Dating in DC sucks for people under the age of about 28. I should know, I was once under 28 and dating in DC. I shudder when thinking about the pressure a place like DC puts on young folks of both sexes when they are young and just starting out. I want to vomit when I think back to the level of competition these young professionals face on the dating scene. Being a little crazy is understandable. Being a lot crazy, however, is not.
For men who are in their early 20s in the DC you are in a world of hurt if you weren’t born rich. You don’t make a lot of money in a place where a lot of people make a lot of money. Your best offer to that Vixen down the hall in Senators so-and-so’s office is a steak dinner at a nice place (put on your credit card) and some beers at whatever bar has a special followed by a romantic walk to moonlight monument. Date two is to your friend’s house who is having a keg and jello shots for the Michigan game because date one tapped you out of cash for a month. If you are lucky once in a while somebody will part with some event tickets and you could pretend for a night that you were cool… just as long as she doesn’t find out you got them because nobody else at the office cared to use them. Taking her “back to your place” involves sneaking her past your rowdy roommates in order to try and preserve her dignity.
The competition for me at 23 was 35 year-old lobbyists with six figure incomes, corporate cards and a much better understanding of what makes women take off all of their clothes and wrestle with a man. It’s kind of hard to woo a girl with beers at Politiki when she spent the previous evening at Cap Grille with a dude who picked her up in a Town Car and put her up at the Willard afterwards. They say it’s all about who you are and not about what you have, but even I can admit that it takes a shit-load of personality to outdo an older, wiser, richer competitor on the DC dating scene.
For women in their early 20s it’s pretty annoying to constantly hear about some chick who just got engaged on the Speaker’s balcony, on steps of a monument on a snowy moonlit night or at some embassy. Especially when you’re stuck in an endless cycle of dating 35 year-old commitment challenged lobbyist who can’t be bothered to settle down because DC offers them a new stable of naïve 22 year-olds every week. Match.com is a freak show. Bars are worse. And any guy you actually like is either just in town on business or being transferred somewhere else very soon… or married.
It goes without saying more on the subject that trying to get paired up in DC when you are young sucks. However, it doesn’t suck so bad that you can justify doing THIS. Yes, that’s real and it has been everywhere and she has been shredded by the anonymous wolves of the internet. I’m fascinated by it. I’d like to poke it with a stick and see what it’s made of. Why don’t you join me.
First of all, she’s a blogger and that’s the first sign she needs lots and lots of attention (I should know – I’m not doing this for the finger exercise). Oh, and I think her name is made up. That just sounds made up. “Quinn Woodward Pu” – give me a break. She apparently is an “events, society and gossip” blogger here in DC. How sad for her given that DC doesn’t have a “society” because everybody who is anybody lives somewhere else. This isn’t NYC. Nobody cares to hear gossip about the local weirdoes who make up the awkward “society” crew in DC. Remember, nobody is *from* DC and if they are, you should probably judge them for it. She basically uses her blog as a grand extension of a jealousy inducing Facebook post saying “look at what I did and where I went.”
The first thing she does is qualify her post with an introductory paragraph that subliminally explains exactly why she shouldn’t do what she’s about to do. Whenever you start off by saying that you don’t usually do this type of thing - you probably shouldn’t be doing it. I don’t usually pet raccoons that are foaming at the mouth, but… You get my point.
The last words of the first paragraph are not only a recurring theme in her post, but a look into her denial filled soul. She writes “comfortably single women in their 20s” as if that’s really a thing. When a woman claims she’s “comfortably single” at any age where her body is still capable of producing a baby – it’s done with a whole lot of internal crying behind it. Claiming she’s “comfortably single” is like your dad screaming “I’m fine, I’m fine” as he searches for the three fingers he just sliced off in the table saw – she is NOT fine. She is far from fine – she is in denial. She is in a liter of Yellow Tail and two pints of Cherry Garcia while watching season two of Sex and the City for the 152nd time in a row type of denial. If she doesn’t have a cat or a dog yet, it won’t be long.
We quickly learn that this all “started two weeks ago,” which makes you wonder if she is talking about a relationship between two fifth graders. She refers to the man in questions as a “rando” because the “random” is just too fucking much to type and not nearly as a good of a bastardization of “random person.” It’s all about style and Henry Quin Wadsworth Woodfired Longfellow Pu has a shit ton of style.
She meets a drunk guy at bar (no shit? You can find them in a bar?) and pats herself on the back for not giving him her cell phone number, but email address instead as if somebody blowing up your inbox is any less annoying than someone blowing up your textbox – for f*cks sake they appear next to each other on every smart phone in existence and are basically one in the same at this point. It’s not like she gave him a fax number or a PO box as her contact info.
Quin Wadsworth Woodford Reserve Pu wastes no time in going out on a date with the drunk and congratulates herself on being able to single-handedly make the whole thing work because she’s awesome enough for both of them – “I kinda have chemistry with pretty much everyone, because I really like talking to people and winning over complete strangers.” At this point you start to get the feeling that Quin Medicine Woman Woodcock Pu has a fan club and she’s the president, vice president and membership chair of it. Anyone who needs to reassure themselves this frequently in two paragraphs has deep, deep, deep issues.
