Chapter 3: The Weird Place in Which Steve Lived (Operation: Keep PT Down)

The weekend past uneventfully and on Monday, I had another interview. Even though I had accepted an offer last Friday, I had only one interview and one offer. My interview skills could use practice. It was in West Covina, near the foothills. The interview went well, I was on time. The interviewer was late. I had no experience as an attorney, nonetheless did my best. Success in my book.

I remembered that Steve’s place was in the foothills and mapped the directions. Not too far. I texted him that I was near.

Ssal: “Hey, I’m in the area. You around?”

Steve: “Yea.”

Ssal: “Mind if I drop by?” Steve:

Steve: “sure.”

Steve: “Not in to [sic] good shape.”

Ssal: “oh. Are you okay?”

Steve: “Yea. My arm is dead.”

Ssal: “What?”

Steve: “Can’t move it.”
Ssal: “What happened?”

Steve: “Dunno.”
Ssal: “Do you have someone to help you?”

Steve: “I’ll be okay.”

Ssal: “I’ll be right over.”

I went up Lake Ave, to Marengo Drive, headed west some way. Eventually, I reached Steve’s corner. I parked on the northwest corner, south side.

Ssal: I’m here.

Steve: Be right out.

Steve walked out of the house one from the corner. The house on the corner had an arching driveway and windows looking out the south side. Steve walked toward my car where I was waiting. He was smiling, his arm swung normally.

“Did you want to come in?” Steve asked. He seemed cheerful. It was hard to tell. The bags under his eyes were so puffy.

“Um…” I had rarely been in someone’s place.

“My son and his friend, Macy are playing video games.”

“Oh, okay.” He had a son. “How old is he?” I asked.

“Alan is eighteen. My younger, Philip, is sixteen.” He’s in Kentucky with his mother.

He had sons plural. “Oh, okay.” I nodded, not knowing what to say. Steve took that for a yes. Here, I’ll take your bag. He took it from my shoulder.

My bag was a huge tote in which I carried well, everything that I could. It was difficult for me to leave the house without, well, my house. We walked around the corner north to the second house on the left, through the driveway, which was paved for an extra car. The new pavement struck out at an angle into the front lawn. I looked up and saw crappy blinds that did not really cover anything.

Maybe that’s why they have Aluminum foil sealing the windows, I thought.

I followed Steve to the left side of the house, down two makeshift steps made of concrete blocks that had grass growing between them and down a very cluttery side path that was precarious, even in flats. I had on heels for my interview.

But why Aluminum foil? I was about to ask Steve when my heel caught in one of the cracks of the side path. “Oh!”

“Oh hey, I’m sorry,” Steve caught me by the arm. “Been meaning to clear this. Almost there.” To the right of the path was a side patio closed in with rickety boards and mesh windows. Through the other side was a rough view of the inside of Steve’s landlord’s house. It appeared as disshelved as the patio and window treatments.

The side path led to the back of the house. We hung a right past something that did not have a name, sort of a wooden frame that held, nothing. The frame consisted of the bare number of wooden lengths to from a rectangle. Some crates on the ground inside the frame, but not a part of the frame, held up a mattress. Vines grew up along the side of the frame.  

The door to Steve’s private entry was open. Immediately to the left of the door was a bunk bed futon. The bottom bunk bed served as a couch and a bed. Currently, it served as a couch. A young white boy, Macy apparently, with Mr. McDreamy hair in hazel blonde sat beside his father, another pale, curly haired Pillsbury doughy type. In the corner sat a woman I apparently did not notice. In front of the flat screen TV in a chair sat Alan, Steve’s son.

I nodded to them as I passed. His son glanced up from playing his video games, a big homage given how intense the game was. Steve led me up to steps to the right which opened into the mini kitchen. To the right, the refrigerator. The left, a small counter, less than 3’x2’ with two barstools which faced a small black board.

Steve indicated one of the barstools. I sat up on one of them.

Did you want something to drink? Or eat? Macy’s dad just bought some crab. It’s real good.

“Oh, that’s okay, not hungry. I’ll have some tea, though.”

Steve nodded and got a mug from a cupboard, filled it with filtered water from the refrigerator, and heated it in the microwave for two minutes. The microwave hung above the stove.

“I can do it. How’s your arm? What happened to it?”

“Oh, I crashed my bike.”

“You what?” I was stunned. Mostly because Steve was standing in front of me apparently unharmed. “Wh-what are you doing? Sit down?” I jumped up and offered Steve a seat.

“Oh, ha ha, it’s nothing really. I’m okay. Except my arm went dead when I woke this morning.”

“Sit.” I led Steve to a barstool, then sat down on the other. “I can make my own tea. Did you want something?”

“Oh, no, just finishing my beer.”  There were beer bottles stacked on the kitchen counter.

“Did you drink all of those?” my left eyebrow raised in a tone of disapproval.

“Oh no, I had help.” Steve laughed, then stopped. “Macy’s dad, I mean.”

The microwave beeped. Steve began to get up. I put an arm on him to stay. I jumped off the stool and walked the one step it took to get to the microwave, reaching…way up high to open the door. I am 5’9” in heels and could not see the inside of the microwave. I eyeballed it.

“That’s a high microwave you have here,” I mentioned to Steve. He laughed.

“Yeah, even I can’t see inside.” Steve was a few inches taller than me.

“That’s odd, was it built for a basketball player?” I asked, not really thinking that it was.

“No, no. This place is new. My landlord just finished building it when I moved in.”

I walked over to the cupboard to look for the sugar.

“Oh, yeah, corner one over there.” The cupboards, 1-2 steps away, were built for a freakishly tall person. Neither I nor Steve could see the bottom of the lowest shelf on any of the cupboards.

“So what happened to you arm. You mentioned a bike accident?”

“Yea, I was riding on the 134 going west and this guy cuts into my lane, and I had the weirdest feeling he was gonna do that so I was already slowing down when I hit him and flew over his car and hackey sacked into a truck that was carrying tools and shit in the back of the bed.”

“Oh my god, are you okay? You didn’t break anything?”

“No, no, apparently not. The paramedics brought me to the ER, gave me an MRI scan and everything. I checked out clean. They let me go.”

“Was this the night we met?”

“No, I don’t think so.” Steve’s face had that fuzzy look of a person in a dream, or one that had been recently in an accident. I shook my head. How did he survive that and not break anything. How did he not survive that period?

“Was this during rush hour?” I asked.

“Yeah, I was going only 70-75 or so.”
“During rush hour traffic?” I remembered how Steve had accelerated at such an unearthly rate of speed. I did not realize that I was still stirring the sugar in my cup absentmindedly. This was a lot to absorb. “Can you do anything with your arm?” I asked with more concern than I realized. Steve lifted his right arm. He made a grunt as if to move his fingers but they were immobile.

“I might as well die if I lose this. A designer’s drawing hand is his life source.” I could see the worry behind Steve’s smile. Such a sad feeling behind that smile.

“Well, why don’t I help.” I looked around and jumped to do the dishes.

“Oh, no, no, no, I’ll take care of them.” There were only a few dishes in the sink. I started to wash.

“So what are you teaching this semester?” I asked.

“Transportation concepts. I can do that you know.”

“I’m almost done. How do you like it?”

“I love teaching. And I listened as Steve talked about how much he loved teaching. The faucet was installed backwards. Hot was on the right, cold was on the left. I burnt myself the first few times I turned on the water.

When I washed the last glass, I walked the two steps it took to sit down.

It didn’t make sense, I thought, everything is built for a giant, yet a midget could not walk three steps before bumping into anything. A 6’6” person would literally have to turn around if he wanted to go from the stove to the sink or the little counter.

Because I was thinking so hard I tripped getting on the stool. My foot caught on something and I caught the counter same time as Steve caught me. “Oh!” I said.

“Whoah, there! Don’t need both of us crashing.” We laughed. I looked down to see what tripped me. there was a clump of wiring and cords bound together running into a hole in the floor. I leaned over. Red, white, blue, yellow cords like those for a VCR only there were so many they made a clump almost two inches in diameter. What were they for? The cords ran out of the kitchen into the living room. I wanted to follow the trail but thought it would be rude.

