Confessions Of An Addictive Personality

I have an unfortunate problem.

When I decide I like something, I decide I really like it.

When I was a youngin', it was ice cream and Pogs. When I was in high school, it was Carmex. (Although I did have a brief fling with Burt's Bees, and a very short affair with Blistex, I always returned to my first love.) I've tried the tubes but I always return to the old standby, the disgusting little jar that is probably teeming with bacteria of all life forms.

A jar of Carmex is a quarter ounce of love, made of natural ingredients. It is a legal addiction, and to my knowledge does not cause cancer or hallucinations. The formula has not changed since 1936. It is perfect just the way it is.

There are jokes about there being a special wing of the Betty Ford Centre for Carmex addicts like me. Perhaps there should be. As I sit here at the computer reading random articles, I find myself diving into the tiny tub every three minutes. There is a characteristic streak on every pair of pants I own, from where I wipe my goopy finger after I take a hit. Exes were informed that if they couldn't live with my Vicksy aroma, they would have to go. One boss, who suggested I switch lip balm brands, quickly retreated after I gave her the Jenn Stare of Death(tm).

People sometimes remark that something smells slightly medicinal when they are around me. I grin. I know I smell like a granny. I rub my lips together compulsively as if they are sticks and I am trying to start a fire. When I did my clinical placement at a nursing home, I wore Carmex under my nose so I would not smell any of the unfortunate smells around me. I need this shit to function. Chap Stick just doesn't have the same rush. That expensive Mary Kay crap is expensive. And crap. Avon lip balm is okay, and tastes really yummy, but I tend to lick it off immediately because it tastes good.

I am addicted to a $2.99, nondescript, tiny jar of HEAVEN. When I find places that sell it in the jar, instead of the gawdawful tube, I usually buy 2 or 3 of them. I have a tradition when a jar of Carmex is opened, a specific shape that must be carved into its waxy innards. I cringe a little bit when someone asks for a swipe - not because I am worried about what their bacteria laden fingers may introduce my sterile little tub to, but because I am worried they will swipe the wrong way - and what then? I am just slightly obsessive compulsive, I swear.

The facial expression on a first time user of Carmex is pretty priceless. "OH MY LORD WHY WOULD ANYONE VOLUNTARILY PUT THIS SHIT ON THEIR LIPS?" is the usual consensus. That's what I said the first time, too.

I have a problem.

My name is Jenn and I'm an addict.

Please don't look in my pants pockets. No, not my housecoat, either. Actually, just stay out of all my pockets. If you need some Carmex, they sell it at the drug store across the street.

*runs*