I was in the process of writing a new column (three whole sentences, all run-on!), but after seeing the entire six-episode run of Fox's �reality� dating show Mr. Personality, I had to reboot and touch on the dating psychology that blossomed.

For some reason, I can�t get into �The Bachelor� or �The Bachelorette,� yet shows with a twist like �Joe Millionaire� have me addicted. I think it�s because we see true personalities come out more when the people are being bamboozled. Plus, the claws come out, and who doesn't love that?

I even enjoyed Monica Lewinsky as the host of the show. She�s unpolished, yet thoroughly enjoyed herself. And yes, I even think Monica is very cute.

Why yes, it has been a couple of years since I�ve dated. Why do you ask?

Most of the guys were entirely too macho to be seriously pursuing a woman (Hayley, from Atlanta) who no doubt hoped to find a proper mix of sensitivity and manliness. But put 20 guys together in a room and what you get is not much different than a pack of gorillas thumping their chests, flinging poo at one another and fighting over the lone female. In other words, a typical Friday night.

I think many a grad student could write a twenty-page paper on the fact that even though the guys were masked, Hayley still managed to dwindle the original 20 down to 10 mostly attractive men, weeding out almost all of the normal guys.

Personally, my B.S. major in B.A. thinking says that the psychology behind it is that the good-looking fellas have the natural confidence, poise and comfort around an attractive woman, whereas the everyday Joe isn�t used to courting a babe such as Hayley, and was awkward and thus quick to be dispatched. In other words, I wouldn�t have made it past the first cut!

Hayley: It's nice to meet you.

Me: Hummina, hummina, hummina.

Hayley: So, what do you like to do? Any hobbies?

Me: Um.... *drool* Bye!

Even worse, the ultimate winner was Will, the good looking millionaire. Gee, how did she end up with him? How did Hayley end up with a rich attractive male who was masked the entire time and became entirely too needy the last few dates? Could she smell the money on him? Was it his girlie squeal on the dune-buggy? Maybe it was because he said he loved her, despite her never seeing his face and he knowing she kissed no less than five guys in the process of narrowing the field.

Times like this (OK, at all times), I know it�ll never happen, but I desperately need more insight into the female mind.

I�ll set up my own personal Iraqi-style Baathos Party, complete with minders who infiltrate huddles of single women and report back to me on my chances. If they make fun of me and laugh, I�ll just send out my Information Minister:

"We deny that any infidel woman turned down the chance to date such a hunky specimen of manliness as Jeff. Women are throwing themselves against the walls of his complex in the hopes of seeing him and being his love slave. Anyone who produces any information otherwise is a liar and will be struck down, Allah willing."

Inner Beauty or Outward Lying

First and foremost, though, we must end this business of claiming women can look beyond the physical to the inner beauty of a person.

A survey conducted by dating service The Allied Network reveals what people look for in a companion -- that men want to date attractive, physically fit women, but their female counterparts value intelligence and financial stability over physical appearance.

Hogwash. Women are liars. OK, at least, the ones I haven't met. All the women I know are honest, trustworthy and brilliant.

I�m not saying women are unrealistic, but even they'd maintain that chicks dig a man who looks good just as any man is branded the same way. I am just a piece of meat, dagnabit!

However, there is a difference. Women can look slightly beyond looks to see Confidence (yes, capital C). Women sense the man who has it � without being overly arrogant � and attach it to the physical looks.

Problem is, I have little self-confidence in the woman department, especially upon first contact, and have a horrible fear or rejection that leaves me paralyzed to take any opportunity.

A cute girl at work who is merely polite leaves me stammering like I have Tourette�s: "You�re-real-pretty-can-I-touch-your-hair?" is followed by "I�m-sorry-I�m-a-geek-but-does-that-interest-you?"

Surprisingly the answer is usually no, accompanied by a letter from human resources.

Every day I have more than a few "Dad moments." These are times when I pass by or talk to a female, then five minutes later slap myself on the forehead so hard it leaves a mark, thinking of ways I could have phrased a word or sentence to be more enticing to her ears. These are moments I feel like I let a possibility get away, and if Dad were right there beside me he'd shake his head and pretend to smack me on the back of the noggin for being a dolt.

He also claims that rejection doesn't kill. Well, I beg to differ. What if I'm turned down for a date, and to get over it take a long hot bubble bath with scented candles that put me to sleep and I drown. See, rejection can kill!

Another thing I�ve yet to figure out is whether women want you to be mean/sarcastic/teasing or kind/sensitive/supportive. I�ll mix in the two in the same sentence as a trial balloon sometimes, such as, "That�s real smart for a blonde, although I�m sure your hair is dyed, because it's so beautiful."

I have difficulty putting together two coherant thoughts, let alone saying the "right" things when wooing a lovely and available female.

Another thing it seems the fairer sex likes is a guy who can dance. Of course, they mean �dance well.� I love to move my feet to the jiggy beat, but it�s just not in any definable motion.

Although, in college, I quickly learned that girls would much rather be on the floor with a bad dancer than a guy who is �too cool� to get up and risk looking like a fool. In the end, their dates end up dancing with me, much to my enjoyment.

Of course, the �too cool� guys still went home with the girls I danced with, and I went home with a four-pack of tacos and a Jean-Claude Van Damme movie from Blockbuster.

