From the Messed Up Journals of Ellen Elizabeth Williams

White House Internship,  Day 17

Dear Journal

(I might start calling you Barry, ok? I just feel like talking to an inanimate object is weird for me right now.)

It’s Day 17 of my White House Internship. I’m writing it all down because I always have. I wrote about junior prom and real prom and my Dairy Queen Brazier Burger mishap and why I thought it was a good idea to wear those neon pink elastics with my clear braces (it wasn’t). I told you about frosh week and throwing up on my new shoes in front of the hot campus police (well I thought he was hot originally and then I realized he’s part of the Lord of the Rings re-enactment group. So … no).

And so now I’m writing about the White House.

I meant to start on Day 1, but those first few days were kind of crazy and I sort of fell into bed and just watched Gilmore Girls on my iPad until I fell asleep. I had a lot of dreams about 45 telling me to break up with Logan, it got confusing.

But now I’m ready to start keeping track of it all.

My job here is basically Queen Twitter Watcher and Getter of Coffee. The most complicated part right now is keeping track of which coffee we’re not allowed to get anymore. The White House kitchen is stocked with beans but 45 prefers to drink his “in a cardboard cup for working class imagery reasons”. For a while I went to this cute spot on the corner that Jared told me about, but She-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named heard they use the word “artisanal” in their Facebook posts and made me stop. I don’t really see Jared much anymore.

Then I went to Starbucks. Ethan the Barista was always on-shift from 2:15 to close and drew smiley faces on our cups. That was nice.

Now we’re not allowed to even talk about Starbucks. I’ve been going to Dunkin’ Donuts instead. 45 likes those donuts with the sprinkles on them, but I feel like the sugar crash is bad for all of us.

Other than getting coffee, I’m supposed to keep on top of “social media buzz” related to 45, She-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named and Alec Baldwin. I also have a bunch of Google Alerts set up for “ban”, “Muslim ban” “Immigrant ban” “CNN Ban”, “Mexico”, “Mexico Wall” and “Taco Bowl Mexico Wall”. I was supposed to be keeping an eye out for comments about Spicer too, but She-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named told me not to bother anymore.

It’s more interesting than Dunkin Donuts. you should see the crap people are tweeting. I mostly Snapchat my friends videos of me and my cat, as you know, so I had no idea the absolute INSANITY that’s out there. Sometimes I’ll open up an alert and, like, just kind of fall into this void of insanity. Yesterday I clicked on a link in a tweet and THREE HOURS LATER realized I’d somehow ended up watching an animated video where the role of 45 was being played by a cartoon avocado. I don’t even know how it happened.

Sunday mornings are the craziest. She-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named and 45 want updates on Saturday Night Live as soon as 45 is done his breakfast. On Sundays my job is to do two reports – one that lists the top skits according to how many times the videos were watched on YouTube and shared on Twitter and stuff and one that lists the top 100 social media handles of people who  tweeted “bad lies” about 45 throughout the evening. I don’t have to present the reports or anything – THNK GOD. She-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named and Mr. Bannon go through it all before they get to 45.

The part I kind of hate is when She-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named gets me to “do a little digging sweetheart” for people on those Top 100 lists I do. They get me to look at what else they’re tweeting, where they work, what they post on LinkedIn, who they’re friends with online- all that stuff. The info goes into a folder in her desk. And it’s getting fatter by the day, even though she’s getting skinnier every second, maybe there’s some kind of metaphor there, I don’t know, I wasn’t a Lit major.

Other than that I kind of just do whatever people need done. Like I do a Pepto Bismol run for Spicer at least once a day, he drinks that stuff like juice.

Then I basically just go back to my apartment and watch more Gilmore Girls. 45 likes us to spend our evenings catching up with Fox, but I just check their Facebook page on my commute in the morning.

Then it’s on to Dunkin’ Donuts and the whole thing starts over again.

Tired now. More later. G.G. is calling my name.