Accutane Really Does Work (Alternate Title: A Post Written By Captain Obvious)

I've been struggling with temperamental and sassy skin since I was about thirteen. Despite both of my parents having angel-skin, when I hit puberty my sebaceous glands exploded and acne began its dictatorship on my face. I tried the more accessible drugstore products first: Clean & Clear (more like Dirty & Pimply, am I right, ladies?), Neutrogena, Clearasil, I tried it all. Now I've come to believe that drugstore acne products are a conspiracy and that they never really clear up acne so that you're forced to keep funneling money into their products for all eternity (insert diabolical laugh), but I was thirteen then and my parents didn't care about my face, they cared about my grades - I took what I could get.

Around sixteen, my mom finally realized how distraught I was about my bubble-wrap face and decided to buy me Proactiv. "Get clear skin!" they said. "Solve all of your acne problems!" they said. Yea, if you're not allergic to Benzoyl Peroxide. I had to stay home from school for three days because my face swelled up about twice its normal size and was covered with a rough, red, alligator-texture rash. I was at my sexiest.

I thought it was a lost cause and so I spent the next couple of years slathering makeup on haphazardly to hide the blemishes. At eighteen, I moved to New York City to start as a freshman at NYU. I thought it wasn't possible for my skin to get any worse but BOY WAS I WRONG. It got so bad that I was finally forced to be an adult and go see a dermatologist. I was prescribed a course of Doxycycline, Clindamycin topical gel, and Retin-A Micro. And guess what? That shit WERKED.

Cut to a couple of months after the course of oral antibiotics was finished and my old friend acne had returned. My derm prescribed another course, and this cycle of success/represcribing a couple of months later when the acne returned continued until about a year and a half ago when the antibiotics stopped working completely. My pimples did a lot of scoffing and were very proud of themselves. For the time being - they had won.

This was taken right before I started Accutane and is a good indication of how shitty my skin had been for most of my life. This photo and all subsequent photos in this post were taken without makeup to give you the full picture. HONESTY, Y'ALL. REAL SHIT.

That was the first time my dermatologist mentioned Accutane. The only thing I knew about it at that time was that it was serious business and that it had a hilarious anti-pregnancy warning on the packaging. I was too nervous, he told me to research it a bit,

This is no joke the pregnancy
warning on Accutane. HILARIOUS.

and I was sent away with some useless topical cream to try. It didn't work (duh) and about two months later I came back to my derm for help. Again, he suggested Accutane, but a combination of sheer stubbornness and fear prevented me from saying yes. I left that day with a prescription face wash. During this time I even tried Benzoyl Peroxide again - rationalizing that I gave up too soon the previous time and that my skin just hadn't adjusted to the chemical (spoiler alert: I was still allergic). After yet another two months of agony, I came back in. "There's really nothing left to try at this point - except for Accutane," said my patient, tolerant, prince-of-a-derm. FINE. I'LL DO IT. JUST GET THIS SHIT OFF OF MY FACE. My response directly to him was a bit more polite. I also was not shouting (except internally).

I don't know if you guys know this about Accutane, but it is a pain in the ass to take. Before you start, you need to get blood taken to make sure all of your levels and potassium and sugar/spice and shit are on point. Then the doctor sends over an approval request to your insurance company, provided you have health insurance. The approval process takes about a month - then you need to come back in and get blood drawn to make sure you're not pregnant. This is because Accutane will cause you to have deformed Dawn of the Dead zombie babies. After the blood is analyzed, you come back in to see the doctor and get your first legit prescription for Accutane. However, before you can pick it up you have to go online and answer a series of condescending questions about your sexual activity (Is it OK to use condoms alone while on Accutane [as in, just condoms as birth control - not condoms for one]? Your significant other pulls out, is this enough [...to not have a baby]?). Once you make it through that Sex Ed pop quiz, you bring your prescription to the pharmacy (with your Accutane "I'm not pregnant" card - you think I'm kidding?) where you have a one-week window to pick up your monthly supply or else you have to redo EVERYTHING. And that's right, I said monthly supply because you have to repeat this process every month that you're on it.

So anyway, one month after that visit I'm sitting on the couch, about to take the first pill, when I start reading about Accutane's side effects. You thought WebMD was scary? What is this, amateur hour?! Accutane has been linked to arthritis, IBD (Chrone's disease, etc), kidney and liver issues/failure, chronic joint and muscle pain, depression, bipolar disorder, the disease from "Cabin Fever," and a hundred other terrifying things. I was frozen in fear and apprehension which quickly disolved into apathy as I took the first pill like the badass, taker-of-risks that I am (I'm not really a risk-taker, I was just so defeated and pretty much at the point where I'd live with an ouchy body if it meant not having pimples - I trust anyone who's had acne knows where my head was at).

