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The Washington Post magazine ruins a date before it starts, records political musings of awesome older lady.
Naughty Meanspirited Awesome: They didn’t stand a chance. In last week’s Date Lab, Washington Post’s resident sadists set up “Chrissy,” a 24-year old recruiter, with “Clay,” a 24-year-old farmer. Farmer and “recruiter”—-a natural pairing, no?
No. By the time Clay set his eyes on Chrissy, it was clear that no Green Acres sparks would be a-flying. “She looked like a D.C. professional. And she was not fat in any way, but she was heavier than the girls I typically go out with,” he told interviewer Kelly DiNardo. Chrissy’s lifestyle was also a bit heavy for Clay. “I’ve been through the night-life thing. I did it in high school and college. Heavily,” said Clay, who, in his pre-date questionnaire, claimed to be looking for a woman like “Fergie in Black Eyed Peas,” a recovered meth addict.
When asked in a pre-date questionnaire how he is “D.C.,” Clay responded that “a farmer with a Beemer is dynamic in all environments.” When asked how he’s not “D.C.,” Clay responded, “I am a farmer.” Clay also noted that he was happiest “outside, working hard at my farm.”
Chrissy, who is not a farmer, described the remainder of the date. “He graduated with his master’s in agriculture this past May. Now he raises cattle. I’ve never even met a farmer or cattle rancher,” Chrissy said, adding, “I said on my Date Lab questionnaire that I wanted a cowboy, but I was doing that tongue-in-cheek.” Clay countered, “Women like the idea of a cowboy. A cowboy wears a cowboy hat every day. I’m not cool enough to wear a cowboy hat every day. I’m more of a farmer.”
Date Lab notes that “The daters don’t plan to see each other again.” It does not, however, record the number of inter-office high-fives received by Date Lab‘s mail opener on the date Clay’s application rolled in. Thanks for taking one for the team, Chrissy.
Nice:XX Files’ “Hot for Hillary,” an essay by self-described “woman of a certain age” Mary Burgan. The title, which makes little sense, Burgan describes her experience working the phone banks during the Clinton campaign—-and enduring her husband’s Obama support. “I felt a pull of loyalty, for despite my concerns about her lack of spontaneity and the dullness of her stump speech, I believed that she would be the last and most credible woman in my lifetime with a shot at being president,” wrote Burgan. “Actually, I was a bit surprised to discover how much that meant to me and how angry I could get at men who didn’t see the matter’s extreme importance.”
Burgan allows herself to inject some humor into that premise, though, making a killer Cash Cab joke and several old folks jabs along the way. In the essay, Burgan displayed a certain social grace that Jezebel’s Moe Tkacik found missing from the rheteric of some die-hard Hillary supporters. There was only one point of strangeness in the text, when Burgan says a fellow volunteer at the phone bank told her “There’s a special hell for women who don’t help women.” What, no Palin/Starbucks joke follow up? You’re showing your age, Burgan.
But if the prose doesn’t convince you, Burgan’s mug might:
I love this woman.