Battle of the Sexes

Long ago, I recognized that there are many things about men I will never understand. Professional wrestling is only the beginning. There’s also that whole being a jerk so that your significant other will break up with you rather than uttering the words "this isn’t working," fantasy football, refusing to go to the doctor even when a bone is sticking out of the skin, and thinking that Joey would have been better off with James Van Der Beek’s character on "Dawson’s Creek." But, in general, I’m willing to write up most of these idiosyncrasies as being similar to ours (i.e. women). I mean, brunch maybe a somewhat nonsensical meal, but I will continue to love it more than the others, make special plans around it, and wait two hours for an eggs Benedict on Sunday. Most likely, I will probably also love throw pillows (and lots of them) for the rest of my life, insist that women’s magazines do not repeat the same topics over and over again ad nauseam, and believe that Hugh Laurie’s character on "House" is an actual "person" who I need to stick up for at the tiniest inkling of criticism. But, I don’t think I will ever understand the idea of a "fight club." Aren’t football and lacrosse enough? Is it really necessary to boil it all down to simply wailing on one another in a dirty, abandoned space? (Dirt and blood - I just don’t get it. And, on anther note, this was the subject of last night's "Cold Case" to clarify why it's even on the brain.) Even if I really, really wanted to hit someone, I certainly wouldn’t want them to hit me back. (Dear God, that could be painful...or cause scarring. I really like my face, and I really like the absence of hurt.) If I’m upset, I usually watch "Steel Magnolias" until I’m sobbing during the funeral scene, Internet stalk, drink red wine, or shop for shoes. And, while these activities certainly lack "normal" logic for dealing with strong emotion, they rarely involve overt physical confrontation. (Admittedly, I did have a close encounter over some clearance priced BCBGirls boots a few weeks ago, but it was diffused long before the punch-throwing point of no return.) I acknowledge that pain can provide a release, but doesn’t that make fight club just like "cutting," bulimia, and other self-destructive behaviors? And, even if we are willing to say that of course a fight club displays some sort of unhealthy pathology, that still doesn’t explain the cult-like following to the movie of the same name. After all, I have yet to see anyone as anxious to emulate Tracy’s Gold’s character from Lifetime’s "For the Love of Nancy" as people are to try on Brad Pitt’s "Fight Club" role. So, I guess we end up with the fact that I don’t understand men, and possibly on a related note, that I am still single.