To the gods of November and his minions of cold:

It’s November. If you don’t believe me then consult the oracle. Or the date on your computer. In Arizona it is in the 80’s and 90’s. I am ridden with jealousy toward the state of Arizona and the southern portion’s climate. I miss it dearly. Deeply. Passionately. *Grabs the state of Az and pull it in for a Casanova make-out session that is fitting for today’s 2010 movie-going crowd.* That’s right. I make out with entire states. What was I talking about before?Being in New England makes me realize all the more how much I truly belong in the southwest. I am like an unrealized cowboy that was dropped in Massachusetts by the baby stork because the extra weight in his industrial-grade post-fetus-human-carrying blanket was putting a strain on his lower back. Luck of the draw. Luck…..of….the drawwwww. Wait, is that why I hate storks?

I think I have over 3,500 pictures of living in Arizona for 3 years. Moving away from that state was a well thought out mistake, just not at the time I made the decision. I remember this past May, approaching the border as I was leaving the state. I was feeling great, looking forward to returning back east to my friends. I was within 10 feet of the border and just jerked the steering wheel to the right to pull over. For the next 15 minutes I cried harder than I have ever cried before. I don’t cry. I have cried a total of 8 times in my adult life, the cry on the state border being the third. It came out of nowhere; a sudden weight on my chest and tears came pouring out. Intense. So, how ’bout those Yankees? Stupid. People can’t handle intensity. Especially mine. Make ’em laugh, Snads. I almost like being in this category by myself all of the time.

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