I rode into the office this morning on the X2 bus, which I think I've mentioned before as kind of a crazy ride through our society's pathologies. This morning, however, it was like being in a barbershop on wheels. I don't mean anyone was getting a haircut but rather there was a gentleman in the first row behind the driver holding forth on all manner of social issues, from dating to doing all things in moderation, to city transportation.

He was a fit gentleman of a certain age dressed in jeans and sneakers and with a briefcase by his side. I don't think he was going to work. He looked of retirement age and had that demeanor of not being in a rush to get anywhere or do anything. He was just pontificating and truly, he could have his own talk show.

Women find it hard to find a husband he proclaimed because they are too demanding and yet always seem to fall for the rap of some "knucklehead."

The key to good health is all things in moderation. He has an "adult beverage" every day, but that doesn't mean he has to empty the glass. Leave a little behind. There's no shame in that.

And finally, on the subject of the new H Street trolley: You know you can't detour a trolley! Which is actually a good point when you think about it....Still, I'm eagerly awaiting the futuristic/retro addition to DC's transportation system.

The response to "Michelle" has been all good so far. Except for the folks over at a first lady fan club website that will remain nameless. The book is really a scrapbook of the first year - have I said that already? - and I think it works as a nice keepsake for anyone who appreciates history.

I''ll be heading off to the fall ready-to-wear shows soon. And perhaps it was because of my usual feeling that I need to get down to my fighting weight -- whatever that might be -- that I had a session with celebrity trainer Mark Jenkins. Now, I'm usually quite confident of my fitness level. I can drop and give you 20 pushups -- the real kind, not the girly knee version -- if I had to. Not that I want to, mind you. Anyway, Mark had me a little nervous because he's the man who whipped P. Diddy into shape in two months to run the New York marathon in under four hours. I'm proud to say that I ran the Marine Corps Marathon, but I spent far more than two months training and I did not do it in under four hours. Nonetheless, I met my goal, which was to cross the finish line with both my good humor and my dignity intact.

I felt Mark's workout the next day. In a good way, though. It was interesting to see what sort of tricks a celebrity trainer -- Beyonce, Mary J. Blige, etc. -- has up his sleeve. Or since Mark wasn't wearing a shirt with sleeves, I'll say, strapped to his massive bicep. He doubles up on muscle groups, keeps you moving. Mostly, though, he just offered some new ways of working muscles that makes them take notice. The only routine moment in the workout was the every present lunge. I guess those are inescapable.

I'm looking forward to the runway shows, but of course, my time is really stressed and the Post is cutting back. So I have to find ways to trim serious days off the European portion of the trip. It's the holy grail of folks who go on these journeys. No one wants to be away for weeks on end. (I've got doggy country club bills to pay because God forbid my little Ruby be relegated to a mere kennel and that gets expensive!)

I'm going to try and be creative with the storytelling and perhaps that will help me excise days. But I plan on being thorough. Can skimp on the runway extravaganza.

Tomorrow I'll be on the trail of the first lady of the United States, better known as FLOTUS. She's doing another event on the childhood obesity epidemic. These events always seem to happen around lunchtime and I feel too guilty to bring cookies or chips to snack on. So I guess I'll be having my regular mid-afternoon apple!

Also, if you haven't checked out the link to my story about the White Houe and a young DC student, please do. It'll put a smile on your face and make you optimistic about our nation's youth!

So I am now in full capitalism mode and talking about "Michelle: Her First Year as First Lady." I was on "Today" Sunday morning and I taped an interview for "Good Morning America" which is supposed to air on Wednesday - fingers crossed.

The book is a Washington Post project and so is filled with lovely photos by Bill O'Leary and Marvin Joseph.  It hits bookstores on Monday and Barnes and Noble is supposed to being doing a two week promotional thingamajig.

Thank goodness "Today" had a makeup person available at 8am because with the monsooning weather, my hair was not going to be my crowning glory. Headband please! She managed to eliminate most of the dark circles under my eyes.

The NBC green room in DC is a political wonk fest on Sunday morning. As I awaited my cue from the "Today" folks, guests were streaming in for David Gregory's "Meet the Press." Bob Woodward, John Podesta, Mark Halperin of the blazing hot "Game Change" and Karen Hughes who, frankly, was just waaaay too perky for that early on a rainy Sunday morning. I wondered how much coffee she'd had or whether she's just a morning person. If it's the latter, then God bless. If it's the former, I want some of those coffee beans.

So many adventures on the X2 bus! I had a sit down interview with first lady Michelle Obama on Wednesday, along with a handful of other journalists. I took the bus to the White House. In part because it was the most efficient way to get there. It's not like I could pull up in front of 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue and park my little Volkswagen. And besides, unlike the Metro, the bus stops a block from my apartment. So it was all about the X2, which is like a slow ride through the crazy pathologies of any urban neighborhood. It is  tour of Capitol Hill yuppies, blue collar folks and deeply disturbing instances of mothers feeding their kids Funyuns and Dr. Pepper for breakfast. Good heavens!

For the interview, I wore my brand new Jil Sander pencil skirt with the high asymmetrical corset waist. A girl needs a little fashion help to feel confident sometimes! I also wore heels. Because when I'm feeling tall, I'm feeling powerful.

