Confessions of a tortured soul.

It took me a long time to be a normal kid. I didn't wear my hair in a ponytail until my Sophomore year of high school, makeup didn't come until college, and I still struggle with a mild stutter. In the midst of such stunted progress I somehow managed to do what all the cool kids do their Senior year of high school: go to Cancun for Spring Break.

I was a little wary, of course. It wasn't really my scene...but I was not going to let that stop me. Instead, I felt the need to do a little preparatory work. You know, as a deterrent to death. The weird thing is my parents were ok with it. More than ok--it was their idea. I mean, who was I fooling? We all know what happens there...you get a tan.

So I did it. I subjected my body to the harshness of man-made UV's. Ten times. I'll admit, there's something soothing about it. The smell of baking flesh. The timed warmth of your plastic coffin. Those cool Star Trekky goggles... It's not like I put a playboy bunny sticker on my hip.

Nope. Instead, I went to Cancun and got a henna tattoo. One blazing sun around my navel.

...and I wore really skimpy clothes. Oh the frivolous days of youth.