When I was a wee college student at FSU, my best friend and I decided to road-trip to DC for President Clinton's inauguration. There we were, two unprepared, underdressed 18-year-olds waiting for hours upon hours in the freezing cold for little more than a nanosecond's glance at a speeding limo. Still, the trip was awesome -- we stalked our celebrity crush, Peter Jennings; I got interviewed by a New York Times reporter (I remember looking forward to Chelsea causing havoc/sneaking out/partying it up in the White House); and for the first time in my life, I felt a personal investment in politics and a heartwarming connection to American history.
Fast forward to November, when we decided it would be fun to reprise our experience. This time, we're legal -- so we could while away the freezing cold hours inside a bar along the parade route! We fancied ourselves sashaying through Georgetown and seducing junior senators.
That, of course, was before I remembered that this time around, I'm a reporter. I could get a press pass! Next thing I knew, I had been granted entree to one and possibly two inaugural balls; credentials to the Press Gallery in both the Senate and House; and a date for an ice-cream social with Congress members Wexler, Klein, Rooney, and Wasserman Schultz. Not to mention at least ten reporting deadlines.
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So, if anyone has questions for me to pose to any of our esteemed representatives, bring 'em on and I will try to pull a Geraldo on them as they suck down banana splits in the Library of Congress. Likewise, if anybody has an extra iPhone (for blogging) or ball gown, or happens to know what the hell kind of shoes go from walking-around-on-ice to the dance floor of the Smithsonian Air and Space Museum, please hook a sister up.