Like I said, it didn’t take long for the 1621 Hobart road-house crew, to turn into family.

Sam and I have a great relationship. He’s one of my very best friends, so it doesn't come as a great surprise when all these people spending this unforgettable “Inauguration Weekend” with me, also turn out to be amazing. We all immediately connect, and over dinner we seal the deal that we are family for these few and intense days. I mean, we already had our mom…

One mom. One military journalist. Three Obama Transition Team staffers. One law school student. One Swedish-American freelance journalist. La Familia.

At dinner, which we get to after a two-hour wait in a sports bar filled to the rim with Obama worshipers, all of us feeling very American and proud of that fact, mom all of a sudden announces that she’s related to no one less than Pocahontas. Seventh generation. Short silence. We think. That makes Will…eight generation…and us… ninth, Peter decides. Toast!

“It’s a straight line,” Mom says. “I call her cousin Poky.”

Could we be more American?

Peter and Jordan use the newly found Pocahontas heritage as pickup lines with random girls we meet in the rowdy bar, Raven. It works like a charm. And as if they needed help, mom is there with her promotional support.

“You’re killin’ me, mom!” Will says again and again. But it works.
At one point, Will is sitting on one side of two cute girls, mom on the other, all discussing something…surprise, surprise…Obama-related. As the journalist and politics staffer nerds they are, all the guys have iPhones and Blackberrys. Sam sneakedly snaps a photo of Will, mom and the girls and text messages it over to him with the subject:
My Mom is My Wing Man. Hahahahaaaa…

Many a Pabst Blue Ribbons later, the girl with free ticket to the Obama Inauguration, all of a sudden got hit with jetlag. Mom, spilled her third beer, so I brought her home.