Mars vs. Venus: boys think with their {you-know-what}

There are many books out there concerning how differently men communicate from women. One of my favorite titles is "Men Are Like Waffles, Women Are Like Spaghetti," which has the fun yet accurate premise that men can compartmentalize their lives while, with women, everything is interwoven. I do admit to having read a bit of "Men Are From Mars, Women Are From Venus" a few years ago. There are a lot of spot-on observations in that book. But, at the heart, this fact remains: when it comes to communication, men and women really are on different planets.

On planet Mars, there are three major thoughts: sports, sex and sleep. Perhaps not always in that order, but those are consistently the top three things on men's minds. Plus there seems to be this whole black hole of the brain that allows men to think about nothing. Seriously.

Women, on the other hand, are always thinking about something, and often multiple things at once. We never have nothing on our minds. So we're mystified when we ask a man what he's thinking and he says "nothing." But it's probably true. And we're thinking about a project at work, needing to go to the gym so that we can fit into our new shorts, and we need to buy new shoes to wear with the shorts, which means we need a pedicure, which reminds us of the time we got a pedicure with our best friend and she picked out red polish even though it clashed with her dress.

So when he asks what we're thinking (assume you just started dating and he's still pretending to care) and we take him through the process, he's wondering what the score is of the baseball game and what you look like naked.

I know all this. I know men think differently and react differently and have distinctly different brains. But I still marvel at how differently we process information.

Take last week for example. I was thrilled that LB and I have found our way back to some sense of normalcy. Don't get me wrong; there's no hint of romance there. But we finally became comfortable enough with each other again to not obsess over everything we say and how it will be heard. And we spent all last week harassing each other with emails, texts and calls. It was great. I was relieved. The weirdness was gone.

Until I accidentally forwarded him an email that was completely insensitive and mean. I didn't realize it for a few moments, then I frantically tried to figure out a way to retrieve it. I imagined him opening it and getting mad. Or worse, being hurt. I obsessed about it all weekend. I laid awake two nights thinking about it. I sent him a follow-up "oops" e-mail, then a text, and never got a response.

I spent hours trying to figure out what to do. Finally yesterday I bought a card that said, "Sorry I'm a jerk." I apologized for what I said. I told him I hoped he knew me well enough to know that I'm moronic but not malicious.

Tonight he called to thank me for the card. But he was confused about the apology. Because he never opened my e-mail.

I don't know when I'll learn. Men really aren't that complicated. And unless you insult their manhood, it's hard to hurt their feelings. Which can sometimes be a good thing. Because if you can be insensitive like me, it's awesome that half of the population isn't smart enough to realize it.

Frequency = fed up

Do boys have some sort of sonar that indicates just when a girl is getting fed up? Tell me, how do males inherently know when it's time to make a phone call? Is there some sort of bat signal that indicates a heart is hardening, and that's when you dial and say something cute?

I'm guessing voicemail is a sure sign that either (a) girl has gotten a life; or (b) girl is screening your calls. And, should she be so inclined to ignore you, must you tell her that you were just thinking about her? Were you really? Because my guess is, you simply knew she took your photo off the fridge after flipping it off. You somehow figured out that, after three days of willing the phone to ring, she finally gave up and left it in the other room while working off her anger on the treadmill. Looking good is the best revenge after all.

Girl is so not calling him back. I don't care how cute his message was.

Check mate

In the words of the great Kelly Kapoor, "He's the most complicated man I have ever met. I mean, who says exactly what they're thinking? What kind of game is this?"

We women spend so much time playing games that we don't understand men who don't. We may not say what we mean, but men often do. Let's face it, between scratching, channel surfing and baseball stat memorizing, there's not enough brain matter left to figure out how to be cool.

Today's e-mail from LB: "I really appreciate your friendship. You are a great friend and I value that."

Hmmm... do you think perhaps he just wants to be friends?

Dating defeat

Boys should come with instruction manuals.

I'd love to have back all the minutes, months and years that I've spent dissecting phone calls, e-mails and notes passed in history class. When he says this, does he mean that? When he told me he'd call me, did he really mean it, or was he just being polite? Does he like me?

If only we could go back to those "check yes or no" boxes.

Tonight, I had an epiphany about men. They're not really that complicated. Unlike women, they very often do say what they mean. And while they may throw out a few polite phrases like "We should do this again sometime," or "It's not you, it's me," most of the time they're easier to read than we care to admit.

Turns out that men are either interested or they're not, but seldom are they confused about it. And when they are interested, they usually find a way to communicate that. When they're not interested, we spend days obsessing over whether they are and what they mean and when will they finally make their move when the reality is, they just don't want to date us. Why is that so hard to understand? It doesn't make us less beautiful, less intelligent, or less desirable. It does make them idiots, but then again, that's not a news flash either.

Guess you can lead a man to a restaurant, but you can't make him date.

Just a year ago, I was blogging obsessively about Mr. Friend of Friend. I spent hours trying to figure out whether he was interested when he never, ever was. At least not in me. And you know what? Life went on, and I was better off. And I remember all the very many signs that I should have seen but didn't want to.

Turns out that while love is blind, so is fleeting interest. So tonight, I vow to acknowledge dating defeat. Let's just be friends. It's not you, it's me. I just got out of a relationship. I'll call you.

No, he won't. But in the big scheme of things, why am I losing sleep over this?