I’m settling into my new role as executive Assistant, or as I prefer “main bitch”. I have business cards, an office with a door and a blackberry I can almost work— meaning that I am now 75% more grown-up than I was as a staff assistant. And have 100% more to do.
I’ve been so busy I’ve essentially been shirking the majority of my other life duties such as laundry, exercise, shaving my legs, blogging, calling anyone back and eating vegetables. I finally mustered up the will power to do laundry on Saturday for the first time in weeks and needed a 4 day break in order to put my clean clothes away. Life is tough, yo.
That isn’t to say that I don’t like my new job. I just spent 20 minutes color-coding my boss’ calender with the help of Outlook 2010 and I was into it. I know that sounds nerdy and boring as hell, but I’ve got to get my kicks where I can these days.
As many of you know, we had ourselves a little earthquake in DC this week. I got a call from 2 friends who live out West last night. While they swore they were calling to tell me they missed me, I am convinced it was to continue the Biggie-Tupac style throwdown that is going on between the two coasts at this very moment.
East Coast: OMG, an earthquake!
West Coast: You’re all a bunch of pussies!
That throw down. I calmly explained to my West coast friends that I work 3 blocks from the White House. Earthquake was my 4th thought– after I ruled out that I was not getting the drunks spins, a Metro train crashing under my feet was unlikely and that the White House hadn’t been bombed. A brief and relatively insignificant natural disaster is what I landed on last. So suck it, West Coast.
Secret Service threatened to arrest me this weekend, which is no big deal. I was on a frantic bike ride around the city on Sunday afternoon– hair in pig tails, head phones blaring, dodging tourists from my house down to the Mall and then up towards downtown. As I biked across the Eclipse side of the White House, I saw a barrier gate that was paritally opened to allow a grounds crew vehicle to get by. Seeing the tourists stacked on the corner, I decided to go through that gate cutting about 3 feet into the White House security perimeter.
Secret Service rushed out of their little hut, started yelling and all I could think of to say was “I’m sorry”. I got a lot of sorry-is-not-good-enough talk as I slowly realized the potential shit I had just gotten myself into. Resisting the urge to just yell “I voted for him!” as a defence, I said “I’m really sorry” and biked off before the Secret Service dude changed his mind about not arresting me. That would have been really hard to explain.