Speaking of Washingtonienne...

She had a big biographical story in the Post's magazine over the weekend. I can't wait for her book; I imagine seeing Dianetics-style commercials for it on TV.

How can I make a difference in Washington? Page 13.

She liked to joke that her job was really to throw out the mail, the stacks of letters from earnest voters who believe members of Congress actually care what they think.
What can Al Pacino teach us about life? Page 74.

"I was watching the movie 'Scarface' the other night, and I was like, Oh my God, this is exactly how I feel ... He was all coked up. He gets thrown out. He tells everyone in the restaurant, 'You need me. You need me. You need me so you can point at me and say that's the bad guy.'"
What's the most important thing to look for in a relationship? Page 132.

As a teenage student at Syracuse University, she dated a 38-year-old doctor who liked to take her shopping for clothes. The gifts he bought her, she says, made an impression. "That's the standard you hold every guy to for the rest of your life."
How can I get people to see me for who I am on the inside? Page 214.

"When I grew up and saw the way people are, I had to adapt. It's more about your looks than anything you can do. If you are not attractive, if you are fat, you don't get seated [at a restaurant], like, in the window or outside. If you want to do what you want to do, you have to look a certain way."
What's the best way to end an unsatisfying relationship? Page 349.

She began cheating with older, more powerful men she met around Washington, and she wasn't even sure why. Maybe, she says, it was for the sheer thrill.
All brilliant stuff. But perhaps the most telling passage is this one, which demostrates why Jessica's nom de plume is dead-on.

"I had six boyfriends, and now none of the guys really want to have anything to do with me," she says. "I guess none of them really cared about me in the first place."

She's embarrassed about posting that gushy stuff on her blog about wanting to be a Jewish wife with a rock on her hand. Reading that now makes her feel very exposed. Really, she says, she can't quite imagine a life of matrimonial bonds and monogamy.

"I think people are -- and this isn't something I came up with, I heard it somewhere -- people are as faithful as their options," she says. "If you think there's no chance of getting caught or something, you'll do it. I'm sure not everyone is like that. I know that I'm that way."
Isn't that Washington in a nutshell? She can't even comprehend the idea of caring about someone else. She cheated on her steady boyfriend, was seeing six men at once, accepted money for sex, and revealed all the sordid details of her escapades on the Internet. And now she's crying because none of those men really cared about her.

Is it really a giant mystery to her why that is? I guess so.

The story closes with a fabulous snapshot of D.C. club life:

Outside the nightclub, there is a line of people waiting to get in. Jessica, who is being followed by a photographer snapping her picture for this story, sweeps past the line and heads for the bar in the basement of the club.

She has friends there waiting for her in a coveted corner table. The table is a perk some deejay has arranged. He sits next to Jessica. The club is loud. The thumping music and flashing lights are jarring. Jessica looks self-conscious as the photographer snaps frame after frame of her.

Before long, a hostess gives Jessica, her friends and the deejay some bad news: They are being dumped from their corner table. "Somebody who is going to spend a lot of money wants it," Jessica says.

She shrugs. "I never had a table before." It was cool while it lasted.
Oops... 15 minutes of fame-for-D.C. over. As Nicole Richie would say... "Love it."

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