She will be mine.

Oh yes.

Well Rosario Dawson has apparently been ensorceled by a guy who is merely talented…

…and prosperous…

…and has that kind of surreal, bi-lateral Aryan symmetrical handsome thing usually not found outside of 1939 German Heroic Propaganda posters.

Ah, Rosie.

And Lucy Liu’s bodyguards (Hey, Duane. Hey, Ray-Ray) have threatened to switch over from rubber bullets to buckshot and up the amperage on their Tas-O-Matics if I persist.

So just when it looked like my chances of making a little time with a celebrity personage who stands tall in my fantasy Universe would begin and end with the afternoon when I had fast, bad sex in accidental proximity to a “Charlie’s Angels” lunchbox…this pops out of the ether.

Lance Armstrong & Sheryl Crow Split

February 3, 2006

In another shocking celebrity breakup, LANCE ARMSTRONG and SHERYL CROW have split, according to People magazine. The seven-time Tour de France bicycling champion and the rockstar musician got engaged in September 2005, when Armstrong proposed to Crow in Sun Valley, ID, not long after he retired from the pro circuit in July. He and Crow officially became an item back in early 2004.

"After much thought and consideration we have made a very tough decision to split up. We both have a deep love and respect for each other and we ask that everyone respect our privacy during this very difficult time," a joint statement released to People through Armstrong's spokesman read.

…

I don’t mean to make light: Breakups are enormously painful, and when every pinching, nerve-scraping nuance of it is played out in the public eye, it's got to be so very much worse.

Seems like everyone I know has just lost someone or is on their way to losing someone, one way or another. And unless the person you loved has so completely mutated into a rabid mako that you feel nothing but relief at their leaving and they cast not the slightest shadow of pleasant nostalgia for even the one or two good times you had, there is no way you can have that talk, or make that mignight move, or take that million-mile walk down the crowded hall at the county court house without something dying inside.

That being said, I have always had a thing for Sheryl Crow (and although as a rule I don’t know or give a shit about the comings and goings and scandals and diets of the pretty famous famous/pretty, there was always something faintly “Monroe/DiMaggio” about her marriage to Lance Armstrong. So I'm figuring -- hehehe -- that maybe she's up for a writer next time around.)

And I will certainly let a respectful interlude elapse before making my move, but that, it turns out, is a very tricky business. In my life I have already let more than one opportunity for happiness (or at least naughty good fun) slip by while I was busy being gentlemanly-concerned about the well-being of recently singled women friends.

Let’s say, for the sake of conversation, that one such occasion takes place on a Tuesday.

Well attracted to her or not, a gentleman doesn’t start pitching product while she’s tearful, raw and vulnerable. Opportunistic diseases rush in and feast on fresh wounds, but gentlemen do not. Period.

And then on, say, that Thursday, she’s all perky and abubble and happy as hell about this new guy she just met…

Idiot!

So timing here is critical, and I have learned my lesson about the fate of he who waits.

So does this make me a common rebound whore?

C'mon, is the Pope German? Does Bobo shit in his shoes and then wonder where that poo smell is coming from?

That being said (and see how Honest and Trustworthy I am) one thing I can promise you, Sheryl, is that I would never, ever pressure you to wear a Ciclosport HAC4 Heart Monitor/Altimeter/Computer


Or a Polar Cadence Sensor

In the boudoir.

Unless, of course, you’re into that.