I apologize for the typos and ortography mistakes in my previous post. English is not my mother tongue. The last paragraph must be read like this.

If you can't stand someone who loves clean women, please don't try to date him. Try to date someone who doesn't love clean women. And learn that other people can have different opinions than yours. This is called "tolerance". It is that easy.

Fine letter, Cary. And very fine response, particularly regarding the connection between dirt and earth.

I am not a clean woman. I think I have a moldy teacup or two in my bed as of this writing, there is an ashtray overflowing with cigarette butts, and I think there is a leaf in my hair from the other day.

I am good, however. This I know.

Last week, rather coincidentally, I tried to go to bed with a man I have been seeing. I was on my period, the rag, the Aunt Flo was visiting, many a euphemism conceals things. Like what's a new couple to do?

He tells me, with not a little lust, "I want to go down on you."

And I, smirking, say "Probably not a good time."

And his smile goes. And mine does too.

This led into a bitter, humiliating argument about what blood really is and how foul, how perverse that it comes out of one's (oh excuse me, half of one's) nethers. How shameful in some way to be so morally lax as to allow fucking BLOOD to come OUT OF YOU. Goddamn Curse, goddamn war scar, this axe wound itches Mommy can I stitch it up?

"Please, understand," he says helplessly, "It is NOT YOU! It is ME! Blood means things to me! It means death! It means war!"

I'm speechless with anger. He suggests alternatives. Not mini-golf or watching a movie either.

Sexual hypocrisy runs deep and strange, dear Salon writers and readers, deep and strange indeed. And while I agree (who likes stained sheets, really?) that it is not always what it seems, sometimes it is exactly what it seems.

Cleanliness, along with punctuality, is one of those things that I just cannot fathom being connected so deeply in the human psyche to morality. If you are good you are neat and on time. If you are bad you are messy and late.

Well...fine. Until a man lets me bleed all over him, he is no man at all.

I wasn't saying "Go down on me, male fiend, though I do leak copious crimson!"

I was saying, darnit are you sure you just want a blow job? That sucks.

You know the Hell's Angels give out "Crimson Wings" for men that go down on menstruating women, for the shape the bloody thighs imprint on their face. That's pretty hot.

...I have just made at least six of you ill with that image. Hello, modernity!

When looking that up on Urban Dictionary. Just a sample, and please be aware I AM QUOTING:

5. Red Wings

86 up, 34 down

1)The act of sacrificing ones honor and dignity to ingage in deep vaginal oral sex during a woman's period.

2)Taking a blood bath and gargling during.

3)Licking and fucking a bloody pussy and liking it.

4)Placing ones self in harms way for a buddy.

Karen has a bloody pussy and Tommy did not want to fuck and eat her. I stepped in to be his wingman and there was a ton of sucking and fucking to be had. I earned my "Red Wings" that night with Combat V.

NOTE: You must requal monthly to hold this statis. There will be a week window to do this in every month. Don't be a Bitch, earn your wings.

***

Now we can argue among our literate, upper middle class selves whether this is a common phenomenon or something just enjoyed by perverts and plebes. Count me in!

He wants to make sure you clean your house.

I fear you are indeed going to have to go the "foreign bride" route if you are unable to let go of your OWN bitterness. I hope she gets her greencard fast and doesn't dump you soon after.

She is from Puerto Rico, her family originally Spanish. Been in the states a decade but cherishes the values and mores of PR, not of the States.

AND SHE IS NOT BITTER!

Someone disparaged me that I had commented I was into 'HOT' women.

By 'hot', I meant not necessarily pretty, but a confident GGG person-- good, game, giving, in Dan Savage parlance.

You women all want a 'hot' man, not a cold fish, so what exactly is your peeve with me?

The one I refer to now, the PR one, is a 5-7 in looks, essentially matching me, but she dresses fashionably, has a sexy laugh, is not shy about what she wants but is not slutty, in the way American women so often seem to miss. This is all from what I gather so far from photo, conversation, email.

All courtesy eHarmony. I was thinking this morning, as I lay in bed, not wanting to get up, all these services online are taken for granted and put down summarily.

But what were the options B.I. (Before the Internet)? Surely I , a shy person, would have had to have made it a full time job to socialize until I found someone who fulfills my fickle demands.

I will never marry until I find my true 'soul mate'. Life and marriage has been made difficult and risky enough in this society, that I cannot AFFORD to settle for less than that. So I may be waiting til I am 80 and doddering, so it is.

All this does not mean this one I am meeting this weekend is right or wrong for her or me, I do not know until we see if chemistry does its job, but I sure am getting better 'hits' on available, compatible women than when I was just attempting my feeble sporadic shots at socializing in the real world and crossing my fingers.

I did sign up for Chemistry.com last night, seems a bit more sophisticated than even eHarmony. See how it goes.

It is all a learning curve. The dating sites keep getting better. But all most women can do is piss and moan about the inadequacy of it all. In this completely free market, where only merit counts, not gender or money or anything else, which of these sites was started by a woman anyway? Is there even one? Is it all just about complaining then waiting for some man to build these damn things?

So what has feminism wrought anyway other than more goodies being handed to women at the expense of men?