Ohio, the land of Buckeye pride, unpredictable weather, and arguments about chili that can ruin friendships. It’s a state where cornfields meet city skylines, “O-H!” echoes across stadiums, and orange barrels are considered a season. If the following makes total sense to you, then congrats—you’ve been in Ohio far too long, and you probably flinch every time someone mentions “Michigan.”
You respond to “O-H!” with “I-O!” on instinct—even in church, at weddings, or abroad.
It’s not a cheer. It’s a lifestyle.
You’ve experienced all four seasons in a single day and no longer feel surprise—just mild exhaustion.
Today’s forecast: hoodie in the morning, shorts by noon, snow boots by dinner.
You refer to everything south of Columbus as “down there” and everything north as “basically Canada.”
Geography? More like emotional cartography.
You’ve gotten into a heated debate about Skyline Chili, despite knowing full well what it does to your stomach.
It’s spaghetti. With meat sauce. And that’s okay.
You consider orange traffic cones a permanent part of the scenery.
Spring in Ohio? Flowers, potholes, and construction delays.
You’ve asked someone, “Which part?” after they say they’re from Ohio.
Because northeast Ohio and southwest Ohio are basically two different nations.
You’ve risked your life trying to pronounce “Cuyahoga,” “Tiffin,” or “Scioto” correctly.
Bonus points if you made it through “Tuscarawas” without blacking out.
You’ve tailgated in sub-zero weather and called it “perfect football conditions.”
Hypothermia builds character. So does loyalty to teams that break your heart.
You consider Cedar Point a legitimate reason to call off work.
And you know the back roads to avoid tourist traffic—locals only.
You’ve said, “At least we’re not Michigan,” and felt deeply patriotic.
It doesn’t matter why. We just know.
If you nodded through this list while eating a buckeye, scraping ice off your windshield, and muttering about “lake effect,” it’s official—you’re Ohio through and through. Whether you’re from Cleveland, Columbus, Cincinnati, or somewhere in between cornfields and Kroger, you’ve earned your Midwest badge with pride. Now grab a coney, watch the game, and remember: if you can drive in Ohio, you can drive anywhere.
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