I’ve been told by a few readers that this blog is “sad” so far, and yes, the adventure of yesterday with Rushed Lifestyle Man (I won't dignify him with an alphabet letter) did sadden, frustrate and discourage me. I was feeling quite down when I wrote it, and all day afterward. But hey…according to Emily D., hope not only has feathers but “perches in the soul” --- it’s somewhere in there, or I wouldn’t be doing this at all. And meanwhile, I’m getting lessons on the human mind, and the social construction of gender and age, and good stuff like that. Plus they say that suffering is good for character, and my character could use some goodness.

One thing I do when things go wrong, besides laugh, is meditate on the larger questions, such as: what’s wrong with men, why is human communication so hard, is it my fault, how do we assess what people’s motives and characters are, and what does this all show about the meaning of life?

I’ll leave the last to you, but let’s start with views of men. It’s a given that there are going to be lots of men I won’t like and will find ridiculous. But this doesn’t mean I don’t like men. On the contrary, I find men naturally delicious, if I like them or love them, or even if I’m just attracted to them. I adored my father, I’m crazy about my brothers, feel that my grown son can do no wrong, pretty much worship the ground my three grandsons walk or crawl on, and I probably have more male friends than most women do. And let’s not even start on men I have loved romantically, every single one of whom I actually still love today (there aren’t very many). So I am far from a man-hater.

On the other hand, I do have a built-in suspicion of men in romantic or sexual situations, based on my frequent inability to read them combined with a sense of vulnerability that comes directly from liking (okay, needing) men. I’m being honest here. When it comes to these relationships, a fear of being hurt exists in direct proportion to the pleasure that men can give me, and that produces, at least in the beginning, a certain defensive cynicism along with longing -- you might even call it a hostile edge to hope. I am allergic to men who try to control me, dominate, or criticize me, because of past experience, and so when a man cuts me off when I try to take my conversational turn, or judges how I live, and so on, my tendency is to flee. I know this, but it’s very hard to distinguish when I’m being “too picky” about men, as I’ve been told I am, or just standing up for myself for the first time in my romantic life, as I want to do.

Take the telephone thing, for example: I've almost never had a good conversation on the phone with a strange man. Would it be different on the phone with a woman I've never met? Dunno, but mostly men bore me or talk at length about themselves. I've been told this is just what men are conditioned to do: impress women by showing off their knowledge or boasting about their exploits or credentials. Some of them do the opposite: being nice guys, they conscientiously ply you with questions, but they're boring questions and they tend not to listen or respond to the answers. Both of these make me want to read the New York Times while I'm on the phone with them, or poke out my eye.

It's telling that neither of the men I've most loved have been like this: they were both interested listeners and interesting talkers. But I met neither online.