Mid-way through my five-month Accutane treatment.

Starting about three weeks in and lasting the entire duration that I was on Accutane, I had chapped lips that could rival Khaleesi's when she was crossing the red waste (yea, I just did that), eyes so dry that they rejected contacts, and the strangest boogers, but other than that, I was actually fine. No aches, no pains, no major organ failure, and no flesh-eating rashes with Rider Strong (tying it back in to "Cabin Fever" here, people - try to keep up). Since my skin was super frail at this point (for example, you must avoid waxing as it will rip off the top layer of your skin - someone had to find this out the hard way, let's have a moment of silence for them), I switched my skincare regimen to the most delicate of products (LUSH's Ultrabland as face wash and Celestial as moisturizer) at the suggestion of my dermatologist.

Five months went by pretty quickly and although the process of getting blood taken, coming back a week later to get the prescription, answering pedantic questions, and then finally being able to get the medication was UGH SO ANNOYING - in the end it was 100% worth it. It's been a couple months since I finished taking it and my skin is only getting better each day. I haven't had to buy a blemish-related product since and my makeup has gotten steadily lighter and lighter. For the first time in my life, this past weekend, I ventured into public without any makeup on. I couldn't be more pleased.

Taken about a month ago and about a month after finishing Accutane. Again, no makeup here. MY EMOTIONS.

In terms of the side-effects, I got lucky. If you're interested in taking Accutane, please check with your dermatologist and go through the necessary smart-person steps before doing so. It is a serious drug and should be taken responsibly, under the watchful eye of a licensed doctor, and only after other attempts have failed you miserably.

Let me know if you have questions? I guess?

Lunchables, Lesbians, And Loo-Trained Cats

I know you guys haven't heard as much as a peep from my corner of the world for what seems like the same amount of time that it takes for "Game of Thrones" to start season three. For that I am truly not sorry at all - I have a job and a life and you can't make unpaid demands of me because you aren't my parents or a sassy talking cat. Besides, about four people total read this blog and one of those four is me so it's really three but WHO'S COUNTING?

All of the other actors have headshots on the
Facebook page for Scissr. I should submit this right?

Anyway, since our last time shooting the shit, I've gotten a new job marketing for a startup wine e-commerce website (lotta words there, I know), became an iPhone user, gained about ten pounds in cookies and Jewish guilt, and signed up to act in a lesbian web-series called Scissr. I know you only really care about the latter, so let me inform you that it will be a homosexual, racially-inclusive version of "Girls" mixed with a financially-obtainable "The L-Word." I will play the co-creator/writer/actor's best friend, Taylor, because that outrageous bitch wrote the part FOR ME. She's one my dearest friends and for some twisted reason thought I was cool enough to disregard the fact that I have absolutely no acting experience or mass-appeal and asked me to play the role of, well, me. I'm excited and terrified and I only hope that I can muster enough confidence to just be myself and not become hyper-aware of the way I act and fuck it up (like how if you pay attention too much to your own breathing you're all "I. CAN'T. BREATHE." See, it's happening now). Who knows, maybe I'll hit it out of the proverbial park and become the next famous non-actress actress like Jemima Kirke.

Sassy twat.

I also purchased a new water bottle (LIVING LARGE) and am semi-successfully trying to toilet train Shadow the cat. I say "semi-successfully" because we're only at step two and so far she hasn't fucked it up with her stupid little cat brain. They say to give them positive reinforcement when they complete the next step without any issues so that they know they're doing something right. This meant that as Shadow came out of the bathroom after the first time that I rigged up her CitiKitty (I had to carry that home without a bag just FYI), I (very gently) applauded her and gave her a thumbs up while saying in my high-voice-reserved-for-animals, "You did it! Yay! So proud!" In retrospect, the thumbs up was probably unnecessary given that Shadow doesn't have thumbs and maybe thought I was flaunting them at her, but she seemed to like my enthusiasm well enough because about two minutes later she was galloping around the apartment as if to say, "I pooped and you loved it!" I wish I received as much praise every time I successfully defecated.

