I basically called my mom for help. Except when I say mom, I mean an esthetician.
People really need to give stoners a break. I'm not sure where this lazy-ass, good-for-nothing criminal rep came from, but some of the more brilliant people on the planet smoke grass. For real.
It's a more effective medicine than, like, MORPHINE, which just sounds terrifying to me. And electrical-tape-nippled P!nk will tell you three times in the span of four minutes that it makes you itch. Weed doesn't make people violent; if you're doing it right, it won't hurt your lungs; and I hear it's fun as hell. I could start getting political, but you didn't come here for that.
You, a dope bitch, came here to figure out how to keep your T-zone on lock.
OK, you'll wanna start by grabbing your handbag. Dig around in the bottom for a flat-ish rectangular cardstock box. Not finding one? Move on to your next handbag. There, see? I knew they were somewhere.
Now just, like, take a piece and blot it on your nose like you did with those blue plastic-y sheets in junior high.
They're way cheap multitaskers that you can get at any bodega, gas station, drugstore, most delis, and, well duh your handbag, or a buddy's handbag. Or center console. They're everywhere. You're welcome.