“What are all these wires and cords for?” I asked. Steve shrugged.

“I don’t know.” He did not seem curious.

“Is there a basement down there?” trying to peer between the clump of cords and the hold in the ground.

“I don’t know.”

“What does your landlord do down there with all these electronics wires?”

“I don’t know.” Steve was an Enquiring Mind.

“Basements are for the Midwest, where it snows. We don’t have basements here in Southern California. Does your landlord have a workroom or studio down there?”

Steve shrugged. “I’ve never heard anyone down there.” I noticed that the hardwood floor was high quality, the type that had texture and soft on the feet. The kitchen had beautiful fixtures, colors, and overall high-end quality. The crampedness of the place and the circumstances of being an add-on to the main residence, suggested otherwise. It certainly was cozy.

And perhaps because I had been looking down, I now looked up. The lighting was sunk into the ceiling, the new fangled kind. Expensive. Things could be lodged in the recesses of the ceiling lights.

Steve continued talking about how he loved teaching. I asked him about his designed and listened. The dark granite counter tops had deep sparkles in them. all very nice.

“Do you mind if I ask how much your rent is?” I asked?

“I negotiated paying a year up front. Got it all for $8,000 a year. My lease ends in December.”

“Including utilities?”

“Yes, water and everything.”

“Wow.” A one-bedroom, with a private kitchen and bath, tiny size regardless. I had passed by the washer and dryer, new Kenmores. This place was a steel in this part of town. Upscale, quiet, near the mountains.

Steve and I talked into the night. For some reason, the first night we met, he told me all about his family history, mostly about his son’s mom and his other ex. He had been married twice. Two children to his first wife. Where was his second wife, I asked him. Steve shrugged. She disappeared.

It was late when I told Steve I should go. Before that, I used the bathroom adjacent to the kitchen, like an airplane bathroom with kwalitee fixtures. It closed with a sliding door no lock.

“Um, can you hold watch while I--”

“Oh, yea, yeah, no one will come in,” Steve assured me.

“Nonetheless,” I answered. When I was done doing my thing, I tried to slide the door open. No knob. “Unh,” I stepped out, “ready.” Steve led me down the two steps into the living room, hung a left, I waved to his son Alan, his friend Macy and Macy’s father who had left, and a woman who looked Filipino sitting in the corner of the futon couch.

That was rough. Outside, Steve and I kept talking until we reached my car. I dawdled to give Steve a chance to invite me back. My feet hurt waiting.

“So did you want me to come back?”

“Sure, sure, anytime, anytime. I’d love it if you came back.” Steve seemed relieved.

“Okay, I will. Take it easy on your arm. I’ll help you out tomorrow.”

“Right, right, right, see you tomorrow.” At least Steve’s smile seemed genuinely happy when I left.

Chapter 2. Operation Keep PT Down: Meet Steve Patina

I rolled along the ten freeway going west, going as far west as Horace Greeley urged. I was almost at the end when I heard a roar of a bike coming up on my left. A rider sped by with the wind maxing out his jacket like a sail, fullblown and free. I looked at my speedometer. I was only going eighty…five, plus or minus ten…or so. And he was long gone. I hit the accelerator and it the steering wheel. Where was the damn horn? (Rental car.) Was it one of those side horns or button horns? My left hand steered while my right groped for the—there it is. A loud honk.  Someone had told me once that if you honk at a cute guy riding a bike, he would most likely stop if you were a cute girl.

He didn’t stop or even slow down. Maybe he isn’t so cute, I thought. I couldn’t tell if the rider was cute but he was skinny and rode that bike like a demon. The freeway was ending so I exited to hit a starbucks. Starbucks wasn’t one of my favorites, I rarely go there for overpriced coffee didn’t suit my limited budget and lifestyle. Yet, I didn’t have many places to go, and they were always open late with free Wi-Fi. I was still living at my friend’s place, used it as home base until I could find a job and move out, and I had just found a job. I had used Starbucks to search for a job, so don’t know why I was there. Probably because I had no one to celebrate my newfound job with.

So while I was looking for a place for my laptop (I automatically took it with me everywhere), my hot chai tea, not iced but full-leaf was ready and I went to the condiment counter where I loaded up on sugar. I like to take some tea with my sugar. I reached for the straws when I bumped hands with someone.

“Oh, sorry,” that someone said.

“That’s okay,” I replied without looking up. I reached for the half-and-half and bumped into the same hand.

“Oh,” the voice laughed, “sorry again.”

“That’s okay,” I replied again, without looking up. I reached for the straws and nearly bumped hands again when we both stopped and looked up. I saw the face attached to the hand I kept bumping into and gave a short laugh.

The face was worn. And wretched despite the hearty laugh. He plucked a straw for me, a short one and I accepted it, looking at the long straws. He laughed again and reached for a long straw and offered it to me.

“Oh! Thank you.” I was unabashed. I reached for a stirrer, safely this time, tasted my tea and reached for the sugar in the raw. The guy laughed again.

“You like your sugar,” he laughed.

“Sometimes I like it with tea,” I smiled. He laughed again, loudly. I looked more closely at the fellow with the loud laugh. He might have been tall, it was hard to tell he slouched until his back was curled. His eyes were bloodshot with bags that dominated his face. His singularly gaunt cheeks were stretched over an alien skull, long and narrow. Full lips contrasted with his sleek strait nose, probably the only perfect thing about him. It saved his face from sinking into common dreariness, I thought.  He sported a five-o-clock shadow that seemed permanent and a hematite hoop earring in his left ear. His hair was cut short, and his teeth were big and yellow. I didn’t notice as his laugh was so big.

He had on a beige jacket, worn, like the rest of him. His jeans, his shoes whose seams were stretching, his tee, that looked velvety soft from a thousand washes.

“—yeah this place is pretty busy on weekends.” The fellow commented. Weekend? I had not noticed. He was looking around for a nonexistent empty seat.

“I’ve got a place.” I answered, unsure if I should invite him. There was something troublesome about him. I think it was because his laugh was genuine, as if he could have been happy had not so many miserable things happened in his life. I started walking toward my seat, glancing around at the tables. He made as if to follow me and I looked back at him.

“You can sit with me,” I thought I would try something new. It had been so long since I had been social. We reached my laptop bag, which I took off a chair. “You can sit here,” I motioned, as I squeezed into the booth on the opposite side.

“Thanks,” he said. “Come here often? I love Starbucks.” He took a long swig of his coffee.

“Really? I come here for the wi-fi. I think Starbucks is overpriced. And I have better tea at home.”

He laughed. “Right? You think Starbucks groupies are yuppie-wannabe’s?”

It was my turn to laugh. He caught on fast. Whatever his name was, he lounged back like a lizard. So comfortable in his skin and yet so Starbucks avid. Dark skin with a touch of Rhett butler mustachio, café groupie. He had that seventies post-disco sidewalk café look about him. All he needed was a cigarette with a tendril of smoke slowly curling around the table.

“Oh yeah, I’ll be right back,” he held up the cigarette in his hand.

 “Oh, okay,” I laughed.

He held out his hand. “Name’s Steve, by the way. from Kentucky.”

“I’m from Texas.” I don’t know why I said that. Just because he identified his home state. I was losing it.

“Really?” he smiled sidelong at me. this piece of bio evidently stopped him from rising. “Yea, you are. You cared enough to offer me a seat.” Steve laughed.

“that’s basic considerateness.” I shrugged.

“Right, right. You’d be surprised,” Steve laughed. “People out here in California are so…” he shook his head, lost in thought, “not really genuine, you know what I mean?”

“It’s Hollywood. Attracts a certain kind of people. I love California, probably because of the people almost as much as the weather and the varietiy.” I answered.

Steve laughed, “are you going to tell me your name?”

“Oh, S-su-e.” it made my lips pucker funny. Steve laughed.

“Wanna come out with me for a smoke? I mean you don’t have to smoke.”

“I won’t then,” reaching for my laptop bag but Steve already hefted it off the seat beside me and was walking toward the door. Must have rode a lot of horses in Kentucky, I thought.

Outside, Steve lit a cigarette and inhaled it from between his second and middle finger. Not as cool as I thought.

