Despite all of the oddball and socially awkward physical traits that characterized me during my pubescent period (i.e. oversized tortoise-shell rimmed glasses, braces, pants that were slightly too short, poor clothing choices, poor hairstyle choices, sometimes greasy hair, dorky sense of humor, and a myriad of embarassing moments.), I can count myself lucky that I was able to sneak through those years with a relatively acne-free face. Sure, I had the occasional pimple or blackhead, but nothing that required standing in front of a mirror for hours try squeeze and poke every pore I could locate under the bright bathroom light. I always took a sense of pride in my complexion because I had seen the terrors that my sisters, classmates, and peers faced, and counted myself blessed that I wouldn't have to carry the scars of zit-wars into adulthood. I supposed that if there was one area of teenage angst that I could choose to bypass it would be that one anyhow, seeing that my confidence level usually won out over any fear of bad style and wore my exterior fashion like a shield of armor, refusing to allow anyone to stop me from marching to the beat of my own drum.
But zits, that was another thing, because there really is no good way of "cooling" them up.
Why, then, has the good lord decided to bless me with the little buggers so late in life. I think I've read about pepole who suffer from adult acne, where they only begin to have breakouts in their mature years. I'm not saying that I should be hanging out with Jessica Simpson on a proactive commercial by any means, and lightyears away from the "Mackenzie Philips experience" (which ,by the way, she was on Meth... Meth'll do that to ya. I watch Cops). However, it seems like I'm constantly having a little buddy just about every week. Grrrr!
I didn't really want to write this bolg about zits, but it seemed like a nice intro.
I can be immature. I might be 26, but I still enjoy a good fart joke, have an infinite love for the "Jackass" years, and will never, ever, eeeeeeeevvvvvveeeeeeeerrrrrrrr get tired of playing videogames, boardgames, tea parties, monster hunts, "house, school, and doctor", disney movies, sports, random dancing, flatulence, and funny faces with my glorious nieces and nephews or whatever other audience I can find. About the best New Year's Eve I ever had involved unlimited go-carts and laser tag at Playtime Pizza, showing those little brats how 24 year olds run shit. (Sorry Georgia, if you ever read this, but our New Year's Eve was pretty kickass, too) I once had a girlfriend break up with me for pulling a few harmless little pranks on her. (Come on, I didn't really think tapping the brakes so she would hit her head on the dashboard while she was bent over looking for my "secret wallet that I hid underneath the passenger seat" was all that bad.) But hey, that's who I am. I'm a big kid. I'm dedicated to feeling young for as long as I can, since I'm only gonna get one shot at this here life.
And if that means I have to put up with a few measly zits for a little while longer, then so be it. At least now I realize that chicks dig scars.
1 comment:
I did read this, and I understand that it is pretty difficult to trump Playtime Pizza.
Also, first 1/2 of this was gross, just so you know.
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