Yeah, You Pretty Much Can Go Home Again

I'm back in Iowa. It's cold, snowy and just the way I wanted it to be. Three months in Mexico didn't diminish my ability to stand the cold; I guess 21 years of coping with nut-freezing winters builds a resistance.

Things didn't change a whole lot while I was gone, it seems. Everything's just as good with Andrea - if not better. The guys are all still the guys, except that many of them are getting a little more action now. American TV still sucks, but at least I've got a new season of Family Guy to watch (I did develop a taste for Los Simpsons, however). American politics are still asinine. The Grove still has the best pancakes on the planet. THE MUG was restored to me after having its honor righteously preserved by Smeuss. My mom still falls asleep in her recliner while watching rodeo on TV.

As far as food goes... well, I already miss it. I'm going to desperately search for a truly good Mexican restaurant here, but I don't have much hope. As soon as I move into my new apartment (which is two blocks from my old one and has a dishwasher, whoo!) I'm just gonna cook it myself. Between the scent of pozole, the mariachi music, and the occasional shouts of "Viva Mexico!" I imagine my neighbors might get a little confused when they see a big red-bearded cracker walk out of #5.

Really, though, everything's just fine. After some initial awkwardness (when I tried to say "Permiso," "Mande?" and "Gracias" to various people in the Omaha airport), I'm back into the swing of things. Let me tell you, it is sweet to be able just effortlessly talk with anybody around you about anything. I never realized just how much thought I had to put into everything I said in Spanish because I had to do it so much.

I still can't figure out this fucking American keyboard, though.