We tend to get regular s*** around here. (Those of you who don't know why I blanked that word have never had to get up and shovel your roof at 4 in the morning because you can hear your roof trusses starting to crack and pop. It may be white and considered pure, but that is the dirtiest monosyllable in the English language!) When I lived up in the mountains, one of my favorite things to do was sit and watch the California transplants walking under the pine trees the day after a storm. One of the most comical sights in the world is the faces of confusion they would make while looking around for the source of the five pounds of s*** that just fell on their heads.

I know I'm twisted and evil, but ever since a bunch of California developers tried to get my abode outlawed (I lived in a mobile home park across the highway from the precious golf course full of houses they built on a flood plain.) I lost all my sympathy for Californians who move to Colorado and can't cope.