Friday, November 20, 2009
Chillin' with the Obamas
In the last year or so, the Obamas and I have developed quite the after-hours friendship. By "after hours," I mean roughly the hours between midnight and 7:30 a.m., during which I am alseep. (As are the Obamas, it appears, given that the lights at the White House were off when I drove by at midnight the other night.)
Ever since I was given the task of packing up their family photos, the Obamas have continued to reach out to me in my dreams. A few months back, Barack attended a birthday party for my sister at the community swimming pool in our hometown (my subconscious apparently forgot that my sister's birthday falls in the swimming-unfriendly month of February), and last night, I was hanging out with both Barack and Michelle prior to some sort of press conference/town hall meeting event. We were having a lovely chat about health-care reform when Barack was called away for his appearance. "I want to continue this conversation," he told me as he got up from the couch where I was wedged between him and Michelle. "Give me a call next week." At this point, it suddenly dawned on me that I'd been chatting with the leader of the free world, and therefore probably couldn't just dial his direct line. Of course, by the time I tried to communicate this to him, he was already gone, so Michelle invited me to join them for a dinner party the following week at their house in McLean. (Apparently the dream-Obamas think the White House is way too ostentatious for a family residence, so they actually live in a nice little black-shuttered white Colonial in northern Virginia.)
I can only hope that the "Obama dinner party" episode is next in line in this little show my subconscious is putting on, because that's going to be a fun one. Plus, I didn't get the chance last night to invite Michelle and the girls to one of my roller-derby bouts.*
*This is an actual goal of mine, but sadly, I am not as tight with the Obamas in real life. The closest I've come was while passing out flyers at a Georgetown movie theater where Malia happened to be seeing Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs. My league-mate, Raptor, tried to get a flyer in the hands of her Secret Service agent when she came out of the theater, but he turned her down flat. Back to the drawing board.
In the last year or so, the Obamas and I have developed quite the after-hours friendship. By "after hours," I mean roughly the hours between midnight and 7:30 a.m., during which I am alseep. (As are the Obamas, it appears, given that the lights at the White House were off when I drove by at midnight the other night.)
Ever since I was given the task of packing up their family photos, the Obamas have continued to reach out to me in my dreams. A few months back, Barack attended a birthday party for my sister at the community swimming pool in our hometown (my subconscious apparently forgot that my sister's birthday falls in the swimming-unfriendly month of February), and last night, I was hanging out with both Barack and Michelle prior to some sort of press conference/town hall meeting event. We were having a lovely chat about health-care reform when Barack was called away for his appearance. "I want to continue this conversation," he told me as he got up from the couch where I was wedged between him and Michelle. "Give me a call next week." At this point, it suddenly dawned on me that I'd been chatting with the leader of the free world, and therefore probably couldn't just dial his direct line. Of course, by the time I tried to communicate this to him, he was already gone, so Michelle invited me to join them for a dinner party the following week at their house in McLean. (Apparently the dream-Obamas think the White House is way too ostentatious for a family residence, so they actually live in a nice little black-shuttered white Colonial in northern Virginia.)
I can only hope that the "Obama dinner party" episode is next in line in this little show my subconscious is putting on, because that's going to be a fun one. Plus, I didn't get the chance last night to invite Michelle and the girls to one of my roller-derby bouts.*
*This is an actual goal of mine, but sadly, I am not as tight with the Obamas in real life. The closest I've come was while passing out flyers at a Georgetown movie theater where Malia happened to be seeing Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs. My league-mate, Raptor, tried to get a flyer in the hands of her Secret Service agent when she came out of the theater, but he turned her down flat. Back to the drawing board.
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