So I may be going to Super Bowl....... Not sure yet, I have been offered my uncle's ($5,000.00) ticket and I kind of like the Broncos (duh, because they're from Denver), but I will have to spend the day with my delinquent cousin. (He's nice, he's just..... I think "rowdy" would be the kindest way of putting it...) I shall have to contemplate this further. Y'all may remember how I feel about the Giants and their stadium. Plus it's going to be really fecking cold, and I don't actually enjoy watching football.
Also Super Bowl kind of clashes with the church chili cook-off (my social life is thrilling, as you can probably tell). I have been focusing on making the best chili ever so I can beat Stepmom's chili. So far, two butchers in two different supermarkets think I'm out of my mind because I brought in venison steaks for them to grind up for deer-chili (it could be delicious? we'll find out....). They already thought I was a bit strange because I make them grind sirloin steaks when I need ground beef. I refuse to buy supermarket ground beef; I like to know exactly what goes into the ground meat, thanks.
. . .
You know what really effing sucks? Perioral dermatitis. You know what else really sucks? The fact that there isn't really anything they can do for it. Doc told me to cease and desist all face creams, makeup, soaps, etc.
I can't stop wearing makeup. In order to remain employed, I need to NOT look like a leper, which I means I need makeup to cover the hideous fucking rash on my face. Which means I need to wash my face in the evening, which means my skin gets super dry and flaky and itchy, which means I also need to use mf face cream.
There are hideous red patches around my mouth and nose, on my chin, and now a lovely patch of it right under one of my eyes. And the most effective treatment is to do nothing.
Before anyone else says it first, I DO in fact see the irony in this diagnosis. I guess this is how God punishes those who refuse to go to the doctor.