Judith Light is a Whore

June 29, 2005 - 9:13 p.m.

All hail the adult-onset acne that is plaguing my body mind and soul. If it isn’t leprosy or burning rashes, then it’s acne. Always something seriously wrong with a person who does back hand-springs day in and day out in order to live a healthy, natural lifestyle. Fuck all your mothers. I’d like to take a dip in a meat grinder and start all over, if you don’t mind.

My doctor gave me prescription medication, and eight months and $800 later, I still have Chernobyl Chicken skin. She told me to be patient, that it would take 3 to 4 months. I waited twice that long and two weeks ago threw in the towel. I had decided in the back of my mind that the last possible resort, with one foot in the meat grinder, I would break down and try the late-night infomercial wonder drug that is Proactiv. Would it work for me? Like it did for Jessica, Britney and Puffy? It’s expensive as hell, but I’m a desperate chicken.

I remember the first time I saw a Proactiv commercial, and it feels like a hundred years ago. I said aloud, “Ugh, Judith Light is so ugly. And she used to have acne too? I feel sorry for her!”

I ordered the whole system and paid X-X-Xtra for overnight FedEx delivery because I was toe-tappingly eager to get started on my new Beautiful Life. For some reason it took 5 days for my overnight FedEx package to arrive.

The pooch gets screwed, Exhibit 1.

I receive my whole Beautiful New Life System in a Box and read all of the directions thoroughly, and then four more times just to be sure.

Within days I noticed a difference, a smoothness unfamiliar to me, across my forehead. A place I was used to running my fingers across, reading the evening news in Braille.

The whole process of cleansers, toners, masks and lotions has completely consumed my life and I no longer have enough hours in the day to rinse with mouthwash or make my bed.

A week into this I noticed some tan shit on my pillows and on the neck of a black shirt. Then one morning I woke up in a bed that looked like it had been acid washed in the 80s.

What is this shit? Is it that fake tanning lotion I use? Is it my makeup? It took me two weeks to realize that maybe this Proactiv shit is staining my clothes and bedding. I grabbed a bottle and read the ingredients:

Benzoyl Peroxide.

Oh right.

PEROXIDE.

That stuff that like, bleaches shit.

Like Peroxide in blond hair dye.

Like Peroxide that I used to get blood stains out of my panties in 7th grade.

Like Peroxide they use to whiten teeth.

It’s all coming together now.

I ruined exactly two weeks of clothing, which includes most of my work clothes, and being that I mainly wear black and grey to work, the damage is quite noticeable.

I also ruined all of my bedding, pillow cases and shams, and comforter.

I lowered my head in shame. It’s all my fault. If only I had read the directions six times instead of five, none of this would have happened.

I went back to the Beautiful New Life System in a Box and poured through the literature, waiting for the obvious warning to jump out and slap me in the face.

I still can’t find anything that mentions keeping it away from clothing.

I feel more than a little gypped, now that all of my shirts have been bleached to brown and yellow.

I also feel a little gypped that I woke up a few days ago with several large cysts on my neck and back. Larger than a pencil eraser, bright red, hard as a rock, and painful as hell. Right where things rub, like bra straps and purse straps and collars. It was painful just being alive, conscious of these inflamed pustules that felt like wooden stakes in the neck.

I guess this happened because I stopped taking the prescription medication, which I thought wasn’t working, but I guess it was suppressing these cysts.

Do you feel sorry for me yet?

No?

How about now?

Yesterday I woke up with a rash all over my neck, no doubt an allergic reaction to this Proactiv bullshit, and now there are clumps of skin sloughing off like a bad sunburn. The skin is brown and looks like shingles. Someone asked me if my boyfriend choked me.

This product is ruining my life.

Vanessa Williams is a trifling blue-eyed bitch.

I only have one choice. I have to apply the Lotion System and then walk around topless for 30 minutes until it dries and I can put a bra and shirt on. Sound sexy? I don’t think so. Did you see my pictures?

Walking around topless gets boring and I grow anxious and start pacing the hall. There’s only so much you can do topless and sticky. Dart past open windows. Sit gingerly on the edge of a couch or chair. Try to forget that you’re going to spend one hour everyday for the rest of your life, topless and sticky.

This ought to be fun come winter when it’s freezing cold.

To recap:

Smooth, cue ball forehead.

Multiple flame-red cysts, like marbles under the skin.

Neck made of wooden shingles, similar in texture to my Emu friend:

Hell hath no fury like a woman who is one physical malady away from being cute as hail.

Now you understand why I told you to fuck your mother.

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