I'm just hanging out in the hotel room listening to my parents:

Mom: Oh, I just realized the reindeer is named Blitzen.
Dad: Wait, then what is his name?
Mom: Blitzer.
Dad: Huh.

I talked to Amber a bit, just lots of happy words and excitement. I realize now I should have practiced combing my hair a little nicer than normal. I have been cursed with awful hair all my life: first cowlicks, then going gray, and finally just falling out like some troubled teens fleeing a busted up house party.

While my dad cut my hair we calculated he's cut it 300 times. That's 75 hair cuts for every joke he knows.

I'm going to get dressed now. Still not nervous, just excited and very happy.