They have dinner again and she invites him to her birthday party. A birthday party, mind you, that she’s throwing for herself. Oh, and only 125 of her closest friends – humble brag if I ever saw one. Who the fuck says that? The Mighty Quin Woodchuck PU – that’s who. If this didn’t terrify the guy, he’s kind of at fault for what would eventually happen to him.
Mr. Drunkass can’t make the party. She claims he promises her a trip to the “Virginia wine country,” which isn’t a thing. There is country in Virginia and there’s wine that is made in Virginia, but there is no “wine country” in Virginia. See California for what “wine country” is actually about. If Virginia had actual "wine country," this asshole wouldn't be allowed to own a winery. She’s just throwing this in there to sound glamorous – something she desperately wants to be (see her photos), but certainly is not.
Here’s where things start to get interesting and you can tell she’s desperately hoping the guy reads her blog. She claims that she was pretty much indifferent to him and even went as far meeting up with her friend with benefits partner after she saw him (the ultimate burn in the mind of a lost 20-something who watches way too much MTV). She hashtags her sentence which is just wrong and out of place. You get the feeling that she sees herself in the third person and thinks that this looks cool. And she doesn’t mind if you are a little impressed with her lack of care as well. Treating old boyfriends like a pieces of ass is so *in* right now and so empowering for a modern woman. She’s playing two boys! Unfortunately, neither boy cares.
She then uses the words “surprised” and “fury” to describe her reaction to a pretty stand-up text from the guy letting her know that he’s not interested in a relationship. Without much context from her you can imagine her being surprised, but the fury part really confuses an impartial, casual observer like me. He didn’t call her fat or ugly or a slut or any of the normal rude things rude guys call women. At least he said something. I was the king of disappearing in these types of situations when I was single. Literally tens of women out there wished I had at least sent a text message saying "it's you, not me... goodbye forever."
What we don’t know is what happened between Saturday night when she texted that she was in a cab and when he sent the text telling her he’s not interested in a relationship (it’s important you understand that he wrote “relationship” – he wouldn’t mind having sex with her if it didn’t involve holding hands and talking about their favorite names for kids).
Did she show up to the date and offer to lick his skin off? (I love Just Friends) Did she purchase a cat and name it after him? We just don’t know what kind of crazy ass shit Quin Woody Harelson Pu pulled in the hours between the two text messages. However, we’re getting an idea that it was probably pretty screwed up given her reaction on her blog.
Do notice her humble brag on the Opera practice thing. She follows that with more evidence that she did or said something extremely crazy to run this guy off because she can’t stop thinking about it. She’s angry – she thinks she's angry at him – but she’s mad at herself, but has no way of perceiving herself honestly. Unfortunately, she goes after him instead of working on herself.
I could go line by line on her ill-advised text response to the poor schmuck, but it can be summed up pretty easily. She wanted him to know that he meant nothing to her and that she is far greater than he could appreciate. After all, she’s published two books and has a condo – we’re talking a literate Elle Macpherson here. And they’ve only been around each other 20 hours (it’s creepy that she likely counted it up), so it’s no big deal (although, it's apparenlty a big deal.... it's a big, big fucking deal worth telling the world and going after his employment and nine year-old daughter type of deal).
What she did let him know (along with the rest of us) is that she was way too far into him too fast. Going this far over two dates means the guy probably had a good reason to let her know that this wasn’t going anywhere. She basically put together an entire book of evidence for jury (us) as to why he’s the good guy here and she needs some professional help. Talk about unintended consequences. Paging Dr. Phil... Paging Dr. Phil.
As for the guy losing his job because she went level 11 crazy and sent the texts to his boss… well, I don’t think she actually did that. The guy is carrying a Blackberry, so I do believe he probably works for, or with, the government. She makes a weird reference to an “executive committee,” which just doesn’t make sense to me. How would she have access to his bosses or even know their names after two dates?
Even if she really did do that, he works for the government and it’s impossible to get fired. You have to figure he’s at least 30 something since he apparently has a 9 year-old daughter. He has some time under his belt. Misusing your Blackberry is a lot less worse than what happened at the IRS this year or with Benghazi and not everyone in those stories even got suspended. It’s likely that the guy can plead insanity with his boss. As in - she’s fucking insane. I’m willing to bet that works.
She ends with the career ending, life altering, ego shattering, I wish I wasn’t known for this post with what she thinks is an affirmation of her greatness by calling him "insecure." Nobody believes at this point that the guy in this situation is the one who is “insecure.” If there was a contest to see who could define insecure in a blog post - Quin Danny Woodhead Pu would be the grand champion. Making it worse for herself, she quotes a guy who was actually calling her a delusional bitch and pretends it’s a good thing. Just and FYI – when a man calls a woman “bombastic,” he is, in a nice way, calling her a "bitch." And the “happy being single” part is about as tongue in cheek as you get. It’s just so awful that it’s unintentional art of the highest quality and at her expense.
Thank you DC for once again delivering the craziest of the crazies to the masses.