We are just now retiring to our hotel room for our first night of sleep in nearly a week. NEARLY A WEEK. Which should explain this elevator photo taken about three and a half minutes ago. Andrew looks good, I think?
After we left Atlanta yesterday, we flew to LaGuardia and drove all over New York and New Jersey trying to locate a place to overnight some tax stuff to our accountant, because the documents may be requested if we get a new loan. We're still going back and forth over The Blue Banana House, which was the big, black highlight of yesterday, aside from trying not to get the shoebox size rental car stuck in the snow in Manhattan. By the way, if you live in New York, please allow me to thank you for driving like an asshole. (Probably.) And I don't even ever use that word, because I think it's like fuck, but really, it's the only thing that I can come up with at this moment that's appropriate.
Because I haven't slept in a week.
I should have slept on the plane, but Andrew surprised me with business class seats and I watched that new movie with Harrison Ford and Diane Keaton and Rachel McAdams all while lying spread eagle and springing for TWO bags of airline potato chips because hellooo this is business class so why not? It was all pretty exciting. Then I spent the rest of the night coming up with reasons why we're not going to be disappointed when our offer is bumped out of the ring on Monday and deciding that I'll only cry for six hours instead of twelve. So, you see, I've come to a sort of peace about the whole thing. Which is a nice way of saying that I don't care anymore. At. all.
Let's see, what else?
Today we spent in coastal Spain without ever hitting the sack, which was made possible by no less than four cafe con leches each and a waffle cone stuffed to the brim with chocolate flavored gelato. (Cafe con leches are my favoritist new thing right behind European toddler fashion and ordering a seven course meal at eleven thirty at night.) There was also village thrifting and Andrew deciding to single handedly fund the subway accordian player's college education. READ THE NUMBERS ON THE MONEY, WOOD.
Anyway. I think that covers our first day in Barcelona.
Except I may be lying about the caring part.
World Tour: Part 1, Day 1