Dear state of Texas,

There seems to be a bit of confusion, a sort of misunderstanding between you and myself. Because, you see, I very much want to move to the Lonestar State, and yet you seem to not want me. Why is that? Do you think I'm not a good fit? Just because I'm from California doesn't mean I'm not a Texan at heart. I mean, I totally get into county fairs. I also eat cantaloupe with a knife sometimes. And believe you me, I fully intend on picking up a twang and eating whatever animals I run over on the road. Consider it done.

You should also know that I love barbecue, football, cowboys and wide open spaces. And I look great in cowboy boots.

I'd be willing to establish a written contract regarding what I'll do for you. How about this - I promise that if you open your friendly southern arms to me, I will:

* Listen to country music on a regular basis. (I assume this includes Taylor Swift).
* Shoot things on my property. Snakes, old tin cans, obnoxious dogs - you name it, I'll shoot it.
* Remember the Alamo.
* Marry a football-and-family loving cowboy, with whom I'll gladly make strapping sons, and I'll always attend their football games and cook hot meals with lots of meat and fresh produce from my garden.
* Own an old Chevy truck or new SUV. Or both, probably.
* Sit on my porch every pleasant evening with a glass of lemonade, freshly squeezed from my own kitchen (read: children).
* Not have neighbors.
* Own all the seasons of Friday Night Lights. Still love Riggins, by the way.
* Use the word "ya'll" in every complete thought that I verbally express.

See, aren't I the ideal candidate? And also consider what I'm willing to sacrifice by leaving my home state: I live in the Mediterranean of the US, the land of movie stars and convertibles and earthquakes. And leaving The Dirts who live next door will truly be a heart-breaking day.

I think it's clear that we need each other. So please give me a job.

Best regards,
Tara