I had a terrible night, filled with nightmares. The worst one was when I was speaking in front of the entire United Nations, where my audience was a few hundred
If you've even been to Yemen, you never forget that smell.
As an audience, I'd have to say the United Nations crowd is a tough crowd. For one thing, nobody dresses properly. Lots of men run around in what they call their "native dress," but they never wear so much as a jock strap under those robes and kaftans to keep their weapons at the ready, if you get my drift. Most of them keep goats and sheep in their offices and write them off as executive assistants. Oh, there are a few that manage to stuff themselves into a suit and tie to look more
Confidentially, diary, I don't trust anyone in that House of Hell. They all talk a good game, but walking into the General Assembly is like strolling through downtown Benghazi. You can't trust anyone in that den of thieves. There are metal detectors all over the place, but everyone I know packs heat, mostly nine millimeter. I stay away from pistols, though. When I was a little girl, my father almost killed me while cleaning his gun collection, so when I was Secretary of State, I strapped a blade to my cankle with Scotch tape. Just in case. I used the blue painter's tape, because it pulled off less hair on those weeks when I had to take a shower.
The United Nations used to be a good idea. We'd all show up late, grab three martini lunches and decide which countries
I also dreamed about playing with puppies who all drowned in my bathtub. I'm still trying to figure out what that means.