I’m back! And American!

Guys, I’m back! And by “guys” I mean my friend Nick, because he’s the only soul who has looked at this poor blog, probably ever.

Let me explain my, like, 8 month hiatus.

Do you ever feel so uninspired that you can’t even bare to finish that teeny, tiny 1,000 word summary of Chapter 16 that the weird professor who once tried to show you his chest tattoo assigned two weeks ago? And now it’s suddenly 4:30am, the paper is due in four hours, your brain is mush, you have a load of whites in the wash, your roommate is sleeping, you have three midterms tomorrow, and your eyes feel like they’re bleeding?

Well, this is nothing like that! I’ve graduated, bitches! I’m out here in the real world! It’s basically exactly the same but I have less fun things to do and more things to pay for! I’m out here trying to adult, to get my adult on, to adult the fuck out of adulthood. You get it, I’ll stop.

So basically, I’ve been doing stuff, traveling places, still getting yelled at by my mom on the daily though (apparently that doesn’t stop). But during my time away from my unimportant fleeky blog, I’ve learned some shit. One shit in particular I’d like to share today:

You never truly consider yourself American unless 1.) it’s Fourth of July 2.) it’s the Olympic Games and 3.) you’re traveling/ working/ living abroad. 

Think about it: You live in, OH I DON’T KNOW, Upstate New York…your friend sets you up with a friend of a friend of a friend who she met on Tinder a while back, because this is Upstate New York, the asscrack of nowhere, and that’s how you meet people here. So you go out on this date, breadsticks come and go and suddenly you run out of things to talk about. You start really scrapping the barrel with questions like, “what’s your favorite color?” or, “have you ever killed someone?” well, maybe that last one is just me… (you can never be too sure these days). But one thing is for certain, this question will eventually surface: “so, like, what are you?”

Human? Nah, this is the part where you ramble off your lineage back to the 1400s. “Well I come from, like, a HUGE Italian family. But mostly I’m, like, 50% Italian, 23% Russian, 16% Lithuanian, and probably, like, 11% Mongolian. Ha ha, I’m a mutt! I know! What about you?”

You sit across from you date wondering how those percentages even worked out that way, but it’s the first date so you just go with it.

The point is, unless you’re goddamn Pocahontas or Donald Trump, it’s very unlikely you’ll ever just say, “I’m American!”


1.) It’s the Fourth of July

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Fuck yeah! Freedom! Fireworks! Hot dogs! Joey Chestnut! Country music! Tacky American flag bathing suits! This is the ONE DAY we get to be unapologetically American.

2.) It’s the Olympic Games


and what about:

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moments like these?


and most importantly, this:


Case closed.

3.) You’re abroad

Think about it. You’re on a night out in, OH I DONT KNOW, say…Dublin, Ireland in, OH I DONT KNOW, say… a place called Dicey’s. A potential drunken love interest comes towards you, a love interest with an irish accent, mind you. He whispers something in your ear. You giggle and he continues. It’s not until he asks you a question that you lean closer and whisper the answer in his ear, with your American accent, mind you. He leans back and gives you a puzzled look. “Where are you from?”

you answer, “New York”


DAMN RIGHT I AM! *Kisses ensue*


At the end of the day, being an American is a novelty, but sometimes it’s nice to reflect on being American. Sure we have tons of guns, mullets, Donald Trump, The Jersey Shore- we’re not perfect! But some of the smartest people in the world were American! Take Albert Einstein! Oh, he was German? Hmmm… what about… William Shakespeare? …no? Oh, I got it! Isaac Newton! Not American either?

Fuck it, we have Neil Degrasse Tyson, and he’s cool as shit. Now pass me that Bud Light, son.


I’m so sorry,

Victoria, Blog On Fleek