50 Shades of Grey Poupon

This blog post isn't about literary porn nor is it about mustard. I just thought that would make an awesome title for a blog post and wanted to use it before I forgot about it.

I've been neglecting my little blog lately because I was obsessing over making a series of really bad craft videos on YouTube which you can make fun of on my YouTube Channel. I was surprised to find that I really like making them but editing pretty much sucks. And it's not like I'm using Final Cut or anything but even the basic little video editor that comes preloaded on a Mac is tedious.

I just spent the last week and a half visiting friends and family in Texas and Louisiana. It was very enjoyable for the most part (I hate driving). I won't bore you with details or mention inappropriate things like how the highlight of my trip was when me and my sister helped to birth the blackhead beast that was living on my mom's back.

If you're squeamish, look away now.

Picking at each other like apes is one of our favorite family activities. Some families go camping or to the beach or lake or maybe they have big family dinners or reunions. In my family we fight over who gets to pick whose blackheads. When someone gets a sunburn and starts peeling, it's a contest to see who can peel off the biggest sheet of dead, burned skin. It's almost enough to make me rethink my stance on evolution.

Everyone has blackheads on their back to some extent. If you think you don't it's only because you haven't been around someone who likes to pick them. Trust me. You have them. Squeezing each other's blackheads might be gross to some people but walking around with them on your back is grosser. To me. You know that scene in My Big Fat Greek Wedding where they're all getting dressed for the wedding and Toula's aunt starts plucking the chin hairs off her mom? Yeah, that's us.

My sister and I couldn't help but notice the mother of all blackheads on my mom's upper back one evening. We both tried to squeeze it in the traditional manner but Mom complained that we were hurting her. We gave her a stick to bite on and continued to squeeze but got no results. We put hot compresses on it and let it rest for 24 hours.

The next night my sister came over with some kind of fancy blackhead extracting tool. I was beyond jealous. She used the tool on the blackhead beast and managed to get a little bit of it out. Then she ditched the tool and started squeezing. I had gone into the bathroom for some peroxide and cotton balls when I heard the screaming. It wasn't coming from my mom but from my sister. She was horrified by the sight of the 1/2" long blackhead that was as big around as a toothpick. I am not exaggerating. We have pictures. The thing was so huge I swear it had hair and teeth. I might be exaggerating a little there.

We treated the exit wound left by The Beast, sterilized ourselves and our tools, then settled back to talk about the evening's adventures for the next several hours. In fact, we will get years of enjoyment out of retelling the story of the "Blackhead Beast of 2012". We will pass it down to our children who will gaze at us in wide-eyed bewilderment as the tale (and the size of the blackhead) grows and becomes something of an urban legend.

And this is why I love my psychotic family.

Good times.