“So, ah, what do you do, Ssal?”

“I –uh-I represent injured people.” I could finally say that I was working as an attorney. It felt weird and almost wonderful, almost because it hadn’t happened yet.

“Awesome, you’re an attorney?” Steve seemed impressed.

“Mm hmm, just starting.” I nodded. Somehow, I didn’t seem so impressive to myself.

“Where do you work?” he asked.

“Inland empire.”

“Ooh, that’s far.”

“Yeah, gotta take what I can take to start.”

Steve nodded, “Right, right.”

 “What do you, do?” I asked.

“Concept designer,” Steve was searching his iPhone and showed me the screen. “That’s my website,” Steve’s website was dreamy. He designed cars, and also had ideas about evolution, renewable energy sources, a new type of engine.

“Wow, that’s really good.” The colors of his design were so vivid. Everything looked so 3-D. “Do you work for a car company?”

“Ah, no. I teach design at Art Institute. I worked at Honda, though. Internship.”

I nodded, clicking on Steve different pages, I was on the entertainment page. “You’re really good,” I looked up and smiled at him.

“Really?” Steve was really asking.

“Really,” I laughed. “You don’t know how good you are?” I tilted my head, my glasses sat low on my nose as I considered him. He really didn’t. A cool wind woke me up to the time. I shivered.

“Here you want my jacket?” Steve started taking off his jacket.

“Oh, that’s okay,” but Steve held his jacket out for me. what the hell, it was odd being receptive to someone other than my love of twenty years. I hugged the jacket around me and smiled up at Steve gratefully. He blew out his last puff of smoke. I looked around, my eyes big and finding nothing to latch on to.

“Well, it’s getting kind of late. Gotta head home.”

“Oh, yeah, yeah. I’ll walk you to your car.”

“Thanks,” I looked around, wondering what sort of car Steve drove because he designed them. “Where’s your car?”

Steve laughed, “Oh I ride a bike,” motioning to a lime green bike an aisle over. I hadn’t noticed it. How could I miss it? I laughed as loud as Steve.

“He-ey! Can I have a ride?” I loved the feeling of freedom with the wind whipping against every part of my body and the uncertainty every time I shifted on a bike. What if I fell off trying to adjust a wedgie?

“What’s so funny?” he asked, laughing himself.

“Were you riding on the ten just now?”

“Yeah, how’d you know?” he asked, eyeing me quizzically.

“I followed you,” I joked. Steve laughed. I waited. And then opened my car door. “Well, maybe see you sometime.”

“Oh, yeah, yeah, ah, hope you don’t mind my asking, are you Chinese?

I pretended to be offended. “Do I look Chinese to you?” Steve laughed but still hesitant. “No, I’m not Chinese.”

“Oh, cool, cool. If you wanna chill sometime, you can come over to my place.”

“Where is it?”

“Foothills of the valley.”

“Text me your address. My number’s 310-xxx-xxxx” Steve smiled as he texted me. my phone buzzed as I got in my car and started it. As I backed out, I heard the sharp roar of Steve’s bike. He rode by my car and leaned over. Ninja: ZX-10R, no ABS. I could smell the nicotine and tangy pine smell of him, and something else, Asian fried food, I think.

“I’ll race ya’ once we get on the freewa-ay!” I slid out of the parking lot and headed toward I-10, leaving Steve laughing way behind.

I turned a few corners, losing him. I was smiling to myself. He was probably one of those bikers who picked a bike for its color. I chuckled to myself, driving along. Where was the entrance to the 10 heading east? There was a starbucks ahead. How many Starbucks are there? I wondered, driving past. It looked awfully familiar…as I realized that I had gone full circle. I laughed at myself for prematurely thinking that I had won the race, as I tried once again to find the entrance to the freeway. That’s what I get for not  having a car for seven years, I swore I would never be without wheels ever again.

                                                                                                                            

Ah, here it is, as I found the freeway entrance and stopped at the light. Steve was probably long gone. The light turned green. I started up the ramp. A loud buzzing of a small engine came from behind as the entrance lanes merged into the freeway. A blur of lime green sped by with the billowing jacket of its rider ripping in the wind. It was unreal the way he accelerated. As he disappeared from sight, he was still speeding up.

That guy’s on a death wish, I thought. And also about the complications of a daredevil personality. Well, tomorrow is another day, I thought, I can always beg out of meeting later. The whir of his engine still sounded in my mind. Then again, I really wanted that ride. 

Chapter 1: My Landlady is an Undercover Fed

This is how I began my story months ago, in the midst of all the craziness. It sounds frenetic because yeah, I was frantic at times. I was trying to squish the background down to a few pages to get to the substance of the story. Now that I’ve stabilized, I’m trying again. After you read the first chapter below, you can read subsequent rewrites. There is more cohesion to them, now that I understand what’s going on.  

My Landlady is an Undercover Fed

(And so is my roommate)

Or housemate. We don’t share the same bedroom, only common areas, kitchen, bathroom, laundry facilities, pantry, and it was great for a while. Until I started noticing things. 

The mobile home that I lived in was beautiful. One could not have guessed from the inside that outside, it was manufactured upstate and shipped downstate. The residence I moved into was spacious for a pre-made house, bigger than the ones around it. Inside, it was richly renovated, with uneven hardwood floors that mimicked real trees. The kitchen fixtures were new: the cabinets high for tall people, the hanging microwave even higher so that I could not see the tray, earthy granite countertops, picture frame table dressings, Moroccan rugs under the dining room table and the living room coffee table.

The curio cabinet showcased dinnerware and all forms of alcohol that I did not understand, Jack Daniels, crystal wine glasses, wedding gifts that Lorraine had yet to use. She said I was welcome to use anything.

My bedroom was an invitation to a homeless creature and I grabbed it at first sight. Sage green linens on the bed, which was set right of the door. No bedframe. Cream colored comforter with Chinese characters scrawled in rust, a black night table on the far side of the bed between it and the recessed space where a closet was meant to be. The dresser matched the black hole black of the night table. Inside the closet pace, a matching IKEA floor-to-ceiling shelf filled the entire recessed area into the wall. There were no closet doors. Instead, a plastic ivory bar was hung with rings from which black nylon curtains hung. The windows faced west.

Outside, there was a wall-sized bush that separated Lorraine’s mobile home and her neighbor’s. In the far corner from the bedroom door was a white nylon fabric wardrobe with plenty of hangers. Nice ones, too. Why the recessed space meant for clothes was filled with a wall-sized shelf and a portable wardrobe bought for when closet space was tight I did not question. Actually, I needed more shelf space that hanging space so this setup was perfect.

The floor was newly installed. I loved it. Asthma prevented me from living in carpeted homes, and trying to find a room in a house or apartment that had hardwood floors on my budget was difficult. The walls were painted in robin’s egg blue. My favorite.

Next door between the master bedroom and my bedroom was my housemate’s room. It was slightly larger than mine. The good room always gets taken first. Across the narrow hall, two steps away was the bathroom. Rustic tiling, shower curtain hung for a seven-foot basketball player.

Before I tell you the things I noticed—it’s important that you practice the same vigilance so that you do not find yourself trapped in a house surrounded by federal agents—please allow me to step back, for I really need to catch my breath.

The last few months have been an archetypal action-adventure movie. The only difference is that it’s fun watching the poor slob on the screen running around for dear life without anyone to help him. When it happens to you, it feels as if you are going to die. If you are lucky that is.

If you live, you will understand what Godot was waiting for.

Even if you never wanted to.

I never did because I was too happy waiting for nothing and doing everything. That was me as a child, bouncing around until it hurt. I was lucky, I never hurt too much but maybe others did. I don’t know, or I did and I didn’t care. Or rather, I knew the difference when to care and when to move on.

Somewhere along the line I lost it. That ability to move on. I got clogged on in the trivial, I magnified the minutiae, I inhaled deep regrets that should have been tooted out as applesauce is that does not agree with a toddler.

“Don’t notice so much,” my mother often told me. I couldn’t help it. Noticing is the foundation of progress. And I have always been a progressive liberal. Too progressive some say. Overly liberal, others claim. So much so that my friends are libertarians.

