You Might As Well Live
Every week, our Anonymous Lobbyist answers your questions about how laws get made and why they probably shouldn't. If you have a question about the dirty business of doing business in Washington, ask her.
This week: why she doesn't hate DC.
You hate your boss, loathe DC and show obvious contempt for the legislative hacks whosee favor you must court. On the other hand, you haven't slit your wrists and seem marginally ambulatory, so I'm guessing you oversell the personal misery index to please your audience. So cut the shit for a moment. Beyond the pure dystopian joy of drinking heavily, sleeping with people who don't get your jokes and practicing the three-button close on lecherous goons, what makes you happy?
Okay, first off, I totally resent the implication that I sleep with people that don't get my jokes. In fact, the only people I actually sleep with are those that do get my sense of humor. I mean, evolutionary studies aside, the thought of laughing at some dude's jokes for a couple of hours and not getting any reciprocal laughter at my jokes... it's basically the best anti-aphrodisiac. I am a woman, and we all aren't kidding when we say it's important for a man to have a sense of humor, but I'm also not the sort of woman who thinks that having a sense of humor exclusively means the ability to make me laugh. It isn't enough that you laugh at your own farts, or your friends'... if you can't laugh at mine, it's totally not even worth giving up a double for, buddy.
But, to the rest of the question. I don't actually hate my boss. He's not a bad guy, he's just clueless, inept and has a minimum of Washington social skills. He's one of those insufferable assholes that thinks every word that drops from (what I'm sure he considers his incredible attractive) lips is like intellectual manna to everyone privileged to listen to him. I mean, with enough liquor in both of us, I kinda enjoy his company, though that's naturally the point at which his wife doesn't appreciate our camaraderie.
And I don't hate D.C., are you kidding? I never said that I hated D.C. I grew up in a shithole, man- there were like 3 shitty bars in town, all of which were basically frequented by lowlife scum that, to this day, would give me pause to cross in a dark alley. Some of the people in D.C., yeah, I fucking hate those people- but, like, there wouldn't be people who got on my exquisitely sensitive nerves anywhere? And the weather does suck in the summer, but, there's hardly anyplace in the country that doesn't have shitty weather at some point (other than Hawai'i and Southern California).
Yeah, in some ways, D.C. fucking blows, no doubt. I've been here long enough that it's actually difficult to remember how it used to be before I moved here and no one asked in a bar what I did for a living. On the other hand, would I prefer to be in some seedy dive bar in the middle of East Bumblefuck talking to someone who is missing some key fucking teeth? Hell, no. The thing that sucks the most about D.C. are the people that play by the "rules" and live the stereotypes, which is why, in my free time, I don't hang out with those assholes. My actual friends are a weird mixture of bureaucrats, evil (and sometimes former) lobbyists who know that this is all bullshit, the occasional Hill staffer who can act like a normal person, and people who have nothing whatsoever to do with government (they do exist, I swear).And, when we get together for a boozy night, we totally avoid bars where we might have to talk to and/or deal with people we know who are like that and/or interns.
And, fuck slitting your wrists. As anyone knows, you gotta have a pretty high fucking pain tolerance to be able to cut deep enough across your wrists to bleed enough to die quickly enough (especially if you live with roommates), and going the long way up requires both precision and pain tolerance. You can legally own a shotgun in D.C., I'm just sayin'. Fuck that medical intervention shit.
But, what makes me happy? Sadly, I'm pretty typical. A good meal, a good bottle of wine, interesting company and a movie in which shit blows up. A little romance, occasionally, that isn't too cheezy and does not, under any circumstances, involve red roses. A day in which my boss is too busy pulling his head slowly out of his ass to fuck with me, despite the fact that I happen to be 30 minutes late and have nothing to do other than socialize with the few Hill staffers whose company I enjoy as part of my "work" that day. Maybe, even, just a day without political hyperbole (so that I don't hurt myself with all the eye-rolling). Or, just a day in which I split a bottle of wine at lunch with a friend and can thereafter sit at my desk playing Minesweeper while I sober up and no one notices. That's a pretty good day.