Up, up and away.

I cut my hair the other day. I think it looks good (Well, better anyway.). I like my hair short. Not just because of how hot I look but because of how easy it is to take care of. If my hair is short enough I gain an immunity to bed-head and hat-hair. I'm wash n' ready. It's not that I prefer short hair to long hair. I think long hair is cool if you're one of those few lucky enough to be able to pull it off. I'm not. When my hair is long I look like a crazy homeless wino fresh from the funny farm. (No offense to any crazy homeless winos fresh from the funny farm.) Basically, I'm ugly and we truly ugly people have to find ways around our inherent ugliness so that we might be capable of interacting with the rest of the world. Short hair is one of mine. Thankfully, as I look around me at the other poor souls wandering this spinning blue (Or is it green?) rock, ugly wins out over good looking a billion to one. The beauty of youth usually disappears around the age of twenty-one or two. Pretty boys and girls become ugly trolls and our ranks swell. Not that it means anything. The pretty still rule but at least we're not alone in our genetic repulsiveness.

I actually packed last night. I am NOT ready for this. Give me another ten years and a little good luck and I might just be able to pull it off. As it is I'll have to leave and just accept the fact that I'm not ready. I'm a short-haired troll unready for vacation. Sweet. Yeah. Whatever.

While gone: I will work on getting the trade finished, work on getting the film and trailers finished, grow three inches and work on those washboard abs. (I told you I was an optimist.)

I either have the crappiest life, or the most fantastic life, of anyone anywhere. I'm not sure which it is.



Off we go into the great unknown.