Spring break. It’s that time of the year when college-age students everywhere go wild for sun, sand, and copious amounts of alcohol. I on the other hand, traveled three hundred miles to my snowy home town to spend my week of freedom working and spending time with family. Some may find this a lame escape, but I thoroughly enjoy the quiet solitude. I have plenty of time this summer to take trips to the beach. I would much rather venture out into the open ocean when the sand isn’t crowded with drunks and semi-illegal activity.

However, it would be nice to take a quick trip to my happy place – toes in the water, chair in the sand, book in hand. I could use a little sun considering I look like Casper’s second cousin in the winter months. It’s honestly quite scary how translucent my skin appears in the gloomy atmosphere of Ohio. I’m in that dormant phase of the year when I only leave my house for work, school, and the occasional date for fear of blinding innocent bystanders. In other words, I might be a vampire; I’m not going to lie.

Speaking of needing a little Vitamin D, I have a humorous tale about my short-lived experience with tanning beds. Now, I know what you’re thinking: Alex, tanning beds are horrible for your skin! Do you really want to risk cancer at the ripe age of 21? The answer is no, and that is precisely why I do not use them anymore. Actually, the main reason for my early retirement in the art of tanning the artificial way is because of the most embarrassing story I have in my rolodex of bad experiences. The story goes a little like this …

About a year ago, I joined the gym, and taking advantage of the expensive membership plan, I decided to bring a little color back to the corpse-like complexion of my body by using the tanning beds. It is important to note that I had never used a tanning bed before; I was a tanning virgin, and bed number 3 took my tanning virginity in the worst way possible.

That first time, I felt like a boss; I rolled out of the florescent tube smelling like burning flesh hoping that the tan would be worth it. I was finally on my way to a desirable olive complexion in preparation for a summer in the sun. I felt so grown-up, like I was taking advantage of my adulthood freedom. I tanned for two-months straight, about four days a week. I frequented the gym at night after work and encountered the same employee each time I went for a workout and a tanning session. About two weeks into my tanning escapades, I noticed the employee who checked me in every night giving me a strange look. At the time, I ignored it because I honestly didn’t care; I was doing something for me for the first time, and I felt great. I’m not going to lie, I should have paid attention to the look.

One night after two months of killing skin cells, I called my mother inquiring about the lack of results. I spent so much time in that time capsule of toxins, and I was not seeing the results I wanted. She asked me numerous questions about what I was doing, and then she hit me with the question that left me feeling like a complete idiot. She asked, “Well, are you closing the lid to the tanning bed?”

This was one of the lowest points in my life because I had been tanning for two solid months with the lid to the tanning bed wide open. I was tan on only half of my body; I looked like a chocolate vanilla twist, and there was no tangible way to correct the problem. My hands were two distinct colors; my right hand looked like it just spent a week in the Bahamas, and my left hand looked like it was still in the dormant phase of the year. Needless to say, this was the very last time I used a tanning bed for fear of messing up the results once again. And the funniest part of this story is that the first day tanning, I tried to pull down the lid, and it didn’t budge. I assumed that all tanning beds worked that way, and bed number 3 and I had the worst relationship of my life. We did not end on good terms, and we most certainly did not remain friends afterwards.

The moral: don’t use tanning beds. They are feisty flings that leave you wounded in the end looking like a half-seared steak. Tan the natural way with sunscreen supplements or dabble in using fake tan. These are my options for the time being, and I am perfectly okay with my Casper complexion until further notice. Who needs spring break to get a base tan, when I can fake tan without leaving the comfort of my home?

In a round about way, this has been the weekly motto thus far. While the majority spends this week in a drunken stupor, I’ll be drunk on caffeine because the truth about coffee is much better than a week I’ll never remember.