At this point you're probably thinking "This post has absolutely nothing to do with Lunchables! I was seduced with false hopes of round miniature ham slices!" I respond by using the previous sentence as a terrible segue to talk about Lunchables (so there!). This topic stems from an earlier conversation with my co-workers when we all realized that we had two things in common: our strong desire to put any and all Lunchables in our mouths and having parents who refused to let us do so. I don't know about you guys, but my dad preferred to make weird artisanal sandwiches that involved bananas and curried chicken (not at the same time...well...maybe) that I had to simultaneously consume and explain while I watched my (usually rich) classmates spread tomato sauce on their ice-cold, Lunchables pizzas and feel my heart shrivel up and die of envy. I'm sure it wasn't the $7 price tag or suspect ingredients that deterred my dad, but his utter loathing of my happiness. And that's why we still aren't on speaking terms (JK I talked to my dad the other day). Was anyone else deprived of Lunchables and do you want to carthart (this is now the verb form of catharsis so deal with it) about it?

There's no way to really end this post since it's pretty much a clusterfuck of awful, so consider this sentence me slowly bowing out while tipping some sort of hat with Mariachi music playing in the background.

How to Cure a Yeast Infection In the Most Delicious Way

Let me start off this post by saying no, this isn't about farming vaginal yeast to make artisanal bread and yes, you should not continue reading this if you have a twig and berries between your legs (you've been warned, gentlemen). Now, onto the yeasty goodness.

Vaginas are a bitch. One wrong move that disrupts the delicate flora, fauna, and merryweather (possibly fairies from "Sleeping Beauty" and not vaginal components), and you're off to the gynecologist to get your

What the yeast are up to in there. Science.

hoo-ha scraped and poked. If you're like me, you try everything you can yourself before you tell an adult.

Home remedies can be almost as complicated as putting on pants and actually going to the doctor. They can also be complete Whole Foods organic bullshit. You can read the testimonials all you want, but who can you really trust on the internet? Are you really going to rest ice cubes on your forehead to get rid of belly button lint just because some lady in Omaha swore by it? I did, and I still have belly button lint.

Anyway, yeast infections can be caused by the most innocuous things such as sex or antibiotics. I've heard even thinking too hard about yeast infections can cause yeast infections (turn back now). If you suspect that your vagina is being invaded by things that are better served in a winery, follow the steps below to get rid of them without even putting on pants!


Note: I am not a doctor. If you have the clap and do this, it will probably burn like the inside of Mount Doom and be completely ineffective. Check your symptoms here and only proceed with the whole listening-to-a-random-chick thing at your own risk.


1. If you're experiencing a lot of burning/soreness, I would first suggest going out to the store and getting plain yogurt (no sugar!), dipping a tampon in it, and inserting it into your junk like you normally would. The cool yogurt is very soothing and contains the natural probiotic bacteria that gets rid of yeast! Do that overnight and then proceed with the steps below. If you're just a bit itchy/not really burning a lot, proceed to step two.

Your new best friend. LYLAS, garlic!

2. Get yo'self some garlic. You want to use fresh garlic and you'll need anywhere from 2-6 cloves depending on how bad your infection is.

3. Take one clove and unwrap the paper-like layers off. Then, with a sharp knife, slice each side off very thinly so that what's exposed is the wet part (this is all very technical wording, I know). It's sort of like you're preparing a delicious Italian dish except not at all because it's going straight into your vagoo and there's no pasta involved (I mean, there can be if you start to feel peckish).

4. Take a needle and thread and poke it straight through the center of the clove. Pull it through so that both sides are about equal in length and then cut the needle off. Tie the thread in a knot around the clove as many times as you want. Just make sure it's secure because the last thing you want is to lose a clove of garlic in your vagina for eternity.

5. For the pièce de résistance, insert the clove into your snatch with the thread hanging out so that, when you're ready, you can remove it like a tampon.


Some Extra Info:

♥ It will probably burn like a bitch going in. That is complete normal albeit annoying. It will subside in about two minutes.
♥ Replace the garlic with a fresh clove every morning and every evening before bed. You don't want it getting nasty in there.
♥ The human body is a crazy bananas thing and during this process, you will taste garlic in your mouth and it will be SO FUCKING WEIRD. I actually discussed this on my first date with my boyfriend, Sam. I'm such a keeper, right?
♥ Try to refrain from sexy things until you're all cured. Unless your significant other REALLY enjoys garlic bread.
♥ This method works because garlic is a natural antifungal and antibacterial and will kill all dat yeast for you.
♥ As my friend Erol just pointed out, your vagina will also be protected from vampires. How's that for killing two birds?


