A couple of weeks ago, an old friend and I headed to a bar for its weekly Ladies Night.We found the concept of Ladies Night — undoubtedly devised by a sly heterosexual male in order to capitalize on the myopic beer-goggling of desperate Yuppettes — somewhat repulsive, but we found the concept of free alcohol somewhat attractive.What the hell, we thought; it was about time our breasts earned their keep.

But an evening that began as a modest quest for potables soon turned into a full-fledged field study, a study designed to determine the precise level of sexual desperation in the male of the species.One gentleman told us he was a doctor and then asked us to remove our clothing. (We considered it.)Another draped an arm around each of our shoulders, imploring us not to fight over him — there was enough of him to go around. (Go around what, we wondered.)Still another wanted to know if my legs went all the way up.(Nope.)

A couple of hours passed, during which we stood in the jostling throng and protected the breasts from stray elbowing and grasping.A man we had nicknamed Juan Valdez pressed his stomach against my back for the better part of half an hour (without the benefit of a formal introduction, I might add).Fascination and disgust mingled in the Dixie cups of Bud Light we clutched so tightly; our faces duplicated the barely-disguised dismay of the Beverly Hills,90210 gang when they have to endure the musical stylings of David Silver during yet another episode.Unsuppressed belches ruffled our hair.When I got home that night, I found a finger-bruise on my right buttock.

Perhaps some of the men among the readership can enlighten me — do these human bulldozers imagine that women will find them attractive?Do they actually believe that leering and drooling will draw a woman into their lair?Or do these men think that girls, like dizzy insects, will simply bumble into the web, where the fat hairy spider scratches itself and watches pornos?

I mean, come on.I can appreciate the direct approach; I can take a compliment.But how do these guys expect me to respond to “nice ass, babe” — as a compliment?”Oh, thank you…but I’m sitting on it right now, so your face will have to take a number”?Someone, anyone, help me out here; I just can’t figure men out sometimes.

There, I’ve admitted it.Men boggle my mind.Men make quantum physics look like a Playskool jigsaw puzzle; men baffle me on a daily basis.Their gastrointestinal fortitude, for instance — I know men that can (and will) eat the same meal for ten consecutive days, out of a bowl that they have ashed into.Amazing!If possible, men will microwave anything; potpies; Cheetos; water, so they don’t have to wait for it to boil.And men boost the economy simply by existing; they would rather buy new dishes and underwear than wash their current ones.Enthralling!Plus, men (believe it or nicht) are great proponents of democracy.Just visit the home of any man; you will find sweat socks, loose change, and Stendhal’s The Red and The Black peacefully co-existing on the floor, all equally unimportant bits of detritus.Extraordinary!Why has the U.N. not been informed?

I actually don’t intend any sarcasm here.I love the tics of men, the Mario Andretti imitations in the family minivan if a man has a woman in the front seat, a man’s ability (and unquenchable desire) to install rickety shelves and load them up with eighty pounds of stereo speakerage, the I-still-have-my-hair-so-why-should-I-comb-it attitude of a man.

I also love the cocoons that men make.Inevitably, anyone with a penis and a nappy Barcalounger to call his own will build a Darth Vader pod of audiovisual stimuli, and he will sit in it for hours with his bong, eating Frosted Flakes in his underwear, cheerfully gutting an amp (or some other electronic thing which didn’t require any tinkering, but which he took apart anyhow, because he did some dishes earlier and found a Philips screwdriver in the sink).

This, then, must explain their occasional loutish behavior — boys feel threatened, exposed, outside of their pods.(Women don’t have this problem.Wherever we go, voila! le pod.Must be a Leia thing.)Within the pods, boys can remove their dark helmets, showing their scarred heads (given to them, naturellement, by women that have “tweaked out” on them); they can become Anakin Skywalkers again.Once the capsule opens, though, they become Darth Vaders — and why do women put up with it?Think about it.Darth Vader?Heavy breathing?Lots of black rubber and that long light saber?

Yeah, I’ve got it all figured out…which would explain why I haven’t gotten laid since dinosaurs roamed the earth.

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