Demo Day

"Can I take the first whack at it?"

They knew. Their eye rolls said it all. They knew I watched way too much HGTV and was not ashamed of it. After warning me about hitting studs which could result in the sledgehammer bouncing back at, you know, my face or something, I began. My rage needed to go somewhere, and those crappy tiles on the top of that crappy bar were the first to get it. Bits of ceramic splintered, but I wasn't satisfied. More. More destruction, bitches! Once that urge was satisfied I went at the drywall. I was going for big, honkin', show me your studs bitches, hole.

Hole achieved. Bam. I handed the sledge back to the guys and resisted the urge to ask if I could practice my waning, limited Krav Maga skills and perhaps just ... maybe once or twice ...  kick the drywall. I thanked them for the brief break in my day and returned to my office. The demo continued without me, and I continued editing another podcast episode.

It ended up only taking one day to completely rip out our downstairs bar, although it took us only six years to figure out what to do with it. The previous owner was a master brewer who thought the bar was the ideal height for leaning, dart throwing, and accommodating a kegorator. Joy. Good luck finding bar stools for that. For the last handful of years our parties would end with everyone standing around that stupid, ugly (did I say crappy?) bar. After finally decided to rip the whole damned thing out and (re)build a small wall bar and leave space for a gaming table, we ordered a beverage fridge and a small dishwasher, hired a contractor, and off we went to choose the cabinets, flooring, and granite. It was one of the only few times I actually found Pinterest useful.

Meanwhile, back at demo day, I was basking in the freedom of just having turned in my final papers for the final two classes of my latest academic endeavor: a degree in Communications. I know. I didn't need a sixth degree in anything. It was just something I was interested in and the GI Bill has been virtually N/A for tens of thousands spent on wine studies to this point. Therefore, instead of throwing another $30K+ at the Master of Wine program for the time being, I decided to learn something new, paid for with benefits I earned over 30 years ago.

So demo day was also "done with my degree and didn't have to go into debt earning it" celebration day. It was also midterms day. Mid fucking terms.

That aforementioned rage? That rage inspired more than the not so swift swing of the sledge. It inspired donating to candidates (which I had never done before), voting earlier and with more resolve (than I ever had before), and rooting for the swing of this country back to some semblance of decency (if that is even possible). I whacked a hole deep into the drywall, against my former party, and for a hopeful check on an ignorant, unfit, selfish, raving lunatic and conspiratorial enablers that don't lead, only subvert. I swung at the shame of allowing AM talk radio drivel to fill my ears in the early 2000's and swallowing the whacko Koolaid. Now my ears ring from tinnitus words that seem to mean absolutely nothing to many of our elected public figures: leadership, integrity, honor, service before self. It's loud and it's hollow. And it's heartbreaking.


But yes, demo day. The process of tearing down something ugly (did I say crappy yet?) in the hopes that something more serviceable and beautiful will be built in its place. It started with swinging a five-pound sledgehammer, which is not as easy as it looks. Neither is public service with honorable intentions. Just ask those kick-ass women (and men) who swung their districts, and hopefully the country, in a direction resembling decency.

Oh, and ask my husband. He gets to listen to me talk about all these women whose campaigns I donated my October booze budget to, since I have nowhere to store more bottles.

Speaking of bottles, which are mostly stored in boxes in the downstairs shower, these were my demo day beverage choices.

Peace, love, and demo(cracy) - and bourbon ~