I raced through school with an enthusiasm that was marred pretty much with only the fact that it didn’t last long enough. I went to college then grad school, then did my postdoc, you get the picture. Had I gone slower, I wouldn’t have enjoyed it as much. Huh? That’s me. The negatives of any positive are a direct consequence of my happiness, and any reduction in my discontent would have been proportionately matched by a decrease in my happiness, such that I preferred the extremes.

Greater happiness paired with greater sorrow outranked moderate happiness coupled with moderate discontent.

Such was my utility function, the first that will explain why, when I discovered that my landlady was a federal agent, why, I did not hightail it and run out of there but instead stood my ground, dug a trench into her newly renovated hardwood floors, and battled it out while on all sides of me the enemy spun a web so voluminous its incompetence was insured by layers of stupidity that when stacked against each other translated to this:

At the universal level: Where an enemy has relatively unlimited resources, and you have no money, no job, no friends nearby, then in the end and in the beginning, they will win.

At the particular level: where the strongest government in the world has its most elite federal agents on a mission to smash you into the pavement, it does not matter that you are lucky enough to find a pothole to keep from being smeared into smithereens.

Eventually, that is your end. If you be so foolish to fight the mightiest nation in the world. Remember, only one country came out victorious in war with America the Beautiful. Maybe it was that heritage that pulled me through. Who knows. I only know that I speak one language, English. That I believe that I live in the greatest nation in the world, even after my government, whose President I love so very much, beat me up with an insensitivity that would have even made that harshest of judges on American Idol cringe.

Then, my government spit me out when it had no further use of me. That’s when I picked myself up, dusted off my only decent suit that I had been using for interviews after being so long out of the job market, and decided to get back into the ring. For if you think fighting nine rounds with the government is rough, you have not lived through the last eighteen years with me.

Those were the best and hardest years of my life. I was in the only long-term relationship in my life. It lasted eighteen years. Although I wanted it to last another eighteen years, fortunately for me I did not get my own way. I finally pulled myself out of a relationship with the only man I ever loved and likely the greatest love of my life. And each pull was like a screaming wrench to my heartstrings because they were made of elastic and were durable with each stretch and snap of my heartstrings.

Each time I thought I could take no more of days fixing oatmeal, potato, defrosting whole wheat bread, orange juice and tea, followed by some chores, a walk within mmm, seven or eight blocks where I lived for I did not have a car, then home to do some more cleaning and attend to the list of things left for me to do, I rallied myself for another day of neutral repetition. It took me a while to understand why battling the government was so similar to my days of doing nothing, when the principle for which I fought was freedom. Freedom in spite of my fear. 

The first ten of those eighteen years, I was in academia, student, postdoc, lecturer. For the last eight years I did not have a job. For a mind like mine, you might as well lobotomize me and go watch the celebrity news on your flat screen because that would have been more merciful: ending me at the beginning, than letting me die by epsilons those eight years. You would not have seen anything, I mean I was certainly dying because I sure as hell was not living, but you could not have noticed for it was even less imperceptible that watching your fingernails grow. But it was there, the process, its results, so irrefutable you could not have noticed had the results been displayed on a billboard in New York Times. Only the message took near a decade to deliver that the obviousness got lost in sheer “doing-nothingness” state, if that makes sense.

It’s as if the word “Help!” were to be flashed on a Times Square Billboard one letter at a time but so slowly that the “H” was left hanging, “H--” and everyone in the square got tired of looking and walked on and the newly entered into the square or the few who continued thinking about it asked themselves, “H—ello?” “Hi?” “Hey there?” In other words, the urgency of the message never came through because it came through too slowly. “H—ee—l—pp--!” Snore.

Seriously, Ssal is dying because she is doing nothing with her life except tending to the ones that she loves. Huh? Wouldn’t this be the ultimate reason for living? One would think so, except if one were able to care for the masses, then caring for the individual one. at. a. time. is so inefficient it goes beyond thinking how long it would take to care for all the individuals one vaccine or scientific discovery could do in an instant.

That was my dilemma. Like the prodigal son, I had squandered what god and prosperity had endowed me with and when famine struck, I was left to my own devices.

The details of having failed for doing nothing for the last eighteen years so clearly set my path for my unprecedented battle with the government of goliath proportions, epic when you have no weapon but your mind—the one that I did not use for better during the past eighteen years, over half my life ago—but hey, David only had a boomerang, right? I mean, correct?

My battle with the government started immediately after I wrenched myself from an eighteen-year relationship. It’s so painful to think about, it made my experience with the federal government seem like a joke, for I certainly laughed a lot, deliriously sometimes with my new partner in battle, Steve. He laughed a lot too, a loud laugh that made everyone in the room look, and then quietly think, thank goodness I’m not him. But that never stopped him from laughing, which is why I loved hearing him laugh so much, even when he got on my nerves. Not really.

I had just found a job, too, quite proud of myself. Being out of the job market that long with such a promising resume made me seem like a joke. No one took me seriously. It was either, “We want someone who will stay, not leave us after we’ve trained them.” They had no idea what a stable rock I was for the last two decades. Or it was, if you read between the comments, “We want someone dedicated, not a dilettante who has the luxury of practicing as an attorney years after she passed the bar.” It was not until I had engaged my foe that anyone realized how seriously I was about the law. For law and order are ideas that I cherished, before I saw those endowed with protecting order abuse the law.

What did I want to do in the long run? I was asked during my first interview, to which I stuttered something about partaking in the firm’s profit share. Considering that the firm was wholly owned by the bossman, who incidentally, was the one interviewing me, that sounded quite lame. I had done my research the night before, when I had been called in for an interview, but there did not seem to be very many good answers for this very obvious of interview questions. It seemed a bit less lame than, “I want to argue in front of the Supreme Court on one of these issues: Civil Rights in terms of equality that eliminates discrimination even though I will never benefit from affirmative action, healthcare because no one deserves to wait longer in an emergency room because they do not have health insurance, freedom of speech because Americans are way more squeamish about sex than violence.” How would a workers’ compensation case ever get to the Supreme Court of the land? So I gave the profit sharing answer that was suggested in the “How to Land a Job by using these 100 Best Answers to the 100 Most Obvious Interview Questions Ever”.

I didn’t get the full-time job, but the independent contractor position instead. I was happy with that, as it could swing me into a permanent position elsewhere. Things were good, as I looked at the cuffs on the sleeves of my suit. Thought I had removed all the lint from my suit prior to my interview, peering closely at why the lint would not pull off. Oh, I realized, it was not lint sticking out, the threads of my suit were fraying I had worn it so many times even if not recently. My best black suit was almost ten years old. It fit pretty well considering. I had a few that fit better but those were stuck at my ex’s place. I choked on that word, even in thought. “Ex,” how do you call someone whom you’ve been with for almost two decades an ex when you will always love them? And definitely no less tomorrow than today. I stopped picking at the threads of my suit because I was only making the threads longer.

The day I got offered one job, I got offered a second. Life was wonderful. I had finally picked myself up by the scruff of my neck and was ready to conquer the world, a decade or two late but ready nonetheless. This called for a celebration. But with whom, I chuckled to myself. I had spent the last ten years laser focused on everyone else except myself. I had let friendships slide by until friends became acquaintances and strangers looked more familiar than my acquaintances. But no more. I knew how to say no. I was going to hoard my time for myself. Even if it killed me. Little did I know how often I would be repeating that to myself in the near future.

So there I was, a middle-aged woman, a cougar almost, beginning her career. Single, having to find roommates, driving a rental car, with no one to celebrate with except my mother. I called her first, she was proud of me. I smiled at her support, which was always there. The comfort and the security only a mother could give.

Had some interneting to do, so I set off looking for a Starbucks or a Coffee-Grind. Somewhere young and hip, I needed to feel alive. I did feel alive, as I drove my car to the Westside on a Friday evening. I looked at my dashboard, which warned me: 51 miles to empty. That’s plenty, I laughed. The windows were down and the wind cut my cheeks sharply so that I wanted to feel more. I felt footloose, free, and no longer in need of refueling.