The interview lasted about a bit over an hour with seven of us peppering the first lady with questions. All in all, it was a relaxed time. At the end, the conversation turned to fashion, namely the first lady's over-the-knee brown suede Jimmy Choo boots. I made a point of saying that I wanted it on the record that I was NOT the person who inquired about the boots. I was all about childhood obesity, thank you very much.

Anyway, the scones that were served were quite tasty. And of course, I got an e-mail from someone who took great pride in pointing out the hypocrisy of talking about the problem of unhealthy eating while eating scones. First off, Mrs. Obama wasn't scarfing down butter rich pastries. I was. And second, there's nothing inherently bad about a little scone. It's only when we eat a dozen of them in one sitting.

People are always looking for the gotcha moment.

The one thing we didn't discuss was Haiti. No one asked the first lady about it. But really, what can one say? It's just an unspeakable tragedy. The photographs have literally made me gasp in sorrow. God bless the people of Haiti. 

Politics seems to overflow the boundaries of the White House and Capitol Hill and infiltrate far too many aspects of life in Washington. Namely, I mean the gym. I'm constantly reminded of how many people in this town take their sense of self-importance with them everywhere they go, whether it's the gym or Starbucks. I'm reminded of this because, alas, I had to leave my beloved Equinox and switch to Sports Club LA. The closest Equinox to me is in Virginia and as a rule, I don't cross bridges to get to the gym. Sports Club LA is beautiful but I've discovered that an awful lot of people who go don't really seem to want to sweat. I figure, hey, I managed to get here. Let's make it worth my time. They're attitude is more like, I'm here, that's plenty. 

Recently, I was in a spinning class. The room is heavily air conditioned. There were fans whirling away. One poor woman was riding with a towel over her head, it was so cold. You'd warm up; get a little sweat going during a sprint and then as soon as you were back in the saddle the cold air was whooshing across your shoulders. Brrr. Anyway, I bit my tongue and said nothing until the very end, during the stretch. I asked if the fans could be turned off. The instructor was happy to oblige. And then, from the last row comes a voice of a twit: "Why?" He put up a hissy fit about the fan. I felt like being really mean and saying something rude about his lousy form as he was riding. But I was too flabbergasted to say anything other than actually try to explain the effects of cold air on sweaty bodies at rest.

The thing that killed me is that the guy wasn't even planning to stay for the stretch. He was LEAVING. He was complaining for the sheer pleasure of being a piss ant. What is that about? I felt like saying, hey dude, do you work in Congress? If not, you'd be perfect.

I might have to find myself a personal trainer. Because I'm not sure how long I can maintain my good Midwestern manners when dealing with such jerks! 

I decided to go as far off the grid as I could for the holidays and so I headed home to Michigan and resolved to look at the Blackberry as little as possible. Honestly, by the time I came back to DC after a week away, a friend wondered if I'd gotten some Botox in my Christmas stocking. Amazing what a little less stress can do!

I finally felt compelled to check my e-mail late last Sunday night. It was the same day that my story about Mrs. Obama's first year ran. Yowza! Frankly, I thought that on a scale of 0 to 10 - with 0 being a big wet kiss and 10 being a full on pummeling - this story registered at about a 6.5. Let's just say that the first lady has her defenders who have no problem taking a big chunk out of my derriere.

I generally think I have a thick skin when it comes to criticism of a story. But this time, some of the e-mails made me physically ill. I actually felt nauseous. It wasn't because some folks didn't like the story. It was the intensity of the anger. I mean, some of these people have no room for escalation. And some can't seem to shake the paranoid delusion that something, something must have happened way back in the '80s when the first lady and I happened to be on Princeton's campus at the same time, that would explain what some people see as my overly critical point-of-view.

First off, I don't think I'm excessively critical. (And geeze, when did all criticiam start to be considered "hateration?" That's a word that should be banned in 2010, in my opinion.) Second, I did not know Obama when I was in college. I don't even have a vague memory of her, because contrary to what some people believe, the mere fact that we are both black women does not mean we knew each other. I had my set of friends and, I assume, she had hers. Third, it is possible for a woman to be critical and not be jealous. And fourth, I just wish some people would take a deep breath.

Now that I've gotten that off my chest - whew - I'm happy to report that The Washington Post book about Mrs. Obama should arrive in bookstores sometime around January 18 -20. It's a photojournal of her first year with several essays by moi. It's called, "Michelle: Her First Year as First Lady."

It's a soft cover book, which makes it not all that expensive. (Although, I'm partial to hardcover myself, but it really wasn't my decision.) The photos are beautiful. They were taken by Bill O'Leary and Marvin Joseph. I'm especially happy with Marvin's cover image which is very natural and pretty.

In other news, I'll be doing a live discussion on the Post website during the Golden Globes red carpet arrivals. The timing and all will be announced later. That should be fun and dishy, I hope.

And I'm participating in a panel discussion on the fahion industry that is sponsored by Essence magazine. That's on January 21 in New York. I'm looking forward to that. I don't have all the details just yet.

Now I'm going to go nurse my wounds, suck it up and move on.