I have a zit right now. It's on the very tip of my nose. It's big. It's what my friend Heather would call "angry." It has three dimensions and it laughs at any concealer that dares come its way. Here's one of the fantastic things about my non-famous life.

This zit doesn't matter.

This was not the case in my old life.

When I was 16, I filmed a terrible TV movie in the South of France called Reckoning. I played a girl who got kidnapped by bad guys that wanted to sell her as a sex slave.

During shooting, puberty hit (shut up - I was a late bloomer) and I broke out terribly. My acne was so bad that even the heavy-duty film make up couldn't cover up my horrible pimples.  And no one wants a zitty sex slave.

The production company decided to "shuffle around the shooting schedule" and film scenes that didn't involve me and my terrible skin until it cleared up a little. There were production meetings and location changes. It was discussed widely throughout the cast and crew. Doctors were consulted.

But now, no one cares about this thing on my face. No one cares at my yoga studio or at the Whole Foods or when I picked up our tax paperwork from the accountant. The dog didn't care when my zit and I took her for a walk.

To the best of my knowledge, there has not been a single meeting held to discuss the state of this current zit.

I guess some girls like having the loaner jewelry from Van Cleef and Arpels and all the other trappings that come with celebrity, but for me, nothing is more valuable than the freedom to get a really big zit.

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