Neighbors

Living in my last apartment was like living in a fiction novel. White Power Bill lived two doors down. He sat at the entrance to the parking lot in his power scooter or at his bedroom window with his binoculars watching everyone else all day, every day. The man with long, messy, greasy hair, a scruffy face, and dingy clothes, aimlessly walked the property with haunched shoulders, darkened eyes, and a protruding lower jaw. I never saw where he lived, nor did I want to know. Every now and then I saw the girl who wore the furry winter hat, even when it wasn't winter, loading her violin into her car. Below me lived loud talker, who moved to Lubbock temporarily but could not leave because she met a man, a man who was the brunt of regular yelling matches comprised of very ugly word. A tiny, old, shriveled hoarder who sat in the lobby playing a hand-held electronic poker game because his apartment was so dirty lived on the first floor. Jay, who had a cat for medical reasons, was an avid member of NORML, and might have cooked a little meth in his apartment one Saturday night lived on the second floor caddy corner from our apartment. And who could forget the OCD man who lived right next to the main entrance and sometimes forgot to close his blinds when wearing nothing but his underwear

Then we moved, and we met our new upstairs neighbors. They like to party. They like to party at night, never before 10:30. They like to party on the weekends and during the week. They like loud music when they party. They like to drink with other people when they party. The combination of people, loud music, and alcohol causes objects to fall on their concrete floors frequently, the same concrete that is our ceiling. They also like to smoke non-stop at their parties. This is why they always leave their windows open. This is also why our bathroom often smells like smoke, even though we don't even have friends who smoke.

The first few times we heard our neighbors, we ignored the noise and dismissed it as a one time nuisance. Eventually, we realized the one time nuisance was a non-stop lifestyle. So, late one night, in our pajamas and with messy bedtime hair, Chris and I went upstairs to the third floor to meet our neighbors and kindly inform them that their music was very loud. Upon exiting the stairwell, we were struck by the pounding music and strong smoke smell that filled the third floor hallway like a night club. This is when I realized that our neighbors should already know their music was very loud. I knocked on our neighbor's door anyway. They didn't answer. I waited for the song to end and knocked again. They still didn't answer. I stood to the side of the door as I knocked a third time so they couldn't see me through the peep hole. They finally answered. The neighbor lady quickly assured me she would stop the loud music, although she declined my kind gesture to introduce myself.

The loud music did not stop. It happened on New Years Eve when my in-laws were visiting. It happened on Wednesday nights when there was nothing to celebrate. It happened when we least expected it. It happened too often.

Last month the loud music started again. It was late, around 10:30 in the evening. It was a weeknight and we were getting ready for bed. Chris went upstairs first. Twenty minutes later, the music died down a bit Unfortunately, our neighbors thought we were asking them to turn down the music until 1:00 a.m., at which point they could turn it up even louder. This woke me up instantly, and I was not amused. This time I went up stairs. I noted the club-like atmosphere in the hallway upon exiting the stairwell. I loudly pounded on the neighbor's door without hesitation. I didn't back down when I heard the neighbors grumble before they opened the door.

The neighbor man who opened the door invited me into the smoked filled apartment and explained to me in his heavy italian accent that he works in music, with the likes of Beyonce, and therefore must listen to loud music late at night as part of his work. No, he could not wear headphones and no, he could not work during the day. He accused me of acting like an old lady for sleeping at such an hour on a week night. He explained that he, on the other hand, was 43 and could be my grandfather (perhaps he should stick to music). He told me that the city is dead and that he is trying to wake it up. He accused me of coming upstairs to sue him. He asked me what I wanted him to do multiple times, even though I had already explained that I wanted the loud music to stop. He told me that he loved me multiple times, even though that statement was always followed by asking my name again. He tried to "hug it out," despite my explicit refusal to do so. His wife attempted to intervene at times. I halfway wanted to deal with her because her thoughts were coherent. At the same time, however, she wasn't wearing pants, which made for an awkward conversation. After 20 minutes of talking in circles, I left. It was a pointless conversation with no resolution in sight.

The next day the music stopped after we complained to management in person and with much agitation. I think the neighbors are one complaint away from eviction because they have been extremely quiet for the last couple of weeks. Thank goodness, because I was starting to miss my comparatively calm neighbors at the old apartment.

The newest Sias

Chris and I adopted a dog. We named him Doug.

