I have finished writing my amazingly hilarious episode of 30 Rock! Now, I begin the uphill task of getting Tina Fey’s attention. So beginning today, I will embark on 10 days for Tina Fey — a series of blog posts dedicated to all that is Tina Fey.
Today, I would like to announce to Tina Fey that my desire to work on her staff runs so deep that I would endure the day I endured yesterday for the opportunity to be graced by her highness of hilarity. So what, you ask, did I endure yesterday?
Yesterday, I braved the blistering cold and wind to witness approximately five minutes of glory. From 9:30 in the morning until the early evening, I stood alongside the hubby, GL, and PMP to witness history. With parade tickets in hand, the four of us navigated the depths of the Metro (during which I was jostled, fondled, dry humped and pushed with two hands) to emerge into Washington DC, with numbingly cold temperatures and a make-you-want-to-die wind chill. Alongside millions of other people, some coming from distant lands, we marched through the urban wilderness, found our way through security, and planted ourselves atop what only looked like an ordinary bleacher. But this bleacher, and our seats in particular, were far from ordinary. Atop these seats, we could see the human skyline reaching down Penn Ave — to our right was the Capitol, where Obama was being sworn in by the Chief Justice with a bad memory, and to our left was the White House, where a village idiot had just been ousted. Looking up, we could see the real-life Jack Bauers scanning the crowd with binoculars from atop the DC office buildings. And below, hundreds of police officers and military officers from all over the region gathered to protect us and the President from those who would do us harm.
Within minutes, the bitter cold set into our bones, causing tingling in our feet and hands and numbness in our cheeks. As Obama’s inauguration soundtrack played — Aretha, U2, Disco — we quickly learned that the best method of staying warm would be to move in a completely erratic fashion. I created my own dance, which involved keeping my arms on my side and swaying back and forth, head bobbing to the beat. Others joined in, with scattered cries of “Arrest Bush” and “I am going to freeze to death” peppering an otherwise festive event.
After all was said and done, though, the hours and hours of pain; the thought that perhaps toes would require amputation; the peculiar draw of a bright light in the distance as I felt my body shut down — all of this was worth it when the Obamas walked hand in hand down Penn Ave, waving at me, my hubby, and our friends. Indeed, Michelle Obama looked straight as me as I screamed, “Michelle in 2016!” — She gave me a wink and a nod, signaling not just her acknowledgment of my request, but her acceptance of my challenge.
So what does this all have to do with Tina Fey? Well, Tina Fey is my comedic hero. Should Ms. Fey request it, I will gather as many friends as possible (ok, so no more than 15) to embark on a journey to the 30 Rock studios so we can camp outside the bitter Manhattan cold in order to catch a glimpse of Tina Fey waving at me. In fact, she doesn’t have to wave exactly at me. If she simply flagged down a taxicab, I’m sure that I will view such action as not only a wave of recognition to me, but also a wave requesting that I follow said taxicab so I can continue to throw my script at Tina Fey when she exits, wondering why a strange Asian chick wearing a ridiculous amount of clothing and somewhat resembling the Pillsbury Dough Boy has tripped face forward into an uncovered manhole — but it will be all worth it if Tina Fey catches my script and reads it.
Discover me, Tina Fey!
Discover Me, Tina Fey! 