Sunburns.

Every year, after being cooped up and not able to swim during the long winter months, I eventually get the opportunity to finally expose my now extremely pale self to the sun. For some reason, every year I think it's a great idea to get a small sunburn, since I don't tan; I burn, then I peel into a tanner, frecklier state. It's not the best way, but it's the only way that works for me. After a few of these sunburns, I tan quite nicely, usually because I spend every day of the summer in the pool and by the end I'm darker than I knew my skin could handle. I'm naturally fair-skinned.Very fair skinned.

Anyways, so yesterday I figured since I'm a college kid on spring break, I should go to the beach! So I called up some friends and went to the beach. Now, out of not being completely suicidal and because of my mom's warnings, I always apply sunscreen upon arriving to the beach. I just hope that the sun will somehow find its way through the layer of 30 SPF coating my skin and manage to change my melanin. In the past, sometimes if I apply sunscreen I get no sun at all, and sometimes I still get burnt. I'm wondering what kind of day today will be.

After this, I stop thinking about the sun and my skin and I go into the water, which is still quite cold. The first few steps are numbing, and I shriek as the waves splash higher than I expect. Eventually, I gather the courage to dive under a wave, and then the water feels nice, and I proceed to jump around and dive in the waves. The waves are an orange flag today, so they're strong, and the rip current is strong. The water tugs at my legs as the wave approaches, and as I go under and it crashes over me, I can feel the water rushing overhead. I try to get low enough that it doesn't hit me, but occasionally I get caught ad dragged a few feet before I regain my balance. It's a little scary, but really fun.

After a few minutes, we decide that we'd prefer to be on the beach in the warm sun, so we return to the space in the sand where we placed our belongings, spread out some towels, and lie in the sun and talk for an hour or two. Then we go through the entire last paragraph again and enter the water, which is easier now that we know to just brave it and dive under. Soon enough, we are back on the beach on the towels, warming ourselves up again. We eat the peanut butter and jelly sandwiches we brought, sit around some, and decide to brave the water a third time. We get in to our knees and I decide that I don't have the strength to do this again. First, the water is cold. Second, the waves are really strong, and last time I went under one popped my ear and its still making a weird crackling noise every time I open my mouth. So we walk around for a while, then decide to leave. We've been there about four hours.

As we leave, my face is feeling a little burnt, but the rest of me appears to be as pale as ever. In the car mirror, I can visibly see that my face, and my nose in particular, is a shade of pink that makes me laugh more than anything else. The rest of me has also turned a very light shade of pink, as I am pleased to see. I hope it's just not too bad. Mom won't be happy.

I go home, and notice that the pink is a little more red than I expected, and it kind of hurts. Mom is unhappy, and reminds me that it keeps getting darker for the next few hours. She has me take some Advil for the pain, and I put aloe gel stuff on my skin.

Skip to the next morning. I made the mistake of moving my extremities as I woke up and tried to look at the clock. This was a big mistake on my part, as the backs of my legs (one of the worst parts of the burn,) my shoulders, my arms, and my stomach all proceed to feel as though they are being poked by jillions of tiny needles made of fire. It is not a pleasant feeling. I stand up, but the pain just continues. I go take Advil and reapply the aloe gel, then inspect the damage in the mirror, since usually everything is paler the second day. I'm not really red anywhere, though the backs of my legs are probably the worst. Everywhere else that i'm burnt it's a painful, though not bad, shade of pink. And it's not consistent. The backs of my legs, the tops of my thighs, and the sides of my calves. The tops of my hands, and half of my inner forearms. It's like not all of the sunscreen decided to wear off, just certain parts. It's not the most ridiculous looking sunburn I've ever had, but nothing about it is consistent.

