Friday the 30th couldn’t come soon enough. I’m giving up on the natural approach and getting pills from my derm, because god damn.

They worked when I was a kid! And man did I do a lot of cyclines for my skin… tetra-, meno-, doxy-, even orthotri-. I’m apparently at the severity in the book I’ve been reading where diet just can’t really help, and god dammit if I never want to leave the confines of my efficiency because I don’t want to be seen. *wah wah*

Anyway. Meds! Thats really exciting. Weight… nyeh. Same. But there was food everywhere at work for Christmas, and now is that hilarious EVERYONE’S ON A DIET NOW thing, including me, so it should be easier.

If I thought this tumblr would document an immediate change, I was joking myself. This will take a period of yo-yo/finagling.

BYE

OKAY, so I fully intend to continue with this thing, it’s just it was right before thanksgiving break and yaddah blah fart. 

I have no good news other than not having gone in a worse direction; I have simply been stagnant. It’s monday and I’m fully equipped with a fresh tube of Retin-A, fridge full of fresh, healthy food, and that ever-dust-collecting membership at Planet Fitness which I spend 20 economy-helping (but otherwise useless) dollars a month on. So GOD DAMMIT, TUMBLR FOLLOWERS.

May this friday bring good news. Cheers, fatties.

I’m overweight, acne’d, and broke. 

I’m not, like, Mo’Nique-in-Phat-Gurls overweight. I’m like, the-token-heavier-girl-they-cast-on-Rock-of-Love overweight. However, what the Mo’Nique-in-Phat-Gurls level of fat translates to on an acne scale, I am that. I am totally that. I’m like BMI-30 level of acne.

Sadder than when my acne translates to Mo’Nique-in-Phat-Gurls fat is when my acne translates to Kirstie-Alley-On-OK-Magazine-Cover fat, because it keeps getting mildly better but is never good but then spirals out of control and I end up wearing sweatpants on my face, like, no parallel there, sweatpants literally on face, and then I go “on Oprah” (outside) and everyone laughs at how “fat” (pimpled) I am and then I have to use “stripper hose” (foundation) to cover myself in public, which makes people laugh harder because it barely does anything, and I just end up crying and wish I was still on “Cheers” (in 4th grade, the last time I had clear skin).

This blog is to talk about my jour… path… uh, adven… it’s about my attempt at simultaneously losing 30 pounds and clearing up my skin for good through eating all the right foods, exercising, finding the right skincare regimen, all while spending as little as possible.

Finally… here it is. I’ve tried to hide my skin from the internet for as long as linxus has linked us, but I don’t feel like it anymore. I have bad skin, guys, so get ready.

First I’ll show you what my skin would look like if it were eerily, bad-CGI-in-The-Scorpion-King level of flawless while I’m strutting down a posh runway…

and here is what it actually looks like, mirrored by my messy studio apartment and that depressingly old garbage bad.

YEAH. IT’S SHITTY! And it’s downright embarrassing, and I’d never dream of doing something like this in the past, broadcasting myself sans bare minerals, but OH MY GOD SCREW IT. Dove can lick my salycylic acid with their “Campaign-For-Real-Women-Who-Are-Not-Blonde-But-Are-Occasionally-Old-And/Or-Ethnic.” No one ever publicizes their acne until they’re in the Proactiv ad with coke under their noses and showing off their current flawless skin while the photo in question is a literal blemish on their past. Whatever. I look like this right-fucking-now. 

Join me, omega-3 fatasses.