Nanny Goats in Panties: Tucson, Arizona is a Big Bully

When we went to Tucson a couple weeks ago, one of my goals was to see a roadrunner. Locals kept telling me, "Oh they're everywhere. You'll just see 'em out on the roads."

My husband, Mr. MudPuppy, set his desires on a plush cactus with eyes. It had to have eyes.

Turns out the locals lie (also I have bad karma when it comes to these things) and the above items were horribly elusive. We spent the better part of our vacation NOT finding them. We sought peaceful icons from the Arizona desert, but the place offered us nothing but violence. To begin with, Tucson was only interested in kicking our ass.

Ass Kickin' Salsa

Ass Kickin' Vegetable Dip

Ass Kickin' Taco Seasoning

Then it wanted to whoop our ass...

Whoop Ass Steak Sauce

Then it wanted to stab us in the ass...

Prickly Pear Marmalade

After our authentic ass-kickin', ass-whoopin' and pear-pricklin', we begged for mercy. "Please Tucson," we begged. "Can't we all just get along?"

I guess it finally felt sorry for us. Either that, or it heard I had a blog and could wield a mighty pen, because just before we left, we were finally greeted with what I was looking for...