Part 2. Meet Steve Patina

I rolled along the ten freeway going west, going as far west as Horace Greeley urged. I was almost at the end when I heard a roar of a bike coming up on my left. A rider sped by with the wind maxing out his jacket like a sail, fullblown and free. I looked at my speedometer. I was only going eighty…five. And he was long gone. I hit the accelerator and it the steering wheel. Where was the damn horn? Was it one of those side horns or button horns? My left hand steered while my right groped for the—there it is. a loud honk.  

Introduction: Operation: Keep PT Down

Steve Patina was a guy I met by accident. He was a great concept designer. Specifically, he designed cars but modestly, he could create anything that he designed. He just had a problem with follow through. For up until the day we met, Steve had not been able to execute any of his great ideas. And he had many.

That’s where he was at on the day we met, in neutral with his wheels spinning and the emergency brake on.

So, I decided to help him unstick because he was digging himself in deeper, looking out the gray-tinted windows of his life with more than a little bit of desperado in his eyes and a loud laugh that tried so hard to be happy. Just a little shove, I thought, and he’ll be on his way.

Hardly did I suspect that in trying to dig Steve out of his sticky limbo that I would get pulled in. This is the story of a guy who lived most of his life being monitored by the government and what happened to us when I tried to free Steve from his virtual prison. It was not easy, and it’s still ongoing. A daily struggle for the pursuit of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, none of which our government will allow Steve.

Steve hasn’t done anything wrong. He is just…different. It took a long time to figure out just how and still, I don’t know everything. I don’t want to. It has cost too much. What I do know is that the U.S. Constitution grants every one of us those inalienable rights, yet our government has violated those rights in regards to Steve and continues to do so. Every. Single. Day. Without exception.

As you read on, please note that Operation: Keep PT Down is a work of fiction. It simply could not happen, the federal government spending our tax dollars engineering a synthetic life for Steve. The people he met, the accidents that befell him that he took for really, really bad luck, even the women he married…Thus, any resemblance to real life people is merely…uncanny. 

On Angels Wings

Well, this blog was about poetry and stories. The election was an interesting tangent but let's get back to basics! I don't know about you guys and gals, but I like rhyming poems...

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on Angel’s wings

Past mundane . . . of

                  nights come home

From Lover’s search

     And aimless roam

Says he, “have I been

        beyond

  And back

To find you

     what. . . you sorely lack

“The only thing they granted me

See here:

A pair.

   of rainbow clear

 Angels wings -- for a fee.”

He puts them on

    Soars past the moon

Not

   beyond.

I call him back . . .

       to his ruin

And Lover falls down

     on angels wings

Too lame to burden wind

He sweetly parts and sheds

       his wings

            And flings . . .

me high above him

Part Two: How I Got to the Official Inaugural Ball

Wow, I couldn't believe it, I was inside President Obama's Official Second Inaugural Ball at the Washington Convention Center! The top floor was for the Military Ball; the first floor was for the elite. Funny thing is, all the performers, like Usher, Smokey Robinson (I think it was), Alicia Keys performed on one floor and then rotated to the second floor. That was efficient in that it minimized transportation and security costs, the budge being a huge concern for B.O.'s second inauguration. Slimming down from 20 official balls to 2 was really tightening the budget!

Each ball took the entire length of the convention center, first floor and second, one inaugural ball directly and completely above the other. The buffet tables were set up on either end. Three stages lined the banquet halls. The red, white, and blue lighting, you can see it on YouTube had some sort of weird glow to it. Every time I tried to take a pic or video, all you could see was either darkness or a bright glare. I think the Secret Service had some funny light filters installed so that it was difficult to take pics unless you were directly across where the press was staged in the back.

Unfortunately, I did miss Fun. Whose songs I like since they have an upbeat, fun, happy rhythm to all their songs. That's okay, I was at the Inaugural Ball! And Obama's nonetheless. I don't think, if Hillary 2016 happened, that I would be as blown away and as ecstatic as that night! I probably wouldn't have such a bright pink gown on either! The eats were good (but they took them away too soon, budget problems again, I think). It's a good thing I concentrated on the buffet before anything else! But even I couldn't think entirely about food this evening. (Just largely.)

Shortly after I arrived, the Biden's came in. It was funny, when they were announced, we didn't know what stage they would enter on and after it was evident that they were entering on the FAR stage of course, a small, safe, orderly stampede trotted to the far stage to take pics. I didn't, as I'm not used to being in heels and my phone doesn't take good quality pics anyway. That was exciting and I could catch a tiny glimpse of the Second Couple. But what I was really waiting for was the First Couple.

After more time to eat, I did phone one of my friends and ask, "Hey! Guess where I am?" And he says, "No." I said, "Yea, really." I held up my phone to let him hear the general ecstatic crowd and he said, "Wow, have fun!" Which I did! I walked to the front corner of the hall and saw the souvenir table. Now usually, I will barely buy a postcard when I travel, but today, that night, I bought my heart out. I really wanted an inaugural blanket in navy blue instead of burgundy red. I didn't want to lug it around all night, so decided to purchase it later. When I came back, they sold out! Too bad, and they sold out online as well. (I can't even find one on eBay! If someone sees one, give a holler please!) That's okay, I got lots of magnets, pins, maps, engraved pens, totes that I pinned the pins on, things I would NEVER buy, and a pair of champagne glasses, which really bugged my family, most of them voting straight Republican, lol.

When the First Couple was announced, I could feel a general rumbling in the floor. This was going to be a controlled stampede of slightly larger proportions than the one that met with the arrival of Vice President Biden and his wife, Dr. Jill Biden. I was standing on the far stage, the opposite of the one on which the Second Couple made their entrance. Some people thought that since the Second Couple entered on the far (stage) right, the First Couple would enter on the far (stage) left. No such luck.

The First Couple entered on the same stage as the Bidens and there was another stampede, in which I was left in the dust, lol. No matter, because I couldn't have outrun the general gorgeously dressed herd of politicos had I tried. And concentrating on taking pics instead of absorbing in the amazing things and happenings all around me...I figured I could watch it on the news or YouTube, which I did. So yes, I was there when Michelle Obama debuted her red gown for the second inauguration, a red number by Jason Wu again. I did stick my phone in the air to catch something of the First Couple as they danced but the only thing I caught was their exiting the stage hand in hand. After that, the remainder of the singers performed. I was pretty ecstatic but realized there was none of them I'd actually pay to go to see them at their concert, great as they were. Every time a performer would finish on stage, there was a general stampede from one floor to the other floor because if you liked Jennifer Hudson, you wanted to videotape her twice, not once, lol.

By this time, I was really thirsty because all the food tables had been taken away, gasp! Somewhere during one of the performances, I assume, because even the nonalcoholic drinks were gone. So, I had to stand in line at the open bar for a simple orange juice. And it was slow.

Very slow. As in over half and hour slow to get some apple juice. I could've reached over a dozen times to grab a cup and can of juice, but figured I should be genteel this night. I took my OJ and wandered to the other ball on the second floor. It was much the same, identical, practically. Evidently, security wanted to minimize people roaming from first floor to second and vice versa. The people at the military ball were in general younger and a tad louder, which was cool given the reason we were partying!

After the the celebrity performers were done, people started hopping onto the three stages to take a pic in front of the glowing stages. The Seal of the President of the United States was emblazoned in laser lights on each stage. Everyone was taking pics of each other. Someone helped me up on the almost 5 foot-stage, very tricky in heels and pants that sweep the floor and a skirt/dress that gets stuck between revolving doors (yes, it's happened to me). And right when it was my turn to take the pic, had to wait for all my fellow party goers who got there first, the Secret Service ushered us away. In other words, we Could Not Be There On The Stage. And when Secret Service commands, everyone listens. So, I couldn't get my pic. It's not a "can i get a pic first?" type of situation, but I still asked, and when SS shook their heads, I was helped down from the stage to the floor.

