I had the audacity to think I could write a moving poem – with rhymes! – about Biden winning and Trump losing. This is as far as I got:
Glass on the floor, from the broken ceiling,
Glass on the floor, from bottles toppled in drunken feeling.
Self-awareness is knowing your skill set. Verse is not mine.
Approve Question 2 – We Did
I haven’t been writing that much for The Cool Table lately, because back in the spring, I began a PAC with some other moms to get bond funding passed for a much-needed new high school in our town. We are a Title 1 district, and our high school was rated the worst public facility in the state of Rhode Island. Our first big victory was getting “Question 2” on the local ballot. Then we had to get it approved by Newport voters. It was a big ask, because some people hate paying taxes and some people really hate paying taxes to benefit poor children.
We faced opposition, especially driven by a husband/wife team, who called us cheerleaders, an evil enterprise, prom queens, abusive to our own kids, uneducated, selfish moms who only want summer ponies. What the fuck is a summer pony? They even filed a frivolous ethics complaint against us with the Board of Elections, which we had to respond with using legal council. That was fun.
We canvassed, phone banked, begged for money. Print advertising is not cheap. We had to have a presence on Nextdoor. That place is scarier than the house from Parasite.
In the end, our bond passed by a 78/22 margin. It was joyful. Especially when the husband/wife team ended up dead last in their own runs for city council and school committee. I love being petty and swimming in the pool of their defeat. It’s still Scorpio season.
We learned our Bond Question result pretty quick. Then, the entire week following November 3rd felt unending, because Republicans are so good at stealing joy. Yes, count all the votes, but by Friday, it was obvious we were getting a delay for delays sake.
George Called It
Saturday, I was on my hands and knees scrubbing grout with a toothbrush, listening to LAS CULTURISTAS, when my phone rang. It was my Dad. Ding dong, George Lucian Harrelson calling! CNN had called the election, and the good people won.
I screamed and yelled, and immediately turned the speaker up on my stoop and popped champagne. I played neighborhood DJ all day long, letting the bubbles buzz in my bloodstream. Lots of Prince, lots of 10,000 Maniacs, lots of Fleetwood Mac. Definitely played Marvin Gaye’s version of The Star Spangled Banner.
When Harris and Biden finally spoke on Saturday night, I made my daughter watch with me. The kids in her class were on a group chat, celebrating. 6th graders shitposting each other is so pure. She said I was crying and clapping too much, but I was letting her eat Takis after 9 pm, so she dealt with it.
There are a few things I want. I’m a Scorpio, and I know you can’t have truth and reconciliation without truth. I want investigations. I want to dig in the dirt. Scorpios love rot and decay. I want to know who paid off Bret Kavanaugh’s debts. I want to find the exact names of the people who separated babies from parents and then I want them thrown into jail.
We can have our own Nuremberg here in the USA. How about Nuremberg, Pennsylvania. Wouldn’t even have to change the name.
Melania can keep her kidneys, even though we paid for them.
Betsy DeVos can keep wearing her French tips to signal she is trash, but why is it that we can prosecute the MLM-cult NXIVM but not AMWAY?
The Trumps won’t steal books or art. Their suitcases will be filled with Donald’s Adderall collection. I’d like to see Melania swat Donald’s hand away one last time.
I would pay $100 to go throw axes at Donald’s “wall.”
Don Jr and Eric are going to jail for charity fraud in NYC. Jared will too, for being a slumlord. May Ivanka never find peace on a JetBlue flight ever again. May Kayleigh’s hair refuse to hold those bachelorette barrel curls for the rest of her life. May Steven Miller go to jail for general fuckery and be separated from his own child.
We need a national mask mandate now. We need to make public shaming for refusing science acceptable. This virus has stolen so much joy, and if you get pleasure from being a petty bitch, do it. Ignore the folks on MSNBC prattle on about listening to our better angels. If you want to gloat, gloat. Gloat behind a mask that reads “Who gonna check me, boo?”
And if you want to research “summer pony,” let me know what you find. I’m hoping it’s really just a name for a delicious cocktail.
What are your demands? How are you going to bask in the glory of so much winning? Also, donate or volunteer with the GA Senate races. Here for Jon Ossof, and here for Reverend Warnock.
Amy takes pride in being a grumpy optimist. Want to talk sports ball? Amy is your girl. Her favorite New York Times crossword puzzle day is Tuesday. If your book is set in the former Soviet Union or World War 2, Amy will read it. As a recovered Southern Baptist, she is raising her daughter to be happy.