.i got beef.

Listen up, Mother Nature. You and I got beef.

I get it, you know - I get that aging is a mothertrucking bitch of a process.

I understand that at age (almost) 32  my genetic time is up and that that's why I've started to go massively gray. Bodies change over the years, bloppity bloppity doo, so for the first time in my life, I have a belly and hips. I mean, I'm slightly confused as to why these have developed now, when I am arguably trying to live a healthy life, and not when I weighed almost 200 lbs, but, you know, whatever, you do you.

I'm okay with not really being able to drink more than two - two-and-a-half, tops- when I go out, lest I spend the next day upchucking the very last of my bile, stealing candy canes off the Christmas tree "because I need the sugar," and promising that if I just survive this last hangover, I will never ever ohmygodpleaseireallymeanitthis time have another drink again. (This from girl who freshman year in college once polished off about 10 miniature airline bottles of liquor -neat- only to wake up the next morning and attend the 9:30AM breakfast convocation  of Being Bi/Multi-racial Awareness week.)

So, I get it.

I GET IT. I'm getting old, and these damned kids better get off my lawn or else. But you know what I DON'T get? Do you know what really grinds my gears?

The fact that for the past two years I haven't stopped getting pimples.

WHAT.THE.FUCK? [Yes, I cursed. Earmuffs galore for all those who are offended.]

I thought adulthood and  its ever ever decrepit glory meant that I didn't have to deal with this anymore, that the days of nuking my skin with astringent, scrubbing pads and fast-acting zit creams were over.

Why now?

Whhyyyyyyyyy?

Why now, when I hardly experienced any skin problems in my teen years? What was the point of that? Sure, my skin was nice ans dewy and clear, and I never needed to wear make-up beyond black eye-liner and dark red lipstick outlined with Wet-n-Wild's brown lipliner? (.....Oh yeah. It was the mid-90s. Don't judge me!). But my tragic hairstyles and unfortunate  sartorial choices  negated all that.(Plaid and polka dots and platform shoes? Really?)

Why have you chosen to punish me now - now that I actually brush my hair and know how to dress? Okay, fine, maybe I'm wearing too many primary colors today, but that's not really the point here. Are you punishing me because I'm a bad person? Is it because I most kids annoy the bejeebus out of me? Is it because I watch crap TV like "The Rachel Zoe Project" and "NYC Prep," therefore ensuring that such crap tv continues to be produced in the future? Is it because sometimes I forget to recycle?

I need to know, because right now I have a monster, stay-home-from-prom, kids-pointing-and-staring-and-running-away-screaming ginormagantuan pimple smack dab between my eyebrows.

What.The.Hell?

For the past few days, I've had to channel Tammy Faye and put on my make-up with an industrial grade paintbrush, because that sucker refuses to die no matter what amount of nuclear-power- strength skin bombs I put on it. And despite all that sweaty effort, I still I look like a demented, angry tryclops...a demented, angry tryclops in nerd glasses who's in desperate need of an eyebrow wax (...note to self...).

And listen, it's not like I take don't take care of my skin. I'm on a skin regime that would apparently turn out three-headed babies if I'm not careful. I read beauty magazines. I talk to my dermatologist. I'm not stoopid.

Wait, what? What are you saying?

I'm PMS-ing? [So sorry, boys.]

Ahem. I see.

Whatever. You still suck and I think I hate you.

Wait! I take that horrible insubordination back. Court reporter, strike that from the record! The jury will dismiss that comment! Rewind! Control zee, control zee! Erase! Erase! Erase!

Please Mother Nature, please make this zit go away.

People on the subway are staring. And in my current fragile state of mind I'm liable to break out into tears or start a what-you-lookin-at fight.

Make it go away.

Please? Pretty please with a bourbon-infused cherry on top?

Thanks.