As previously stated, I’m going to miss DC real bad when it’s time to return to the Ginger Poodle Palace on Hollywood in August.
Washington is a special place: It is our nation’s capital. It is an actual swamp with more unusually large and ballsy rats on its streets than people who don’t have masters degrees. It is the home of the jumbo slice, which takes 3 AM boozy grubbing to a level only imaginable in a place where the 73,608 page tax code was conceived.
DC is also the only place where unions like this one can happen:
You see, DC is home to a bunch of people with pretty much the same shiz going on for themselves. Sure, you may have gone to Wesleyan instead of Cornell. You may be a Republican and not a Democrat. You may make the big bucks at a top-drawer law firm rather than toiling away for peanuts at a think tank penning articles about the minutiae of trade regulations in Lesotho that no one will ever lay eyes upon.
But at the end of the day, probability dictates that you are almost certainly a 20 or 30-something overachiever who enjoys happy hours, light jogs, the New Yorker, Potbelly, big speeches, and traffic circles….or at least whining about them.
Hence we get couples like Meghan Giulino and Paul DeLaney III.
So if you believe in the old “opposites attract” adage, don’t come to Washington lookin’ for love. Because this is the city where people come to meet other people who are in every respect just like them and then get married so that they can procreate and produce more MENSA candidates with strong opinions with whom they can have well-informed political discourse and shop for sensible, business casual wardrobes in Chevy Chase.
Or if you really want to go out of the box, you can look for your soulmate in New York and/or San Francisco, where 29-year-old girls who make weird faces pair up with 44-year-old skeeveballs in bowties.
I guess true love really does conquer all.