Last week I expressed my SHOCK at Mayor Gavin Newsom’s unfortunate engagement. In the interest of healing, I’ve decided to detail my seven stages of grief. Perhaps, in writing about this horrible turn of events, I will finally be able to move on and get on with my life. This week, I present to you DENIAL and ANGER. And don’t forget, you’ve got BARGAINING, GUILT, DEPRESSION and ACCEPTANCE coming soon!
Stage 2: DENIAL
My soulmate is going to have some high society, Carneros vineyard, valet parking, organic food, open bar wedding, where he stands at the end of some manicured lawn in front of 600 of his nearest and dearest watching the apparent love of his life walk down the aisle?
And somehow, it won’t be me?
I find this hard to believe.
It’s like the Earth has fallen off her axis. This is not God’s will. We’re in bizarro world.
Maybe it’s not really happening and this is some way of distracting us from the fact that he’s about to fire a bunch of people no one cares about anyway.
What kind of engagement is announced by an uptight, chain-smoking, bespectacled, “close” friend of the couple, event planner? The fake kind!
Stanlee Gatti? That’s who breaks this devastating news? This is the sort of thing we’d want to hear from Walter Cronkite, it’s so earth-shattering.
War, assassination, famine, genocide, Gavin engaged?
Yeah, I don’t want Stanlee Fucking Gatti to be the one to break the news. Call me crazy, I need a slightly more reliable source. Perhaps someone who doesn’t have their florist on speed-dial. Is that asking too much?
I’m sure Swiss Miss and her cadre of “girl’s girls” are all aflutter, pouring over back issues of Martha Stewart Living Weddings and stockpiling Dexatrim. Well, fine. Let them plan their fake wedding and its sly attempt to distract us from far bigger problems.
Like all of the things that could and WILL happen to prevent this disaster from taking place. There are wagons, folks. And people fall off them. Most likely into the arms of loose-moraled blogger. Hey, I can pass out on a doorstep any day of the week and twice on Sunday.
I’ll believe it when I see it.
Step 3: ANGER
After all I’ve done for Gavin he’s going and marrying someone else. Year after year of swooning over him and his stupid hair products, defending him to any hippie who’d listen, maintaining a polite and court-required distance of 100 yards at all times.
And Princess stabs me in the back.
I’m livid! I’m horrified! Quite frankly, I’m offended!
How dare he watch network television, much less get engaged to an actress from a show no one watches.
And to think, I would’ve done anything for him. Put up with his boring friends? No problem. Pretend to love hobos? Done. Set foot in Matrix? Uh…are the drinks comped?
Anyway, I think this whole engagement thing is some passive-aggressive way of getting back at me for making fun of his…well, everything.
Gavin! I’m just teasing! It’s how I flirt!
But this? Spending the rest of your life with Bee Saver? Please.
I’ve stuck by fratboys’s ass through booze and bimbos, hobos and hair gel. And this is how Gavin chooses to repay me. That’s just great.
Fine. Get married. Again. See if I care.
Maybe this one won’t make inappropriate jokes about your package in public. Maybe this one won’t immediately give birth to some gay’s child. Maybe this one won’t be from the planet Zeldar.
Aw, who’m I kidding.
I give it a year. Two max.