Proactiv-ism

This is what I feel like.

One thing that makes me wish I wore makeup is this horrendously frightful disease that attacks your face with red bumps and tiny little black spots. No, not the plague. I just mean acne. And people with acne have to come to the realization really fast that their self-worth can't be based on how clear their skin is or they will develop acne-induced agoraphobia. Every time I'm having a fight with my complexion those Proactiv ads are like angels of light calling to me, and finally I decided to order it. I found out that the ads are American and the great deal of $30 is actually $70 in Canada. Suddenly my complexion isn't looking so bad... I am lucky in that I've never had really bad acne. Ever since I can remember, however, I have been susceptible to what is known as "bathroom-possession." It's something that happens when you go into the bathroom between 10-12 pm to get ready for bed and you wash your face and everything is going okay until all of a sudden you notice an imperfection in your skin and then you black out and when you wake up you look like you have the measles or some other facial disease, because there wasn't just one imperfection was there??!! You found more and more and YOU HAD TO EXPEL THE EVIL FROM YOUR BODY!!!!!! And then your mother gets mad at you and says, "You're going to give yourself scars!" and you mumble something like, "Whatever woman," and then a week later when the blemish is gone but in its place is a scar on your face (and on your soul), you know the truth: your mother is always right. Always.

Makeup: Why I'm a Hippie

The look of realization that your mother is a
failure because you are on "Toddlers and Tiaras."

In grade eight I started wearing makeup. For three years I suffered under that dictator. My eyes always bothered me but I didn't want to face the reality that I was allergic to mascara. For most girls being allergic to mascara would be like saying you might as well wear a paper bag over your head. As I'm sure most girls know, if I ever went without makeup people thought I was sick. No, that's just me without makeup you insensitive jerk, naturally pale and sickly looking. Then at the end of grade ten I got pink-eye. Yes, folks. Pink-eye set me free. You see, when you have pink-eye, you can't wear mascara. Did someone pass gas into my pillow? Maybe. But all I know is I will be forever thankful for their flatulence. I remember going to school without makeup that first day and feeling like the whole world was looking at me. The whole world wasn't looking at me, but a few people were, and like the other times I'd gone to school without makeup they assumed I must be dying. But, miraculously, after a couple days no one noticed, they were too busy noticing I wasn't dead. And then I just kind of... didn't start wearing it again. For once my laziness was working for me! The next year I went to a different school where everyone just assumed I had always been a sickly child and kept it to themselves. It was like the Faith Identity, like the Bourne Identity, but starring me. I got a hair cut, told people I was an orphan who used to be in the circus and started calling myself by my middle name. Wait, hold up: if you know my middle name then you know you can't trust that last sentence. Unless maybe I shortened my middle name to "Seppy," in which case, the whole thing becomes believable again.