Either way, I am now sitting on my bed attempting to move as little as possible, though I should probably go drink some water. Mom told me to drink lots of water. I might get up in a few minutes for the water, and do a raptor-like walk in which I don't fully straighten my legs so as to avoid tension on the skin on the backs of my knees. I will creep to the kitchen in this manner and find a glass of water. Then I will return to my room and sit down on the bed, trying not to move for as long as possible, until it becomes necessary to again wander the halls of my home.

I think the point of this story is that I don't know why I always want this odd initial sunburn. I remember getting it my first year as a camp counselor, and lying in bed near tears one night. Second year as a camp counselor, the sunscreen worked every time. First year as a lifegaurd, got a small sunburn, then gradually tanned the rest of the year. Either way, now I am sunburnt.

I should have reapplied the sunscreen somewhere in the middle of the trip. That would have been a good idea.

Exhaustion.

For spring break, we took a trip to Atlanta. "We" consists of me, Daniel Wise, Leah, Daniel Watson, Judy, and Mary. Such trips give little time for sleep, cause emotions to go haywire, lead to short tempers, and overall leave everybody having a really wonderful time. It's odd that such a trip that is so physically and emotionally demanding is still one of the better experiences I can have, although I suppose that without the exhaustion there wouldn't be nearly as much fun and excitement involved. And the odd mixture of a wonderful time and a tiring experience is always more enjoyable than having neither. I'm sure anyone who's been on some sort of group adventure can relate: the feeling of being so excited to be on an adventure, wanting to do more than you actually can, passing on sleep, trying to ignore the introvert inside of you craving alone time, wanting to make sure everyone has the best time ever, being tired and trying to ignore the grouchiness seeping down slowly from your tired-induced headache, and wanting to just go back to the temporary home even though the adventures are just beginning.

Either way, I feel like I need to sleep to make up for the lack of sleeping on the trip (5 hours on average a night on an air mattress in a house that was less than quiet and never quite dark) or like I need to cry for an hour to release the emotional buildup (Intense excitement, though also accompanied by stress of things going wrong, the worry of being a sub-hostess (we were in my aunt's house,) the sadness of seeing others upset and not knowing what to do, the pressure from fighting back tears, and the dissapointment in myself for getting frustrated over little things because I was tired and had a headache.)

Stay tuned, more to come in the next few days. At this moment, I need to collapse, both physically and emotionally. I am at Jess's house right now, about to sleep on her couch bed. Jess is a very hospitable person, and I love her greatly for this. Among other things.

Note to all: Thevergaras.blogspot.com is now jessvergara.blogspot.com.

Mochas and Muffins.

Today I had a presentation in math history about Euclid and The Elements. This wasn't too significant, although I didn't really know what I would say until midnight last night.

Now, this presentation was in my 9:30 class. Since I'd be presenting, I figured I'd shower before class. I am not an unclean person, I just usually shower in the afternoon, which still leaves me on a 24 hour schedule. I'd rather shower before I go hang out with friends, then go to bed mostly clean. When I wake up, I can pull my hair back and spend out the last of my 24 hours in class with people who matter less than my friends. The point is that usually I just have a ponytail for class, and don't overly concern myself with my appearance. Though I'm clean, I look normal. For presentations, however, I try to look nicer. So I had to wake up earlier than normal on this day when I already wake up earliest of the week in order to look more presentable than usual. I needed to shower, do my hair and makeup, weat contacts instead of glasses, and wear a nice shirt. When I was in high school, I would jsut put in my contacts every morning before school. However, I read better with glasses, so now I usually don't bother putting in my contacts for class. Since I was up late planning the presentation, I woke up tired. So I figured I could get Starbucks on the way to class. I supposedly gave up caffeine for lent, but today was kind of an emergency. (I was on facebook IM, and Dustin informed me he was giving up IM for lent. Leah and I decided to give up caffeine. I'm not doing really great. I'm not even Catholic. I need to be as dedicated as Dustin. Leah, I have failed.)

