Wash your hair.

If my mother tells me to wash my hair one more time, I'm going to smack her in the name of Jesus.
I dyed it pink, and she's not overly happy. Nor is The Aunt.

Anyways, I was going to get up, pack, then spend the day cleaning and writing blog posts to be published in absentia. That didn't happen. It has taken me all day to pack.

All.
Freaking.
Day.

I've used up the allotment of curse words for the whole week just in the three hours it took me to pack, repack, and finally call in reinforcements. Barbie camp is going to be the death of me.

But, the temperature here is 97 degrees, and the temperature there is 68 degrees, and I'm outta here in about 40 minutes with whatever I managed to get into my large suitcase, duffel bag, backpack, and copy box full of supplies for what is being portrayed to me as the most high maintenance group of teenagers ever.

See you in about 9 days.