Have been reading Ann Coulter's How to Talk to a Liberal, If You Must, and about lost it cracking up at the George article entitled "Capitol Punishment". For those of you who haven't enjoyed this read, this particular article is a little out of the normal subject area for Coulter, she describes her dating life in Washington DC.
DC men, she concludes, and from my first hand experience totally agree, don't know how to ask a woman out. What they do is ask the woman to ask them out. She suggests this may be because the men of DC make no money and therefore have no self esteem.
I don't really hang around the poor crowd when I am in DC, but have the same experience. My conclusion was that DC men are generally of the delusion that they are Masters of the Universe and Captains of the World's Destiny and are under the impression that they have the burden of immense power during the work day and want someone else to take over after they clock out. I came to this conclusion after having the "What the hell?" discussion with several DC men and that was generally their answer.
I am mystified about the DC dating rituals. Let me give you an example. Am in bed, sleeping, at 10 p.m. on a weeknight. DC boy calls.
"What are you doing?" he asks.
"Sleeping." I answer.
"I am just finishing up a meeting with some clients and wanting to go out for a bit. Get dressed and the driver will meet you in 20 minutes." (This is as close as you get to being "asked" for a date, it is really being "told" that you are going on a date. This ONLY occurs if the guy forgets that he is not scheduling a business lunch with you.)
Driver arrives, we go to the Jockey Club, he orders a drink. I don't drink, but am hungry, and the kitchen is closed. We sit, we wait. I am looking for the clients to join us at any moment. They never show. Who does show is a very interesting chap who used to be a speech writer for Reagan. Find his conversation fascinating, to the expressed disapproval of my date.
The Jockey Club is where DC boy and I met half-a-dozen years before, but because they have remodeled and I am half asleep and hungry, it isn't ringing any bells with me. There is a dance floor in the back part of the bar. This is a bit odd, I am thinking, but hey, I am always up for an impromptu swirl in the closed section of a restaurant.
"This is the song that was playing when we first met." He suggests. I have absolutely no idea. Was there music playing when we first met? I recall his friend playing the piano, but I don't remember what song. Could it have really have been Frank's "I Did it My Way"?
I remember being very tired the night we met as well. It was after an event that I was working, my first 24 hours in our nation's capitol, and we were restaurant hopping to find the best tiramisu in DC with a Monica Lewinski look-a-like during the hey-day moments of the DNA stained dress being released. Another story for another day.
Still hungry, now my stomach is loudly complaining the Spanish olives that I nicked from the bar were not going to cut it - we depart. For food? No. For the Lincoln Memorial.
I have driven past several monuments, never occurred to me to stop and visit. Monuments are like mountains, best viewed from a distance. Getting up close and personal with the guys smoking a joint on the stairs, the urine-smelling hall, and the chilly chamber did nothing to endear me to Lincoln. Shivering, damp from the rain, I listened as DC boy read the Gettysburg Address out loud for me.
Some part of me sensed that there was some underlying thing going on that I was just missing, but I was so hungry, and starting to get the first red flags of hypothermia, that I just couldn't bend my brain around what I was missing.
I announced that I was ready to leave, now.
DC boy finally clued in that I was hungry, and thereby grumpy, and took me to a restaurant that was of unknown ethnic origin and ordered some food that had such a frightening presentation that I decided that it just wasn't worth the risk. After he grew tired of pushing I still don't know what around a paper plate, we departed.
A painstaking towncar ride around to look at the lit up buildings, (Would this hell ever end?) and I was home to a newly beloved refrigerator.
Next day I made inquiries about the nature of my "date" the evening before, and was told by those who would know that this was not just a date, but an exceptionally romantic one. Apparently, I am truly dense when it comes to courting rituals of this nature.
Notes for any boys wanting to successfully date Alaskan women: Feed them first. Keep them warm. Give them some rough idea of what the expected schedule is for the evening.
1 comment:
I LOVE IT! Informative, endearing and funny too!
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