What I Had Been Missing

I love that my new extra-curricular activity has distracted me from my zittyness. I have no idea why I didn’t play football until now. My dad pointed out a couple bright sides. I’m going in with a great understanding of the game. The classroom education, as he called it. And I don’t have any old injuries to worry about. New ones may come, but playing with a clean slate and whole body is a wonderful blessing.

Zit Brother

Yesterday’s spring practice was awesome. It was the first time I worked through a zone defense, and it was fun to find all the holes, windows, etc. that my QB needs to hit. Our QB will only be a Jr. next year, and I swear, the guy has it all. I don’t know him very well yet, but he’s pretty soft-spoken – except in the huddle. The guy is like a coach on the field. One thing we both have in common. A few red bumps in the facial area. Regardless, he hit me on a quick slant, right as a I hit the seam, and it was off to the races. Before we broke the huddle, he looked to me and said, “It’s coming hard, and taking you up field. Be there.”

When I came running back to scrimmage, all the coaches were smiling, clapping and praising my effort. I suppose the execution wasn’t half bad, but I love this game. I know I’ll be less than thrilled the first time I get popped in the chest or face, but it’s part of the game, and I’ve thought about it all.

Sweet Maggie

So. I told Maggie about the blog. Accidentally. The other night when we were up so late, I mentioned that I was behind on my blog, when I meant to say journal. “What? You have a blog? I wanna read it!”

“I meant journal.”

She didn’t buy it. So, I told her about it. And swore her to secrecy. Last night, I got a card in the mail, with this long, beautiful, heart-felt combination of vowels and consonants, broken up by punctuation. She read it all, and is no doubt reading this. She said my zits give me character and keep me humble, and that its a rare quality in people our age. Genuine humility. I love that such a compliment made me swell with pride. Off to wash my face.

Back to School

Back to school, back to school…

Have you seen Billy Madison? I was 2 years old when that came out. I was watching it on TV the other day, and my mom told me that it was one of the movies she and my dad saw, one of the first times she left me with a baby-sitter. Like an actual baby-sitter. I had stayed with family, I’m sure. Anyway, I’m back at school today. Feeling much, much better. Still a little exhausted, but my forehead isn’t killing me like it was yesterday.

We’re getting into skeleton drills in football this week. Basically offensive position players vs. defense. It’s a blast. I think we’re gonna put on flags and do a little flag football tomorrow, or beginning next week, to start prepping for our 7 on 7 league. I’m nervous and excited. I can’t even imagine how crazy it’ll be when we actually suit up and take the field for the first time on a Friday next year.

Colleges

I’m changing the subject drastically.

I’ve started looking into some colleges. Well, not really looking into them, but more requesting information from them. Some are local, Arizona State and Arizona. I requested information from University of New Mexico, UCLA, and a small school in Durango, Colorado, called Fort Lewis College. We used to vacation in Durango, and I never knew there was a school there. I have also requested information from the University of Wisconsin-Madison, just for fun. No, I don’t think Maggie has any desire to go to school that close to home, but it’s a cool town, and I have family close, so I thought it might become an option. I could probably even crash with my grandparents if I decided to go there.

There are so many more that I could be interested, but I need to see how things play out, what kind of scholarships I might be eligible for due to test scores, grades and who knows, maybe even sports? I don’t really care what the name is on the institution, I’m sure there will be good teachers, higher education and other kids with zits in the mix.

Any thoughts? I’d love to have ’em. Any place more zit friendly than another?

Home “Sick.”

Does a really bad headache from an undergrounder count as being sick? I think so. Right at my hairline, I’ve got another THIRD EYE that is trying to see. This one is 10 times worse than the last. 10 times. Fortunately my hair is covering it, but my head hurt so bad after I took a shower this morning I decided to stay home. I’m dead tired, anyway. I think my Friday night has finally caught up with me.

Yesterday I mentioned that my friends and I like to raise a little legal heck. In truth, I suppose it’s more of the illegal variety, but they qualify as pranks, as opposed to vandalism, because we know the people we hit. Sure, there are the typical toilet paperings of people’s cacti (and for those of you who don’t live in a cactus region, it’s a little worse than getting your oak tree TP’d), and more creative ventures involving parking cones, newspapers and recently, a load of landscaping bricks. Here’s an example.

Brick Prank

I love my preacher. He’s a really young guy, married, doesn’t molest kids and has really offered an example of the fact that you can be “in” the world, but not “of” the world. I sound just like him. Well. A few Saturdays ago, some buddies of mine from church and myself, went over to his place about at 2:00 a.m. on a Saturday night/Sunday morning. Yes, meaning that he would be preaching in the morning. We knew they had been doing some desert landscaping in their yard and along their driveway, and there were hundreds of bricks, just laid out on wood pallets.

