Forget-th of July

I reached a new level of un-American last week.

For the last few days, I was seeing all my American friends posting about the 3 day weekend. I was wracking my brain trying to figure out why suddenly everyone was suddenly on vacation. Memorial day is in May, Veteran’s Day is in September, Columbus Day in October – what the fuck is in June? And then I saw someone say “HAPPY INDEPENDENCE DAY” and I was all aw shit. 


I can’t believe I forgot. And to amplify that forgetfulness, today has been completely devoid of any American feeling. Not that my days are or have ever been filled with the patriotic spirit. But, even though it’s winter and not 500* with 600% humidity and there’s no mosquitos or fireworks, the last couple years while I’ve been here, I’ve had at least one person tease me about ‘MERRRRICA and I’ve worn red white + blue under my work clothes and we’ve torn through meat products and put booze into our faces.


Today, though, not a single person at work teased me. I wore green and black to work. And we’re out of alcohol – well except for a turned bottle of shitty wine, or brandy. Regardless, I don’t have any cigars or a parlour in which to drink it whilst feeling smug about myself. We aren’t eating hotdogs and hamburgers, but we are having chicken and bean burritos, which is an American bastardisation of another country’s cuisine, so hey — that’s very America. And there’s semi-homemade dream pie in the fridge made from real American spirit that I will demolish single handedly if Joel doesn’t come home soon.

crust made from melted butter and short bread cookies; vanilla custard made from Jell-O PUDDING mix; whipped cream made from literally whipping cream; hopes and dreams made from all my mid-western women in my family tree

So happy birthday, America. Hopefully in three (fingers crossed for fewer) years I can be proud enough to remember it.



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