My friend went to go see Bill Clinton and all I got was pnuemonia.

I went to church yesterday.

For those of you who know me, I know you're waiting for the catch and here it is:

Church was actually Hamilton College and I was going there to pay homage to my one and only God, Mr. Bill J. Clinton. (God plays a saxaphone!) He was going there to give a speech on how truly amazing he is and how he should be able to run for 50 more years.

Little did I know...

Other people had the same exact idea. Like, alot of other people. Thousands of other people. For a room that seats about 4500, I was sure of myself that I was going to be sitting up front, sharing winks and sweet nothings with m'beloved. So I waited for 2 hours, in 20 degree weather, the smell of hot dogs filling the chilly air. We barely moved within those hours and I had made friends with other Bill J. worshippers, who made the time move a bit faster. I also started selling tissues for $1 a piece to those whose snot was visibly crusted to thier upper lips. I felt I was doing my country the best favor I could, I was making them look presentable for the former Pres. And if I helped one person remove that bat from the cave, I did my job. 

The doors were to open at six. Six came and went. Six turned into seven and still, we were no closer. They even had the evangelists walk around telling us that we probably wouldn't make it in. I scoffed in thier faces as, being the secret agent that I am, decided that it was a person from the back of the line just trying to scare people off, so that they could get better seats. Ha! "You might choke Artie but you won't choke Stedman!"

And then in it happened. We were officially turned away. I began clip-clopping in my frostbitten boots to the shuttle buses that would take us down to our cars. My feet were so frozen that I actually fell trying to hop onto a curb. I smell lawsuit. And it smells like Dr. Scholls. In the bus, the heat was blaring but still didn't defrost my toes. I could feel the pain start to come back in my little toe.

I listened to all the disappointed people on the bus. Among those turned away was entire busloads of out-of-towners who had nothing else to do but turn around and go back. There was also a mass of elderly sitting the in the front and I couldn't help but feel sorry that, in lieu of the flu shot, they were all going to die waiting for Bill Clinton. And then I saw children. Yes, there were children here. And I'm sorry, I'm a little bitter, keep in mind---I don't think anyone who wasn't alive during the administration should be allowed in, unless they are sitting on their parents laps or are properly placed in a kennel. And then I had a vision---no, not of sugarplums---of a bunch of children, sitting indian style, or the PC term, Native American style, around Bill Clinton, singing The Itsy Bitsy Spider. Meanwhile, the elderly, Marissa and Donna, the nice woman I met in line, are sitting on the bus, mulling over the fact that we'll never get to hear Clinton's explanation of why the international rift is widening. Oh, bloody life!

The bus grew silent, all of a sudden, as we were all devastated at the realization what had happened. We were not going to Mecca. The bus was turned around. I could smell something burning. It was my pride.

There were a few non-English speaking people on the bus with us as well. And, my bitterness clouding my vision again, all I saw was Bill Clinton standing in a large room wearing a babushka and enjoying some pierogies, while talking to his Air Force 1/2 pilot, the only other English speaking person in the room about "Wife Swap" or some other third world reality show. I'm sorry, I don't think I'd wait in line for 2 hours in subzero temperatures to listen to Mikhail Gorbachev talk about his liver spot. It looks like someone spilled red wine on a white carpet. I wouldn't necessarily listen to a speech about it.

My nightmare was interrupted as I felt a sharp pain in both of my lower extremities. It felt like I was giving 10 births out of my toes. I instantly removed my boots and socks to look at the damage and what I saw when I peeled back my penguin sock was too much for me to handle. For the first time all night, I started to cry. On the bus. Gripping my swollen toes. What was happening? All I wanted was to kiss the feet of my savior, and instead I was kissing my toes goodbye.

We made it back to where our car was parked, still another 10 mile trek in itself, and a green fog of defeat rose over the Charter bus. We were silent as we walked back to the car, the only sound that was heard was coming from the small girl with no shoes on and a scarf wrapped around her head. She was crying.

He's like the James Dean of Presidents.