Sunday, November 14, 2010


I don't understood the male species. While women were always deemed to be the weaker sex; I often thought males were the simpler ones. They seemed to be content in their recliners, sipping their beer....watching their sports on the enormous t.v they bought to compensate for whatever they lacked. Throw in a scratch of the genitalia and men seemed to be in a form of their own heaven.

As I grow older, I find that isn't the case.

These days, men seem to speak their own language. What's worse is that they expect women to decode it. Where once apon a time, men sought after women with a force that was usually reserved for the hunting and gathering of food; the tide has turned and women are the ones chasing after men. We are not only paying a great deal of attention to what men are saying, but we are deciphering what they aren't saying. My generation of women have turned into their own version of CIA decoders. As much as we break down every grunt, look, and shrug; we could easily work for Homeland Security.

I can see the conversation now:

Mr. President. We have certain intelligence that suggests Al-Queida will be attacking the wheat fields of Wisconsin soon.

The wheat fields? Are you sure?

Yes sir. We are positive. According to our sources, the planes are en route even as we speak.

How in the world did you figure that out? You must have had every high ranking military linguist working on this. I bet you had the best in the field on this assignment!

No sir. We didn't need them. We just pulled a couple of 30-something year old single women out of the dating pool. They were able to decode it in no time.

I long for the days where a guy would come up to you and simply state how much he liked you. He would take your hand and say, "Be mine. I want to get to know you." Instead, all we get is, "Well, sure. I like ya."

What the hell does that mean? So, you like me? Does the liking me include long walks on the beach? Do I need to find out your favorite movie? Should I be prepared to cook you meals? Am I, at the very least, going to be able to see you naked in the next decade?

These are all important questions to a 34-year-old single woman with two kids, such as myself.

Men don't seem to get that. To them, "I like ya", means "You may have a shot. At some point. But, right now I am busy trying to reach that itch under the left testicle that has been bothering me all day. Can I get back to you tomorrow?"

Tomorrow in man-time is actually next week.

A few weeks ago, bothered by the fact that the object of my desire was not being clear in his intentions, I set out to see exactly how this man felt about me. If I couldn't get him to say what his intentions were during a conversation on the phone......or in a text.....or email.....or smoke signals, I was hell bent on seeing him face to face. My reasoning behind the visit was to judge how he looked at me. A girl can usually tell if a man has some sort of interest by the way he gazes apon her.

At least that's my opinion.

I left our meeting feeling satisfied that this man did like me. The vibe he gave off was one of interest. Interest in me, of what I had to say, and even in what I was wearing. I thought "Goody, we are on our way."

No. Actually we are not on our way. At some point, our train of communication has derailed. I'm not sure when it happened, why it happened, or how it happened. I take that back. I know how it happened. The phone calls stopped. The texts stopped. There were no emails.

And I haven't received a single smoke signal in weeks.

Not sure how to get my train back on line and pulled into the station, my only recourse is to leave well enough alone. I figure I am a fabulous enough catch, that someone will jump onto the train and get the engine of communication going once again.

Unless Al-Quieda needed it to get to the wheat fields. If that's the case, then I'm screwed.

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