So I check my email before I leave, and my advisor emailed me and asked if I could meet with him at 9:30. No I can't, Dr. A, I have a class in which I am presenting on Euclid. I'll meet you at 9:25. So I leave my dorm and walk to Starbucks. As I walk, I realize I have not breakfasted. Usually I'll eat yogurt or grab a granola bar. I'm out of yogurt, and I forgot to get a granola bar. I'll just buy something at Starbucks. So I enter Starbucks and stand in the line for three minutes, at which point I realize that of the fourteen people in front of me, three people have placed orders. At this rate, I will be late for everything. So I exit Starbucks and continue the journey to class, as it crosses my mind that I still haven't had breakfast. I will be giving a presentation on little sleep and no food. And no water, since I need to buy more water bottles. Today is looking to be promising. At least I'm showered and wearing a nice shirt and makeup... wait, I forgot to put makeup on this morning, in my rush to get Starbucks. I'm wearing contacts (usually I just wear my glasses) but no makeup. Now I feel a little mismatched, but it's not too bad.

So I go to the advisor's office, talk to him for a few minutes, and off to class. My group members and I wing the presentation. Miraculously, it takes up the entire hour. We are good. It probably worked because we spent a good fifteen minutes trying to have them draw a geometric representation of (a+b)(a+b)(a+b). Euclid used geometry for algebra, it's pretty interesting. Today's geometry is little like the geometry that Euclid created.

Class gets out a few minutes early, and I know that down the road, inside of the College of Medicine, there is a Starbucks kiosk. I journey off to find this. I enter the College and am overwhelmed. The med school has this huge fancy lobby with alot of empty space, since they have tons of money and want to look impressive. I see a sign saying Starbucks with an arrow. I obediently follow, until I find this kiosk, and purchase a Mocha and a muffin. A banana nut muffin, to be specific. That's the way to go. Blueberry is an acceptable second.

I take my mocha and walk back to the College of Education, since my next class is in a few minutes. In this class, I happen to sit behind the two people who were in my presentation for the last class, so we talk about how glad we are that the presentation took up the hour. Then the girl that sits beside me enters. We exchange words occasionally. Today, however, I am quite the chatterbug. I talk about classes, school, my past jobs, what I think I'm going to do in college, foreign languages and the few phrases I can say in Chinese, Latin, the fact that I'm so talkative and think it's because of the mocha, and whatever else crosses my mind. I don't think she minded, though. Maybe I was psyched cause we did good on the presentation, or maybe I was hyped up on the mocha. I also was talking fast, which is something that I've been known to do. Then we played games in class all day in honor of the upcoming pi day, which falls on our spring break. We played Mono-pi-ly.

Mono-pi-ly is monopoly with pi. It's actually nothing like monopoly, but does involve alot of pi. There's a circle board that you move around. You role the dice, but you don't move the amount shown on the dice. Assume that number is the circumfrence of a circle. Figure out the diameter of that circle, round to the nearest whole number, and move that number of spaces. If you land on a question mark, draw a chance card, which asks questions about calculations involving pi, or clever things like, "What do you get when you divide the circumfrence of a pumpkin by its diameter?" "Pumpkin pi!" HA! Those clever math jokes. Like the six being afraid of seven, seven ate nine, oh the cleverness! Though that's more of a word joke than a math joke...

Either way, it was a good day and a fun day. And I learned an important lesson. Mochas make friends.

Brett.

