MEN ARE FROM URANUS

Men: alien species, genetic mutations animal,vegetable, mineral? The more I think about it, the less I seem to know. It's like a vast research project that I'll never finish. My brain teems with all the conflicting..my father, my brother, crush-worthy friends of the family, my supposed first boyfriend- the nasty, moody son of a Baptist minister-art fags, college buddies, men I hung out with in the goth/punk/new wave clubs I sometimes inhabitated, and all my male friends, foes, loves, acquaintances, past and present. I seem to have much unfinished business with men, and a need to figure them out. My nature is inquisitive, I just have to know and understand everything and men perplex me far more than women.

My friend told me an amusing quote she heard from a friend of a friend. This woman said, " men are like rubiks cubes, boring and frustrating, but you fuck with them anyway." We laughed. Most of the time I don't find them boring, sometimes very frustrating, but I fuck with them because I enjoy it. Sartre said that when we make assumptions about a whole group of people, when we say we know them, understand them, it is at that moment we stop truly precieving them. There was a time in my life that I let that happen. For a time I ceased to percieve men. Well I was sick of men I had endured enough damage and heartbreak at their hands, I used it as my ticket out of testosterone-land.

I now strive to view people as individuals, regardless of gender. Everyone is a mixed bag. Some men are evil and so are some women. People of both genders can be assholes and do rotten stuff. So I embarked on a rigorous research project. My subject: the other half of the species. Like a mad scientist, I'd get these rare flashes of brilliance, and feel so clever as I unearthed some likely hypothesis to explain them. It was at these moments that I became convinced I had them pegged: I knew what made them tick, I knew all the buttons to push, I knew how to turn them on and off, manipulate their self intrest, control them on the deftness of a seasoned dominatrix. I felt so smug and self-satisfied as I'd flex my bitch-goddess muscles.

I was just starting to sing" I know what boys like" at just about the moment I fell on my ass, knocked off my femme top pedestal by some maddeningly unpredictable behavior on the part of some man. Damn! Then I'd have to start all over again, feeling like some pathetic little slave girl who'd crawl on my hands and knees to worship at the secret shrine of black leather jackets, black jeans, combat boots, and sweat.

Their remoteness and ability to keep emotional distance confounds me and facinates me. I covet the cool, the edge, the detachment, and the icy silence that some men seem to possess, while I feel like a open book, some kind of transparency, with my heart on my sleeve. Anyway, I'll be continuing my, ahem, experiments. I'll probally never totally understand men, but I plan to have some fun gathering my research.