Juan Por Dios Dos

I got my haircut at way-too-trendy-for-you-so-don't-even-think-about-it Juan Por Dios! again this morning. My attempts to shmooze with the locals are endless.

I skipped Catalan class (the shame!) yesterday in order to get more of my papers in order. I didn't realize the amount of hassle and shiny circus hoops I would be forced to jump through when I signed on for a Spanish visa. This most recent bit of silliness has forced me to register as a resident of Spain, which Cathy and I complied with. After about 5 minutes of sheer panic, as we realized that we had inadvertently written down the wrong apartment letter, we were bequeathed the title of Residents in an apartment we do not reside in. Meanwhile I'm just waiting for the government to track me down, read this blog, and send out a squadron of Immigrant Police. Next Monday is my official date for the Second-To-Last Thing I Have To Do For My Visa, which is have a meeting and request a foreigner's card. This meeting has prompted the haircut; there's more chance for southern charm to do its magic (and Spaniards are susceptible, in case you are wondering) if it doesn't look like a pomeranian is squatting on my head.