You my have spent too much time in Baja when:
You keep trying to throw your toilet paper in the wastebasket.
You open the refrigerator and are stunned it’s not filled with Coronas.
You can’t drink anything unless it has a slice of lime.
It’s not a meal without salsa fresca and chips.
You greet everyone with “Hola” or “Buenas Dias”.
There are too many paved roads in your neighborhood.
You go out to check the pila, but it’s not there.
The electricity stays on for days without an outage.
You suddenly understand your gardener and your maid.
You step outside to swim, and all you find is your lawn.
Your neighbors’ dogs are all on leashes and snarl instead of licking you.
There’s nobody riding in the back of pick-up trucks.
The phone interrupts your siesta hours.
You try to bargain with the butcher.
Your feet no longer fit in hard soled shoes.
You’ve forgotten how to wear a necktie.
You’re surprised to find all your groceries at one store.
You don’t need to make an ice run for the drink cooler.
Shrimp, shrimp, shrimp. Is there any other food?
One hardware store carries everything.
You think nothing of driving the length Mex 1 in a day.
Your trips are measured by distance between gas stations.
Doritos are a poor substitute for the real thing.
Baja Rummy is actually a game.
A traffic jam means there are three cars stopped in front of you.
Your electric bill comes in the mail, instead of being stuffed in the fence.
You actually have a water meter.
You wake for sunrise because it is breathtakingly beautiful.
Dorado is both a fish and a style of taco shell.
Golf carts are used everywhere except a course.
You start jonesing for fresh tortillas.
The guy who fixes your electric, also does your plumbing, builds your fence, plants your trees, looks after your house, and feeds your dogs when you are away.
No one has a doorbell and everybody stops by.
A palapa, a panga, and a hammock are three of your favorite places to be.
Your friends ask you when you’re coming home and wonder if they’re crazy.