Sometimes, when I want Doug to do obey my commands right away, I sternly say, "Douglas, come here," or "Douglas, stop." Sometimes I do this when I'm walking him and I wonder if people overhearing me think that Douglas is a funny name for a dog.

Doug's favorite activity is to play fetch with a ball. This game could go on for hours.

One time Doug's ball fell in the river, and Chris was unable to retrieve it. Doug stood on the shore anxiously watching his ball float away. That was a stressful day for Doug, just as stressful as the day he saw ten or twelve little ducklings swimming in the river, darting around just out of his reach. I don't think Doug likes to swim because as much as he barked and whined and ran and reached for the baby ducks, he never came close to falling in the water.

Doug also likes to chase squirrels. After watching him play with soft, squishy toys, I'm almost certain I know what he would do if he caught a squirrel. First, he would grab it by the neck with his mouth. After he had mouthed it around a bit to ensure a firm grip, he would violently shake his head back and forth so fast that the squirrel would die almost instantly. This shaking would be so intense that the squirrel's bushy tail would whip around wildly, hitting doug in the face as he shook the small animal. Then, Doug would playfully throw the squirrel into the air, catch it, and continue shaking it's now limp body. Next, Doug would place the squirrel on the ground, strategically put his two front feet together on the squirrel's body for leverage, and begin pulling on the squirrel's skin with his teeth in an attempt to rip it open. He would pull the squirrel's skin from the exact point where his front feet come together, so as to maximize the tension between his feet pushing down and his teeth pulling away, causing his shoulders to arch sharply over his head and neck. After a few seconds of tugging on the squirrel's skin, Doug would bring the squirrel to me, drop it at my feet, and look at me with his bloody mouth slightly opened and his tail wagging, waiting for me to play fetch. This is why Doug can never catch a squirrel. Or a cat. Or a duckling.

I like to think that Doug knows we rescued him from the city pound where they "destroy" the animals that go unadopted. I'm sure that makes him thankful to be the first addition to our family. Now we are husband, wife, and dog.

Some Light Reading...

My great grandma's bible: An inspiration for us all.

The Family Tree

This past weekend my Mimi (my mom's mom, my grandma), my mom and her three sisters, three of my female cousins, and one of my cousin's daughters traveled to Louisianna to visit my Grandmimi (my mom's grandma, my great grandma). In total, we were five generations of women spanning 2 to 96 years old. Here I am with my mom, Mimi, and Grandmimi - four generations.

As could be expected of a group of women, there was an abundance of food, oodles of sweets, and a never endings stream of coffee. We feasted like queens!

We also played dominos, but only when we weren't discussing how to play dominos or making ridiculously silly comments. Only women would put up with so many distractions during a game of dominoes.

I love this picture of Grandmimi and Raelynn bridging the technology-age-gap.

We figured out that Grandmimi has 7 children, 25 grandchildren, 38 great grandchildren, and 6 great great grandchildren, with all but three of those individuals living. Obviously, we were just a fraction of her heirs, even when family from the area joined us.

When someone asked Grandmimi how she remembers all these names, grandmimi explained that she prays for everyone at night. Sometimes she falls asleep praying for everyone, so she starts over when she wakes up.

In the evening, everyone sat in a circle and prayed together. We took turns sharing what we enjoyed about the weekend. Not surpisingly, this caused some of us to cry, which caused others to cry, and so on. When it was Grandmimi's turn to speak, the room fell silent. Everyone was intent on hearing every precious word Grandmimi spoke. With her hands clenching the blanket on her lap, she cleared her throat and pursed her lips. Now we were on the edge of our seats. Then, with her weak and quivering voice, she said "I'm sure Jesus heard everything you said, but I didn't hear a thing." And then everyone was laughing again.

When Grandmimi prayed with us, she thanked God for the most joyous occasion she's had in so, so long. When I got home, I also thanked God for the most joyous occassion I've had in a long time. My family rocks.

And now its time to hit the gym. No woman can eat that much sugar in one weekend and not pay for it the next week.

Chaos to Calm

Moving.

It always starts out chaotic.

The chaos always gets worse before it gets better. Usually, large amounts of trash are generated, even though you thought you threw everything away before you moved. You might return that handy dolly before all large pieces of furniture have been moved to their final resting location. Perhaps the canola oil leaked in transit, spreading to nearby objects like a disease.

But after hours of clearing, cleaning, and shuffling, calm surfaces.

Ahhhh. Welcome home.