Then there was the announcement that the party was over! It was shortly after midnight, way to soon, I thought, for an inaugural ball. The lights were slowly turned on and they let us linger for a good hour longer. I limped to the back in my heels and climbed some stairs where there were seats in the back, taking it a-all in... because this was a once in a lifetime kinda' thing! A few other women were there sitting, resting their sore toes, as well. When finally we were ushered out, I dawdled at the Inaugural Store set outside the banquet halls, but no fleece blanket, too bad. There was a set of flags lining one side of the foyer and i helped a young girl take a pic beside her national flag. And asked her to take mine, and then a group of nice young men offered to take both of us in one pic, they thought we were together, so I said okay, not wanting to turn down a random act of kindness, lol.

Outside, I could see the wind whipping and hear the icy gales. That's when my feet really started hurting because it was two blocks to the taxi cabs and everyone else caught one right ahead of me. I was too tired to run after one. Finally, a cabby let me share a cab with another customer going in the same direction but dropped me off two block from my hotel (my hotel was only 5 blocks from the Convention Center) and said to walk that way, he pointed, for only two blocks. Well, I did, but no hotel and no, I wasn't going to pull out a map in 35 mile per hour winds, it was hard enough to keep from being blown away! Then one of those bicycle peddlers with a cab in the back offered me a ride and I took it, even for 2 blocks for somehow I was still two blocks away. The bicycle cabbie said he came all the way from New York to get some work during the inauguration, so when he got me to the front of my hotel, I tipped him more than the regular cabbie that drove me one block and still left me not knowing how to get home.

Rushing inside, I got some hot tea and went up to my room, in a trance. I felt as if I had frostbite on my toes (don't wear open-toe heels in the winter, btw!) I couldn't believe it! I got to the swearing-in ceremony AND the Official Inaugural Ball! Who would have guess one week ago where I would be and how I would get there! That was truly an awesome once-in-a-lifetime experience. I am sooo happy I decided to go. Everyone was so scared for me that it would be co-old and rain in the morning but I wasn't--sometimes you just have to brave things, lol! A little icy rain may mean nothing to you, but it does when you've got the insulation of  Gore-Tex (not Thinsulate) meaning I've got virtually no insulation on my! I barely made it out of my clothes and could sleep well after the sun came up. Finally, when I crashed, it was a slumber of the deepest and most peaceful magnitudes.

Part One: How I Got to the Official Inaugural Ball

The wind kicked up after the swearing-in ceremony, and I was glad to walk back to my hotel. It was cold! My hotel had plenty of hot coffee and tea in the lobby, and many of us huddled around sipping tea, warming our hands, and smiling! That was thrilling! If there were any inaugurations that I would have loved to attend in my life, I'm glad it was for B.O.!

Next step: Get tickets to the Inaugural Ball!!!

Uh, folks, if you don't know or your common sense hasn't told you, as mine generally doesn't tell me until too late, getting Inaugural Ball tickets is a wee bit difficult, even if you plan ahead! You can either work overtime for your party for four years or you can donate $250,000 to the campaign. Let's see, a quarter of a million dollars or work sixty hours a week for four years earning not much more than minimum wage. Well, it's obviously not the low income I'm worried about, cuz I've been doing that forever in order to do my own creative writing--even knowing that poetry, rhyming or not!, does not sell--but doing politics 24-7 isn't my kind of thing.

(Aside: Admittedly, I became an election junkie and campaigned for a few days for the first time in my life, but that doesn't mean like everyone else, I don't wrinkle my nose at dirty politics. I just figured that since Justice Roberts and the whole right-wing gang of judges on the Supreme Court ruled in Citizens United that corporations are equivalent to people and thus allowing unlimited amounts of campaign contributions (the Republicans wanted this to make resident Obama a one-term president!), that I ought to do something! How do you think gay people feel when they don't have the same rights as straight people! And corporations are people? The ruling in Citizens United is so bad that Senator McCain went rogue Republican and blasted it worse (see Youtube video) than the President during the State of the Union Address. (I remember seeing McCain on Jay Leno after the decision came out. I might not agree with McCain on all issues, but he's a stand up guy!) I always know who I'm going to get along with when I ask them what they think of Citizens United.

Thus, seeing billionaires like casino mogul Adelson pledge up to $100 million dollars at the start of Romney's campaign, I thought I should chip in my two cents of campaigning to Obama's campaign. Anyway, Democrats are happy to limit campaign contributions, but isn't it a blast that the billionaire Republicans who wanted to make President Obama a one-term "fluke" lost all their donations in failed senatorial bids as well? (Except the one in Nevada where I traveled to campaign.) Adelson upped the ante by pledging $200 million during the last weeks as the election tightened but that only spurred people like me to travel to a swing state and campaign! I met so many people who spent their vacation time to travel to help campaign in Nevada it was amazing! After throwing money around like it's god's will, the wealthy still couldn't beat the little guy. Remember what I said, it's the ground game, baby! (I contributed $5, hey don't knock it, I gave up two fruit smoothies for that!)

But now, a few hours before the Official Inaugural Ball, Ssal-derella (get it, Cinderella?) was left with no tickets to the ball! All right folks, I was willing to go without Prince Charming, but tickets were impossible to get, probably about a 0.001% chance of finding one since it was approaching evening already (that's one out of 100,000, I think--I keep changing the number of zero's).

Ticketmaster had announced that they were going to sell Official Inaugural Ball tickets at 8:00 a.m. about two weeks before the inauguration, but due to a technical snafu, translation: someone screwed up big time, tickets went on sale early in the middle of the night, and by the time many of us woke the next morning, they were all gone! Talk about Ticketmaster messing up!

Incidentally, commoners such as myself were never allowed to attend the inaugural ball before Obama's presidency. Attendees could only be invited, translation: 98% wealthy elite donors (and inbred relations), full-time campaign workers, celebrities, war heroes (very fittingly), attorneys and lobbyists that work for the campaign...I'm surprised that President Clinton never allocated a portion of ball tickets to be made available to the public, tch tch...

So, this was a once in a lifetime opportunity, although I suspect that subsequent presidents will allow the public to purchase tickets now that Obama has, (otherwise they'll look like they don't care about the Forty-Seveners that Romney referred to at his campaign fundraiser--see my satirical poem on A Tale of Two Romneys). Still, tickets will always be extraordinarily difficult to get, as a few thousand supply for I'm guessing tens of thousands, at the least, clamoring on Ticketmaster would last for all of say, 2.8 minutes assuming they didn't put them on sale early and their website didn't crash!

While pondering how I would get into The Official Inaugural Ball, I figure I might as well get dressed, because if I got tickets at 7:00 p.m. after the ball already started and it took me 1.5 hours to get ready...I'm slow at getting ready for a ball, folks, hair and makeup are not my thing. As it happened, or maybe it was fate, it had been exactly one year to the date that I had anywhere fancy to go to...When I heard that the inauguration was on Monday, January 21, 2012 instead of January 20th per the 20th Amendment (when inaugurations fall on a Sunday, they are pushed to Monday), I knew something was up even though I had no intention of traveling to the capitol in the winter! But something made me apply to my Congressman for tickets to the inauguration despite my dread of the cold winter temps...and wouldn't you know it, I got a confirmation 9 days before the inauguration! (See Part One of how I got to the inauguration.)

I packed several dresses because no time to shop for a new dress (wouldn't have anyway, as I've plenty that I've worn only once) and also had no idea what I could still squeeze into. As mentioned, the inauguration was on Martin Luther King, Jr. Holiday on Monday, January 21, folks, and was exactly the day to the year when I wore a traditional ethnic dress, dazzling pink in color, with high button neck and so form fitting I was corseted like a plastic doll (I think most of me was made up that day) and was one of the most punishing days of my life. One of the happiest, yet one of the most grueling, lol! (I am so glad that day's over!) There were twenty snap and hook buttons on that dress so that if you exhaled or laughed too hard, the button would pop open! Anyway, I had not tried on my gorgeous pink ethnic dress for exactly one year and had no idea if it would fit. No, I've never been on a diet (knock on wood) but even two pounds in the wrong place meant I wouldn't be able to button up.