A cool nickname might help. Too bad I don't have one. In high school, my buds called me Droopy, from the cartoon character Droopy Dog. It had something to do with how I looked one night in the mall, standing outside a store waiting for a lovely gal I was courting.

I prefer Studmuffin, but that's a personal moniker. Droopy doesn't seem to impress.

A brilliant (in that it�s not) idea for finding a nice girl to take out on the town came from co-worker John, who is determined to set me up on a blind date using an Internet service. This is largely because he�s newly engaged, and trying to relive his swinging single life.

However, I don�t think my introduction will entice many ladies:

Hi. My name is Jeff. 27/M/Atlanta. Tall, husky, no fashion sense, needy, seeks woman who will tolerate my silly, carefree being and participate in the joy of having children.

I don�t see the problem.

This is just what millions of available gals hope to read, right? *crosses fingers*

No, don�t shake your head yet. Focus, focus, stare at the S in Single � focus � you�re getting sleepy � you�re looking for a special kind of guy just like Jeff � in no way is the fact that he�s trying to hypnotize you into liking him a turnoff.

Perhaps I've bought into the words of friends and family that I "deserve better." That means something else to each of us. Maybe they don�t know me so well, and what I really deserve is a female body-builder to whip me into shape, degrade me in public and laugh uncontrollably loud in movie theaters.

It's gotten to the point where, when I first caught the promos for Fox's "Married By America" show, I wasn't disgusted. No, my initial reaction was, Hey, that might actually work!

*sigh*

Even arranged marriages are starting to look appealing. Maybe I'm just old-fashioned that way.

What I�m hoping for in courting the right woman

It could be that I�m looking at it all wrong. As Brendan Fraser picked up Rachel Weisz in The Mummy, maybe I need to look closer, to "rescue the damsel in distress, kill the bad guy, save the world." Not so hard, is it?

Maybe I should focus on ladies who went through their 20s, passed by the immature college guys and have been in the real world long enough to be disillusioned with the single life and club and bar hopping. They're defeated and resigned to anything.

Hello! I'm Jeff! Watch me slip into the picture!

Yep, only self-doubting and frustrated women for me! That, or poor white trash who sees me as the knight on a white horse to rescue them from a life of trailer parks and Dollar General as primo-shopping. Then again, Dollar General is a pretty great place to shop for little importances and knick-knacks, so I take that back.

If someone had asked me ten years ago what kind of woman would I like to marry, I'd respond, A woman who deserves me. Now, I�d say, A woman who tolerates me.

I don't know why, but I seem to be drawn, by a large percentage, by women in the service industry (such as waitresses). Maybe it's a desire for a woman with a nurturing manner, because I especially have a hankering (in the non sexual sense, thankyouverymuch) for teachers and nurses.

Apparently during prayer in college, the lines were crossed. Across the hall, Steven ended up marrying Jenny, a nurse. Next door, Patrick celebrated nuptials with Julie, a teacher. I ended up with Psycho Amy, and things have gone downhill since.

You think I'm kidding.

Sure, I've dated (very) occasionally, but nothing ever came to fruition enough for me to even try hustling to first base. That, and I'm a wuss.

Just as bad, I think I have exorbitantly high standards for someone who has forgotten how to date. Like the "Seinfeld" episode when he dumps a girl for eating peas one at a time, I�m too picky for own good.

What? What's the matter with narrowing down my hopes to a Christian girl with a British accent who likes to watch golf?

I say beggars can be choosers.

At least I didn�t say any woman has to be like me by waiting for marriage for that special act between a man and woman. And I don�t mean shopping for furniture. By 27, I�m pretty sure the list has dwindled pretty thin of virgins. I�m not an Arab terrorist, so 72 virgins waiting for me in heaven doesn�t entice me, and one virgin on earth isn�t a must, either.

Conclusion

I�m not looking for a super-model, or even a supper-model; I�d much rather a woman look good in a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, with her hair in a ponytail poking through the back of a cap.

She should be feisty like Maureen O�Hara. She can give as well as I can take, she can take as well as I can dish out the sarcasm and opinions. And then, hey, if she�s a little crass, tolerates sports and John Wayne movies, all the better.

I trust that God will one day reveal my bride-to-be .. Ow! What? OK, OK. He just bellowed, "Hey, don't blame me for this, ya nincompoop! I've constantly tried, with plenty of signs and whispers to 'Ask her out!' Look within, not above, bucko."

Gee whiz. The Good Lord doesn't take well to finger pointing.

I do have one thing in my favor: Women make up 52% of the U.S. population. This means that - thankfully for men - their expectations have to be lowered in order that they don�t end up unmarried and without kids. Someone�s going home empty, so it�s my goal to snatch up one who has already relegated herself to the lonely bin of life, and I can swoop in.

My "kind" is whoever will say, "Yes, I'll go out with you." I have no standards other than breathing and not having a Y chromosome.

I can only hope any future dates have the same non-standards. I hope she wants a guy who keeps right and uses the left lane only to pass. A guy who thinks Carrot Top is vastly underrated as an entertainer. A guy who thinks the George Foreman Grill is the greatest invention since the combustible engine.

Maybe I should stop. Even the non-standard standard-bearing women are beginning to roll their eyes.

But, perhaps, you are intrigued, no? Expect nothing, and you might be surprised!