The Perfection of Stinky Roses


Iowa is not a word many folks associate with perfection (unless, of course, you’re me and think everything about the damn state is pretty spot on with being mistaken for heaven as Kevin Costner so kindly did in his 1989 movie).

However, perfection touched the state I hold so dear to my heart in a way that before 2015 was unimaginable. My Iowa Hawkeyes had a perfect – yes I said perfect – regular college football season. The Hawks are typically mediocre (but full of heart!), and us fans were just hoping for a winning season to get to a bowl game. So you can imagine our surprise when our team kept winning game after game after game….after game (and we kept doing shot after shot after shot…).

Our livers love us.

Our livers love us.

Our perfect record granted the Hawks a slot in the Big Ten Championship game held in Indianapolis, so you bet your ass our classy clan was there.  It was going to be an especially fun game, as my buddy The Silent Indian is a Michigan State Spartan fan – the team Iowa was up against.

An unbiased Camo, The Silent Spartan Indian, Dada CBXB and some drunk Iowa cheerleader.

Because I’m psycho (and also an asshole), I made our foursome leave Nashville at 3:30 am so our arrival to Indianapolis would be in conjunction with my Saturday morning staple College Game Day – who was finally broadcasting live from an Iowa game.

Worth it.

Running to secure a spot. The only exercise my body received all fall.

Sunglasses hide early morning sins.

Sunglasses hide early morning sins.

One of my favorite things about College Game Day are the signs fans make in hopes of making it to the broadcast. And these fans didn’t disappoint.

The Silent Indian left speechless.

The Silent Indian left speechless.



Even Tay knows a thing or two about the lack of respect given to the Hawks.

Even Tay knows a thing or two about the lack of respect given to the Hawks.

The Silent Indian and yours truly snuck our way up into the fourth row, so I could get a better look at my 81-year-old commentator boyfriend, Lee Corso.

A Hawkeye and a Spartan friends...for now.

A Hawkeye and a Spartan – friends…for now.

We also became famous for .00001 second during the broadcast.

Famous. Obvi.

Blink and you missed it.

After standing for four solid hours in freezing temps (I’d still be standing there if I could be), we headed into warm up next door with my boyfriend Captain Morgan at a party sponsored by my favorite rum.

My boyfriend, his girlfriend and me.

My boyfriend, his girlfriend and me.

We had no fun.

We had no fun.

After the Captain shenanigans, it was time to take our seats and watch one helluva heartbreaker as Iowa lost in the last seconds of the game.


A fabulous view of a tough loss.

The Gloating Indian

The Gloating Indian. Yes, we let him stay and watch the Spartans get their trophy. Sometimes I have a heart.

Aren’t you glad this wasn’t your four-hour ride home with a sore loser?


No explanation needed.

So Iowa loses one game post season but do you know where that got us in the line-up of bowl games?

For the first time in 25 years, the Iowa Hawkeyes were going to grace Pasadena, CA with their presence at The Rose Bowl against the Stanford Cardinals.



And while the richer Iowa fans with jobs swarmed the fuck out of California, my unemployed ass  hosted a game watch at the mini manse on New Year’s Day.

Who needs Cali when I had a green carpet for a step and repeat?

Who needs Cali when I had a green carpet for a step and repeat?

Booze at the ready.

Booze at the ready.

Tailgating treats galore.

Tailgating treats galore.

Mascots in their best giddy up.

Mascots in their best giddy up.

Front row seats acquired.

Front row seats acquired.

There was just one teeny, weeny tiny problem. My Iowa Hawkeyes apparently left all of their motivation in 2015. It was 21-0 before the end of the first quarter and we were left with empty shot glasses in our hands. So we did the next best thing.

Sympathy shot.

A sympathy shot.

And then there was sympathy shot number three.

Thank God someone was keeping track.

Thank God someone was keeping track.

Followed by sympathy shots four and five…

Thank god my jazz hand also communicates the number of shot we're on.

Jazz hands for the number of shot taking!

After a very dismal final score of Stanford 45, Iowa 16, I laid down on the green carpet for a well deserved tantrum.


I wanted to win dammit!

Dada CBXB tried to join me but found the ground was too far for him to reach, therefore conducted his tantrum on all fours.

As far as he goes.

Losing at its finest.

