Ever had a problem in your life that couldn't be solved by a little punk rock?

Acne is one of the banes of my existence, right behind Spotify's skip limit and Birkenstocks. I try to stay on top of my skincare routine, but one or two little rascals always slip through the cracks.

Normally, this is fine. I apply some spot treatment and hope that a good night's sleep will wipe any blemishes from my facial record. But recently—and I'm not sure if this is because of weird hormones or what—I was cursed with the company of sentient skin damage.

It wasn't too bad at first. I felt a bump above my left eyebrow and thought I heard a faint “she left me roses by the stairs,” but shook my head and dismissed it. Probably just one of those lyrics that comes back to you at random times.

Then I noticed a small zit on my upper lip (zits in this area tend to hurt worse than childbirth) and could've sworn it had Tom DeLonge's whiny, edgy voice: “The night will go on, my little windmill…” Okay, a little weird. Maybe I need some sleep or caffeine. Exhaustion makes people feel weird things, right?

The blackhead just under my chin was the one that gave it away. I guess the other two were waiting for a third member because as soon as that last guy showed up, a full-fledged pre-hook was unleashed at full volume: “Say it ain't so, I will not go / Turn the lights off, carry me home.”

Now, there are a few reasons I have a problem with this trio.

1. I love Blink-182 and even paid real money to see them at Warped Tour, but I haven’t listened to them much since. The closest I get to letting them impact my life is following Mark Hoppus on Twitter. So why do I get a skate punk serenade that's overdue by like, eight years?

2. There aren't any creams on the market for this, which sucks because these breakouts hurt like hell (thanks to both the inflammation and the off-key singing).

3. I can't pop them out of existence because I'm afraid of ending up with scars that sing the live version or something.

4. I'm tempted to pull out a copy of Kidz Bop to clean out my ears, which I'm positive will only make things worse.

5. These pretentious little pimples are mocking me and confusing me at the same time. “All the, small things / True care, truth brings.” Is this “truth” referring to clear skin? If so, I'm pretty sure I've got the “true care” thing covered, jerks. You guys are the ones struggling to find a proper venue. “I'll take, one lift / Your ride, best trip.” Yeah, you probably love my “ride” and the free real estate. You’re like some hitchhiker who can’t take rejection and duct-tapes himself to cars. “Always, I know / You'll be at my show.” What, like your performance? Are you saying that you need some sort of confirmation that I'll be party to something that's on my freaking face? Thanks, Einstein. I'll be sure to start letting my eyes know when I see things.

Is this a hint at the horrible lot awaiting me in life, or part of some greater mystery that I’ve yet to understand? I can’t help but think that I should report my problem to some national laboratory so they can study it further, but honestly, I’d much rather get this crap off my face. Who in their right mind would turn down a zitless face for millions of dollars and international fame? Certainly not victim-of-her-own-skin-since-childhood Camillia.

Christ. Whatever the case is, I don’t think these wannabe stars are going away anytime soon. They say you really don't know a person—or band—until you have to live with them, but I guess human interactions are even more complex than that. Here's to hoping dermatologists go beyond the oral and the topical and start focusing on the musical.

(For my sake. Please.)

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