Then I Moved to Iowa

Hello there.  It’s been quite some time since I’ve graced this lovely blog with my presence. I could give you excuses or tell you what you’re dreading (I’ve fallen in love with Iowa! — KIDDING), but I’ll just sum it up with this: It was a dark, cold, gray, and dreary winter and there was zero motivation to do anything in this part of the country (oh, and winter, at least the grayness, lasts through April.  I was out of the country in May).

I apologize.  I’m learning to adjust to the greyness of the Iowa death hole.  Next winter I might do better.

BUT, over the course of the winter, I took a ton of Iowa pictures to share with you, and I have lots you need to know about.  Let me wet your appetite:

That there is the Waterloo Waffle Stop special.  Hashbrowns with a little extra something.  Some Kraft Single action.  Apparently, hashbrowns a la American are an Iowa specialty — I’d never seen this anywhere else (and I love hashbrowns, I’ve ordered them in several states) and it’s just rampant in Iowa.

Adding a slice of good old American is how you fancy up a dish here, it’s how you make is special and how you justify adding $2 to the bill.  Genius.

And just for fun, a look at the Waffle Stop biscuits and gravy.  Andy ordered it.  He didn’t eat it.

The government is resorting to “peer pressure” to get us Americans to fill out and mail in our 2010 census forms.

Well, you don’t need to peer pressure Iowans, we’re on it.  Iowa leads the nation in census forms returned.  This is why get get the caucuses — because Iowans are the type that do what’s right, go to church on Sunday, don’t procrastinate, and listen to the government.  No peer pressure required.

Have I turned in my census form?  You betcha.  I’m trying real hard to fit in here.

(Most) Iowans have a sense of humor about Iowa.  For the most part, we know (for the purpose of this post, I am using the word WE and am temporarily considering myself an Iowan) that we’re the forgotten part of America.  When you say you live in Iowa, people either say “What? Idaho? Lots of potatoes?” OR “Hmm, I’ve never thought about Iowa before.  Why did you move there?”

Nobody thinks about Iowa.  It’s okay, we can laugh about.

Red indicates areas where there are more BARS than supermarkets.  I’m lost in the RED-EST area of America.  Lots and lots and lots of Busch Lite.

It’s the only way to survive winter.  BUT, spring is start to peak through the dreadfully gray sky, little slivers and sunshine are starting to make an appearance.  I too am ready to make a comeback… Get ready.

Oh, and I got a puppy.  Mario – born & bred in Iowa.

Everyone thinks their winter hell is worse the winter hell of everyone else.  No matter who you’re talking to, they always say, “It was like -10 here yesterday”.  Everyone wants to win the winter war and wants you to think they suffer.  If you don’t live in Iowa, you don’t suffer.  Period.

Let me break it down for you.  Places that get more snow than Iowa, have sunshine.  Places that are colder have exciting winter actives (think skiing, ice skating, ice fishing, snowshoeing).  Places where winter lasts longer are scenic and breathtaking.  Iowa is just cold and miserable.  End of story.

If you live in Colorado at it’s negative 25, you should be smiling.  If you’re in Reno and the snow keeps falling, you’re probably excited to take a sick day and go skiing.   If you’re in your in the south (Hawaii, Florida, heck, even Texas) you’re probably planning your next day at the beach.  None of you know what winter hell is…this hell is reserved only for people in Iowa.  Let’s just keep that straight.

You don’t win the “winter is worse here” war.

I’m in Colorado this week.  I ordered a glass of wine with dinner last night and when I showed my ID, the waiter said, “Iowa? Ewww, that sucks” and then he walked off without another word.

He said “eww”.

There around thousands and thousands of different ways to say “I love you”.  In Iowa, the most powerful way is will poop:

Yup, that’s Dick from my great state of Iowa, and yup, he really wrote out “Happy birthday, I love you” in poop.  POOP!

It was a thoughtful gesture for his wife, one that required 3 hours of manually labor and plenty planning.  My favorite quote from Dick regarding his project:  “Any manure will work but the good, soft, gushy, warm stuff works the best. It kind of melts the snow.”

Yup, the knowledge base in Iowa is overwhelming.

This purpose of this website is to explain to all of you the backwardsness and “uniqueness” that is Iowa.  You may think I over exaggerate and make things sound worse than they really are — if you’re of that mindset, today’s post should set you straight.

He said “I love you” with poop.

Our local grocery store (which continually fascinates me with it’s Iowaness: here, here, here) is publicizing a very special, and very noteworthy goal.  Our grocery store is going to sell 1,000,000 pork tenderloins in 31 days.

That’s right, ONE MILLION PORK CHOPS.  I live in a place where it’s reasonable to think that you can actually sell a million pork tenderloins.  Until I’d moved to Iowa, I didn’t understand the power of a pork tenderloin.  Pork tenderloin sandwiches are on the menu at every restaurant in town.  In fact, there’s whole restaurants devoted to this celebrated sandwich, the Town House Tenderloin. Sadly, it’s only about 1/2 mile from the grocery store.  I hope the Town House can make it through the tenderloin sale down the road.

We’re hoping the grocery store puts up one of those big, huge thermometers on butcher paper to track the progress of the pork tenderloin drive.  I’ll keep my eye out and snap a picture.

I bet Iowa is the only state where you can sell 1 million tenderloins in 1 month.

(No words needed.)

Andy took this picture for me…I want to give him full credit, and, get off my back, I’m only an hour late.

I just opened my front door and an effing icicle dropped from the sky and landed on me.  It cut me, it hurt, and I’M BLEEDING.

I could have died.  I would have died in the freezing cold winter hell of Iowa because an icicle split my skull open.

Lucky for me it landed on my ring finger…this time.

Not only is it impossible to drive in Iowa (because snow plows aren’t fashionable here), it’s a total pain to brave the outdoors (it’s NEGATIVE TWENTY), and let’s face it, there’s nowhere cool to go. BUT NOW I have to worry about dying every time I open my front door.

I’M BLEEDING.

I’m so stunned and have so many thoughts swirling in my brain:
Can you get lockjaw from icicles?  Do I need a tetanus shot?
How does an anything land smack dab on your ring finger?
Was this a warning from God, “Next time, you’re dead”… a move away warning?,
I’m staying in my house until may, I have no choice.  I’m on my way to crazy cat lady life.

Iowa is going to kill me.

The grocery store has racks and racks of unidentifiable ointment.

What is this stuff?  Why is there so much of it all the time?

I kinda want to buy some.

(And yes, we shop at a place called “HyVee”.  It’s the only option.)

The guy in line at front of you at the bank has a huge bucket of coins hanging from each arm, and he walks up to the teller, slams both buckets on the counter and says “Yup.  I’m you’re worst nightmare.”