Hello there, kids! Welcome back to this week's spine-tingling episode of "Bitch and Moan with STU!" Just when you thought I couldn't get more bitter and disturbed, I think I have premenstrual syndrome. I know, I know, the so-called "doctors" at Pickens said the same thing, "I didn't tell you to take your pants off." They also said, "Men can't have PMS, you barely even have ovaries." After checking their charts further, they decided that I might not have ovaries at all, and gave me seven green lozenges and a dental dam. But I swear, the bloating and water retention have become ridiculous. Maybe it's that 24-pack of kitchen sponges I swallowed last night, but I'd like to think it's chemical.
Unfortunately, I was forced to drop chemistry freshman year when a professor made an uninvited pass at me with an Erlenmeyer flask, so I don't really know what this "chemical" thing is all about. I just chalk it up as one of the countless mysteries that will keep the sexes from ever understanding what the hell the other sex is thinking, at all times, in all situations. I know this subject is about as original as an episode of "Suddenly Susan," but I am constantly amazed at how utterly different women and men are. I'm not talking about little differences, like internal or external genitalia ("little" as in "insignificant," not "little" as in "small"-nervous laugh). I'm saying that women and men are so different, or as they say in a freshman English class, "So displaced within a polarized dichotomy," that they can't even communicate with each other in the simplest of ways. Take this encounter I witnessed yesterday on the bus:
Woman: Excuse me, can you move back?
Man: Do I have "The Pack"?
Woman: No, you're stepping on my foot!
Man: You have a bizarre foot fetish and want to step on my butt for an hour?
Woman: Whatever, I'm outta here! [exit]
Man: Yeah, I think Jenny McCarthy's talented, too. She really does deserve a major network program.
Bus driver: Kill me.
I wish that my modest column could somehow bring us all together in peace and understanding, but my discussion of the sexes, although poignant and reflective at times, is admittedly biased. Other than that brief stint freshman year when I had a penchant for hot pants and fishnet stockings, I've always been a man. And as a man, my brain is so clouded with food, sex and television that I don't have the mental capacity to understand women, even if I wanted to-which I really don't.
For example, let's go back to the subject I mentioned before, "PMS and other menstruation-related activities." This whole genre is about as clear to me as the rules and purpose of cricket. As I understand it, the menstrual cycle is 28 days long, except for every seventh year, when an entire extra month of cramping and bloating must be added to account for the gradual cooling of the Earth's crust and the existence of The Spice Girls, who are the Anti-Christ. However, no woman's cycle is the same. So at any given time, some woman you know has the potential for being visited by "Cleopatra's Curse," at which point they will swing from Gidget-like elation to Ani DiFranco-like contempt before you can say "Midol." Any verbal or physical abuse that may result from this chemical rollercoaster is therefore "not their fault," much like the SS were "just following orders."
Now, it's not totally impossible for a man to relate to the overwhelming power of hormones. There were times during my early teenage years when the delivery of the Sears catalogue meant more than just spectacular savings on thousands of brand name appliances, if you know what I mean (wink-wink, nudge-nudge, masturbation). The difference is that the influence of male hormones is fairly harmless (if watching "USA Up All Night" on a regular basis can be considered harmless), while the terrifying mood altering power of female hormones is pure evil. How's that for biased?!
Obviously, I'm no Dr. Ruth. For starters, I'm not a freaky little Austrian midget with the sex appeal of Janet Reno. And like most men, when it comes to women, I'm about as ignorant as Forest Gump on Jeopardy. So I guess we're stuck in our different worlds; men from Mars, women from Venus and relationships from Hell.
DISCO STU is a sensitive '90s type and a Pisces.
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