We created a little assembly line, and brick by brick, built a wall of sorts, across the driveway, about 3 feet high. It only took us maybe 25 minutes. The next morning at church, he didn’t say a thing. Nothing. I know I just admitted my guilt, but honestly, he’s never gonna find this. But the fact that he didn’t mention anything means he’s being very precise with his investigation, and that he’s going to strike hard. Put it this way. He’s the one who introduced me to the TP’ing of cacti. ‘Cause you know…that’s what Jesus would do.

My zit is killing me. I’m going to take a nap.

Deprived Success

I don’t know what it is. Maybe it’s the way we’re made, but sometimes, when I feel like I’m my most exhausted (yeah, I used a thesaurus to come up with the title to this entry) I put out my best effort and execution. I was chatting with my dad about this after my workout on Saturday.

He came up to the field with my buddy and I, and worked out with us a bit. Threw to us, so we could work routes and coverage. Offered some pointers, tips, etc. It was one of the best workouts I feel I’ve had.

So. That’s what happened. Here’s what led to it. I didn’t sleep hardly at all on Friday night. I went out and played with the guys, raised a little legal heck, then came back and Maggie and I talked on the phone until she said she could see the sun coming up. I finally let her go, felt restless, so I put on The Fourth Kind, scared myself silly, then finally dozed off around 6 a.m. Got up at 7:30, had a shower, some breakfast, then my dad and I picked up my buddy and hit the field at 9:00.

So. Explain this to me. I couldn’t drop a ball if I tried. I was hauling in stuff high, low, behind me, way out in front. At one point I held off my friend (illegally, yes), and caught a bullet with one hand. We both had a chuckle. Know what else? My face looked really good on Saturday. Sure, there were still some zits, but nothing new, and nothing for me to complain about on Sunday, or today.

After we made it home, I tried to eat some fried chicken, which I love, but at that point I was just too tired to put my hand to my face. I took one bite of a drumstick, and set it down to watch a minute of TV – fell asleep. Didn’t wake up until 8 p.m.

I just don’t get it. The human body can do all that, but it can’t fight off zits? When I made that comment to my dad, he just lifted up his hat and said, “Son, at least you still have all your hair.” GREAT! Something else to worry about.

I don’t believe I’ve ever spoken of the heck my friends and I raise, have I? OK. Tomorrow.

Wack Commenteers

What’s up people? What did I talk about last? My third eye? It’s gone. Completely. No left-over. I gotta give props to whatever this spa thingy is doing to my face. Where I don’t have zits, my skin looks really nice, too. Like…baby-butt soft.

It’s Thursday, aren’t I supposed to be in spring ball workouts? They gave us the day off, and we’re all going over to coach’s house tonight to watch the first round of the draft. Everyone is pumped. Well, except for our defensive coordinator who doesn’t care about the NFL. He always says, “When one of you guys make it there, I’ll start caring.” Regardless, he’s gonna be there tonight, too. Probably giving us lectures about sacrifice.

Ventilation

I gotta vent. I was managing my blog a bit this afternoon and going through some of these wack comments that people leave. All spam, of course. I’m seriously gonna start hunting people down and laying some smack for this nonsense. Do they not know how I long for comments about zits, and just generally about how cool I am? OK, fine. About zits? Never any advice, just stuff like, “Your blog is so interesting, you should check out_______________.”

Oh, should I? You know what I’d like to do? Because this blog is about zits, and they’re messing with my zitesque flow? I’d like to accumulate some poppage, put it in a zip-lock bag, and throw it at their face. Are you hearing this, spammers? Of course not. You don’t read this. But if you do, watch your back. I’m bringing the force in form of zit-squish!

Prom

My prom is in a couple weeks. I want to go, and I don’t mind being dateless, but it’ll suck once I’m there and wishing Maggie were there with me. No. There’s no surprising me this time around. She’s taking an ACT test that morning, and so we’ll have to wait yet another go ’round to enjoy a cliche tradition together. I’m not complaining. Just whining a bit.

Oh, crap! I forgot to mention. Went to the Diamondbacks game on Tuesday night. We won. The Cardinals still won the series after killing us last night, but it was nice to see some action. A lot of runs scored.

I’m gonna head home and give my face a workout before the draft. I’m really hoping to get Sean Weatherspoon from the University of Missouri in the first round, though we have needs in several places. Most mocks have us getting him or the Saints getting him. Come to Arizona, Sean.

