Battle of the Sexes

It has become apparent to me that the infamous Battle of the Sexes is slowly turning into World War III, present company included. Being a Sex and the City addict and watching a couple episodes a night is starting to take a toll on my hormone levels. What should be the regular daily amounts of the female hormones estrogen and progesterone are nearly tripled while watching the girls find love, lose love and bitch about love, all in one night. It's a bit excessive, I know, but in a world that's obsessed with finding, and more importantly---keeping love, it's all I'm getting for the time being. I know you all probably think I'm the Queen Mum of Man Hating, but you are sorely mistaken. And here's my disclaimer to prove it: I don't hate men.

But it's not just the women who are drivin' the tanks, men are just as busy packing their muskets (or whatever guns are used during wartime these days) to prepare to fight back the opposite sex. A friend of mine turned the tables on the usual man-bashing and created his own female-bashing, after being forced to watch, gasp, Sex and the City, episode after episode on a bus trip to New York City. I don't know if he hated it to serve and protect the ego of himself and his fellowman from the subject matter of girls having lunch or if he truly hated girls, after watching them be honestly represented within the four main characters. The truth is, not all women are like that, however, most are. Maybe it was the harsh truth of what we were really like that offended him and that he could no longer view us within his masculine perception of what a woman is and should be. Maybe he should tune into Desperate Housewives for an encore.

It's hard for me to believe that the rift between men and women is widening, yet again. Instead of fighting over every last nickel and penny, we should be standing together with the freedom provided to us to do everything we want to do, regardless of what's between our legs. When will we realize that we're not so different after all? We all share the common forces of human nature that drive us to do crazy things, like fall in love.

We are not perfect. And I'm certainly the prime candidate for imperfection. I'm moody and jealous, selfish and sad. I eat inbed and don't shower on a regular basis. I have too many pairs of shoes, holes in my jeans and watch Roseanne. The list could go on and on and on, but my point is, perfection is not love. I know how to love and I know how to be loved and I want a man who can do the same.

Normally I would end this by saying such a man doesn't exist but I want to get off the train to Bittertown, USA and board one to happiness instead.