I hate you, Phoenix, Arizona.
Just days ago, while I was trudging through the snow and scraping my car windows and falling on the ice (which I do at least once every single stinking year) all I could think of was you. You and Al Roker.
Al chose you to be the "pick city of the day". "PICKCITYOFTHEDAY!" he said, cheerfully.
And you. You.
You were 'mostly sunny, 60 degrees, and cool'. My eyes are narrowing in anger just thinking of it.
How dare you. Do you know that my pants are wet half way up my calves and caked in salt? That my toes have been numb for weeks? Do you even care? I hate you, Phoenix. That's right. I hate you.
I love you, Phoenix. Can we get married? Can I bring my husband?