The Third Eye

Just finished up a test, and I’ve got some time, so I figured I’d go ahead and get my typing skills back into their weekly motion. So far this has been the most enjoyable Monday I can remember in quite awhile. I didn’t stay up too late on Saturday night, and today I have avoided the zombie mode. It’s never the next day…it’s always the day after the first morning. If that makes sense, I don’t know. But you know what I’m saying, right? Late Saturday night? Suffer on Monday. Late Friday night, suffer on Sunday, etc.

The Third Eye Zit

I spoke of an undergrounder coming hard last week. Today it has shriveled, but this weekend, it was a legit third eye. Right in the middle of my friggin’ forehead. It was one of those that if you tried to pop it, it would only turn into a disgusting, painful bruise, so I left it alone. I must say that my mom’s little galvanic device is making the life of these zits a whole lot shorter. This thing came on Saturday, and is pretty much gone today.

So, here’s my question. What do you do about the inevitable third eye’s? I wore a hat. Which hurt. You could go with a headband, but I’m no hipster, so I just look like a douche. My mom once suggested a little make-up, and clearly that’s not an option. It’s not like you can’t tell there is a zit under the make-up. One reason I pity so many poor girls who opt to slather on the make-up. If you’re a girl and reading this, it only makes zits look worse.

And when you choose to wear a hat, it just gives you more acne issues for trying to cover up the ones you already have. Like telling a lie and having to lie to get out of it. Pretty soon, you can remember what you’ve said–what am I talking about? It’s just best to let the truth be known. In word. In deed. In zits. Just let them air freely.

Summer Plans

The rest of this week, you peeps have to help me come up with some summer plans…or ideas. Now that I’m committed to the football team, it’s going to make things a little more interesting. I’m still considering a temporary residence in Madison, and maybe working a bit while I’m there, or I can stick around, make money, or not make money and get some valuable experience. Hmmm…all I know is that there are less than 7 weeks of school left. BOOM!

Back on Track

Wait. It’s totally Thursday… That means I literally have 20 minutes to get this post out before reporting to the field house. Off to the races!

Master Typist

Have I mentioned that I can type much faster than I can run, and I can run pretty dang fast. I can type like the wind blows. I suppose the blowing wind fluctuates from place to place, but let’s say…like a the wind blowing when there’s a tornado in Kansas. Seriously, all that stuff just took me about 10 seconds to type.

When I was in my typing class last year, there weren’t enough computers, so they literally pulled a typewriter out of storage and guess who got stuck with it?

I would pound those keys as hard as heck, just trying to distract everyone else and make them hit my pace. Oh man, it was such a source of joy to see all those upper classmen twitch at the sound of my clickity clickity clack. Clack, clack, clack. I took such great pleasure the day my teacher said, “We’re gonna have to put someone else on the typewriter–apparently it’s got the finger fuel.”

Legendary Zit Hat

So. My zitty hat that I wrote about earlier this week? Yeah, it’s my new workout hat. I wore it yesterday and had a pretty good day in the weight room and on the field. I still look ridiculous on some of the power lifting stuff, but the technique and form is starting to make sense. Power-Cleans for example. Not something you do at the neighborhood gym–do them wrong and you’ll quickly be broken, or aching in some physical vicinity.

Anyway, my hat…Our coach walked up, looked at it and said, “It’s good to have a goal. Once we get in season, I only want you in (school name) gear.” I could only grin, and offered an “Absolutely!” I almost launched into the story about my zit mark, but figured I’d save it for another conversation.

OK, my zit lovers! I’m off to the nearest urinal, then to the field house!! I’ll be in touch tomorrow, probably. And I feel a monstrous undergrounder coming on, so I might have the zit material you’re hoping for!

A Trip Down Memory Lane

I know I shared the worst popping story of my life, but I’ve never shared the zit-poppage which upset me the most. Well, that nose zit a couple weeks ago was death wrapped in an infected pore, but I’m talking “pissed me off.” That kind of upset.

Cardinals game. Arizona Cardinals football. My Dad and I went to University of Phoenix stadium to see the Cardinals and 49ers (2008), and I was decked out like a super fan. I threw on the entire track suit in team colors, over the Larry Fitzgerald jersey, and bought a brand new white Cardinals hat with the team logo. It was a huge game, the place was rockin’, and we were basically playing for the division title.

