My Election Night

Sorry this is so late getting posted... I know you've all just been DYING to hear the story of how I spent my Election Night and, seriously, it's extremely unfair of me to withhold information from you like I'm Russia or something. So rude. But whatever, I'm sure you've all been too busy crying your eyes out from hope and/or trying to figure out how best to detach California from the continental United States (controlled earthquakes? bombs, but a lot of them? some sort of mad scientist laser beam that senses hate and eradicates it with love?); you probably didn't even notice the dearth of C-dog specific information..

ANYWAY. Yesterday was kind of a lazy, reflective sort of day... took a long walk, ate some Cheerios, pinched myself a whole bunch... to make sure this isn't a dream, sure, but also because that's my kink... and just generally floated around in a pleasantly hungover haze. I'm sure a lot of you were right there with me, although you all probably had to do it at work! Ha! Suckers. Being unemployed has it's occasional advantages, not the least of which being afforded the luxury of peace and quiet to work off one's Election Night festivities without worrying about puking on a co-worker. Unless that's YOUR kink, then I guess you do in fact have the advantage, you big freak.

So last night... yeah, that happened. Wowzers times a million properly-cast electoral votes. I'll admit, I didn't actually think it was going to happen. And I don't think that he's the miracle cure-all tonic sold from the trunk of a car by a man wearing a straw boater and smiling too much. I recognize that we now have to, as a nation, you know, FIX SHIT. And it's probably going to take a while.

But still. It's nice to feel, even if for only a day, like we won. “We” being the liberals, the heathen hippie pinko commie bastards, the good guys (although I know that's not an entirely fair distinction). I've spent the majority of my adult life living under a wrongheaded, Republican regime built on hard-line religious dogma that I don't agree with and, frankly, find frightening. This now... Obama winning... it's like spotting the shore line after being adrift at sea for way too long.

But these are all things other people have already said, and most likely with more eloquence. All I can tell you in what happened to me, last night, and what it was like to experience history from my point of few. Naturally, It involves bacon.

So...

First off, by the time the returns started rolling in and the picture was becoming clear, I was pretty tipsy. Shocking, I know. But the bar we were at had 2-for-1 drafts and stiff-pour well drinks and, hey, that's a song I can dance to all night long.

So...

I'd been drinking and playing along to the bar's Election Night trivia contest, one eye on the score card, the other on the TV, looking for the other shoe and any indication that it was about to drop like a crashing zeppelin spewing fire and wreckage, metaphorically, across our nation. My trivia team placed, I believe, third, but by the end I was fairly unconcerned with the outcome. The TV said we were winning the war, so to speak. I started to feel all squishy and good inside, and not just from the booze. Maybe it was going to happen? Not to get cocky... but maybe...

So...

Around about 9:30/10:00... there was a general cry for food amongst the people with whom I was spending the evening. We ventured out into the East Village to a place up the street from the bar called Crif Dogs, where they wrap their hot dogs in bacon and deep-fry them and pile on unusual toppings that make your tongue speak fondly of past loves and consider suicide because everything else is ugly compared to this. I ordered the Spicy Redneck, which is the aforementioned bacon-wrapped dog with chili and mustard and chopped jalapenos and a creamy coleslaw from your childhood. Mmmm... it's a punch in the mouth.

So...

I'm eating my Spicy Redneck and the others are enjoying their various meaty concoctions when, all of a sudden, the moment shows up. The TV announces via several elaborately crafted graphics that Barack Obama IS the President-Elect. The hot dog place goes nuts. The people outside go nuts. We cheer through mouthfuls of deliciousness and, after making sure to chew our food carefully so as not to choke, we go nuts as well. The combination of grease and hope nearly takes my head clean off.

So...

We're walking through the East Village, en route to a loft party a few blocks away. It was like New Years Eve, but where people actually give a shit. Crying and yelling and horn-honking and drinking (obviously) and randomly high-fiving and hugs and shared looks that said, “Yes... yes we can!” It was celebratory chaos, but not like after a sports victory in Detroit where they set cars on fire. It was a positive jam, a group cuddle with booze, a historic moment in the funky part of town.

So...

We get to the loft party and, by the point, I'm just flat-out drunk. I remember eating all the grapes from a fruit plate on the kitchen counter, I remember messily opening a beer while the hostess glared at me, I remember McCain and Obama's speeches, only half-heard due to the “hilarious” people at the party who had to make the evening all about them by cracking jokes and ruining the moment. “HA... Anne Nixon Cooper sounds like Anderson Cooper... He's talking about Anderson Cooper everybody... did you hear what I said... god, I'm so lonely...”

So...

Finally, we left. I rode the subway home with a friend of mine and we drunkenly discussed the fact that he had to go to work the next day and I didn't, because I'm awesomely unemployed, as I mentioned earlier. We shared a few more knowing nods with other Obama supporters on the train. But mostly, we just sat there, fucking soaking it in, loving the fact that we can love our country again, shamelessly and with that thing we've only heard about on TV and in old movies... “pride,” I think they call it.

So...

That's it. That's the end of the story. The direction of our nation changed and I went to a diner on my way home and bought an order of onion rings to hopefully combat the coming hangover (verdict: unsuccessful). But, again, the hangover was totally worth it. Because it was a good night, kiddos. We won. The road ahead is long, but still... we fucking won.

How cool is that?