8/28 - The Restoring Honor Rally

Glenn Beck. Two words that seem to inspire every human emotion possible - love, hate, rage, joy, passion...the list goes on and on.

To be honest, throughout the day on Friday, several co-workers and I predicted that his Restoring Honor rally on Saturday would spark some pretty intense protest. Good ole Rev. Al threatened to crash the party, as did the new Black Panthers and a variety of other activist groups, and my money was on violence.

Now, I love politics and debates and news, but anyone who knows me, is also pretty well aware that despite these things, for the last several years, I've been much more a part of the media than the ra-ra-rally crowd. Beck's Restoring Honor rally on Saturday marked my very first rally experience. (The phrase "go big or go home" comes to mind.) Attendance estimates range anywhere between 100k and 600k, but the bottom line is that there were more people here than anywhere I've ever been in my entire life.

People everywhere.

On Friday, several of our activists left our event explaining that they had to get back to their campsites on the National Mall, many of which their friends had been holding since 10am that morning! Officially, you cannot sleep or camp on the Mall, but you can sit there all night--so they did. Our people are hardcore, and I love them for it! Friday was my first experience meeting several of our activists and VIPs, and not only were they nice, they're all so humble and excited about the political process.

I like the Tea Party movement, and I appreciate that these people are excited about grassroots politics, but having covered the 2008 RNC and some other Michigan events, I must say, my impression of these guys was less than stellar. Too much glitter. Too much red, white, and blue paraphernalia. Where the hell did you buy a golf shirt featuring the Constitution? Too little substance. Too little history. Just lots of people fired up because they hate the administration. GW had stirred up much the same type of resentment on the opposite side of the aisle; what separated the Tea Party from the Bush-haters who emerged in his second term?

The answer? History. Facts. Knowledge. Organization.

Having spent the last two days kickin' it with the Tea Party, I must say, my impression of the movement is vastly different than it was on Thursday. They are not racist. They are not bigots. The listen to talk radio. This isn't about Obama. They brought their kids. They are not looking for a savior or answer. They are just people. Worried people. People concerned for our country. Concerned because they have the depth and knowledge to appreciate what we've got here. I think what worries the Tea Party the most is what we might lose.

Young. Old. Black. White. Whatever. Everyone I spoke to on Friday and Saturday was just happy to be there. People with cameras are scary, but without so much as an introduction, folks were eager to chat and nearly always interested in learning more about what brought the four of us to Saturday's rally.

We didn't have interviews, we had conversations.

The tiny journalist that still lives inside me was shaking in her boots. This is not how this works.

And I think that's why the mainstream media sucks at covering the Tea Party.
Because they quite literally don't know what to do with these people.
They're too nice. Too chatty. Too homegrown.
And that's not how this works.

Kill all the Lawyers, Except This One

Having jetted away to college, I learned early that there are two types of long-distance friendships: those that buckle and fracture under the strain of time and the ones where the conversation always seems to pick up just where you left off.

I spent Saturday evening enjoying LK's homemade raspberry lemonade and the company of several other college friends. I haven't seen any of them since a wedding last year, but they're still like family. Our partying habits have evolved, however. Haha, I love seeing the crowd that (quite literally) taught me how to do a keg-stand, roasting marshmallows on a Saturday night. It was adorable.

Sunday, my roommate and I reunited with CK and MH to visit the DC Aquarium, and $9 later I learned that fish still swim. Post fishys, we roamed the national portrait gallery and ventured up the red line to the Basilica of the National Shrine of the Immaculate Conception at Catholic University. There really isn't an adequate way to describe the beauty and serenity of Shrine; its simply breath-taking, and Catholic or not, its impossible not to appreciate.

So, lawyers in this town aren't really lawyers; they're lobbyists, and lobbyists are "bad." They're the guys in the perfectly tailored suits with cars and drivers, pimping the joys of tobacco and alcohol products on the steps of Capitol Hill every morning. Guns. Healthcare. Cigarettes. Booze. Pills. Food. Special Interests are all controlled by lobbying. Generically speaking, these guys are douchebags. Stay. Away. (Or, if you feel like playing around, get your gifts and then get out.) No marriage. No commitment. Just fun. But, I digress. Lawyers, as a rule are not good news, unless...you meet them by chance during happy hour with a bunch of co-workers and it turns out that they interned with the firm you worked for and now they're in town interviewing for several different positions with family organizations, as a child-advocacy lawyer. In this case, they're adorable. Correction...he's adorable. Because there's probably only one.

Things you need to know? Texas. Hot. Like two inches too short. Probably moving here next month. Great taste in music. Super sweet. Bad a text-chatting. Loves Jesus. Got my number. And held the door.

"Both. That's why I invented the bifocal..."

Arriving on King Street, I cabbed it down to a fabulous Irish pub on the water. Take note, cabbies are absolute babies about taking credit cards around here and it is massively annoying, but on my way to the bar, whiny-cabbie explained why.

According to him, the cab companies take their sweet time processing credit card charges. You may pop from Reagan into the City on Monday, but they won't run the card until Friday. This is problematic for two reasons. One: your driver doesn't get his share for days, sometimes weeks, after you charge a fare. Secondly, companies take care to make sure that they make as much money as possible and in doing so, have no shame in removing a credit card processing fee from the tip! Lesson learned? If you must charge a fare, at least tip your driver in cash. Crabby cabbie no more.