After a huge play, this guy sitting in front of us somehow hit me in the side of the head while we were all celebrating. He didn’t hit me that hard, but it hurt so bad I thought I was going to pass out. In an effort to save face, I did nothing, adjusted nothing, accepted his apology, sat down and just watched the game. After a couple minutes, the throbbing subsided, and I was back in the action. Every time I would yell, though, I could feel it where the guy made contact.

After the game, we push through the crowd, got into the car and I had a look in the vanity mirror, I tried to take my hat off. It wouldn’t easily come off my head. It was stuck where I got hit. The dude had popped a zit, which bled out like a stuck pig, and completely ruined my hat. So, the nastiness from the zit literally glued my hat to my face. Just slightly. I pulled it off, which hurt even worse and complained about it while my dad laughed himself silly.

I still have the hat, which has a big orange dot just above the bill on the right side. I rarely wear it, because I get mad every time I see it. I think maybe I’ll make it a workout hat, even though it’s from the Super Bowl season.

The Masters Tournament 2010 – Bustin’ my Zits

Wait? F My Zits? Golf?

C’mon. I’m a white kid in Arizona. What do you think we do growing up? We long for the day when we can drive our folks around in the golf cart, take a putt or two for dad, and raise a little heck as teens during puberty. I probably only hit the links twice a month these days, but yes, I do golf. It’s a fun game.

I totally got busted today at school for watching the Masters. The live streaming. Yeah, I totally ganked an Internet access code from one of the teachers last year, and this year it was the same. I was in the back corner of the library, in my planning period/study hall, and how I didn’t notice the librarian wander around a particular bookshelf, I’ll never know.

“Excuse me. Are you on the Internet?”
“No. I’m just re-watching some video I saved to my computer that I was editing.”

It worked. Whew. I didn’t know I was that quick.

I can’t believe they don’t change that stuff. We’ll see if they do now. Regardless, I was watching Tiger on 17, and that guy, regardless of his past transgressions, can make shots that other people would never even attempt!!

Speaking of Tiger, I’m proud to be a one-woman man. And speaking of my gal, she was much better after talking to me. That made me feel great, considering there was no way I could offer a shoulder to cry on. The ex-douche, apparently apologized the next day. I think he’s just trying to set her up for a last minute prom invitation again, but whatever, I’m not worried about. I dig that girl, and she digs me.

Mom’s Galvanic Spa

I’m still getting zits, but I must say, after a few uses, my skin just feels healthier. One thing I haven’t gotten are any zits along my jaw-line since using it, and that has been a problem area for me. Next week, I’ve got another great zit story to share. Not that we know one another well enough, I can embarrass myself even more!

I’m thrilled about this weekend, because I have nothing planned. I’m already looking forward to saying yes or no to the first thing that’s offered as an option. I guess I will get together with my buddy for a quick workout on Saturday, but that’ll only be an hour. No homework. No tests. Weekend bliss. I hope you enjoy yours. We’ll probably both be watching the Masters, huh?

Can’t Escape the Teen Drama

I’m constantly reminded that my zits are the least of my worries. They’re just the most consistent of my worries. I know it’s not in their nature to stick around for long, but man they never prick me in the heart or give me that feeling of a sick stomach. What am I yapping about? Maggie.

No. Maggie is good. We’re as good as we could be, I guess. Other than the fact that we’re over 1,700 miles away from each other. But that’s all we’ve ever known, so it is what it is. I’ve been using that phrase a lot lately: It is what it is. Anyway, she sent me a text today at school, wanting to know if I could call her. My heart dropped. Sank. Farted. So, I cut out of the building at lunch, and went to my car to “get something.”

I called her, and she was obviously upset. At first she played it off like everything was fine, and she just wanted to hear my voice, but then…she started crying. My first response was to get pissed off, and I don’t know where that came from. I could literally feel a new batch of zits start baking under the surface. After my face caught on fire, I started to tear up, because she couldn’t get anything out.

Apparently this friggin’ d-hole that she used to go out with, has been harassing her mercilessly about me, calling me her Internet boyfriend, and all kinds of other stuff, because he suggested they should go to prom together and she said no, that she wasn’t going unless I came to town. It’s his fault I wrote that run-on sentence, too! She’s so sweet. She tries hard to be kind to everyone. So, I’m pissed. I feel like this is when I’m supposed to be there. Be her friend. And punch that bag of vinegar and water right in his ball-less sack.

Apparently, he’s gone all EMO since they broke up, and he’s a year older than us, so he thinks he’s the one who put the skinny back in jeans. I can kinda smile, just imagining the crap he’ll get next year in college. We had a laugh about that, but it doesn’t really make things better.

No football today, just lifting. Coaches are at a clinic. I’m late, so I’m gonna run.