America- FUCKYEAHHHH!

Nothing says America more than Ed Hardy tattoos and pickles. Well, according to my good friends Cindy and Tiffany. After thoroughly enjoying the first 2 nights out on the town with my friends to kick off the 3-day holiday weekend, we all decided to take the 4th and keep it low key. Tiffany was gracious enough to host a few of us over provided that we all brought a multicultural dish. I was glad that I didn’t have to put much thought into it. Tiffany asked me to bring hummus and crackers, and I easily said, “Done!”

Since I didn’t get up and moving about until 1:30p (gross, I know), I didn’t really have much time to make anything. I needed a shower, to get my stomach under control because I mixed liquor and beer the night prior, and to make it to another house party beforehand with Jamesson. Fortunately, I’m a fan of always keeping a few staples on-hand for time when you’re in a pinch. I generally always have garlic, lemon, rosemary, olive oil, and a can or two of white beans in the pantry. When you blend them all together, they happen to make one of the best dips in existence. Not quite hummus, but close enough.

The spread at our potluck was quite… Interesting. We had wine from Chile, pineapple to embody Brazil, and Cindy’s signature queso dip to round out south-of-the-border representation for Mexico. For European influence, we had cheese and crackers for France alongside bread with sides of marinara and alfredo sauce for Italy. Although my white bean dip was more Italian (I did snag the recipe from Giada di Laurentiis), we decided to give a random shout-out to India.

And what for America? When I got to Tiffany’s and saw the spread, I just saw a random jar of pickles. Upon further examination, I saw some stick-on tattoos haphazardly lying next to it. “Hmmm,” I said. “Ed Hardy tats. Nothing more American than that… But I’m pretty sure that pickles come from Europe.” After a few cocktails, I decided that there was actually nothing more American than bad tattoos in even worse places. Enid got a black widow and barbed wire tattoo around her arm, a la Pamela Anderson. Cindy got one down her inner thigh. Tiffany and I got them on our boobs.

Then there was karaoke. After watching the fireworks display over Lake Eola from Tiffany’s balcony, we all thought it was a grand idea to go to Cindy and Chaz’s favorite haunt Big Daddy’s for some singing. Doesn’t get more American.

P.S. I finally did lose my karaoke virginity… The girls and I sang along to Vanilla Ice’s ‘Ice Ice Baby’, which happens to be the song that I sang to keep my mind off of the pain when I broke my ankle skateboarding.