My family reads my blog. This means my brother and my mom. Also, my grandfather read one of the posts that my mom printed out and had Grandpa read, the one about him My mom told me that one of my posts had alot of typoes. Thanks for the encouragment, Mom. My brother, on the other hand, tells me that my blog rarely mentions him. You know what, Dustin? You live two hours away and never call. No wonder you're never around to inspire my blog. Either way, I’ve been trying to write some more about you recently. I called him today, though. I had bought a pair of shoes that I knew he would have appreciated, so I had to let him know. (He was pretty indifferent to my shoes, unfortunately.) However, in the midst of this conversation we decided it would be more fitting to write a blog about Brett. I have also told Brett this to feed his narcissism, and he was quite pleased with the idea, of course. So, Dustin and I decided that it would be fitting to write a blog about Brett, a blog trying to tell the world what it’s like to know someone as interesting and individual as Brett. So, I wrote a rough draft and emailed it to Dustin. He wrote more and emailed back. The final effort is a blog written by both of us, in third person so as to avoid narrator confusion. Bonuses if you can tell who wrote which part! And, let it be known that this is out of the ordinary for my blog, or for the topic of my posts. This is solely a tribute to Brett for the sake of honoring Brett. Now, throughout childhood, every family has a child that makes a friend that feels so welcome that they begin to forget that they don’t actually live in your house. Or maybe they just are testing the limits to see how far they can go until the family actually does something about it. In the case of this family, Brett would be the friend. Dustin and Brett met at church in first grade. Dustin walked into the Sunday School classroom, where Brett said, very properly and enunciated, "Hello, my name is Brett, and this is my friend Benjamin." Brett spoke in a voice so proper, it was borderline British. With a hint of superiority that others accepted with pity. The poor kid. This was the beginning of their friendship. Now, Dustin and Andrea were very close, so if one of them had a friend, the other was around. As such, Andrea also became friends with Brett, though not with the self-sacrificing effort of Dustin. When Dustin and Brett were pretending to be Steve Irwin, catching frogs and lizards around the house, Andrea was the camera person, yelling in terror as the frog came within inches of the lense. However, this did not stop Andrea from filming. The footage of Brett hanging upside in a tree speaking in an indecipherable Australian accent would not have been possible without Andrea’s bravery, determination and boredom. Mostly boredom. Anyways, Brett was the youth pastor's son, so there was always this lovely picture on his father's desk of Brett at like, five years old, with the weirdest hair style ever seen. It kind of did a circle on his head. The back was combed in one direction and the front in the other. And he was wearing a bow tie. This is also how Dustin found Brett that first day in Sunday School. As time went on, Brett became more comfortable in their house. He knew where the secret key was, so he was always willing to let himself in. One day, Dustin and Andrea were home alone, laughing, and suddenly they heard a loud laugh from the living room, only to discover Brett, without calling or ringing the doorbell, was in their living room. He wanted a movie, which he took, along with the cookies Andrea had just made, and left. Likewise, one time Andrea was home alone, looking at her bookshelf, and Brett walked by her doorway, took a movie from Dustin's room, and left. He didn't even say hi, he just kind of nodded and left. Andrea was a little shocked, but understood that it wasn’t nearly as weird as the situations in which Dustin often found himself, like walking out of the bathroom in a towel to see Brett sitting in the living room. This happened on two separate occasions. It sometimes seems as if Brett enjoys just sneaking into the house, even if he isn’t making a surprise visit. He creeps his car into the driveway and parks behind the van. Only when he is certain that his presence will not be detected does Brett emerge from his car. His cocoon. Butterfly Brett flutters to the front door, but nobody is aware. The creak of the front door is muted by Andrea’s constant singing. Only after closing the door and kicking off his shoes in the living room does Brett feel victorious. But the mission still isn’t complete. Brett sits and waits. Quietly. Quiet as a mouse. Mickey Mouse. The original Mickey Mouse. And Andrea’s obnoxious singing in the other room is the musical score. As Dustin nears the living room, Brett prepares for the big surprise. This usually consists of Brett just sitting there quietly until he is discovered, but Dustin sure is surprised. And the show’s over. Once, Dustin and Andrea were serving elderly people at a banquet. Dustin was hoping they would surprise him and give him a college scholarship like they had given Andrea the year before. Dustin went to wait tables. Andrea went to help, to play the piano. Old people enjoy Andrea’s piano playing. Andrea enjoys showing Dustin up, supposedly. Dustin can’t play the piano, or