I am exhausted.
Saturday, January 24, 2009
Planes, Trains , Automobiles and Obama
I am exhausted.
Jet setting is not all it's cracked up to be. I know it sounds braggadocious, but I am plum tired.
I am sitting in Speedway Cafe on a 3 hour layover from Nassau heading back to Seattle.
I'll start with Monday morning.
4:15am pick up from the hotel in Minneapolis to start my trek to Washington DC. Will.I.Am had parties galore that week and I was fortunate enough to make the Neighborhood Ball. Beyond excited, mostly to see my friends. Not that don't have any in Waynes camp, they're just new and I desperately needed some "connect time".
I took two flights only to realize when I finally landed in Baltimore, it was 11:20am, not 10:20am I was originally quoted. I wouldn't be seeing the swearing in and was happy my boy TiVOed it.
I did stop to see what Aretha was wearing prior to heading down to baggage claim. I'm sort of glad I didn't see her sing, since she dissed herself so.
Picked up my luggage in cold ass Baltimore and jumped on a bus to the Greenbelt. Bus took about 20 minutes. Train took another 25 minutes to get into DC. Looked up to notice that the Convention Center stop was closed, so threw all my computers back into their bags (LW doing a border crossing today so I was on alert getting manifests ready). In my haste, I, of course, dropped my wireless card ...somewhere...my only faux pas of the week.
Rushed to the top of the metro stairs smack dab at the Verizon Center where we just played last month...the day I started writing this blog.
I was in Obama Bootleg heaven. Amazing is only half of the description...they were having bootlegg -offs! Sales. Why where else have you been able to get a bootleg Obama bling tshirt AND the bootleg of "Notorious"...in one breath? Are you kidding me?
It was incredible. I started taking pictures of the street, and then it happened.
I realized it was about 15 degrees in that bitch. And I had to walk 7 blocks back to the Convention Center.
I began my long cold walk, still in awe but with frozen fingertips. My oh so stylish gloves were oh so impractical. they worked at 30 degrees. I supposed 15 was a different beast.
Upon arrival, they did not, of course, have my name. Fortunately the same people who do Fashion Rocks, AMA's and all of the award shows did this one too and let me in...and you thought it was high security.
The Bucky Jonson boys arrived and I was beyond happy to see them. Not only had I not seen them since the wedding...or, really since Chile in November for a show, but Bobby was carrying my box o' gowns and I had to get ready for the Ball!
None of the usual suspects were there to dress me so I relied on the light designer and the road manager to put me together. It was wonderful, except my ribs were in pain. I have the bruises to prove it. I don't know how women did this in the last centuries but I truly believed that my lungs and intestines were gonna fall out of my dress when I took it off. I was in so much pain, only the sight of Sting and Denzel Washington could pull me away. Jay Z doing the shuffle in the freight elevator took my mind off of it also. Sad that I missed seeing Latifah backstage, I didn't even know she was there until she came out on stage.
Very proud of Will.I.Am and the boys. Keith Harris is a beast! He was beyond proud. We all were. Everyone in that room. I realized that little girls everywhere would look at Michelle Obama and want to look like her! Imaging a world where there are more black barbies on the shelves than white? CRAZY!! And there were so many black barbie dolls running around that evening and beautiful men and beautiful people. It was an incredible night to remember until.....
the Irish pub across from the hotel and the nasty boys who thought they could rub my but. What is it with drunk white boys? I mean really. I'm ordering a drink and he's not doing the bump, he has his ass on my ass and holding my hips at the same time. And the worst part? Had I broken a glass over his fucking head I would have been wrong. The fucking nerve. I really don't understand why motherfuckers feel they can violate another persons space. I really don't understand it. Were they told somewhere that that was a great "come on" line? It damn near ruined my evening, until I watched the first dance I recorded and remembered seeing my president to the bump. I loosened up after that.
Next morning we jumped up...tired as hell, for a 5am call to the Philadelphia Airport. US Airways direct to Nassau, Bahamas for the Michael Jordan Celebrity Golf tournament. Where I found...yep, you guessed it, more obnoxious white boys. WTF?!
I did see Hillary Duff, however, and if she isn't the prettiest little girl you've ever seen than I don't know who is. We played blackjack for hours with her and her bf Mike Comrie. They were the coolest people in the casino, aside from some other people who I don't know but who came to the dinner where Fergie performed. It was a blast...except that the Atlantis Resort is fricken gross. I think I need to stick to Indian Casinos to get my winnings on. I sucked.
And now, I am holding my friend up sitting here, reading surf magazines, listening to Stevie Nicks "Outside of the Rain" at this table staring into this computer. Would you believe we still have an hour and one half left before our plane lands? And I have another 5 hour flight. I cannot wait to get my black ass to Seattle and collapse into that bed. Cannot wait.