Let It Fester

I met up with an old friend for drinks last night. We'll call her Rhiannon, after your favorite song. Rhiannon was in town from Chicago, for work, and had a few hours free last night, so we took advantage of the opportunity to catch up.

Eventually, Rhiannon's old roommate, Lidia, came up in conversation. Turns out Lidia recently broke up with her long-time boyfriend and is set to move west at the end of the month, for a fresh start--a good move for a make-up artist, career-wise.

So far she has one job offer--working as a make-up artist for a production company that makes pornos.

I laughed. How can you not? At the same time, though, I figured it must be good money. The hard part would be when you had to put make-up on some guy's ass or...front, dealing with smells, creepy naked people, razor burn...that would all probably be way sick--way sick.

According to Rhiannon, though, Lidia would be into some of the sick shit:

"Well, at least Lidia loves to pop zits. If the guy had bacne, or whatever, she'd be all up in there, popping 'em away. She loves it."

"Really? Why?"

"I don't know...she just does..."

"Sick..."

"Let me put it this way, if you ever wanna give Lidia a present, and you don't have any money--just let a big zit fester and let her pop it. Trust me, she'll love it."

I shuddered at the thought. Didn't you?

And then it got worse. Rhiannon continued:

"One time, when she was in her salon, a bum came in off the street and started rooting through their make-up. His entire face was covered in big zits just ready to burst. He was putting lipstick on and stuff--I mean, they had to throw it all out later, but still..Lidia just stared at him, wanting to go over there and pop pop pop..."

I stuffed a sock in Rhiannon's mouth right about then. Some things are just too sick to talk about, even if they're true.

Right?