Tattoodle

The cry heard throughout the land:  Noooooooo!  Seconded by: Ewwwww!  Followed by: Ickkkkkkkkk!  We feel cheated and taken advantage of and wronged on so many levels.  How could he?  How dare he?  How stupid could he be? 

I'm not talking about John Edwards.  Pre-Rielle, I admit it, I swooned when I saw him up close.  I'm talking about Jesse James, the tattooed biker.
Women everywhere are aghast.  We may not find him hot, the way Sandra Bullock does, but we love her so much, who cares.  When she hooked up with Jesse, we said, okay, it doesn't quite compute.  But we went with it, didn't we, gals?  We found this odd couple charming and from all appearances, deeply in love. We nervously gave them our stamp of approval.  We kept our fingers crossed.  I mean, she did marry a man with an outlaw's name.  Risky move! 

And now that things have taken a turn, are we surprised?  Uh, no.  Not really.  Not at all.  The rumor that Jesse had an affair with a tattoed stripper doesn't shock us. It makes us cringe, however.  It makes us mad.  We'd like to run him over with our Harleys.  We certainly hope bad stuffs happen to him.

The whole episode saddens me.  I've endured my fair share of public humiliation -- that time I tripped in front of Spago and sprained my ankle comes to mind -- and I can tell you, it's no fun.  And now she's got that Oscar curse haunting her.  Win an Oscar, lose a man.  That's gotta suck.  In time, Sandy B. will be fine.  Either she'll forgive Jesse or park his ass in the garage of shame and move on.  Whatever she does, I want her to know that the SJG is here for her. Gimme a call. I've got your back, Sandy, even if Jesse James, the big dope, has turned away.