Having safely arrived in Iowa I was promptly greeted by Iowa weather. Nice. Not really. Not unless you call 2 ft. of snow nice. If you do; I hate you. Also, you deserve a wedgie.
My grandmother is determined to buy me a pair of snow boots of cope with the weather. I think I said something along the lines of "Why do I need snow boots, I have no intentions of leaving the house." But, after further investigation, it turns out the hospital isn't connected to my grandmother's house! So I shall be forced to venture forth in to the icy, white unknown. And as such, I am determined to get the cutest snow boots possible. If one must, one must do it in style.
I find it fascinating how everyone gets out and does all their normal stuff in the snow. It snows, then everyone on the street goes out with their snow blowers and clears off their driveway and the sidewalk in front of their house. The snow plow goes by, people get their cars out, and everyone continues about life as usual. It's amazing. Everyone in Iowa deserves cupcakes.
(Except the two stupid nurses who screwed up Jason's IV on Sunday. I don't know what they deserve. Something nasty. Something with coconut in it.) For those of you who have so kindly asked about my cousin, I wish I could report lots of good news. But I can't. Your prayers for him and his family are greatly appreciated.
My grandmother's house is a dieteers nightmare. I walked into the kitchen to find cookies on the counter, a refrigerator packed with yummy things like jello, candy bars, and koolaid, and a freezer with both chocolate and vanilla ice cream. Not to mention the spoils of the living room, two bowls of candy; one of smarties and one of carmel and chocolate carmel.
Luckily for me, I'm not on a diet, and for some weird reason, I always eat less when I'm not. I've been very good, actually. Only drinking water, avoiding the candy and jello, and since my grandmother always asks if I want anything when she goes to the store, I requested good things like cottage cheese and mozzarella.
Hey, I like cheese. Leave me alone. And yes, I adore cheese curds (Possibly the stuff clouds are made of. But having never tasted clouds, I'm not sure.) And no, you may not bug me about my cottage cheese habit. (Large curd only. Small curd = Gross.)
Oh! Oh! One other really great thing about being here at my grandmother's! Access to American Idol! w00t! *does happy dance* No, I don't care if you think this makes me immature. (Well, I kind of do. But acknowledging that would be proof that I'm immaturer than you thought. If the fact that I just used the word "immaturer" didn't tip you off already.)