IT’S THE DAY BEFORE THE ELECTION…HOW YOU DOIN’?

Celia Dishes launches the day before the election

Hey y’all. I’m back.

         For the past three months I haven’t written anything more than a grocery list. Most of you know I was laid off by Gannett Southeast (along with many other freelancers) back in August because apparently that soulless media giant needed my piddlin’ paycheck more than I did, bless their bean-countin’ hearts.

         I don’t mean to sound bitter because I’m not. I’ve had three months to volunteer for my favorite candidates, do some traveling and try pickleball again in the vain hope it would suddenly no longer require hand-eye coordination. Turns out it still does.

         Everyone who is receiving this very first “Celia Dishes” signed up for it and I’m deeply grateful. It’s nice to go where you’re invited instead of just crashing the party. I’m Southern; it wouldn’t feel right. I hope you’ll enjoy my musings which will drop with no particular schedule into your inbox. If you like what you see, please spread the word. If not, for God’s sake, keep your mouth shut.

         I credit Duh Hubby with coming up with the theme for this new venture. Celia Dishes will be structured as a main course (topical humor heavy on politics and pop culture from a Southern liberal loudmouth); occasional sides (brief items of interest); and sweet stuff (well, it can’t all be snarky, right?) There will also be random Second Helpings of previously published columns.

         Thanks to family friend Alice Hudson for helping me set this puppy up. It’s always a good idea to have a smart friend under 30 when your (my) computer skills pretty much end at copy-and-paste.

         If you’re new to Substack, I think you’ll like it. Check around for other writers who dig the same stuff you do. Most are a mix of free and paid content. We’re starting free but will add in some paid content as time and space allow.

         OK! Let’s do this…Dinner is served!

        

IT’S THE DAY BEFORE THE ELECTION…HOW YOU DOIN’?

         I’m guessing the answer is “not great.” Show of hands. Any of y’all accidentally put salt in your coffee this morning? I did. Election anxiety is awful. No one can concentrate. And we’re drinking a little

too much. Yeah, even that gross watermelon Truly with the weird rust ring on the top that’s been in the back of the fridge since 2018. Gone.

Here in the Great Swing State of North Carolina we feel it more than most.

         The Washington Post, presumably trying to recover from a debilitating diagnosis of molten Jell-O spine, today quoted a Republican operative who speculated, bluntly, “North Carolina could bite us in the ass.”

         Chomp chomp. Pass the rusty Truly to wash it down.

         For those of you who live in States That Don’t Matter, I hear your frustration. I can’t possibly imagine what it feels like but, yeah, I hear it because y’all talk about it all the damn time. It’s middle school lunchroom stuff all over again. We’re sitting at the popular kids’ table with Pennsylvania and Michigan and you’re…well, you’re buying weed from the janitor in the broom closet because why not? Nobody’s asking how you feel about anything. You have opinions! You matter! OK, no you don’t. And yes, the Electoral College is dumb.

         While I know we’re all on edge (from tomorrow until possibly weeks from tomorrow—please God, no) I didn’t quite appreciate the extent of our national nervousness.

         “Vanity Fair” magazine reports gynecologists have coined a term for the tsunami of stress-related problems messing up their patients’ periods this year: Election Uterus. And what of the anxious men? Is there a corresponding Nervous ‘Nads?

         Therapists nationwide are counseling new “election anxiety” clients to set boundaries on how much they discuss the election, and with whom, to avoid harming their mental health.

         Heard, chef.

         As a volunteer poll greeter for the Democrats the past two weeks, I asked what the most important thing to remember was before we headed out with our sample ballots and good intentions.

The advice was succinct: “Just don’t be an asshole.”

Whoa. Mighty high bar there. I considered returning my blue apron immediately. But that seemed like an asshole thing to do since I’d promised and all. As it turned out, I was only a bona fide asshole once and that was when I took the last bag of Funyuns from our tent stash (Dems have the best snacks!)

I smiled sweetly and insincerely at the Lululemoned MAGA mom pushing her future handmaids in a stroller.

I wished the “Get away from me” couple a “blessed day.”

I offered a Funyun to a man wearing a T-shirt saying something about “Brandon.” Who wants to tell him?

 The whole experience of canvassing and poll greeting has improved my mental health. I’d much rather be door-knockin’ and phone bankin’ and poll-greetin’ than wringing my hands and fretting about wearing a “Martha” costume because brown is absolutely my worst color.

So, yeah. I’ve left it all on the field this time and have zero regrets. My yard, with its many campaign signs, looks legit like a crazy person lives here but I don’t care. To repeat: All on the field.

Regardless of the outcome, I promise to be here for you consoling and cajoling. I mean, unless it’s inconvenient for me in which case I won’t be here. Dang. Don’t be so needy.

Now let’s all breathe deeply into a paper bag and power through. We’ve got this. Maybe.

Xxoo

C.