Don’t get mad at me, but I’ve been thinking about breaking up with Gavin. He’s stressing me out. First, he married the robot. Then he dates Eurotrash. Finally, the guy won’t return my phone calls.
So, I’m cheating on him.
I know, I know. I don’t recycle. I only speak English. I despise vegetarians. Christ, I’m sipping on Starbucks as I type. But Matt Gonzales isn’t looking so bad right now.
Shall I compare?
Gavin, raised in Pacific Heights by servants, pretty much majored in Beer Pong and hos at my mother’s alma mater, Santa Clara.
Matt, on the other hand, was raised on the border town of McAllen, Texas and ended up at Columbia studying comparative literature and political theory before attending Stanford Law where he edited the Law Review. So, you know, there’s that.
And then, when Matt was 26, he began working as a trial lawyer for the San Francisco Public Defender, where he won 9 out of 9 life cases and was thrice jailed for contempt of court.
Gavin’s dad bought him a restaurant.
Finally, Matt lost the mayoral election by a mere 14,000 votes, yet spent an eighth of what Gavin spent and held house parties open to the public, which my friends, Gavin campaign workers, attended wearing wigs.
And uh, we don’t see Matt wandering around Boulevard with some F-list floozy talking about being naked and shit. Although, you don’t see Matt wandering Boulevard at all, which is kind of a problem for me. Oh, I’m so torn!
Gavin, win me back…