important. A date. A meeting. A job interview. "Hi, I'm 40-something and I still get pimples." It's there. You can't avoid it. So do you call it out in public? Or just ignore it and hope they don't see the spot covered in six layers of Lancome? I usually choose full disclosure. Not sure why. When I was in a relationship--I'd always say "ignore the massive zit"--and point it out. Every time he'd say "I don't even see it." But he would if we made out and the makeup got sucked away. So I tell. Maybe it's easier to call out my imperfections before someone else does? (I think I need to call out Dr. Phil on that one.)

On a movie junket a while back--I had to interview Matt Damon.  As I interviewed Mr. Damon--I heard it coming out of my mouth--but couldn't believe I was calling attention to it--there. I asked my last question: "So when you wake up in the morning--do you feel like the same person now that you've won an Oscar? Like me--this morning I woke up and thought--Wow--I'm going to interview Matt Damon--but then I looked in the mirror and realized I had this giant zit on my chin." (I pointed. Yes this story had visuals.)

Chirp-Chirp. (Insert cricket sound effects here.)

He may have looked at me like "lady your five minutes are up right now." But--phew-now Matt Damon knew I had covered up a zit--it wasn't some facial deformity. I felt better. Later in the hallway--the cameraman walked by me..."You can't even see it." he said. Maybe full disclosure to movie stars and men in your life--isn't the way to go after all. Maybe calling attention to your bobbles isn't the way to go either? Considering--most aren't even noticeable?

I know I can't ask for perfection at this point in life--but the constant stream of weird things changing in my body as time marches on and steals any semblance of hotness--is stressful. Do we have to contend with hormone-induced acne as well? Seems unfair. I thought--or was told--things get easier. Had I any idea I'd still be buying Clearasil in my forties--and not for my teenage kids (which I forgot to have)--I probably would have would have kept that sample "DermaWand" I got when I produced an infomercial about an electronic zit zapper Ivana Trump sold. "Gilllls (she couldn't say girls) Try the Derma Band...(she couldn't say "wand" either)...Eet geeves you gorgeous blemish-free skin!"  Only--it looked like a vibrator you use on your face --so I tossed it when I moved. Plus--back then--I didn't need the vibrator zit zapper. Gilllls. And don't say Pro-Active. That lady was my dermatologist when I had beautiful skin. The fact that I had to produce Ivana Trump's zitfomerical, instead of my own doctor's that made her a bazzillionaire--is enough to cause--well, acne.

So what do you do? I need some interaction on this one. Just laugh? Wear a hat? Stay home from work? Cold? Hot? Squeeze it? Don't squeeze it? The fact that I'm giving pimples so much press, is most likely fact that I'm a little obsessed with how I look. I'm not really. As I write this--I sit with an inch thick green mask on my face. It's just part of that jelly roll of insecurities you've read about in previous blogs. Aging. Dating. Dumping. That and ye old lack of self confidence which often forces me to show you where I'm lacking. So next time you see me--please--say "What's that thing on your face?" Stop me from the telescoping (wrong word) pity party! I handled it once--from age 14 - 18...I can do it again. (the pimples, not the pity.) It's really just puberty in reverse. And when I get though it--just like the first phase--I'll have a big, fun, carefree time ahead of me. Free from blemishes and cramps! Only this time, I'll wearing a diaper instead of cheerleading trunks.

(sorry--way more than a few words. Shoulda stuck with What the Fxxx.)