You know you live in Arizona when:
You buy salsa by the gallon.
All of your out-of-state friends start to visit after October but clear out come the end of April.
You think someone driving while wearing oven mitts is clever.
Most of the restaurants in your town have the first name "El" or "Los."
You think six tons of crushed rock makes a beautiful yard.
You notice your car overheating before you drive it.
Your house is made of stucco and has a red clay tile roof.
You can say Hohokam(?Hohokam (HO-ho-ko'm) and people don't think you're laughing funny.
You no longer associate bridges or rivers with water.
You see more irrigation water on the street than there is in the Salt River.
You know a swamp cooler is not a happy hour drink.
You can say 120 degrees without fainting.
Every other vehicle is a 4x4.
You can be in the snow, and then drive for an hour and it will be more than 100 degrees.
Vehicles with open windows have the right-of-way in the summer.
You have to go to a fake beach for some fake waves.
People break out coats when the temperature drops below 70.
You discover, in July, it only takes two fingers to drive your car.
The pool can be warmer than you are.
You can make sun tea instantly.
People will drive over 100 miles just to see snow.
You run your air conditioner in the middle of winter so you can use your fireplace.
Most people will not drink tap water unless they are under dire conditions.
People with black cars or have black upholstery in their car are automatically assumed to be from out-of-state or nuts.
You notice the best parking place is determined by shade instead of distance.
You realize Valley Fever isn't a disco dance.
You can finish a Big Gulp in 10 minutes and go back for seconds.
The water from the cold water tap is the same temperature as the hot one.
You can (correctly) pronounce the words: "Saguaro(?Saguaro (suh-WA'R-o)
An arborescent cactus (Carnegiea gigantea)
"Tempe," "Gila Bend," "San Xavier," "Canyon de Chelly," "Mogollon Rim," "Cholla," and "Ajo."
It's noon in July, kids are on summer vacation, and not one person is moving on the streets.
You actually burn your hand opening the car door.
Sunscreen is sold year round, kept at the front of the checkout counter, a formula less than 30 SPF is a joke, and you wear it just to go to the Circle K.
Some fool can market mini-misters for joggers and other fools will actually buy them.
Hot-air balloons can't go up, because the air outside is hotter than the air inside.
No one would dream of putting vinyl upholstery in a car.
You eat hot chilis to cool your mouth off.
You learn that a seat belt makes a pretty good branding iron.
The temperature drops below 95, you feel a bit chilly.
You discover that you can get a sunburn through your car window.
You break a sweat the instant you step outside at 7:30 a.m. before work.
Your biggest bicycle wreck fear is, "What if I get knocked out and end up lying on the pavement and cook to death?"
You realize that asphalt has a liquid state.
This place feels like Arizona