Day two of the "I'm Not Gay, it's an Actual Beard" Project:

Awakening this morning, I shuffled into the bathroom to eyeball what phase my beard had shifted into overnight. Sad to say, it looks pretty much the same as yesterday.

I think there are gonna be plateaus, then spikes, then valleys, in the beard-growing process. I am noticing, however, the many grey whiskers peppering my face! Shit! you know what that means next: Grey PUBES. I'll be starring in Grandpa porn in no time flat.

I will say that it needs as much scratching as Paris Hilton's crotch after a weekend, which is causing all of this lovely dry skin to flake and get stuck in my whiskers, looking like I chugged a cup of evaporated milk without adding water.

So far, no complaints from Dara, which is something I'm also monitoring. She seemed completely fine - even excited - by it as of yesterday morning, but I think the more hobo-like I begin to appear, the fewer accolades I'll get. On a scale of 1 to 10, 1 being "How cute" and 10 being "SHAVE THAT THING OR I'LL DO IT WHILE YOU SLEEP AND SLIT YOUR THROAT IN THE PROCESS", I'd say she's hovering steadily at a "1" for the moment.