Tuesday, July 7, 2009

When You Need A Pro

It's only been 5 days in Texas, but it feels like weeks.

Being back in Lewisville/Flower Mound is something. I can't quite put my finger on what though.
It's a mix of excitement and exhaustion for sure.

Most days I go to bed at 11 pm and don't sleep well, then wake at 6 am and get out of bed. By about 11 am I'm usually so tired I'm lying in Chris's arms crying from fatigue and re-entry shock and over-stimulation and the feeling that all my stuff is spread out across Denton county.

It's great to eat the food you like and be around the people you love. It's fun to search for your first home and dream about what it will be like to finally use all your wedding gifts.

Monday we went on our first round of house hunting.

This house is older, but looked normal enough from the outside.

Inside was a time-warp of dramatic proportions. We didn't even know where to look first.

The whole experience was both terrifying and hysterical.

We have a fantastic realtor that we feel very comfortable with, so for the moment we're just going to chalk the whole thing up to "funny, bloggable experience."

I think we looked at 5 houses in total that day.

Yesterday we hit the ground running and drove from bank to bank, closing, opening, ducking, diving, depositing, withdrawing...

We ended up at a bank that has branches in Spain, so that's convenient.

At lunch, I went to get Chris a lid for his tea - I had three choices; small, medium and large lids. I looked at the cup and thought "yeah, that's a large."

Nope. That's a medium folks. How is that possible? Who needs more cup than this?

Next, on account of needing two professional haircuts, we went to ProCuts and let some random lady cut our hair.

About half-way through my cut, she dropped some knowledge (quite extensive knowledge really) about medical marijuana. After explaining that her dad has his medical marijuana license and her husband as well, I asked the obvious: what does one have to have wrong with them to get a license for medical marijuana?

"A headache," she replied.

"You know," she continued, "it's too hot here. I just want someone to drop me off in Alaska, but not tourist Alaska. 'Alaska-Alaska,' where it doesn't get above 80 degrees. And I want someone to just place me on Mt. McKinley and I'd just be there. Just sit and chill out, you know?"

It was at this point I realized she was in fact high.

We're less than half-way through cutting my hair, and my "stylist" is high as a kite.


She's not bothered. She assures me everything is going to be "soooo fine."

I leaned over to try to get Chris's attention but he was engrossed in the magazines. I was so annoyed that I couldn't get his attention, that I decided when it was his turn, I would just leave my seat, pass by him and say nothing about the fact that the lady about to cut his hair was baked.

And that's what I did.

Ah, the joys and stories that come from having spent all your money in Europe and now having to frequent ProCuts.

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