I made icebox pies for Dan's Fourth of July cookout. Receptionista asked for pictures, and because I do everything she tells me to, here they are:
This is the red layer of the red-white-and-blue pink lemonade pie I make every year. It's sort of a joke pie, hideously colored and too sweet and tart to really be any good, but it's kind of tasty and I think it's funny.
This is the avocado pie, which is usually delicious but may have been ruined this year. I stirred in 12 ounces of Cool Whip before I actually bothered to look at the recipe and realized it called for zero ounces. Oops. Then I ran out of lemons, at which point the pie became sort of a free-association exercise. Okay, no more lemons; what can I substitute that's similar to lemons? Limes! Damn, that's not going to be enough. What's similar to limes? More limes! It still needs something. What goes well with limes? Tequila! Liquor, splendid, I'm a genius! What other kind of liquor had I been drinking all evening before I started dumping a bunch of random shit into the pie filling? Vodka!
Ugh. I still don't know how my method worked out; we were too busy with meat, beer, and yapping to get to the pies. I think I'll host a pie party next weekend so everyone can finally have dessert.
After the cookout most everyone went to the old Whole Foods (the a-Whole Foods?) parking garage to watch the fireworks.
Because
we were celebrating the fact that we live in a democracy, we took a
vote and determined that Ashley should pull his pants down. Clearly,
Ashley is a man who respects the will of the people.
Before all that, Eric and I went swimming, for the eighth day in a
row. This swimming every day thing is making us happy, so much that
we're going to Deep Eddy before work, which I suspect may suck again
this week. That's okay, I just had three days off. I'm not scared.