DC i love you but you're bringing me down

Yesterday I went with a friend who works for EMILY’s List to see Hillary Clinton speak at a campaign fundraiser billed as a part of the “Club44” (as in “Club-we-almost-have-a-shot-in-hell-of-a-woman-becoming-the-44th-president”) Make History! Tour. Speakers slated to be there included a who’s who of strong, History!-making womyn-folk, including Madeline Albright, Geraldine Ferraro, and Billy Jean King - none of whom I showed up in time to hear, of course. I did, however, catch lukewarm performances by Babyface (of “Take a Bow” fame. *Swoon*) and Katherine McPhee (of American Idol semi-fame), who I guess were the only performers alive on the planet and available that day because I can’t otherwise think of a reason why a presidential candidate would choose to punish potential supporters like that.

I stood in a mild rage at the back of the crowd, having unsuccessfully tried to push our way to the front of the shoulder-to-shoulder mass with the (usually golden) line, “We’re just trying to get back to our group! They’re in the front row, I swear!” One of my arms could’ve been severed and dangling from the shoulder socket, and the lady progressives would have body checked me to the asphalt before they let me get to the first aid tent if it meant getting in front of them. There were also no snacks, as I had been promised, and this was a deal-breaker.

Before I clawed my friend’s eyes out from snacklessness and a general sense of whiny exasperation, Hillary thankfully took the stage. She spoke of Hope. She spoke of a New Direction. I fell asleep. I think someone near the front might have clapped, and when I came to, KT Tunstell was over the loudspeaker, ushering the addled crowd out and away from the site of Club-shame-and-disappointment. Maybe I’ve been in DC too long, or not long enough, or I don’t have a clue, but politics can be so booooring sometimes. If she gets the nomination, I'll probably vote for her. But, I mean, meh.

The only clear option available by which to recover the evening was to immediately go to the Wonderland, listen to that one Scissor Sisters song on repeat on the jukebox, and have a former marine “accidentally” throw his hefewiezen on my white wide-legged pants, allowing him to buy my drinks all night. Suhweet.