any instrument for that matter. But he has a lovely voice. Not for singing, but for saying nice things like, “Shall I get you another glass of lemonade Ms. Thelma? Oh! Ms. Thelma, have I told you lately that your cornbread is utterly scrumptious?” He didn’t get a scholarship. Anyways, after Andrea was finished playing the piano and Dustin was finished with waiting, they made their way out the door to Dustin’s truck. It was like any ordinary evening. The orange glow of the sun reflecting off of the wet pavement reminded Dustin of Andrea’s fingers after she puts Cheetos in her turkey sandwich (its tasty, I recommend trying it sometime.) The deafening hum of dreaded locust filled the summer air. The smell of—What was the smell? The ocean? No, but close. More fishy. Oh, right! The smell of the monstrous fish in the back of Dustin’s truck. For whatever reason, Brett had decided to put a fish in the back of Dustin's truck. A very large fish that would need to be disposed of. Dustin went into a state between laughing and crying, while Andrea stared at Dustin, bewildered. Dustin still has a plan of action involving Brett’s car if he ever hits a deer. Brett is quite the prankster. The prank that he pulled on Dustin at the end of their senior year, although rather simple, became the talk of the town. Or at least the talk of their extended group of friends. While Dustin was at school taking an IB test, Brett and another friend snuck into the house and began rearranging Dustin’s room. They put all of his knickknacks and other clutter in the closet and moved the furniture around. They then plugged all of the electric devices back into the walls and set all of the clocks. Dustin has quite a few clocks. They also left a few more surprises for Dustin to later discover. Anyways, as they finished their prank, Andrea and Dustin’s dad got home from a dentist appointment. Brett told him that they were waiting for Dustin to get home but were tired of waiting and were leaving, and they escaped. Nobody even wondered what they were doing in the house with nobody home. It’s typical. So Dustin got home from school and assumed “the position” on the couch. This consists of his head on one armrest, his feet on the other armrest, laptop on stomach (not on lap for safety reasons), and TV on. During this period of relaxation, Brett made a surprise visit and sat down to watch some TV. After a short period of time, Dustin had to go to his room for something. Upon opening the door, Dustin was completely confused. Everything was wrong… but right. Clean. Clocks set. He froze for a moment, wondering if he had done this in his sleep or something when Brett suddenly burst into laughter from the living room. Brett continued to stand outside the room and laugh as Dustin struggled to put every piece of furniture back in its proper location. During this process, Dustin discovered that his coin jars had been mixed up. Dustin has individual jars for pennies, nickels, dimes, and quarters, but they had all been mixed together. The background of Dustin’s computer had also been changed to a picture of four very large men and a midget wearing different colored wrestling singlets. Brett was proud of that one. Brett and Dustin always talked about filming their rides in cars because the strangest things would always happen. Things like hot sauce fights with friends in other cars and discussions with employees at drive-thrus. With that said, it turns out Brett destroys movies. Home video type movies. When Dustin and Brett went to Atlanta, Dustin brought a camera. Without it, Brett would have been very bored. But with a camera, he just lights up. However, he says the weirdest things. There will be a great shot of footage for youtube, and then Brett says some weird thing that makes little sense and ruins the footage, since there is nowhere for the convo to go from there. Except downhill. Granted, the conversation he ruined was Dustin being Sundance and Brett being Butch, both with heavy southern accents talking about their opinions on the world, so there wasn’t much hope for that conversation to begin with. So much more could be said. Pixels could be filled with more words telling of the Pig in the Poke games in camoflauge in the woods, or of Brett honestly believing in freshman year that he was Spiderman. Or that he was black. Or that he was married to Jessica Alba. Or his obsession with applesauce, and the time Dustin, Andrea and Brett tried to make applesauce, which involved a blender, apples, a microwave, spices, and some unhappy taste buds. Or what about Brett’s love of Patrick from Spongebob? Or Brett's Shakira imporsonation? Or Brett’s obsession with tights and pleasing the people? Or Davey the Shark? Or Brett’s sideburns? There are so many stories, so many events, memories and the such. Words could never fully explain the flair, the eloquence, the style of Brett. This blog could never do justice to the stories, the memories, the trauma that’s associated with Brett. But, what would childhood have been like without Brett, without having to learn that your house might not actually be empty, that you cannot convince people out of their delusions, and you never can pull off tights just like some people. Rather, what would the world be like without these people? Thankfully, these are questions that we didn’t have to answer growing up.

