Grr

So I wrote "Grr" as the title of this blog post quite a while ago because of thus incident where I was discussing my struggle with acne with a bunch of girls from my class. All of them wanted to contribute their two cents. Do you take a multivitamin? You know, it's all about washing your face.

I forget what else they said. But it compelled me to text my mom something like, "these girls are blah blah blah.  Bitches."

(Side note- if all curse words are four letters I'm not quite sure if I should spell it biches but my tablet is saying that's not a word. So I'm guessing not.)

My mom didn't answer.

She didn't answer until I apologized for cursing. She said it had nothing to do with my word choice but I know how she works.

Anyway, it reminds me of my good friend who got stuck in a public restroom at her job with a bunch of strangers who started giving her a ton of advice on how to fix her acne.

Um, helooooo...she's been to doctors and she's tried everything you've said. She's researched drugs and even cut milk out of her diet. It's not like she's this ignorant girl who doesn't wash her face.

Bitches.

It also makes me think of people playing doctor with other health issues. I've struggled with some things and people think they know exactly how to fix me. My favorite is when people think I should just pray more, or maybe they can just pray for me and exercise a demon or something.

Really.  Lies. They know nothing. Just like I know nothing about their lives. God forbid I should ever play doctor for someone else.

Grr.

Hang on: let it be said that these girls I mentioned at the beginning of my post are now some of my best friends at school and I love them dearly. 

Prints

I pinched a chunk of my middle finger out  trying to use my blow drier, connecting a stubborn attachment. I did a little pain dance and sucked on it and wondered what I would do about sanitation if I was in a real salon and then moved on. 

Over the next few days, I've been putting "new skin" on the wound, which is a sort of nail-polish-y yellow protective coating that is leprous-looking when it starts peeling off. The last time it peeled off, I studied the wound. 

I had been kind of excited about getting it because it was deep and I thought I would have this enigmatic fingerprint that had a blank spot in it. I have one finger already that has a wierd blank spot on the middle with dots instead of lines and think it's so cool how easy it would be for the cops to catch me if I committed a sloppy crime. 

Upon studying the wound, however, I could see LINES (!) emerging on the lower layers of my skin. Gosh!

I remember watching NCIS once and learning that if you poke a lot of holes in your fingertips you can burn the prints off by setting them in pineapple juice : "a very painful process," says dr. Ducky. 

I'm not about to do that because I'm not after anonymity - I just have a preoccupation with uniqueness. 

I am so obsessed with the idea of having "special" fingerprints, fingerprints that set me apart from everybody else, that I'm glad the blow dryer ate the pad of my finger. 

The funny thing I just realized is that my fingerprints are actually already different from everyone else's anyway!