Holidays 2010

Chris and I usually go visit our families each Christmas, but this year we invited our families to come visit us. My family came for Christmas weekend. The highlight of the trip was the dining table my parents brought for us. It's perfect!

The table made possible many things. We had a place to eat our yummy Christmas Eve Dinner.

We had a place to do a puzzle.

And now I have a place to play my new piano, which Chris surprised me with on Christmas morning. He had been hiding it in a neighbor's apartment.

The Sias family came for New Years weekend. My in-laws arrived on our shared wedding anniversary. Their 37 years gave me perspective on our 3 years. Jesse and Vanessa (Chis's brother and wife) and A.J. and Lindy (Chris's cousin and wife) arrived shortly after the in-laws.

Three noteworthy things happened on New Year's Eve:

1. We played an impromptu Newly Wed game. The final rankings in this very entertaining and revealing game were as follows: 1st place - A.J. and Lindy, married one month. 2nd place - Jesse and Vanessa, married less than a year. 3rd place: Rudy and Lulu, married 37 years. 4th Place: Chris and Kim - married three years. Only one point separated first and second place, as well as third and fourth place. Unfortunately, many points separated second and third place. Chris and I were good hosts and allowed our guests to win.
2. The fire alarm went off in our building. In the rush of evacuating the building, I put on black sandals over my white athletic socks. The situation excuses this nerdy fous pax.
3. We saw an awesome fireworks display from the roof of our building. Not only were we blocks from the city's impressive show, but we could see all the fireworks going off all over the city. The fireworks were all around us, a 360 degree show, a bubbling horizon where ever you looked. It was an awesome way to end an awesome holiday season.

Cheers!

I am so thankful that our families came to us this year. I hope they had as much fun with us as we did with them. Next year, however, I think we will resume visiting them for Christmas. While our new apartment is bigger than our last place, it is loft style and has no separation between the main living space and the bedroom space. This made for some awkward encounters that shall be deemed "bonding moments between family." Some bonding moments do not need to be repeated.

A Blonde Moment

I went shopping the week before Christmas. I got to the mall early. I was surprised how may cars were already parked in the parking lot. I failed to take note of how many more cars the parking lot could hold. I shopped and I shopped and I shopped. Five hours later I left with three bags in hand containing, among other things, a heavy cast iron pan and a long winter coat. I left the mall and immediately noticed that the parking lot looked nothing like it did when I arrived. It was now overflowing with cars. Where did I park?

I walked and I walked and I walked but did not find my car, much to the disappointment of those following me in hopes of getting my spot. Where did I park?

I exhausted my arm muscles holding my heavy bags high so that the winter coat would not drag the ground. I started thinking about waiting until all the other shoppers left and revealed the hidden location of my car. Where did I park!?!?!?!

Oh, a mall security truck! I flagged him down. Yes, he could help me. Yes, he confirmed that people frequently lose their cars at this mega shopping center. No, I did not ask if any of the other lost shoppers where as young as I. Instead, I accepted his help with as much dignity as possible. And I thanked him when he found my car parked only a couple of rows from the point where I initially started searching.

Jingle Bells

Merry Christmas to all my wonderful friends and family. May you find nothing but happiness this holiday season.

Oh Christmas Time, Oh Christmas Time

I am oh so excited about the holidays this year. I couldn't wait for Thanksgiving, which came and went far too quickly. Now Christmas is exactly 18 days away and I can't wait! Last week I made a playlist of my favorite Christmas songs. Chris and I pulled out the Christmas tree and hung some lights this past weekend. On Sunday, Chris and I took a picture for our Christmas Cards.

I think I'm so excited about the holidays because for the first time in three years, this time of the year is not overshadowed by the stress of impending final exams. My new found freedom explains why I'm breathing in the holiday spirit. It also explains what follows: my surprisingly shocking Christmas wish-list. Yes, the queen of surprises has surprised herself. So without further delay, here it is:

1. A neoprene laptop sleeve for my 13 inch MacBook Pro.

2. A keyboard with at least 76 weighted keys, a sustain pedal, and a headphone jack.

3. A new comforter for my queen sized bed.

4. A laundry hamper with two compartments and a lid, preferably one that looks like a hamper disguised as a modest piece of furniture.

5. Sweaters to keep me warm in my freezer of an office.

I'm almost ashamed to publish this oh-so-material post. I guess the key word is almost..

