Yes, Gavinites, that is our very own JesseGav disciple, Nona Morris, posing with the Gav. I’m sure you all remember Nona and the hairdoll she fashioned from hair collected on-site at City Hall. We’re sad to report that she decided against including the hairdoll in the photo op. But, she did detail the following exchange with the Gav:

Nona: Gavin! You’re my mayor! Can I take a photo with you?
Gavin: Sure…I work for you.

Sigh. The Gav cannot allude Alex and I forever.

Before I sign off, let’s address the giant, lumbering elephant in the room: Yes, it’s been exactly a month since we last posted. But, as always, we have an excellent, excellent excuse for our absence. (Remember, last time?) I don’t want to give too much away, but the reason for our absence can be explained by one or all of the following:

a.) A rip in the time-space continuum.
b.) Major, life-changing tragedy.
c.) Laziness.

Stay tuned for a gripping video account of a, b, and/or c.

–Maggie Arlington

It’s been a rough week, Gavinites. We weren’t prepared for the vitriolic response to our beer and cocktail attack on Dean of GavinSucks.com. (We were called “she-devils” and threatened with an attack from the infamous chickens.) And how could we possibly have expected such widespread coverage or linkage? (See: SFGate, SFist, SF Bay Guardian, SFPartyParty, Calitics, Left In SF, MortarBlog, Berkeley Bubble and GavinSucks.com.) Our server even temporarily crashed under the traffic surge, but the site’s back up and running. Thank goodness, because we have a very special update for you.

It was clear from his coverage of our recent encounter that Dean just didn’t get our message. We just want him to understand, that’s all. So, we decided to take things to the next level. And by “next level” I mean stalking, kidnapping and brainwashing.

(Also, note that Guy McCool has thankfully returned as our camera guy–no more missed or shaky footage! Though he is noticeably silent, due to a nasty case of laryngitis. Thanks for being such a trooper, Guy!)

Look, Katsopo-Gavinites–there’s been a lot of talk about our valiant confrontation last night with Dean of GavinSucks.com. Rest assured that I am not here to apologize for Maggie and I’s crusade at all, nor am I here to enter into all the ugly talk over whether it was a feat worthy of Magz and I’s stellar reputations. Um, when Washington crossed the Delaware, did snarky onlookers accuse him of “schoolyard antics,” or “shameless PR stunts?” No. Because he was standing up for what he believed in, and so it was with Maggie and I last night.

In short, TMathletes, we had no choice. When it comes to defending The Mayor, his BFF The Hair, or the collective locks of the unstoppable force of godlike hotness that is JesseGav…Maggie and I will absolutely go all out. It wasn’t easy to walk into a fine San Francisco establishment like Fritz and engage in a public battle for Gavin’s honor, as you know Magz and I relish our usual Wednesday night routine of homemade bean casserole and breaking out the Pledge to dust off our porcelain doll collections. But we sacrificed. We did it.

I was riding a stormy ocean of adrenaline, my delicate hands shaking as we embarked upon our heroic campaign, but as soon as I made eye contact with Dean’s smug Gavin-bashing mug, I knew Magz and I were on the side of righteousness.

You’re welcome, Katsopolistas and Gavinites. You’re welcome.

– Alex Newkirk

(Artistic Immortalization of “The Battle of JesseGavin” courtesy of TMaTH friend, “Vincent.”)

Dear Katsopo-Gavinites, we know that you’ll understand our uncharacteristic behavior depicted in the video below. Usually, we’re a pair of classy, winsome young women. But, we’re very protective of the Gav. So, when we heard that several San Francisco bloggers, including Dean of GavinSucks.com (don’t click the link, for the love of Pete!), were getting together to gripe about Gavin we knew we had to make an appearance.

And did we.

You’ll have to excuse the camera work–we’re broadcast reporters and much more comfortable in front of the camera. Plus, we were a little nervous.

After we let our feelings be known, one of the gathered bloggers yells, “That’s not cool!” You know what isn’t cool? Spleen-spewing blogs driven by pure jealousy.

–Maggie Arlington

Wow, JesseGavinites. As we’ve alluded to on The Mayor and The Hair, our Jesse cab chase left us changed women. We’ve grown from the many new experiences of our little adventure–not the least of which are our new tattoos. Magz and I had to do something to pass the time while we were in prison, and our new BFF-Behind-Bars, Lola Mae “Toughcakes” Gummit, did us the honor of carving letters into our knuckles and then grinding ballpoint pen ink into the wounds to create our very own JesseGav prison tats!

As we await clearance from our lawyers to disclose the full story, stay tuned for more about Big Lola Mae, our time in the big house, and a full report on our Jesse Cab Adventure!

Change can take years, months, weeks or days. Sometimes, though, it takes just 24 hours. We are changed women. And as a result, Katsopo-Gavinites, you are changed, too.

As detailed by our earlier video report, late Thursday night we received an instant message from a dedicated JesseGav disciple who reported that he was riding in Jesse’s cab. We immediately left in pursuit of our hirsute hottie and didn’t return until just past midnight on Friday.

It was a gut-wrenching, heart-breaking, hair raising 24 hours. We’ve been working all weekend on a video recap–stay tuned for the final product Wednesday night. Just to tide you over, we present the top ten signs that you’re riding in Jesse’s cab…

Top Ten Signs You’re Riding in Jesse’s Cab

1. The smell of Sandalwood cologne, Jesse’s signature scent.

2. The distinct crinkle of leather-on-leather coming from driver’s seat. (As we know, Jess is never without his trusty leather jacket!)

3. Upon overhearing your cellphone argument with your roommate, driver begins offering practical fatherly advice as violin music swells in the cab.

