I’m nearly one-third of the way through this thing, and already I hate it. I hate the shaving. I hate the generally putting energy into my appearance.

By no means am I slovenly, but, as previously stated nor do I shave this much. I mean, good lord. Alexander the Great promoted shaving in his troops, but sweet Jesus. I’m no longer at risk of getting my beard grabbed by a marauding assailant.

A beard is a necessity around here in the winter. Living 60 miles from British Columbia, and nine miles from a ski mountain, you bet your ass I let my beard grow. The temperature has been dropping steadily over the last week. Right about now I am ruing having signed up for Movember.

You know that not a single person has asked me why I’m growing a mustache? That’s the problem with being 30 and growing a mustache. People take you seriously. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, I am an introvert. I lack the wherewithal to approach people on the street and ask them if they’re growing a mustache for Movember like me. Or (gasp) even more frighteningly, to ask them to donate to the cause. I believe in the cause, I truly do. Cancer runs in my family, and I’ll be damned if it’s going to catch me, but, hoo-ah. I am not a salesman.

There. That’s my rant about Movember.

And here’s the damned picture I took. Oh yeah, it’s a close up because my chin is breaking out from shaving so damned much.

And lastly, go to my movember page and drop a few coins in the hat, will ya?