Farewell to the Futon

I had nothing but ill-feelings for our little blue, Ikea futon for the last few months. I'm happy that Chris and I recently sold it and that a real couch will be here this week. Why then, do I feel the need to say farewell to this inanimate object?

Maybe it's the suddenness of our parting. Chris posted the futon ad on Craigslist on Sunday night. When I came home from work the next day, he told me that he had a buyer coming over to pick it up that night. I didn't have time to wash the cover, much less vacuum-up the crumbs in the back fold.

Maybe its the sentimental value of the futon. The futon was one of the first pieces of furniture Chris and I purchased together. It fit perfectly in our first apartment in Lubbock. Having never owned any type of sofa before, we were quite fond of the futon at first.

Maybe it's the fact that the new futon owner didn't seem to appreciate the futon like I did when I first bought it. He was in a hurry. He only half-way listened to me explain the futon's pros and cons. It was as if he just needed any futon, and not that he choose our futon over all the others listed on Craigslist.

Maybe it's because the futon was the only thing in my apartment when I first moved to San Antonio. I slept on the futon. I ate on the futon. I watched T.V. on the futon. I folded clothes on the futon. I talked on the phone while sitting on the futon. I did everything on the futon.

Whatever the reason, when Chris told me that he had sold the futon, I made him pose for one last cuddle.

Good-bye futon. You were good to us.

Man who Speaks Cat Gets Married

I met A.J., Chris's cousin, shortly after Chris and I started dating. I met Jeff, A.J.'s female cat, the first time Chris took me to his Aunt's house. I remember A.J. was holding Jeff real close to his face and ignoring everyone else in the room. I must have been staring, because A.J. turned to me and said in a very serious tone, with a very serious face, "I speak cat." Then he turned back to Jeff. Naturally, this is the point at which I thought, "this man is never going to get married."

The first time I had a real conversation with A.J. was on the way to the grocery store. I was driving and A.J. was my passenger. Somehow we started talking about marriage. I asked A.J. if he ever wanted to get married. Without hesitation, he chuckled a little and then candidly replied, "Yeah, of course I want to get married someday." His response surprised me. After all, up to this point he was the male counterpart to the cat lady.

Over the next seven years I got to know A.J. I learned that he does not in fact speak telepathically to cats. I learned that A.J. and I have a few things in common: Neither of us like like yellow starbursts or skittles and we both love cheese. I also learned that A.J. does not like it when people refer to Jeff as a he, even though we all know it just doesn't sound right to refer to a cat as "Jeff" and "she" in the same sentence.

I am happy to report that A.J. got married last week, thus fully dispelling my first impression of him and fulfilling our first conversation. I laughed during the wedding ceremony when Lindy, A.J.'s bride, vowed to accept A.J. and Jeff because I remembered thinking that Jeff would be the reason A.J. would never get married.

So, Congrats A.J. & Lindy! I pray all the best for you two...or should I say three?

Bar Exam Update

I passed.

I went to the new attorney induction ceremony in Austin. I don't have any pictures because of an annoying flat-tire incident, but I'm sure you can imagine a sea of 20-somethings in grey and black suits raising their right hand and swearing to uphold the law. Chris went to great efforts to rearrange his schedule, spent three days driving, and didn't let a last minute conference call stop him from being there for me. His support means everything to me.

I'm an attorney and I'm happy.

But Mr. Chavez, Is This Not Your Signature?

Chris and I were excited when we found an apartment in San Antonio with a washer and dryer connection. We were tired of scrounging for quarters every time we wanted, or rather needed, to do laundry.

The dedicated washer and dryer space in our new apartment is tiny, almost too tiny for any washer and dryer that exists. After realizing that the compact model our space necessitated would cost at least $1,500, Chris turned to craigslist. Success came in the form of a compact, Bosch combo purchased for $300.

First of all, do not be deceived by the tiny size of a compact washing machine. Although tiny, it still weighs more than a car; no, more than a dinosaur. Many grunts were uttered and heated words were exchanged while moving this machine from one spot to another. And just why were we moving this machine so much? Well, because it was missing a foot, because we had to replace the plug, and because Chris had to design and build a custom anti-topple device for stacking. My poor toothpick arms...

After all this trouble, the washing machine had to work. There was no alternative. We had expended too much time and energy to face the fact that did our machines not work, everything hinged on the validity of one Hugo Chavez.