Oh, and if you have some AZO Yeast tablets, Garlic tablets, and/or Acidophilus tablets (you can get all of these at your drugstore), take two of each per day. It also helps to avoid sticking sugary treats in your vagina. Good luck!

The Devil Wears Pigtails: How I Insulted My Mom Via Handmade Greeting Cards And More!

I was out at dinner a couple of months ago with my father, aunt, uncle, and boyfriend, when it dawned on me to write something about my youth. We were sitting around the table, stuffing juicy steak into our faces, when my father decided to recount "episodes" from my childhood. Some of them, albeit hilarious, were not new to me. I distinctly remember how I was moved from preschool to kindergarten because I wouldn't stop biting this one kid named Eugene. I also kept sticking markers in his ears. Why? Because his name was Eugene. I would bite him and color his ears now if I saw him. His name sucked and so did he.

Babby "Hunger Games."

ANYWAY (Sorry, Eugenes of the world), my father then told us all a story of my poor behavior which quickly nestled its way into my heart and became my favorite story ever. Even better than Pan's Labyrinth. I will retell it to my kids as a bedtime story while flipping through the "Cat in the Hat." Sure, they'll wonder what the cat and the grumpy fish have to do with anything, but their reading comprehension will be so poor that they'll just accept what I'm saying to them and move along.

BACK TO THE POINT AGAIN, I was a Girl Scout (and a ballerina too, as most girls are forced to be). Let's be honest, the best parts about being a Girl Scout were the snazzy outfit and the COOKIES (Samoas 4 lyfe, bro). Your parents had to buy a shit-ton in order to appear supportive and make you look like a baller in front of your troupe. But where did those cookies eventually go? That's right, into your face hole. What were we supposed to learn from selling those cookies anyway? Was that supposed to be a lesson in business, sales, and consumerism? Thank God I didn't waste my cookies by setting up tables in front of old-school department stores like Caldor and Bradley's and selling them to strangers like some of my more entrepreneurial counterparts. Instead, I just marched up to my mom and dad and said "BUY THEM. BUY ALL THE COOKIES.  >:(  ," but I digress.

While enjoying his peaceful two hour break from his demon daughter while I was at my weekly Girl Scout meeting, my dad received an unexpected phone call. He got out of his lavender-scented bubble bath, took the cucumber slices off of his eyes, and set down his black truffle caviar to retrieve the phone (this is all speculation but EDUCATED speculation). The voice on the other end was my troupe leader, but she was not her usual, poised self. "What's wrong, Mrs. Troupeface (I don't remember her real name, but this is probably really close)?"

Violin: favorite weapon number two, second only to saliva.

"Mr. Blakin? You have to come and pick up your daughter."

"Why? Is she ok? Is something wrong? Is she hurt?"

"Nothing like that. She's just...she's spitting on all the other Girl Scouts."

"Oh..."


That was probably the moment when my father lost all faith in me as a youngin'. Good thing my parents were divorced and I still had my mom to shower with love in order to garner her good will and trust. The other week, while my mom was cleaning, she found a bunch of handmade cards from me. Here they are, in what I assume to be chronological order:

I love her more than chocholte. This surely won her over.

Note the strategic use of cats to lure her into a false sense of security.

At first glance, this card seems cute and friendly, BUT LOOK AGAIN. Twisters are dangerous and destructive. As depicted by my sketches, they wreck homes and put peoples' lives in danger. This isn't a silly card from a 12 year old, this is a death threat (and could the figure running and screaming "help" be my mother? possibly...possibly...)

My mom's name is Debra and as you can tell, this card means business. She must not have been taking the cards very seriously because this one is both insulting, aesthetically accurate (my mom always matches her socks to her shirt/cardigan numbers and talks to people smothered in feces), and terrifying.

I'm sure most of you spent many a day pondering silently to yourself and your pets, "I wonder if Taylor was this much of a asshole growing up..." The answer is yes, yes I was. So, if there's one thing you can learn from this post, it's that if you have kids or plan on having kids, make sure you give them all the Girl Scout cookies they want and take their natural disaster-related death threats seriously. Speaking of natural disasters: an earthquake AND a hurricane last week? I'm sure Ryan Gosling is on it but in the meantime, I hope everyone is safe and sound.

Looking Back On Being An Embarrassing Daughter

I first heard the word "testicle" from Ace Ventura: Pet Detective. He exclaims "HOLY TESTICLE TUESDAY!" in response to the sexually-ambiguous Einhorn/Finkle entering a room. A couple of days later, after my dad hit a bump while pulling into an Exxon gas station, I shouted "HOLY TESTICLE TUESDAY!" as loud as I could from the passenger seat. I was seven years old.

