Did y’all read today’s Chronicle? I promise I’m going to take a break from all this Gavin malarkey just as soon as he stops giving me glorious fodder. I mean really. This is the first sentence of the article: “San Francisco Mayor Gavin Newsom has said he might not run for re-election next year because he occasionally lacks passion for the job and is frustrated by the impact it has on his social life.”
Er. Uh. What?
Oh, but wait. According to Gavin, being the mayor of San Francisco “is the worst job in the United States of America.”
Er. Uh. What?
Finally, in a hilarious turn of events, DiFi pointed out that she was mayor for 9 years and was apparently, really lonely. Um, I don’t think it was because of your job, hon. She’s planning on giving Gavin a call for a long overdue heart-to-heart. Dear god, please let his phone be bugged so this will one day become public record.
Okay. Where to begin?
#1. Gavin, I adore you with a profound unspeakable depth, and please know that I say this with love and respect: Cry me a fucking river. You were photographed sprawled on a gauche rug with your wife clad in the kind of dress purchased for a discreet weekend in Vegas and you’ve spent the past few months with a hostess named Brittanie who’s still learning her state capitals. Way to stay under the raydar. Hey, it could be worse.
#2. The worst job? Where? Oh, the United States. Of America. Thanks for clarifying. Well, I certainly wouldn’t know as I’ve never been Mayor of anything, but I’ve known a lot of Mayors and it isn’t that bad. Cleaning up suicides? Now there’s a shitty job. Try being Paris Hilton’s publicist. Or, oh, I don’t know, how about a closeted gay soldier about to be shipped off to Iraq. Again. That might suck, too. Reality check, pretty boy. You get to affect positive change on a daily basis and a chauffer.
#3. If Gavin needs someone to vent to, I’m always available. I can wear matronly pearls and heavy wool suits, nodding understandingly and referencing 1980’s city policy. And unlike DiFi, I haven’t fucked up any major serial killer cases. Plus, I can offer my plain-talkin’, undying-adoration, old-enough-to-drink advice, consisting of “Maybe you need a vacation. And you know, you shouldn’t go alone…”