Christmas in the desert is weird, especially after living my entire life in Michigan. No slush. No wind chill factors. No scarves and gloves and mucked-up water-proof boots. No bitching about the weather and no green.
Instead, I've got sand and mountains and cactus and hoodies for those *extra* cold days, and a toddler who keeps asking if Santa will know to come to our house because we don't have any snow. In her eyes, Christmas is only happening on Nick Jr. Christmas specials.
Sure, adjusting to a cross country move takes time. We've been here for nine months now and I still say "pop" and things like "when so and so comes up to visit us" when I really mean "down" since we are nowhere near north anymore. And yes, I still drive like a crazy Detroiter, because up in the Motor City, it's a known fact that on certain (most) freeways you are expected (so you don't get shot by a suburban mom in a mini van on the way to a soccer game) to drive five miles OVER the posted speed limit. Translation: 70 really means 75...
The only exception to the rule is surburban side streets. On those, you follow the limit or sign up for a court date.
Did you read that, Arizona? Go ahead, I'll sit here impatiently tapping my foot with my arms crossed as you go back and study that last passage. Because after living in the Land of Snowbirds and Cactus, I now understand why I was always pissed when I got stuck behind an out of state driver on the Lodge in Detroit (otherwise known as The Detroit Autoban).
But here in Tucson? Oh hell, don't even get me started. Because I am never going to understand why cars *slow down* in fear of the camoflauged cops on I-10 when the speed limit is 75 miles per hour and they are only doing 55. And I, doing my best impersonation of the first Mini-van Mom to enter the Indy 500, just fly on by wondering who the cops expect to pull over out here for speeding, if not for random road runner who always seems to be truckin' along faster than anyone but me.
Yes, the scenery is gorgeous. Sure, it's a great view for a Sunday drive. But for crying out loud, Arizona, find the fucking gas peddle and learn how to use it. The Mountains will still be there to look at when you make it to your destination *on time,* which is honestly when I'd like to arrive anywhere one day.
So how 'bout it, peeples? And if you need a little help...that thing on the right? Next to the break? yeah...it makes the car go faster when you press on it with your foot. Oh, the wonder...