by Mark Morford

Created on: December 07, 2008

All Women Are From Zorkon 9

Forget Venus. Women are from someplace far weirder, and more wonderful.

I am not here to exaggerate these kinds of things. I am not here to make this stuff up. Truth happens. Reality pinches, rides up, makes you start and shiver in utter amazement.

Sometimes the differences are razor sharp and dazzling. Sometimes the sexes can only look at each other across our vast chasms of insanity and mind-set and unique psycho-emotional temperament, and laugh. And then cry. And then have sex. And then carry on as if nothing fantastically bizarre is happening here.

What you are about to read is exactly as I remember it, though it is possible my memory is slightly hazy, tainted from the snifter of Havana Club and the daylong shopping and the morning sex and the earlier argument about proper cleanup of parrot poop from my fabulous couch. Plus the fact that it all took place while wearing sweatpants and bras and underwear, in various combinations, depending on who you're looking at.

Nevertheless, I stand by every word. Except for the part about the screaming. That may be slightly exaggerated. But not by much.

It took place, as most epiphanies do, in the bedroom. It was evening, one of those weird warm balmy ones that San Francisco gets about as frequently as a politician gets a conscience, with a hint of spring rain in the air and a breath of new life in the world, a time when you have the windows open just a little and the air smells like a trademark urban admixture of fresh growth and divine hope and SUV exhaust. You know the kind.

We were, as mentioned, mostly dressed. We were moving normally, putting fresh sheets on the bed, chatting about something random, a friend's wedding or the nature of a benign universe or if Mary Magdalene was bisexual or I don't know what. It does not matter. It was somewhere around 8 o'clock. I do not know if the time matters. How do you mark moments of lucid transcendence?

Suddenly, it happened. It happened so fast I can barely piece it together. I was mid-sentence, uttering something that I'm sure was terribly profound and famously quotable, when my girl suddenly let out this startled squeal, loud and jarring and quick, and instantly dropped to the floor, where she began exclaiming, over and over in a fast rapid breath, "Oh my God it's OK, I got you, I got you, I got you I got you I got you it's OK don't worry I got you shhh."

I had no idea what was happening. Was it a seizure? A weird epileptic fit? A divine visitation inspired

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