The dress has two ve-ery ver-ry high slits up both sides (like all the way to the waist!) so comes with matching swing pants, which were as unforgiving as the dress, so as I squeezed myself into the dress and pants like a caterpillar spinning a cocoon around itself (the dress really requires someone else to button you into it while you hold your breath like a dummy, mannequin, that is), one button kept popping open while I was busy buttoning another one! Then, when I had on ALL 18 hooks, snaps and buttons, I realize that one button wasn't fastened! Which one did I miss? That's why you need a second person to button you in while you hold out your arms like a scarecrow! Can you believe some women wear these costumes riding to church on a motorcycle in the heavy, humid tropical climates near the equator? I did that once and thought how backward some traditions are for women and am so thankful I live in America where I go around in jeans and tees all year round! Yay!

So I redid the snaps and hooks, hopefully correctly but realized later that night one button was off but not noticeable, lol. Just keep smiling I always say and no one looks at anything else, =)  So, thusly attired with my hair in a chignon, unlike a year ago when it was loose, I put on my pink coat, and headed out. Had no idea if I'd be able to find a ticket outside the Washington Convention Center where the two official balls were being held, but if you don't try, you don't get, I always say! (I also say you should migrate to warm weather because God didn't bless us with fur coats at birth!)

It might also be noted that in 2008, there were over THIRTY (30) Official Inaugural Balls for President Obama's first inauguration, so you can imagine how scarce tickets were in 2012 when there were only two Official Inaugural Balls in respect to the budgetary problems and struggling families. That means Official Ball tickets were practically nonexistent weeks before January 21, as in asymptotically approaching zero, from below no less! It was also dropping below freezing as I went downstairs and hailed a cab. As stepped out of my hotel to get into a cab, the wind whooshed through the lobby cutting against my legs as if I were wearing shorts. I practically was, as the crepe-thin silk pants were no barrier against the onslaught of icy winds.

When my cabbie got to the convention Center, only one mile away, he asked me where I wanted him to drop me off. I saw a long line snaking around in the dark for blocks and my heart dropped. People were leaning into the wind like it was an invisible easy chair. No scalpers, but I think they're illegal anyway. Funny thing is, I was trying to find someone to crash the ball with but no one wanted to come given that I already felt as if I was getting frostbite in my fingertips, toes, noes, and hair.

I approached a couple of security guards to inquire where the end of the line was--I couldn't even see to the end--at least it was moving briskly. I thought about cutting in line but what for? I didn't have tickets yet. I walked a couple blocks until I thought I saw the end of the line and swung in with the rest of the partygoers I asked them where they got their tickets and if they knew whether anywhere still available and where one could get an ball ticket. Yeah. Right. Although I couldn't feel my ears anymore, the line was moving briskly and security was calling out that we should have our tickets in our hands ready...Way up ahead, I saw where security was checking for tickets. My heart dropped. To travel all this way and not get to the inaugural ball! Why, that was just cruel! What else was a girl supposed to do on the night of a presidential inauguration! I wondered what idiotic idea got me to this place. I remembered waking up early to see Obama's first inauguration and that was thrilling.

I hated to be so-o-o close and not get in, but there was no way on earth I was getting through Secret Service, no way in hell...I even forgot about how my pants were not keeping me even the slightest bit warm in the gusting wind. But I felt that I was meant to go to the ball, no, not the fairytale Cinderella feeling, just the same feeling I got when I found out that the inauguration was going to be on January 21, that this was going to be one of the funnest days of my life. I mean, I only got confirmation the week before the inauguration that I was allocated tickets to the swearing-in ceremony and had less than a week to plan my trip, which granted, wasn't planned very well since I was outside the Washington Convention Center in freezing temps walking in line with all the ticket holders  doing lord knows what. But I had got bumped up a section for the swearing-in ceremony and got the tiniest glimpse of the President. It was all coming together, the stars and comets and galaxies...What was I going to do next? Go with it, I guess, the way I always do...Figured I probably couldn't talk myself in because I never was a salesman anyway...I had about thirty seconds left before I hit security...What was I gonna' do?


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MY OTHER WRITINGS AND POETRY

The Unofficial Inaugural Poem for President Obama, yet written with as much Love as anyone could.

A Tale of Two Romneys, a Satirical Poem on the Flip-Flopping Mitt Romney

Chapter 1: Princess Boo Wakes Up on the Wrong Side of the Bed, , A Serial Story a la Alice In Wonderland but probably more confusing because it was written by me.

What I Said When I Saw Salvador Dali's the Metamorphosis of Narcissus in the Tate Modern (Besides, Wow, This is Really Small!)

The Cataracts of Iguacu, A Story Poem I Wrote When I Couldn't Make it to the Waterfalls of Iguazu (Iguacu).

If You are a Led Zeppelin Fan, You Will Like This. Remember Houses of the Holy? Wrote some lyrics that continue the story, Led Zep style (yes, it rhymes and you can sing to the song as well)!

Dusame in the Mirror, An Epic Poem reminiscent of Edgar Allen Poe's The Raven, A Modern Day Medusa (with a lot of Baggage and a Conscience)

Part Two: How I Got to the Inauguration, the Morning Ceremony

Next, it took two hours to pick up my inauguration tickets as all of D.C. was jammed and roadblocked. My sister and her husband drove me. Driving one block took so long, it became evident that taking the Metro would be faster. So after over an hour of trying to navigate the closed streets of D.C. proper, my sis and I jump out at a Metro Station because the Congressman's office holding my tickets call me: Do you still want your tickets? Because there are people outside our office waiting to grab them if you don't.

It was after 4:00 p.m. when my Congressman's office called. It was close. I mean it was a close one. After we jumped off the Metro, which was already crowded for the inauguration, we found the building that housed the offices of Congressional Representatives and ran in. Security stopped us and it was a good thing my sister warned me not to bring my bag because all the junk would set off the metal detector and it would take us ten minutes to get through. So, I only set off the metal detector twice and we were up and running on the fifth floor!

Offices are located by district and thus state, but we turned left when we got off the elevator and had to run almost a full lap of the floor until we found my Congressman. Sure enough, there were people waiting outside to grab our tickets had I not made it by 5:00 p.m. Even better, my Congressman's aide upgraded me to standing room seats behind the Reflecting Pool instead of the Mall Area, which would have been a mile away!

Afterwards, my sister and I walked to my hotel, met her husband there, schlepped my junk to my room, and had dinner. Traffic was crazy congested going in and out of the City even at 8:00 p.m. so we had dinner at a restaurant that didn't have a two-hour waiting list! After that, they headed off and I went up to my room, dizzy excited while I was unpacking.

I unpacked my gowns just in case I could find tickets to the Official Inaugural Ball. It was tomorrow night and I still did not have tickets and not likely would get any since they were sold out and way impossible to get. The vast majority of Official Inaugural Ball tickets are doled out to big donors, which I am not by the way. I was so excited I couldn't sleep, and it didn't help that I kept the television on; CNN only had coverage of the next day's inauguration. I got my thermals out, put my tickets in my coat pocket so I wouldn't forget, and hopped in bed. I knocked myself out in order to get some decent hours of sleep and when my wake-up call came at 6:30 a.m., I went downstairs to get breakfast. I asked one lady (sleepily) what time she planned to leave the hotel for the inauguration. She said 8:30 a.m. Now for those of you who do not know me, I am very slo-o-w in the morning, lol, to say the least. It was already past 7:00 and I had not as yet showered, and as you know, showering before going into 40 degree weather is not advisable unless you super dry yourself so you don't catch pneumonia.

I showered as quickly as I could, used a headband as a scarf, wrapped a real scarf around that, put on my earmuffs, then my Dr. Seuss hat, about five layers, then my goat, liner gloves, gloves, inserted hand warmers in between the gloves but not my socks, and headed out at 9:00 a.m. The inauguration started at 11:30 a.m. It was an eight minute walk from my hotel to the entrance. I just followed the hordes of people walking. After going through security after security check, I finally got to the standing-room area and it was already crowded by 10:15. I maneuvered myself this way and that to get a better view. And realized that I didn't know what I was trying to see. I could see the jumbotrons perfectly but wanted to get a direct sight of the President. A nice man pointed out that the arch covered in red velvet was where the speakers would be standing. So, I moved to another spot since the latrines were blocking part of my view and after an hour, the music started.