You see, when Chris purchased the washer and dryer out of a home-garage-turned-used-appliance-store, he insisted on getting the verbal 60-day warranty in writing. I admire him for this forward thinking. Unfortunately, the 3x5 card on which this agreement was written reads as follows:

Bosch washer dryer set $300 comes with a 60 day warranty on all parts and labor as of 10.8.10.

[signed] Hugo Chavez; Chris Sias.

That's right, if our washer and dryer did not work, our only recourse was to ask Hugo Chavez to honor his word.

And so, it was with great trepidation that we made our first attempt to do laundry in our $300, compact but oh so heavy, Hugo Chavez certified washer and dryer. I am more than happy to report that the machines did not let us down. We have clean clothes. We have an empty laundry basket. And we have a souvenir warranty from Hugo Chavez.

Change Is in the Air

This is the point at which this blog transitions from a blog written by a student to a blog written by a "professional."

While a senior in high school, I visited the U.S. Supreme Court. I was instantly enamored and the idea of a career in the legal profession was born.

Fast forward ten years. Gone are the summer and winter vacations. Now come the pay checks and new motivations. And what better way, to start my career, than training in the place where my dreams became clear.

Yep, the career is off to a good start. Praise God, whose infinite blessings are more than I can comprehend!

Perspective

I flew to San Diego exactly five days before my first day of my first job of my professional career. I spent the next day warming up to little Elayna, my cousin's four-month-old baby. I learned that babies have a lot more stuff then I do. A day later I settled into the car in preparation for another long drive.

I thought Chris and I were ambitious when we drove straight through from Texas to San Deigo. Then I learned what ambitious means.

Ambitious is driving 22 straight hours from San Diego to Texas with a baby. During the day, I rotated between the front and backseat to feed, burp, and soothe a baby restrained to a car seat. During the night, I took turns driving while mom slept. A day later I arrived in San Antonio only to crash and realize that my clothes had the faint smell of spit-up.

And I loved every minute of it because of this:

Where Am I?

I've been home for almost a week now. To say that the transition to being home has been smooth and uneventful would be a flat-out lie.

The first time it happened was on the first day home from vacation. It was early afternoon. I was very tired from driving all night and then going to church that morning. As I lay in the living room relaxing, I fell into a deep sleep. When I woke-up from my nap, I had no idea where I was. I only knew there was a bright setting sun shining through gauzy curtains that were blowing in a cool breeze and that this was unlike any place I knew. Indeed, that was unlike any place I knew. It was unusually cool that day and this was the only reason the windows were open. It took me a good minute of stumbling around to figure out that I was at home in Lubbock.

The second time it happened was a couple nights later. I remember I was dreaming that Chris and I were on some sort of expedition. In my dream, we were stopped for the night, sleeping on our air mattress in a cave. Then I woke up. Although I was awake, I felt like my dream might have been real. I was very confused and I remember thinking, "I have to figure out where I am." I quickly woke-up Chris and I asked him the following questions:

"Is this carpet or is it gravel?"

"Are those windows or are they pictures?" (I remember peering into the darkness trying to figure out if the only source of light was a cave opening or a window).

"Are we outside?"

"Are we paying for this place?" (I remember Chris telling me that we were paying rent).

"Are we in a cave"

I remember asking questions number three, four, and five. I also remember Chris repeatedly asking me if I was okay. While this was a normal reaction given my strange state of mind, it only annoyed me and I chose not to answer him. He clearly didn't understand that my top priority was determining my location. When Chris said something about rent, I realized that I was in our apartment. After one final question to confirm that I was not in fact in a cave, I laid down again. I could go back to sleep now that I knew where I was. I chose to ignore Chris's chuckles as I fell asleep.

Reconnecting With My Religious Side

Chris and I arrived home from our lengthy vacation at 7:30 on a Saturday morning. After purging the tiny rental car of all its contents and then cramming those same contents into our tiny apartment, Chris and I went to church. It was great to reconnect with our religious community after being absent for the past three weeks. It was also great to enjoy the bounty of food at potluck, especially since the pantry at home was bare.

On Sunday Chris and I went to the opening Red Raider game at Jones Stadium. This was our first attendance at what could be called the community-wide "Church of Lubbock" (college football is a religion in this town). After seat hopping to trade our hot, sunny seats for pleasant seats in the shade, we were able to enjoy the game (unlike the people I saw being carried out by EMS due to heat stroke).

I think I have experienced Lubbock to it's fullest:

1. Prairie Dog Town: check.

2. Stars and Strips Drive-in: check.

3. Windmill Museum: check.

4. Giant Buddy Holly Glasses: check. check. check.

5. Red Raider Game: Check.

I suppose it's time to move now...

