CONTENTS

And so I spent three of my first four days in California soaking up the sun, swimming and lazily pecking at the ample amounts of Mom's home cooking at my parent's new spacious condo in the middle of the most surreal county in all the United States: Orange County. 

My first day out on the beach I carried myself with all the cocksure bravado any Texan ever carried - freed from thirty plus days of temperatures at 99 degrees or above, I soaked up the cool temperatures in the mid 80's and ran around the Dana Point beach like a little kid. 

Mom repeatedly warned me, over and over, that the sun was particularly hot, and I was going to get burnt.  I laughed off all her motherly warnings, letting my fair skin get some color so I could return to Texas with a triumphant California tan.

After running into the water a few times, and remembering just how powerful ocean waves can be, especially when you see surfers in the water all around you, I returned to the blanket wet, cool and loving the heavenly day.  Mom warned me again, throwing a hat, shirt and suntan lotion my way, but I stubbornly refused.  At this point, it was an argument I was destined to win.  After watching the crowds at the beach and visually soaking in the patterns of beach blankets, bathing suits and beach umbrellas for later use in a painting down the line, I could've sworn I heard a cock crow as Mom insisted she saw my skin turning red.

I laughed, but was getting a bit hot, so we left the beach for a healthy home cooked meal of chicken and rice.  When I was changing, I noticed a shockingly bold line of red that magically appeared around my waist.  It wasn't until after dinner and I paid a visit to the outdoor jacuzzi that I realized I was going to be in a bit of trouble - the cool waters of the pool offered no clues as to the pain I was about to be in.  But once I slid into the steamy waters of the jacuzzi, my burn started to really get to me.   But, as things go, I had to play it cool and not let on the intense pain I was actually in.  

For the next three days, I couldn't sleep on my side, had to hide the pain of my tender burn and not let on to my parents that I was hurting because of a few stubborn hours at the beach.  By the time I reported to work, my burn was better, already peeling, and at the stage if you pressed the red areas, a white handprint would remain for quite a few seconds. 

So my tan receded through the week, only to be brought to life again by some more sun, and when I returned to Austin, I got more than a couple compliments about my California tan.

Soaking up the sun

My tour guide to the beaches of Southern California