The background for this blog:
Other pics

Birthdays.

This week is birthday week. I don't know if many of you had a birthday week in your life before, but this week, for as long as I can remember, has been birthday week. Today is March 1, my younger brother's birthday. For this one day, we are both the same age. This year, we both happen to be 19. When we were younger, it used to be a big deal that I actually wasn't older than him on March 1, but I'd always claim that I was still 9 and 364 days, which made me older. Either way, tomorrow, I will turn 20 and leave my teens behind me for forever. Also, my older sister's birthday was Friday, February 27. Additionally, at college, Saturday was spent celebrating Mary's boyfriend Lui's 22 birthday, and Thursday will be my friend Eric's birthday, so I'm a little overwhelmed by all of this.



I won't ever be a teenager again after today. I feel excited and scared about this, and I've been reflecting on the past seven years over the past few days. Teenage years are rough, and I spent most of those years hearing that they were tough years and refusing to believe that anyone else could understand or that it would ever be easier, and I always felt completely justified in anything I ever felt or thought. I don't know why things seemed so much more difficult then, or why life seemed so hard sometimes. Looking back, it all seems slightly ridiculous how much things mattered then, things that have little significance in my life now. The way I thought about friendships, relationships, how people saw me, who I wanted to be, and the things I thought mattered in life.

For example, Lui had a squirt gun party for his birthday. It turned out to be a total blast, we all had a small water hand-gun, and just ran around shooting at each other. I'd shoot Daniel, but we would both stand about eight feet apart, arms fully extended, shooting the other person in the face, while trying to blink out the stream of water attacking our own. This would last for a good thirty seconds before someone would decide to retreat. Usually Daniel would retreat first, since I had better aim. The other Daniel (there are two) would just hold onto your gun to try and keep you from shooting. There was a lot of running, senseless retreating, laughing, and getting wet. Daniel eventually managed to steal Leah's gun from her, and then had two weapons, a very unfair advantage over the rest of us. Then we would gather around the "safe zone" faucet, where we'd refill our weapon, only to run straight back into battle. We had unofficial teams, though mostly everyone just attacked everyone else. Then we went and sat on the grass in the field and let the sun dry us. It was one of the most fun, relaxing days I've had in a long time, and felt a lot like other fun times that I haven't seemed to had many of lately.

There are many things that I'm going to miss about being a teenager, like summer camp, youth mission trips, high school, and all the memories and events that accompany those. The days of hanging out, the sleepovers, the beach trips, the pool parties, the movies, iced coffee, and the like. But I think it's nice to know that growing up doesn't mean I'm losing out on life, or on fun, or on friendships. I can still have ridiculous squirt gun parties with friends. I can run around the house with Dustin with the same general purpose as when we were 9. Being a teenager had some of the worst and best experiences of my life, as I'm sure the rest of my life will. There are times that I wish I could relive, and there are other times that I wish I could erase from my memory. Either way, I learned a lot about myself, about life, and I know that in the past seven years I have changed and grown, and that I still have a lot of changing and growing left to do. I miss the past, and I'm a little scared of the future and the inevitability of time. Life keeps moving, whether I'm ready for it or not.

So, here's to making the best of the twenties. Farewell to the teens, welcome to the a new phase of life and a new decade of existence. I can only hope that I remember the things I've learned so far and never forget to keep learning.

Though, I'm really only going to be one day older than I was today, which is only one day older than yesterday. How different can it really be?