This was one of about a hundred times that, looking back into my childhood, I have intensely embarrassed myself in front of my parents. Other awesome moments include listening to songs like If You Want It To Be Good Girl (Get Yourself A Bad Boy) by The Backstreet Boys and Give It To You by Jordan Knight alone in the car with my father. If you don't know what's wrong with this, please reference the below lyrics. I have taken the liberty to bold the important parts for you:


If You Want It To Be Good Girl (Get Yourself A Bad Boy
by the Backstreet Boys

If you want it to be wild, gotta know just who to dial baby (And that's me).
If you really like it hot get someone who hits the spot, Honey (oh yes).

Bridge

I found this when I Google-imaged "Backstreet Boys." Jury is still
out on whether or not it's real but either way, I LOVE IT.

And if you wanna get it done then you gotta get the one, the one who's got it goin' on.

Refrain
If you wanna make it last gotta know just who to ask.
Baby's gotta be the best (and that's me).

Chorus
If you want it to be good girl get yourself a... bad boy.
If you really want it good girl get yourself a... bad boy.
Get it like it could be (would be), yeah like it should be.
If you want it to be good girl get yourself a...bad boy.

If you like it innovative better get someone creative, Honey (yes).
And if you want it to be jammin' gotta get somebody slammin', Baby (oh yes).

Now listen:
These are things your mama shouldn't know.
These are things I really wanna show.
These are things I wanna show you how.
So won't you let me show you right now.
Oohh baby...


Give It To You 
by Jordan Knight

You say its been too long since you had some.
You say I turn you on, like a fire that's burning inside.
You think that I'm the one you see in your dreams.
I know what you mean yeah.

Refrain 1
It's creepin' around in your head: me holding you down in my bed.
You don't have to say a word.
I'm convinced you want this.

Chorus
Baby you know I can give it to you.
I can't deny you do it right.
Just let me know and I'll give it to you.
Just show me where, I'll take you there.

"Stingy" huh? Is he referring to how tight he is with money
or how the gonorrhea is making his balls burn.

Baby you know that I'll give it to you.
Your body needs a man like me.
Anything goes when I give it to you.
You know without a doubt, I'll turn you out.
I'll give it to you.
The feeling is fine, giving you everything of mine.

I'm the place to be and soon, you'll see.
I don't care who leads, as long as we move horizontally.
Anyone can make you sweat, but I, can keep you wet.

Refrain 2
It's creepin' around in my head: me holding you down in my bed.
You don't have to say a word.
Just relax, I'll do the work.
I can't wait to give you some.
I'm convinced you need one.

I want to satisfy your every wish and mine, baby.
I know just what you need, (you need) to get you off.
No one could ever do you like I do you right baby.
There's nothing we can't do...
The feeling is fine giving you everything of mine.


Here I am, 12/13 years old, having NO CLUE what any of those lyrics meant, rocking my shit to these songs with my father sitting right next to me, and he is listening to every single, overly sexual innuendo-ed word. When I think about it too much, it feels like my butt is trying to migrate north and eat my lower jaw...whatever that means. It feels like when you accidentally scream "HOLY TESTICLE TUESDAY!" in the car with your father at age seven and you have to sit there and listen, unexpectedly, to your father describe man balls in graphic detail for 30 minutes.

If you haven't noticed yet, my father had primary custody of me so most of these stories involve him. Another awkward habit of mine was always leaving the room when Jack and Sally kissed at the end of The Nightmare Before Christmas. I did this every single time my dad and I watched the movie together and claimed that I just had to use the bathroom. Truth is, I couldn't handle watching anybody kiss in front of my father from ages 3-16, regardless of if they were made entirely out of clay or not. Watching a movie that I had never seen before with my father during those 13 years was always a huge gamble; Would someone kiss someone else? Would the F-bomb be dropped? Would a boob be palmed? I never knew and so, I went to the bathroom very frequently when any sort of heightened emotion was expressed in order to avoid the aforementioned. This might be why I have trouble expressing emotion today, come to think of it, but more on my fragile psyche at a later date!

For now, I'm heading out of work early for July 4th weekend. I NEVER get out of work early. Wrapping up this post in a graceful and polite manner is infinitely less important than my leaving this office right the fuck now to go home and eat my weight in Trader Joe's Edamame Hummus. Peace and Happy Independence Day to all my fellow, stupid Americans! Eat all the cheeseburgers you can fit in your mouth.