Naw, My Aunt's a Waxer

Given the right diet of Coca-Cola and Jubliee chicken sandwiches, I can cultivate quite the facial thicket over a typical two-week deadline period. And when I say thicket, I mean a nappy, scraggly, itchy mess. It's the worst hipster beard you've ever seen. That Sweetpea hates it, and I really only like it in theory.

So, this morning, with a, er, dentist appointment highlighted blue on the iCal, I shaved it all off. My sink looks like your aunt's crotch, and I barely recognize my face (handsome, it turns out), but taking blade to beard was the right call. The, uh, dentist appointment went well — real well — and with any luck, I'll be back in that chair in a week or so.

*****

What else? Well, I finally finished the new Guth-a-Go-Go. None too soon, either, as tons of peeps in the coming months are going to be looking up the brain behind the Pilcrow Lit Fest, her en-progrès second novel, and, by my count, five more super secret projects she's promised to reveal in due time.