One would think after approximately 26 years of living that I would realize the name Kristen Barry and the word tan will never coexist. Unfortunately though, I was never the sharpest tool in the shed and since I apparently haven't realized I just keep on trying. Today was one of the days I tried and let me tell you, I tried awfully hard...

For those of you who don't know me (I honestly don't think anyone who knows me is even reading these nevermind people who don't but whatever...) I have milky skin, freckles, blonde hair, and blue eyes and this might be a wild statement to make but the chances of a person who (naturally) has these traits tanning is basically like Elton John deciding he wants to date women. Yet for some strange reason I seem to think I'll be the person to defy these odds. You know what I've determined that strange reason is?! Because my parents do. Call me crazy but things aren't adding up here. Bob Barry, this man who is my so called father, tans like you wouldn't believe and Deb? Oh she tans too. Here's what I've determined...one of three things could have occurred:
1. There was a slight mix up in the Beth Israel nursery just a few short days after September 20, 1984 that was never uncovered.
2. Deb Barry has been keeping a serious secret for a very long time.
3. The hint of Native American Bob Barry has never made it to my genetic stream.

While I'm thinking options 1 and 2 are totally plausible it's way too late in my life for me to actually accept one of those. It would just be too traumatizing. That leaves option 3. Allegedly, Bob Barry has a trickle of Native American blood in his family tree but it's evident that blood didn't make it to my body. I was thinking about it though...and really? Does he? I mean come on...Native American?!

Ironically, while celebrating my favorite cousin's birthday today, we were all talking about how naive and gullible I am. I always want to give people the benefit of the doubt and I almost always believe the things people tell me. I was that child whose parents repeatedly told them "Don't believe everything you hear." It didn't resonate though because I still do. Examples:
1. My brother told me there was no Santa Claus but still believed my mother when she told me he was lying (and until I was in the 6th grade).
2. When celebrating my grandmother's birthday one year she told me she was 38 and I bragged to all the kids at school about how young my grandmother was.
3. (Probably the biggest kicker of them all) When visiting my gay uncle in DC, he was giving us the tour of his house. When he showed me the only bedroom in the house I asked where what I thought was his roommate slept and when he said "here, with me, are you ok with that?" I immediately thought to myself "my friends sleep in my bed with me all the time when we have slumber parties". It wasn't until about 2 years later I went to my brother and said "Hey Matt, I dont know how to uhh say this...I mean I don't really know...but I guess...maybe...well...do you think Uncle Rich is gay?" His immediate response was an eye roll followed by a "yes Kristen, he is."

Point being, Bob Barry may or may not have Native American blood in his body but I'm not a fool for believing this one because he sure as hell as something besides Irish.

Welp, needless to say today, I tried to be Bob Barry. Flashback to about 12:30 pm: I'm sitting on the beach with Doyle watching her skin bronze before my eyes. I decide after about a half hour that I don't want to look like Rudolph which typically happens in the summer so I put 30 on my face to protect mainly my nose and forehead. Approximately an hour and a half later I decide that the sun's a little strong and since I don't want to get burnt I should probably lather up. A solid 8 SPF should do the trick. Flash forward to now... I'm not sure the exact shade I would call my skin but it's definitely not tan. Oh and what's even better, is that now, my front and back are two completely different colors. Perfect. So as I pull into a parking spot in my complex I spot Doyle. I had already started setting the stage of my misery to her via BBM so she scopes me out and says something about that sucking but didn't offer too much sympathy. We come inside and head upstairs. I immediately strip off my shorts because they're killing my borderline purple stomach and thighs. She looks right at me and goes "Wow! It's a lot worse in this light than outside... you really got FRIED!" Thanks. Anyway, as I'm fishing through our bathroom for aloe I hear her say something about getting a little burn on her shoulder. I look at her and see nothing but brown. I roll my eyes, tell her to f off, and call her a whore. I find the aloe and begin applying it to my legs while simultaneously blowing on them in hopes it will speed up the cool down process. I then hear Doyle yell into my room "I really can't believe you didn't put any sunblock on" to which I replied "Moot point! MOOT F-ING POINT!!!..............you're such a whore."

But really who does that? What's done is done. I dropped the ball. I was a day late and a dollar short in the block department and I can't go back now. I have to accept the situation for what it is and learn from it...which we've obviously learned through this blog that I somehow haven't learned that lesson yet. Whatever. Anyway, point being, at the end of the day, when all is said and done just remember one thing...No one likes a judger.