Our species is hilarious� I mean without the ability to use our �higher-consciousness� to fantasize, equivocate, hope, settle, and just generally fool ourselves into a reasonable and mostly wonderful acceptance�we�d be like the panda. Already shit out of luck or soon to be.

Let�s start with men today and work our way to how gals deal with them tomorrow, and then in the final chunk, we�ll try and wrap the two in a package, OK?

Do note that YerSauce doesn�t attempt (or actually have) the utter stupidity to try and categorize those of you in the Distaff Crew. Having never been female or been self-aware and introspective enough to have tried to have thought like one wouldn�t help in the least either.

For the sake of the coming text, let�s pretend that there are four prototypical mens out there, shall we? [Raving-Generalizations-From-Hell Inbound, So Get Ready�DatSauceGuy feels �em about to spout forth.]

Type One:

James Dean-Stylee�

Your Sauce�s best pal of the last (SHIT!) 20 years is a case in point. Let�s call the boy Graf�as DatSauceGuy does and that is vague enough for the local purpose. Graf has all the things that make a-human-being good-folks. He�s got intellect, he has heart, he has a general ability to make those around him comfortable, and he is a person you can trust with your life. Maybe not your wife, certainly not your girlfriend, shit, not even your daughter�if she looks above say, 15... but your life? Sure. And the dames? He�ll just borrow them. He�s good like that. My friend is a slut. Everything else about him (minus a now and again propensity for binge-drinking) is completely and absolutely golden. There isn�t a mean bone in his body. He always intends to do the right thing. Sometimes his frontispiece gets ahead of him is all?

Now that isn�t to say that your diarist is dogging the boy (he�s dog enough on his own.) Many guys would consider him the worst sort of fellow�as they would have the one area that they are already most threatened by dames (The Holy Of Holies--in both the Yoni and the Lingam form) threatened once again by Graf and their gal (prospectively.) But the guy doesn�t intimidate your intrepidly ink-stained chronicler�DaSauce loves him to death, even with his one major foible.

Graf�s got that dangerous rock-star bass-player outer layer, periodically-emotive-creamy-center that lets him write lyrics, and just enough wildly-almost-tamable prospect to tempt the most hardened woman�s heart.

[Graf-I-Mas�if you are reading this later due to some strange twistsicle of fate? Forgive me; you may have gained in the following--of late. Grin.]

The funny part? Your diarist has it on multiple accounts from trusted acquaintances that weren�t even asked�as they know that DaSauceGuy doesn�t give a rat�s assets one way or the other� All in all, he�s a dull-lay. Go figure.

Type Two:

Stand-Up-Guy

I have another long-time acquaintance that would be up for the safe, gentlemanly and boring role in our passion play. Predictable, a fine fellow, a man�s man. Sporty even. But dull as shit to all the dames around him. He would have been destined to never have a relationship if not for the older gal who used him as a lifeline (and may well be sleeping around on the poor bastard.) But, now he has three kids (not his own�but he is wonderful with them,) he has a picket fence, and is still colorless other than being a good and true person.

Type Three:

EmoBoy.

He�s the girl�s girl in Y-Clothing. This person is-or-isn�t gay�and it doesn�t matter� He is there for the sharing. Having your ups and downs? EmoBoy to the rescue. Want to shop for clothes? He�ll be there. Need a bit of extra discussion on Sylvia Plath, David Seddaris, Herman Hesse, Tom Robbins, the poems of Dickenson or that annoying and sad, scary poet-woman who finally off�d herself in the sixties? Want to go dancing with someone who just wants to dance, and it probably is not just about your pants? This is the guy for you (in that moment.)

Type Four:

Good Ol� Boy

This guy isn�t from the South (necessarily.) He doesn�t give a shit about being a stand-up guy, he wishes he were James Dean--and hasn't a chance in Hades' Outer Rings, and the prospect of even having a thought like EmoBoy would have him out beating up fags. Yes. Yer-proto-sadly-typical asswipe male. His daddy hit him and his mom�either physically or mentally. He�ll probably do more of the same. He likes to hang out with his boys, and prefers stopping at a bar to going home. Strip-clubs are not couples joints on a lark to this man. His truck/car/boat, et al, is his mistress. He never got past the childish aspects of his world. He might try to be a provider, as his boys would shame him otherwise�He probably hits his kids less than his dad did. He really pines away for the ten minutes of feeling manly that he had in High School or College where he got to get a bunch of butt-pats from his buds for his football/baseball/whatever moment of glory. When he isn�t too liquored or beered or smoked up, and can get it up�he generally gives �his woman� five-minutes that she may or may not begin to enjoy and rolls over and snores.

Most of us resemble (in the majority of our traits--one or two of the above.)

Sauce thinks he has a strange concatenation of three of them�but that isn�t the point here.

In the coming section, it is your diarist�s hope that his introspection about males will lead to something of an explanation of how those of us who are semi-self-aware (the most an oafish male can manage) are taught to try to be Type I for the purposes of getting laid in a weird feedback loop, are taught that they should be Type II by our society, and try-as-they-might fail miserably to be what they see as helpful to their female counterparts with bits of Type III. Stranger even will be the noting of how very confusing it is to try and track the proper timing of each for the gal we love.

Because admit it or not, every female I�ve ever had a relationship with wants those three guys and never on a predictable or even communicable timing.

What is funny is that�some of us are those three guys to varying degrees within our own morality and ability�and find the games-woman-ship that accompanies a mating dance a rather dumb endeavor.

--DaSauceMayJustBePissingInTheWindOnThisStuff

PS. Not to be political--as this is parenting and sometime introspection�but would it be overly paranoid to believe that the recent Higher State Of Alert might be to push/scare those who are on the edge into favoring war?

Further, tonight�s weird link is the Patriot Act II (and I am very sorry to see the word patriot used with such a despicable loss of our basic freedoms.) Shit heads.