My Pine Cone's Bigger Than Yours

This is a picture of the pine cones that the giant Coastal Redwoods in California produce. They are super tiny!

This is a picture of a pine cone Chris found in Yosemite.

The trees in Yosemite where Chris found this pine cone were much smaller than the redwoods that produced the tiny pinecone above. I guess you can't judge a tree by the size of its pine cones.

It's Bathtime!

Have you ever wondered what it's like to take a road trip with Chris? Well, I think this picture pretty much sums it up.

This is Chris at our hotel in Sacramento washing everything from our cooler in the bathtub...with soap. His goal was to remove a funky odor. He succeeded, and I appreciated it. I did not appreciate, however, that the capri-sun got to take a bath before I did. I too had a funky odor too - I had been camping for a few days and had gone without showering.

From Las Vegas to Lubbock

The last stop on my vacation was Las Vegas. Last summer I flew over Las Vegas on my way home from Seattle. I remember flying over barren desert and then suddenly, as if out of nowhere, there was the Las Vegas strip lined with oversized hotels and bustling activity. It looked so exciting from the plane!

Vegas from a plane is a lot different than Vegas on foot. Yes, it is an exciting place. There is A LOT going on at ALL TIMES of the day. But Vegas is also a lot like a theme park: fake and often overpriced. There was fake Rome, fake Venice, fake Paris and fake Egypt:

There were a number of fake Elvis's and other impersonators, all of whom were pretty disgusting up close. We chose to pose with this wax replica of Elvis:

And yes, there was lots of fakeness of this nature:

The gambling in Vegas is just as gross as the Elvis impersonators. The Casinos are large, cavernous rooms with low ceilings and no natural light. The decor is as loud as the slot machines: clashing ornate carpets and wall papers with flashy lights everywhere you look. As you enter --- no, as you merely walk by --- you are hit by a unique casino odor that is probably the result of 24-hour business and numerous ashtrays littering the various gambling stations. As I see it, gambling is a form of entertainment. Like bowling or putt-putt, you pay to play. If I ever take up gambling, I'm going to need a classier gambling location than Las Vegas.

Despite the fakeness and the unappealing casinos, I LOVED the Vegas leg of our trip. First, we saw the Blue Man group, which was nothing like what I expected and very entertaining.

I also LOVED the Bellagio fountains. They were so much fun to watch. Chris took this great picture of the fountains at night.

In fact, I really liked the Bellagio hotel as well. The lobby was decorated with lovely Chihuly glass.

But the best part of Vegas was our hotel. Chris and I went from five days at rustic campsites to three nights in a luxurious room at the Trump Tower. While many things in Vegas are overpriced and fake, the Trump Tower was neither of these. It was a classy, relaxing, five-star oasis in the middle of Vegas. There was no casino and no fake theme (i.e. Rome, Paris, New York). Nor was there a mall in the hotel, freeing us from the bustling miles of corridors found in other hotels. Instead of all this, there was a quiet, elegantly appointed lobby,

equally elegant rooms,

amazing views (we were on the 58th floor and could even watch the Bellagio fountains!),

and bathrooms fit for a king (that's a TV in the mirror!).

We went to the pool and were waited on like we were at a restaurant. We went to the spa and had our sore muscles massaged. We took full advantage of the complimentary valet parking. And most importantly, we didn't break the bank. To say that we were sad to leave would be an understatement. Not only was our vacation over, but we were leaving the relaxing world of luxury.

We ran out of energy to go to the Grand Canyon. The thought of setting up yet another camp site was just too much. We opted to instead lounge around in our hotel room in Vegas. But we did make it to the Hoover Dam on our way home.

The Hoover Dam is the polar opposite of Las Vegas. It is not fake. It is over 6 million cubic yards of concrete. It is not tacky or disgusting. It is over 6 million cubic yards of concrete. It is not overpriced. It is free to look at the over 6 million cubic yards of concrete. The Hoover Dam was very hot, however, bringing back memories of our stop in Death Valley.

Twelve hours after leaving the Hoover Dam we parked our car in Lubbock and looked at the odometer: 4,522 miles roundtrip. We emptied out the trunk and were faced with two options: 1) return to real life by carrying everything upstairs, sorting it out, and doing loads of laundry, or 2) never return to work and become full time bums. We chose option one, although option two was tempting: