I read your piece in George magazine on the difficulties of dating in Washington with a large measure of empathy. Like you, I've been an occasional victim of the D.C. dating scene. But unlike you, I'm a guy, and I think you need to get a guy's input on this topic.
After poring over your troubles, I shot a few notes off to some friends, and we came up with some suggestions you might find helpful in improving your odds:
1) Quit injecting yourself with your own urine. I don't mean to be presumptuous, but the rumor is that George Balanchine used to put so much pressure on his corps d' ballet to remain razor-thin that some of them injected themselves with their own urine to keep the pounds off. You look like you're doing this also.
Although I've never met you in person, I've seen you on TV (after all, like all the other D.C. people you characterize so well, I watch TV constantly rather than socialize) and, not to put too fine a point on it, you make Calista Flockhart look like a grand-master sumo. I've had potato skins that are thicker than your biceps. I've dated a couple of really thin women in my day, and I assure you, it's a major turn-off when their hipbones bruise you when you're intimate together.
Which brings me to my second pearl of wisdom ...
2) Eat some cake. Let us posit, in the hypothetical, that we were introduced by mutual friends, and I invited you to meet me for dinner. Where would we go, and what would we order? I like steak, chicken, pasta, pork chops, veal ... meat. Potatoes. Beer. Mmmmm, beer.
You look like you survive on six pieces of sushi (no avocado) and an M&M per day.
If you were to go on a date with me, I would be twisted by guilt just from staring at your plate as you joylessly pushed some steamed spinach around with a fork. If we were to go out, you would be wise to ...
3) Have a beer. Contrary to your paranoid fantasies, D.C. has some excellent late-night bars, many of them lovely Irish places like the 4 Provinces, Biddy Mulligans, the Dubliner, and a decent assortment of brew pubs. You need to drink a lot less wine spritzers and down some suds. The company in my bars is better and this will also help with your eating disor ... I mean, weight problem.
Next, you should seriously consider ...
4) Quit being white. It's a common knock that Republicans don't date much outside of their own prep schools, but you take this to a ridiculous extreme. You should rewrite your article and insert the word "white" in front of "Washington," as in "boys in white Washington don't know how ...
You see, Ann, there's a secret and mysterious world out there which is actually inside the Beltway, in fact inside the District. It's called "The World Which is Not Northwest," and it includes Southeast, Southwest, and Northeast. These are the three quadrants of D.C. which are occupied by the "black" and "brown" people who now comprise the overwhelming majority of Washington.
Ann, if Washington had the demographics that you ascribe to it, it would have two senators all its own, and a real live congressman who could vote. Because if it were white, Republicans would give a ...
But I digress. The majority of the people in Washington aren't white, they don't work in Senate offices and they have excellent social lives. If you would like to view this spectacle in safety, I can arrange for a sealed vehicle to drive you to a mysterious and exotic place called Adams-Morgan, where people of color coexist peacefully with members of the "white" tribe ... you could get a neat little tattoo while you're up there.
Many of the men you might find attractive would undoubtedly be more interested in you if you could figure out a way to enjoy the wide and spicy melange that is D.C., instead of paying attention to the colored folks only to harangue them when they mess up your nails ...
And speaking of haranguing people ...
5) Stop being a mean bitch.
One of the things you hate about Washington is that complete strangers on the Metro ask you for your sports page. Ann, I frequently have out-of-town guests visit me in D.C. Because, as you have already established, I have to watch a lot of TV to see what's going on in your neck of the woods, I often send these gentle strangers out onto the Metro alone. When I do, I pray, literally, that they won't run into pompous, intolerant, judgmental, high-strung, anorexic clothes-horses like yourself if they should happen to get lost, require assistance, or even, God forfend, reach out across the aching void that divides us all and inquire if you're finished with that section of the paper, ma'am?
A portion of the challenge that you face in your quest for tube steak, Ann, is that any decent guy who asks you out might someday face the vexing hypothetical question, What would it be like to have you run into his grandmother, were she to have the misfortune to need assistance on public transit and make the mistake of asking that nice white girl over there ... ?
What I would really like to do next, Ann, is to give you a quick makeover. But to do that, you'll have to ...
6) Free your hair from that dominatrix hair stylist.
You look like you've got more armor on your hair than an M1-A1 tank has. What do you do, dip it into a bucket of floor wax and let it harden? I like a little mousse every now and then, but you are ridiculous. Did a piece of staging or one of those big lights fall on you the first time you walked into the studio? It's like a safety helmet or something. George Clinton (he's a man of color who has a band called Parliament and also plays with a group called The P-Funk All-Stars) once famously quipped, "Free Your Mind and Your Ass Will Follow." I suggest instead that you turn your back on the Vidal Sassoon and ...
7) Get a nice short cut.
I think you should try the tomboy look. You know how Trinity looks in "The Matrix"? I think that would be a good look on you. I love Sharon Stone's current look. That and some wired-framed glasses, you know, the substitute-teacher look? As Homer says, "mmmm, slanty ..."
Besides, you're obviously not getting any action right now. What could it hurt? Also, I bet you would look good in jeans. As thin as you are, you've got to have a decent butt, so how 'bout showing it in something other than that dumb red dress of yours ... (or is that Kelly Ann?)
And to improve your prospects with some of the Hi-Pro Glow, may I discreetly suggest ...
8) Buy a vibrator.
In addition to all your other problems, I think you need to rack up some quick orgasms. There's one called "the Rabbit" which I hear gets you going from several different angles at once, if you know what I mean. It was featured in a recent episode of "Sex in the City."
Once you've cleared your system of all the toxins that back up when you stop getting off, you should immediately ...
9) Get your head out of your ass.
Another of your complaints about D.C. is that the cabs don't have meters. Are you really simple ? The zone system in D.C. is mandated by Congress (here's that white thing again) so that they can ride to and from Capitol Hill as inexpensively as possible.
Attention, Ann: Guys won't ask you for dates if you act stupid in public. Plenty of people don't know the history of the zone system and cabs in D.C. They just don't write about it in nationally published magazines.
It's kind of like saying, "Hey guys, you're right not to ask! I really am sorta culturally dumb ..."
Which brings me to my 10th and final suggestion:
10) Don't make your living as a sexual harpy.
Your principal occupation over the last three years, as I understand it, has been to traffic as many damaging stories as possible about Bill Clinton's personal life, then write a book about it.
Blow this next sentence up on a photocopier and tape it next to your refrigerator:
"Men Don't Want to Date Castrating Bitches Who Make Their Livings Peddling Tales of Male Weakness."
Is your mom still alive? If she isn't, I apologize, but you must have a trusted older friend you can talk to about this particular problem. You should ask her, and yourself: "Am I more likely to meet nice men and go out on dates if I volunteer for good works, hang out with a wide variety of cultures and views, and travel the world with a sunny disposition or if I work out frenetically, diet constantly and make my living shoveling dirt with both hands on MSNBC?"
What you and Tom DeLay and Ken Starr seem to have forgotten in the last two years is that an awful lot of men, and some women also, know that they look awfully silly nekked, yet still sometimes they can't resist the urge to get nekked with the wrong people. What may be giving your dream-man pause is that, if he takes all his clothes off with you around, the smart money is that you'll be e-mailing girlfriends with the vital stats before his BMW hits Chevy Chase the next morning. And, of course, if things don't work out, worse things await him.
I'd like to conclude with a special bonus suggestion:
11) Get real.
You finish up your lament by writing, "My romantic fantasy is still this: Girl meets moving-company guy, girl moves back to New York." Whaaa? Serious? That's not your fantasy, and only some politically active Young Republican furniture movers are dumb enough to believe it.
My fantasy is to get Heidi Klum drunk at a party, but I'm not stupid enough to think I'll be on the Concorde with her a year from now. You know what moving-company guys and mopeds have in common ? They're both a lot of fun to ride, but you wouldn't want your friends to catch you on one.
Please, Ann, for the love of God, understand yourself better. You want to meet a guy who's got either a trust fund or a partnership in a blue-chip firm, who will worship the ground you walk on and won't make noise when you're caught pounding some cute advance man from the Bush campaign. You want a guy who dresses up well, doesn't get drunk at parties and will take care of the kids while you're at the studio. I wish you luck, and I'm sure you'll get it, but don't annoy us with the moving-man one anymore.
Those of us who know you and love you for your excellent entertainment value don't want you to dilute your value by playing cutesy on us now. We want you tight-cropped, tattooed and with a Louis Vuitton riding crop, preferably in black boots and a miniskirt. You're from New York. You know the look.
I hope to run into you sometime in one of my many favored bars in D.C. I'll be the one with the potato skins and the Budweiser, reading the sports page I just lifted off the Metro.