TMI Thursday: Acne attack. Or, “Attackne.”

I was racking my brain for TMI topics for today’s post, and I came up with a couple of pretty good (read: gnarly) ones, but I think I will save them for later, since last week’s was kind of intense. Plus, at least one of my queued TMI posts is on a similar vein to last week’s, so I gotta keep it interesting. Spice it up. Embarrass myself on a whole new level.

Those of you who know me well are aware that I have struggled with acne for the last six years or so. (That’s right, in high school, when everyone else had acne, my face was pretty clear. It wasn’t until college that it decided to go all teen-angst on me.) And one of my biggest problems was always picking at my face. Popping zits. Scratching at the scabs from the popped zits. Touching, rubbing, squeezing…basically everything you really should AVOID when your face is susceptible to pimples.

Anyway, a while back I read on some random blog somewhere (I’ve since lost the link) that there is a three-point system for zits. At it is as follows:

• 1 point: Blackheads
• 2 points: Whiteheads
• 3 points: Whiteheads that hit the mirror when you pop them

For the record, I am doing a lot better about touching my face, and wouldn’t you know it, my face is looking better than it has in years…though still not as great as it did in 2002. Nevertheless, when I find one of those deep, under-the-surface zits coming on, I just can’t fight the urge to destroy them as soon as possible. I mean, they HURT! You know the kind, right?

You go to swipe your hair away from your eyes and your finger grazes over an as-yet invisible spot on your forehead, causing you to wince in intense pain and go, “Crap, not again!” And alas, where just hours ago there was no sign of a mere blemish, there is now a beast of a pimple worrrrrrrrking its way slowly to the surface of your skin. Ouch, and dang. I have a hot date tonight!

So here’s where it gets grody.

Whenever I get a big, nasty zit on my face, the kind that I just can’t help but squeeze because it’s so ghastly and unsightly, I always have tissue to assist me in capturing the dreaded pus-ful intruder. And the reason I always have tissue to assist me is because I know how far those things can squirt. I’m talking three-pointers here. So I use the tissue while I’m squeezing the zit, so that if it does burst forth with great force, I know exactly where it’s going.

But one time, I slipped up. I was sitting at my desk at work, and I went to rest my chin on my hand for a moment (deep thought, you know), when I felt it. A burrower. A big, painful, sneaky little devil right on the most protrusive part of my chin. Blech! I was totally caught off guard and really annoyed that this pesk had interrupted my pensive posing pause (three cheers for alliteration!), so I just started squeezing and picking and pinching and cursing this menacing little butthead whitehead, not even thinking to have a tissue ready for its grand exit from my face.

And it rocketed. Exploded. Projectile launched out of my chin and onto…

…um…

Oh…crap. I lost it.

I LOST THE ZIT.

The pouch of pus that was once nestled safely, if un-welcomely, under my chin skin, was ferociously released into the great unknown, and I failed to be prepared with a tissue to squeeze it into. And it was gone.

This was a couple months ago, friends. And I never did figure out where it went. I can only assume naively hope and pray that it went past my monitor, all the way behind my desk and into the little corner at the back of my cubicle, far away from any paperwork or pens or *gag* coffee mugs, and that it promptly disintegrated or otherwise disappeared forever.

Let’s just say that I learned my lesson:

I will not pop a zit without protection.
I will not pop a zit without protection.
I will not pop a zit without protection.
I will not pop a zit without protection.
I will not pop a zit without protection…