Honesty vs Manners

Everyone has probably seen or experienced the time-old tale of someone with food stuck in their teeth, and the following dilemma of which is more rude; telling someone they have food stuck in their teeth or NOT telling them and letting them go around in public looking like an animal. The same scenario can be applied to any kind of bodily faux pas; a booger hanging out of the nose, food stuck on the face, one tuft of hair sticking straight up, mascara pooling under the eyes, and my personal favorite, farting. 

Farting, as gross as it is, is perfectly natural, and not usually something to be ashamed of. Unless you are doing it on purpose to try and poison the people around you, like my husband did one time on a car trip back from Vegas, you don't have to feel like a bad person for farting. However, I think very few people can do it in public without feeling embarrassed. I certainly can't. 

The reason I pose this karmic question is because today at work, someone walked by my desk and was literally farting with every step they took. It was hilarious. However,  I didn't feel it would be in good taste to laugh, so I tried my hardest to pretend like I heard nothing. It was really, really hard. I mean, people fart, it's ok. I've had bad bowel days, especially since being pregnant. I'll never forget the first time I sneezed and farted at the same time, and I'm just grateful everyone around me was wearing headphones at the time.

Being an empathetic person, I feel very strongly that when people fart in public, the best thing to do is to pretend like you didn't hear it and save them the embarassment of calling attention to it. However, shouldn't the person at least say "excuse me" and acknowledge they did it? I realize there is a thread of hope that I think everyone hangs onto when they fart in front of someone else, namely, "Oh... maybe they didn't hear it." Nope. We heard it. I personally will try to play it off like it's my shoes making weird squeaky noises, or my stomach being particularly raucous, (TOOT!! "Oh man, my stomach is out of control today! It must have been that [insert food] I had earlier.") which rarely works but makes me feel less disgusting.

In any case, I'm torn between really wanting someone to own up to their flatulance and clearing the air (both literally and figuratively), and being totally ok letting us both pretend like nothing happened, even though we are both clearly aware of the truth. I think there's something very admirable about someone who is willing to accept that nature happens, and just say, "Excuse me!" and move on. It takes courage and I find that level of integrity worth striving for. For he who smelt it doth not always dealt it, but he who doth deny it most likely hath supplied it.

Pimple Juice and Life

Over the last few years (ever since I briefly used Proactive. Evil product.) I have developed two spots on my chin where I consistently get cystic pimples. If you don't know what those are, they are basically a giant buildup of pimple juice under the surface of the skin that turn into cysts, or hard masses that need to be drained, but mine always come back. If my sister is reading this, she's probably gagging by now. Sorry, Christina.


I have a bad habit of trying to pop these pimples, which is pointless because they are so far under the surface of the skin that all it does it create a giant scab on the surface where I have damanged the skin trying to squeeze out the toxins. And no matter how long they last or how good I am at not touching them, they always come back in the exact same places.

Since being pregnant I haven't gotten them until this week. I guess the hormones are good for something other than inducing Hulk-like rage at the drop of a hat, or at least they were for awhile.

I have this device that I purchased from Sephora (cue angels playing harps in heaven). It's a "blemish extractor with lance". Basically, you use one end to push out blackheads, and the other end you use to stab white heads and drain them. Glamorous, I know, but it works pretty darn well. I decided to use it on one of my cystic pimples last night, which I have only tried once before.

I have been letting these things sit, unmolested, on my face for about two weeks now. I haven't tried to squeeze them once. They suddenly got very red for no apparent reason other than the sickening heat that has descended upon the north state. Apparently all they needed was a good stab.

It hurt, as stabbing yourself in the face tends to do, but as soon as I did it there was an audible release of fluid, air and blood, and the asshole pimple automatically started to drain. Again, sorry Christina. It was glorious. There was an immediate feeling of release of pressure in my face and I got that sick satisfaction that I always had as a child when I would pick off scabs. Maybe I should have been a dermatologist, I don't know.

Seeing as I have been super lazy and haven't unpacked all my bathroom stuff yet, I had no pimple salve to put on my newly excavated pore, so I used hand sanitizer. It burned like hell, but today I am left with a smooth, slightly pink spot that should heal by the end of the week.

Why am I talking about pimples? Because people will read anything. I bet you thought there was a point to this. Well ok, there kind of is. I was reading a fellow blogger's post about her life being filled with ghosts of her past, and for some reason it made me think of my nasty skin conditions. So I guess my point is that if my friend could just find a life lance and stab her metaphorical pimple ghosts with it, all the nasty shit would probably just drain out on its own. And then she could douse it with some 98% alcohol solution and they would just shrivel and die.

........Don't judge me for this post. I'm pregnant and therefore slightly mentally crippled.