So, Irish Pub #1 was awesome. Cute and crowded. And the boys? They had a cold Cape Cod waiting for me. They'd been there for an hour by the time I rolled in so after a few drinks we moved on to Irish Pub #2.

This place is decked out with photos of the owner with everyone from Pope John Paul II to Ronald Reagan and despite the crappy music was awesome. Oh, and the bartender was hot. Like, really hot. The old guy crooning inside ruined the vibe so we take the party to the patio.

It's notable that these are my frat boys and while I am very much the girl who couldn't care less about vulgarity, I really don't want to deal with a fight...so when MH nudges CK, saying, "Hey, figure out who that guy is dressed up as," my mind snaps to attention. Turning to my left I spy nothing less than a post-middle age man in full colonial dress. Hat. Buckle shoes. Pipe. Kickers. Socks. A ruffled shirt he could have quite possible stolen from my closet. All of it.

"Play nice," I plead.

Ignore. "Excuse me, sir? Who are you supposed to be?"

"Well young man, I am James Madison."

...Excuse me? WHAT? Sweet Jesus. I know exactly where this is going.

"So, umm, Mr. Madison, as a Federalist, what is your opinion of modern political theory?"

Here we go.

"Well..."

About thirty minutes in to this little convo, we told Madison to pull up a chair, at which point, our dear Founding Father decided to comment on how "distracting" my legs were. Cue my getting another round...

I return to a point/counter-point on Colonial political platforms. For the visual learners in today's crowd, here's a 30-second preview of my night:

Two hours, three drinks, and one bartender's phone number later we said our goodbyes to Madison and I headed back towards the metro. Truth be told, it was the PERFECT inaugural Friday evening. Welcome to the city. More to come. Xoxo!

From Mountains to Metro, pt. II

Emotional breakdowns at work, bad. Emotional breakdowns on your second day, worse.

Thankfully, my new BFF Genesis (yup, real name; a total sister rockin' it at the Penn quarter Kinkos) saved my ass by not only being helpful, but overwhelmingly kind and sweet.

Lets begin at square one. On Friday, two friends of mine from college (one visiting, the other headed back to school in a few days) invited me on the town to join them for dinner and drinks that night. I let them know that I'd meet them in Old Town when I was done and went on my way. That afternoon, my team and I were charged with building a large-scale mailing to be produced in-house and mailed that afternoon. Now, normally, this is not a big deal: compile the materials, wave a magic wand across Microsoft Word, print the package and letters, slap on some labels/postage and you're done, but no. By the time we got everything proofed and ready to print, our color copier decided that it didn't particularly feel like coming to work that day. Cool. Total hurdle, but not insurmountable.

So, I roll into the copy-shop at 4:30 knowing full well that the odds of my making dinner are shot but I'm still game for drinks. Tell the boys I'd be there at 7:30 and start making 1000+ back-to-back color copies of materials plus another 1000+ 4-page one-sided letter. All in all, a lot of effing copies. About $2300 worth, to be exact.

TWO THOUSAND DOLLARS IN COPIES ON MY SECOND DAY OF WORK! Now, for whaterver reason, this ignited panic. Its my second day, and I've just racked up thousands of dollars in copying charges. So, I got to get a receipt from the desk and their reader doesn't register any charges on the credit card. Seriously? Okay, so I made this many copies blah blah blah, sign the thing, chat it up with my new friend about where to go in the city, etc.

Now, at this point I'm pretty convinced, for whatever reason, they they're going to fire me over this whole thing, a feeling undoubtedly fueled by copious amounts of caffeine and no food. Swinging into Starbucks, a berry coffee cake saves my sanity, and tucking what feels like seven reams of paper into my purse, I stroll back to the office.

Just as the clock strikes 10:45 it is finally time to meet the boys at the bar...which is where the real fun begins.

From Mountains to Metro

Gazing out my window at 6am on my very first day of work, all I can see are clouds. CLOUDS EVERYWHERE! And here in my beautiful new home: clouds mean rain, rain means humidity, and humidity means that on my first day my hair will be an absolute wreck!

Even with the 3.5 hours from my-anxiety ridden-awakening-time until my delayed-first-day-start-time, there would be no way in hell that I was going to pull off a suitable hairdo.

This is quite obviously unacceptable.

Whatever. Two hours later I awoke again to put my act together for real, and rolled out the front door of my apartment building to a resounding POOF!

Me: What the eff?
God: Oh, no worries, thats just you hair exploding into a giant blonde afro frizz ball!

Mentally mixing hard lemonade out of my newly acquired lemons, I walk to the metro and stroll into work right one time. Nine million signatures later, I was done with HRs paperwork mountain, and then the real work started.

Some jobs spend hours and hours on training and shadowing, which, lets get serious (unless you're a nurse or learning a foreign language) is pretty much just a waste of everyone's time. No no, not here. Metaphorically, they attached me to a crane and dropped me into the ocean. Before the end of my first day, I had a stack of tasks for Friday and a desk all my own! I share my space with one of our marketing guys, Shatner. No, not his real name, just his nickname, but hes a dead ringer for William and that makes it funny. He's hilarious, and even better, we have the same sense of humor. We're both pretty new, so its a good time.

Day one? Awesome. Day two? Almost had a nervous breakdown at Kinkos.

What's in a name?

On the off chance that someone who doesn't know me comes across this thing -- there are pretty much only two things you need to know:

1. I have a shotgun in my closet
2. It sits next to my stilettos.

Now, on to more interesting things...