Dear Diary: It's not easy being African American. I noticed this morning that as stepped into the White House elevator, women snapped their handbags shout, tucked them under their arms and held their breath. Then there's the creepy-ass Secret Service detail who constantly follow me around -- even when I go to Petsmart to buy a treat for Bo. I have no doubt that after I've eaten lunch in the private dining room with Joe Biden, they count the eating utensils. Today, when I left the White House by motorcade to Fort Belvoir for a round of golf, I heard the rattle of car doors being locked as I came into view. But enough about me.
