...I was waving and smiling, yes, but my feet were killing me, and I was already mentaly filling in my calendar. I'm off to Maryfield for the holidays, the inaugurations' in January, and we move into the White House right after that. Four years in the most luxurious prison in America. Am I going to survive? What do YOU think? Remember: keep your comments short, clean, and to the point. Peace be with you. Sparrow.

Three Essential Nonverbals for Teen Icon Wannabes

(1) GRIN. Do this constantly. Until your cheeks hurt. Don't stop. But check teeth for snoogies first. (2) WAVE. Not like the queen of England. Don't turn your hand so that your own palm faces your face. This might be taken as an obscene gesture in some countries with a name ending ins "stan." (3) GIGGLE. Whenever. About whatever. Don't make it sound like you're taking strong doses of medication.

Okay, intergalactics, despite your sweet words, I'm not quite there yet, but tomorrow, after The Makeover, I get a second chance to burst onto the scene as a star. WE face the press at some vent on campus at UCLA, Dad's alma mater, where I"ll be looking (hopefully) less like a Michale Jackson/baggage handler and more like the glam princess I promised you I'd be.

Also check out SammySez.com in a couple of days if you want to meet the "persona" they've invented for me. Can't wait to hear what you think about Sammy Righton, All-American girl.
Remember:keep your comments, short, clean and to the point. Peace be with you. Sparrow.

Dubai airport. I'm twelve, flying back to the States with a bored-looking flight attendant assigned to escort me. In the boarding area next to mine, where a plan is about ot leave for Oman, I see four terrified girls, all younger than me, sitting with a man. I can tell right away he isn't their father. None of the girls look alike; none of them look like him; and he looks...downright mean. Their plane is boarding. Mr. Evil steps aside for a minute, and I ask the oldest girl: "Are you okay?" She begins to cry, quietly though, tears streaking down her cheeks. The man returns, glares at me, barks something at the girl, and they scurry after him to board the plane.

The older girl throws a desperate look over he shoulder and catches my eye before disappearing. And I? I do...nothing. It's time for me to board my plane to Cairo, and my own escort is hurrying me along.

When I tell Mom about it, she says that they were probably being sold as housemaids or something even worse. Why? I ask. How can that still be happening?
She gives me three reasons:
1. Their parents are so poor they have to sell one child to keep the others alive.
2. Professional kidnapping groups grab them out of their villages and make sure their families can't race them.
3. Nobody knows how widespread the practice is; nobody cares enough to try and stop it.

I'll never forget that oldest girl's eyes. I see them sometimes in my dreams. But always, again, again and again, I do...nothing. When I wake up, I'm crying.

My Top Four Campaign Goals (Not Listed in Order of Importance): (1) Get the Makeover- check out he "after" version and let me know what you think; (2) Explore America- I might be there to stay this time; (3) Give YOU the skinny on Life As a Celeb; and (4) Help Dad Win.

Comments? Remember: keep them short, clean, and to the point.
Peace be with you. Sparrow.

Beginning of the Journey

The moment we've all been waiting for is upon us. I'm going to bring my friends (that's you!) along for the amazing, never-been-reported-on-before journey of a President's Daughter in the Making. Your good old blogger buddy is about to morph from drab to galm, from drudge to diva, from unknown spectator to talked-about celeb. Stay tuned for the inside scoop.

Comments? Remember: keep them short, clean, and to the point.
Peace be with you. Sparrow.