Okay, I’m finally coming to terms with this and managed to calm my frazzled and concerned emotions enough to focus my feelings.
Oh my god, Gavin I am so here for you!!!
Er, uh, anyway…I called this shit.
Allow me to chronicle the downfall.
Exhibit A: If you’ll recall, Gavin made the moves on me (and by moves, I mean he touched my back while laughing at my jokes. Uh, hello? L. O. V. E.) and I thought at the time he appeared “slightly drunk.” He date was slumped in a chair in the corner during our seven minutes of intense sexual tension.
Exhibit B: Dakota Fanning. Seriously. I can understand stupid hos and gorgeous hos and foreign hos and even hos from outer space. But child hos? He’s no rocket scientist, but Gavin is smarter than to cavort around town with a 12 year old Republican ho-stess. Something was going horribly, horribly wrong.
Exhibit C: The blueprint is clear; when in scandal, go to rehab. Everyone does it. Gavin is hardly original. I hope to one day be famous enough to do it myself. So as soon as Gavin stood before us looking gaunt and sad and lonely and in need of my affections proclaiming himself guilty of screwing his best friend’s wife, I was all up in everyone’s face screaming, “Rehab, bitches.”
Exhibit D: I invited Barstool to my high school reunion AND my birthday party. Boozsom didn’t even RSVP. There can only be one explanation for that, folks. He was passed out in his marble tiled bathroom, unable to think of a witty Evite response.
Finally, I’m not seeing this as a huge problem in terms of re-election. Please. Carole Migden is on crack and no one’s freaking out about that. Ross Mirkarimi has 17th century conquistador facial hair. And Aaron Peskin just posed in a fucking Speedo and goggles. My god, is no one asking what pharmaceutical concoction convinced him that was a good idea?
So I say rock on, Mayor Hooch. You’re okay by me. I love you both off and on the wagon…