In a few days the Spouse Thingy and I are packing a couple of bags and heading south for a few days. On one hand, this is a "work" thing; on the other, it's at the Disneyland Hotel, so how much work will really get done?
The work part started as a rather large indie publishing and writer's workshop, which became a slightly smaller workshop, which became a temper tantrum between some participants, which is now...who knows, but I'm going and taking the Spouse Thingy with me.
We're doing it much like we did a couple years ago--staying on site so that I can crash and burn as needed--with the added stress of people I don't know wanting to discuss things about which I am not particularly eloquent and one woman who may wind up tied to a pole inside the Monorail because she's just...just. Let's just say she is not going to be a fan of mine, what with the tattoos and drag king vibe, and the hair.
Oh yeah, the hair.
Crimson, or what should be crimson. A donation deal was struck with he-who-forgot-he-has-a-blog: show up to this thing with crimson hair, and then purple for the St. Baldrick's Shave.
I thought the hair was going to be darker, but, I'll live with it. I'm not thrilled about how thin it's obviously getting--made worse by that dark patch which is the result of having dyed the crap out of my scalp--but overall it's not bad.
I mean, it's not neon pink, which is good and bad. Good because it's not going to draw the slack-jawed staring pink tends to, and bad because...I like the pink.
It suits me.
I'm hoping the weather works out...while most of you are shivering, I want to be driving with the top down, except through that one stretch that smells like cow poop.
And don't worry about the kitties. They get the Grandma while we're gone. They won't even miss us.