Buses with blackened windows drove past, and we realized it was people in the VIP seating area near the President. When various people appeared on the Jumbotron screen, we cheered, like Hillary and Bill, the crowed loved Beyonce evidently (one young girl seems to have attended just to take pics of Beyonce on the Jumbotron screen. When the cameras showed the President and his family walking in the hallway approaching, the crowed went wild. I was elated and knew it was all worth it, traveling cross country, buying last minute tickets and everything, standing hours in the cold, cold weather!

I also realized that I should have inserted my foot warmers into my shoes before I set off from the hotel. My feet were icicles, they went from biting cold to numb, which I gather can be bad you can't feel your extremities for a while. I remembered reading Jack London's "The Call of the Wild" and tried to insert my foot warmers when we were squashed in like sardines. I think my butt was pushing against someone when I bent over trying to balance myself as I unlaced my hiking boots and inserted two foot warmers apiece. After a while, the foot warmer under the arch of my foot directly against my skin started burning. (You shouldn't do that but I wasn't exactly in the mood to read directions). Couldn't feel my toes and the bottom of my foot was burning. But I was happy!

Yes, I did listen attentively to Richard Blanco's Inaugural Poem (here's mine if you haven't read it yet--my inaugural poem rhymes, btw). I didn't make a face like Republican Representative Eric Cantor did, and was very polite indeed, even if my inaugural poem was not chosen to be read for B.O. (I still love him to death!)

Sometimes, the President's voice floated by as in a dream but I noticed the reference to "takers" (the 47% that "take handouts" in this country). Was thrilled to hear a reference to gay rights, laughed when Sasha yawned during her father's speech, was so glad it didn't rain as the forecast predicted, and then it ended before I knew it! Took a few pics for some people. Can't find the pics I took, misplaced my micro SD chip, or SD micro chip and lingered after the ceremony the way President Obama did, looking back one last time...

Part One: How I Got to the President Obama's Second Inauguration January 21, 2013

Yes, I'm talking about the one where First Lady Michelle Obama makes her debut of Jason Wu's now famous red dress.

Michelle Obama Dress by Jason Wu at the Official Inaugural Ball

No, it had nothing to do with my Inaugural Poem, sniff sniff. As far as I know, President Obama doesn't know that I wrote one for him, but I heard that actor James Franco wrote one for BO as well, so I'm in shaky/good company? Actually, I like James Franco, as he is a real individualist, going back to grad school after he made it in Hollywood. I love the pic of him snoozing during class lecture, something I did frequently as well.

As you know, Richard Blanco was chosen to write an inaugural poem for Pres Barack Obama's inauguration. Check out the full text here. What can I say, I am partial to rapper poems (rhyming) since rappers seem to be the only ones rhyming these days. Also, I am an artiste (with and "e"), which means I am very biased toward my own writing, lol. The Washington Post loved Blanco's poem. The Guardian had a different opinion, but I have no idea what the critique means. It's above me.

And actually, I don't think Rep. Eric Cantor didn't like Senor Blanco's poem, per the Huffington Post. Do you know how cold it feels in 40 degree weather when you have been sitting there not moving for over an hour? My face was screwed up much like that even though I was ecstatic just to be there!

So one week before the inauguration, I was allotted tickets to the President Obama's Inauguration on January 21, 2013. As you know, only a very limited number of these are awarded to citizens, but still quite a lot for the morning swearing-in ceremony. Viewing of the inauguration is free, of course, but tickets allow the ticket holder to be closer to the action! That means closer to the Capitol in front of the Reflecting Pool or behind, as opposed to behind the Mall area where you cannot see the action without a telescope. Okay, binoculars.

You might wonder how I was lucky enough to be given these tickets. It is because of my Open Letter to President Obama. Read it and check out what I wrote.

I contacted several Congresspeople and Senators. Since most tickets to the morning swearing-in ceremony were distributed by December 15, 2012, there was virtually NO chance of my getting any tickets. On Friday, January 11, I even received a phone call from my senator's office. Her assistant informed me that they had already distributed the senator's inaugural tickets in early December through a raffle. The benefits of planning ahead, people. Except I never thought I could endure the cold temperatures of an East Coast Winter. Even colder than New Year's in Las Vegas. If you're ever in the area, you should try the Strip on New Year's Eve. They have fireworks all along the strip (about 4 shows) all synchronized and EXACTLY the same. I did not realize this last, last year (December 31, 2011) when I was there the first time. We were located on the northern part of the Strip around Harrah's and had a limited view. This year (December 31, 2012), I planed early, did some hardcore reconnaissance, and waited it out at MGM Grand until 30 minutes before midnight. Then we sent out into the frigid 40ish degree weather. All the good spots were taken, that is, the few spots where one can sit or stand on a low ledge for a better view.

We found a high ledge that I had to jump up several times before I reached it and sat down with my legs dangling over the side. Waiting in the cold when your BMI is less than 15% is rather hard. You feel as if frostbite is setting in within 10 minutes and gangrene 15 minutes. Mucho frio, people.

So I wondered where a couple of guys and gals were going when they descended in front of where we were sitting on the ledge. It was actually a ledge that led downstairs, but to where? I did not know. Seeing people go down to who-knows-where, I had to follow (and regretted it later when I had to jump on a ledge four feet high. If you're 6 feet tall, it's no problema.)

Back to the main story line.

My Congressman, bless his kind heart, just sent me an email yesterday on Friday, January 11, 2012. Soon, I was trying to obtain Inaugural Ball tickets, which are even harder to get! These are given to the elite, you know, wealthy donors who give at least $250,000 or politically connected people. I was only someone who traveled to Nevada (check out my story here), a Swing State during the election last November, to get out the vote because every vote counted!

If you haven't heard, a very limited number of Inaugural Ball tickets were made available to the public for $60. Something suspicious happened, as Ticketmaster, in charge of making tickets available, put the Inaugural Ball tickets on sale eight hours early. Instead of in the morning, the Inaugural Ball tickets were put on sale at midnight! In the morning, people who made plans to stay home from work to nab the Inaugural tickets were heartbroken that they could not get any. Then, the Official Inaugural Ball tickets were being scalped for as much as $6,000 on eBay and Craigslist! That's 1,000 times the original cost of $60.

Of course, even if you were lucky enough to get Inaugural Ball tickets for $60 instead of $6,000 or Inaugural Ceremony tickets, you have to pay for airfare and hotel rooms, which began at $500 per night with a 2-3 day minimum stay. How did I afford shelter in D.C.? The forecast predicted freezing temperatures and rain! And I get cold when it's less than 76 degrees. And yes, I mean Fahrenheit.

I started by getting a one-way ticket to D.C. Couldn't afford the return trip because I had to get a hotel room first before I bought a return trip ticket. It's called logistics for the broke person!

Since I am so computer illiterate, I tried to set up a PayPal donation button unsuccessfully. I struggled with this all night long with no luck. It was really to get people involved and interested. (Contributions are not tax deductible, not sure why, but I think it's because I'm not a registered charitable organization or a church.) I got exactly $0 in donations, yay! So, I faxed some hotels in the proximity of the Capitol building asking for a reduced rate because I could not endure the 3 hour metro ride and being squished in like sardines on the metro. Although not as many attended this inauguration as in 2009 when almost 2 million people attended, President Obama's second inauguration was still the second highest attendance, I believe. Almost a million people.

I flew into Baltimore because ticket prices were crazy high into Reagan and Dulles Airports. Arrived in the middle of the night and my poor sister and her husband had to pick me up past midnight. There was still congestion believe it or not and I waited aver an hour at BWI trying to get Wi-Fi reception because we all know that the suburbs of Baltimore are in the boonies.

I checked in two free bags with Southwest because I had no idea what I was going to wear and no time to decide. My sis and her hubby finally arrived and we got home by three in the morning. It's nice to have family isn't it?

The next day was spent buying hand and foot warmers at the sporting goods store and making sure that my 100 pound person (when inhaling) would not catch pneumonia in the near freezing temperatures. My mother was particularly concerned and praying since the moment I told her I had tickets to the inauguration. At first she was like, "But honey, it's so cold, you'll free to death!" And then she prayed about it overnight and told me the next morning: "I think you should go. I will pray for you!" Evidently, my mom's prayer's worked because I had an awesome time!