After a couple of weeks of firing people, rolling back environmental reforms and slashing budgets for certain higher education entities, New Mexico's new governor took the time to bitch about her new tax-payer funded digs in Santa Fe.

The Gov with no sense of humor (I'm sure I'll figure out a good nickname soon) apparently thought she deserved some sympathy.

The Governor's Mansion in Santa Fe is being cleaned and aired out after eight years of Richardson. He loved to smoke cigars. Martinez quit smoking a few years ago, and I'll side with her on this: cigar smoke is the worst smoke in the world.

So she and her husband are staying in the guest house while the mansion gets a good scrubbing.

This is all fine. When I moved into the apartment I live in now, I had to vacuum and clean the carpets at least three times before I moved my stuff in. The previous occupant had at least one cat (if not a few), and I am allergic to cats. Puking blood and mucus allergic. And it took me a month or so before I stopped waking up with my eyes half glued shut.

I get it. Moving sucks. But you know what? I have to pay for my apartment. I have to pay for my car. I don't have a cook. And I don't have a guest house, either.

Our new governor gets a brand new job in an election paid for, in part, by the oil companies she's already done favors for in her first few weeks, and she bitches in the paper about living out of boxes while her mansion is being cleaned.

I'm not sure who's idea it was to try and get sympathy about her residential woes. It could have been the paper (they endorsed her, pretty much on "change is good" because they couldn't really give us a good reason either). Or maybe the columnist. Just sounded like bitching to me.

And then there was the part about restraining her husband from shooting the deer on the lawn.

Martinez, a cop lawyer, wears a handgun all the time (I assume she takes it off to sleep and shower). Because, you know, she can.

Her husband also has a few firearms of his own. The sight of deer on the lawn apparently conjures up some kind of blood lust. He's got a gun, he can take care of this! Defenseless deer! Must shoot! Can't restrain my trigger finger! There's nothing worse than an unfired firearm, I guess. Or maybe Bambi within fifty yards.

I've never heard a better reason to ban firearms in my life.

Lighten up lady, and quit bitching. You have a job. And you spent the last few weeks making sure hundreds, if not thousands, of New Mexicans won't this year.

Matt Worley doesn't have a politically-appointed position.