While the post season games for my Hawkeyes didn’t come out with wins, I couldn’t be more proud of the team, my favorite coach on the planet, Kirk Ferentz, and the fans who are tried and true season after season.  For all of the haters who are going to lecture me on our lack of a tough schedule, mediocre players and how the Big Ten Conference is weak, you can go fuck yourselves.  I love the fact that most of the Hawkeyes are from the Midwest, many walking on from small Iowa towns (although I also love the fact our quarterback is from Nashville!), going on to become great college football players and going on to play in the NFL. I love the fact that Coach Ferentz will make a stand out player miss an entire quarter of an important game because he was late to practice (please don’t do that again Desmond King –  you’re my favorite player and THANK YOU for coming back for your senior year!).  And I love that there typically no more than a total of eight four star prospects on the entire roster, making us always seem like somewhat of a Cinderella team.

Thank you to the Iowa Hawkeye football team for putting some much needed pep in my 2015 step. Your two biggest fans can’t wait until September!

We're still your number one fans.

We’re still your number one fans.

Until then, we’ll be drinking moonshine shots every time the Iowa Hawkeye basketball team sinks a bucket to keep our livers in tact for next football season.

Just kidding!

Or am I…?



How to be a Trashy Tailgater

It’s always a little sad to see college football season slowly winding down after the great anticipation I have for it every August.

I’ve chronicled many of my mini-tailgates I host in Nashville every Saturday – 1,000 miles away from my beloved Iowa Hawkeyes (who are horrible this year, although I still love them – especially Coach Kirk Ferentz) and Kinnick stadium.  So you can imagine my delight when I was able to attend a game this season, complete with the true tailgating experience.

Here’s how you can be a trashy, while classy (?) tailgater…

Miles of walking to a tailgate (which is why I must have been 10 lbs lighter in college) can make coolers icing your tasty beverages beyond heavy.  Do as my friend Eric did and pack your sturdy GAP bag with beer!

Talk about traveling light – your shoulder won’t hurt from lugging around, you can throw it away and no one will guess what’s inside. Genius.

Of course I had to get in on all of the cooler action by posing with it, as I was in such awe.

I will be stealing this idea and substituting beer cans for Captain bottles at future tailgates.

Upon reaching your destination, it’s important to set up shop.

See that sweet bus and tent in the back? Yeah, that’s not ours…check out the blue cooler and umbrellas in front. That’s how we roll. Nice ‘n’ easy.

There’s no need to bring a mirror to a tailgate – one can just look into sunglasses to check out the ‘do.

Lookin’ good.

After primping is complete, when a dude with a fancy camera says he’s documenting tailgaters for (we’re the third picture) say yes.

Of course we stopped what we were doing to say cheese (my dad and I hate attention).  Just as the photo was snapped some ass in the background said, “she’d take her pants off if you asked her too.” Yes, that’s the kind of classy folks I keep company with – and for the record, my pants stay on – unless Hugh Hefner calls.

So you’re saying we’re famous on the internet then, right?

With my star status on the Web established, I thought my day could not possibly get any better. Then, as I turned around, my eyes hit the glossiest beak in all of college sports. HERKY THE HAWK was driving through the tailgate! This was my one shot to get a photo with my favorite famous bird.

It will make your tailgating experience much more fun if you get a picture with the mascot.

It’s him! In the flesh. Ohmygod!

Skinny pirates pumping through my veins, I felt it suffice to run along the cart and beg Herky to either let me on or jump off into my arms and take a mother f’n photo.

Stop! Wait! I love you! I just want to get my…Jesus I’m out of shape.

Needless to say, I acted like a gigantic asshole but yes, you guessed it, I didn’t care. I got my picture made (kind of) with Herky!

As the tailgaters were heading into the game, we felt it necessary (and easier now that the parking lots were cleared out) to take pictures with their vehicles.  This way, there’s no need to invest in a $80,000 party prop.

Ain’t she a beaut? Now don’t go falling in love with it because…it’s not yours.

I was way too cool (duh) to pose in front of someone else’s tailgating property (eye roll) but not too classy to keep from snapping a shot of my dream bus while crossing the street.  It’s even appropriately called Team Alcohawk for our tailgating crew. Oh boy.

I’m immediately saving all of my pennies up for this bus.

As we strolled into the stadium (with Captain hid in appropriate places), I knew my real, live tailgating experience was coming to an end this year.  If only Herky had stopped to pose…

And wouldn’t you know, fate stepped in and stopped Herky for me (not in the flesh…more in a cardboard cutout kind of way) while I was stock piling up on AE dip for our red neck road trip back to Nashville (you’re white trash in the North, red neck below the Mason Dixon Line – keep up with me, people!).

The morning after the day long drinking celebration (looking oh-so-pretty, I know), I about knocked over two grocery clerks trying to make my way to Herky.

Some things are just meant to be.