4. En route from The Mission to Bernal Heights, you find your cab mysteriously passing by Alamo Square Park. (Note: The Tanners are shown having a picnic in Alamo Square in the opening credits for Full House. But contrary to popular belief, the actual Full House house is not one of the painted ladies. A gripping expose to come soon!)

5. While passing Alamo Square Park, your driver either:

a) Slams on the gas, tearing past the park and terrified tourists while screaming, “I’ll show YOU what happened to predictability! It’s stuck driving a cab on the graveyard shift just to keep a studio apartment stocked with enough ramen to get by!”

OR

b) Slows cab down to a glacial 3 mph and cranks the Huey Lewis and the News to muffle the sounds of sobbing.

6. Driver keeps asking you if “Gavin Newsom isn’t just the best ever?”

7. Driver keeps flipping radio to only catch commericial breaks, while spewing bitter remarks about the shoddy quality of the jingles, saying things like “This is terrible, huh?” or “Who wrote this, huh? Gibbler?”

8. The rear-view mirror is adorned with a pair of fuzzy dice.

9. Your driver offers you a free ride if you can guess the Grecian island where he was born.

10. Driver desperately entreats you to come see his band play at the Smash Club.

guy here. i just meandered over to maggie’s apartment to see how the gals were doing. only to find the front door left unlocked and the apartment deserted. the video recording left on maggie’s laptop explains it all. in the interest of breaking news, i thought I’d throw this video up. it’s what the gals would want.

an update is imminent, i’m sure. keep it mccool.

–guy mccool

Check the offending article for yourself. But don’t say we didn’t warn you.

Greetings, my beloved TMathletes! This post is a joyous occasion for me, and I say that for several reasons. For one, it officially ends the two week vacation that Magz and I took after the success and, let’s face it, awesome feat of our first public appearance. We hope the videos were enough to curb your JesseGav appetites during the hiatus. Now we can all stop fighting the rabid monkey of frequent TMaTH updates on our backs, and something tells me the Boys will be keeping us busy!

But the real reason my cheeks are all aglow with the hot flush of excitement is that this morning, as I ventured out to get my weekly grocery shopping done before all the unsavory St. Paddy’s madness hit the streets, I had a bit of an amorous encounter on Muni. With a man. With a mulleted man.

Let me break down the thrill for you:

Now I know all the ladies out there will understand the situation I found myself in. It was early on a Saturday morning, and I was just heading over to Safeway to stock up on enough canned tuna and Cheez-Its to last me through another workin’ week. I was also hoping it’d be a 2-for-1 kitty litter day, but that was about all I was expecting in the way of thrills.

Anyway, I was minding my own business on the Muni train when I noticed a strange, unfamiliar sensation take hold of me. I looked to my left. Nothing. Looked to my right. There it was. Or, rather, there he was.

Yes, there, amidst the morning public transit flotsam of sleepy shoppers and the hungover throngs, was said fine specimen of a man with said mullet totally checking me out.

Now, normally, I actively discourage any such behavior. My daily transit on crowded Muni trains has inured me to their tendency to feel a bit like a hormone-soaked slow dance in the last few hours of prom–all the chess-like exchange of eye contact, and the close quarters in a sea of sweaty strangers–fueled by the desperation of their commutes back to perpetually empty apartments.

It’s enough to make me button up my trench coat like a London Fog brand chastity belt/suit and emit a constant toneless hum to ward off potential suitors. There have been times when the ol’ up-and-down glance onslaught has forced me to resort to swaying and erratic blinking, but desperate times…

Besides, a lady never knows who might be around! What if my Muni route happened to cross with that of The Gav, and my sweet Mayoral Dreamboat were to witness me encouraging the visual devouring of my flesh like some sexually deviant peacock displaying his feathers through his studded leather thong? No, thank you. I shudder to think of Gavin getting the wrong idea about me. Despite his missteps, I know that deep down he desires to date a gal with her maidenhood intact, like myself. It hasn’t always been easy saving myself, but such is the fortitude required with the gift I can only give once.

But I digress. This particular man was able to shoot through my defenses like a sniper perched on the cliff of my libido. His proverbial rifle? The staggering caliber of his hair. My Mystery Man may have only been 5′2″, tops, but he gained at least three inches from the masterfully gelled layers of his mullet–the poof of his feathered bangs reaching toward the sky on a stiff ladder of hairspray. His silver locks were like an icy frozen fountain of sexual energy spouting from his scalp in a tuft of heavenly perfection. Allow me to explain:

And that was just the business in the front. The party in the back was, in a word, staggering. The locks reached a good six inches down his back in a layered succession of gleaming white locks as tasty as any wedding cake I have ever laid eyes on. I use the icing metaphor intentionally, as his outfit underneath this crown of style was impeccable. Black leather bomber jacket. Purple dress shirt. Shiny navy skinny tie. Black slacks…wait for it…pleated.

Now, like I said, I usually do all I can to spurn such cavalier advances as someone wiggling their eyebrows suggestively in my general direction. But given the clear Uncle Jesse-inspired coiffure and dress of the man before me…I let his general deliciousness sign him a one-way ticket to Flirtville. Population: Alex Newkirk.

That’s right. I surpressed the urge to pull my rape whistle from its chain beneath my shirt. I met the gaze of this Hair Hunk-lite head on, and I held that gaze for a good second before intently digging through my purse, examining my cell phone and punching random keys as through I were texting, and donning my signature big sunglasses.

But I learned that while I wait for destiny to bring me together with the true Hair Hotties, the fish in the sea can offer something in the way of a nice, thrilling snack. I hope my romantic caper will remind us all that matters of the heart can cause us to catch a veritable Hang Ten through the humdrum waves of life. And what a ride, readers. What a ride.

– Alex Newkirk