For those of you who don't know, I live in the middle of arid wasteland called "New Mexico," a place which is inhabited primarily by immigrants and people not skilled enough at map reading to navigate our confused road system and escape.

We also have called dibs on 49th place on any national statistics rankings. That's our spot, and nobody else better think about taking it. Especially Missouri. (to whom we owe our eternal gratitude for being marginally less worthy)

There are a few redeeming highlights, of course. We have good salsa. And casinos. And rocks which, if you squint at and tilt your head, have a plausible resemblance to famous celebrities who've had a bad run in with a mis-calibrated teleporter. These are usually designated with official looking signs, and, occasionally, a commemorative shop.

Unfortunately, our arid wasteland has lately been under assault. It is, in fact, dangerously close to becoming a boggy wasteland. You see, we've had a bit of a perpetual monsoon since July. Where I am right now, it's rained just about every day.

While I love rain, mysterious and infrequent as it's formerly been, I do not love some of the other things that love rain, such as mosquitos the size of.. the size of... well, let's just say if you squint and tilt your head they have a plausible resemblance to certain famous celebrities.

So why did the weather decide to have a go at us all at once? Did it just forget up till now? Did it take a wrong turn on the way to Seattle? Did it sneak in from Mexico? Did it make the mistake of trying to use our roads and streetsigns to navigate?

I have an elegant theory I've come up with, which I like to call, "Karen." Karen is my friend on the east coast who, last year, was responsible for a certain flurry of devastating hurricanes. Basically, she is a meteorlogical superhero who has gone bad, but not so bad that she doesn't appreciate a good joke (such as eradicating major port cities). I can only assume it is her eccentric sense of humor that has transformed my lovely desert home into a muddy bog.

Haha! Well, Karen, I regret to inform you that there are only six quarts of blood in the human body, and a near infinite number of giant mosquitos presently converging on my cardiovascular system. So, go ahead and laugh it up now, but if you should happen to find my grotesque mummified corpse inexplicably lounging somewhere, at least do something useful with it, like prop it up in your vegetable garden.