November 21, 2002 | 10:27 AM

So many, many men. Here�s an update on all (er, well most) of them. (I am purposefully leaving out one out of respect for his privacy)

The infamous seldom discussed J. whom I met online and who works at a fancy schmancy medical journal across the quad from me. He resembles an Adonis cut from onyx. Dark skin and dark suggestive eyes. He sends sexy emails. (This morning�s was about Felini and um, other things.) He is 36 years old and grew up in Pittsburgh. I am going on a date with him (dinner and a movie�how quaint!) tomorrow evening. And then... well, we shall see what we shall see...

Bob is also 36 years old. He is slightly plump with huge sad puppy dog eyes. He has a Massachusetts accent. He is a civil litigation lawyer and argued with me for a half an hour about international policy (nothing gets me hotter than a good argument.) He loves Woody Allen and jazz and Karen Carpenter�s voice (ditto on all three for me). He had enough balls to kiss me right there in the bar. Bob complimented me endlessly in ways that I have never been complimented in my entire life. He told me that I have the most beautiful voice he�s ever heard, that he wishes he wake up to me singing for him every day. He told me that I was drop dead gorgeous�that I reminded him of Ali McGraw (!) (I wanted to ask if he was blind since in her prime she was at the very least fifty lbs. thinner than I am, and that�s a conservative estimate.) Bob bought me several drinks and hung on my every word. He stared deeply into my eyes. The man is smitten with me. I have never ever in my life experienced anything like it.

And this makes me nervous. Am I interested in Bob because I am interested in him or am I interested in him to massage my ego? As much as I crave this kind of attention, it also makes me incredibly uncomfortable. Honestly, I am much more comfortable being the adorer than the adored. It�s much less pressure. Bob seems like the kind of guy that would cook me breakfasts in bed and buy me flowers every Friday. That�s what I want but I don�t know if I want it from him. I feel sort of guilty about the whole thing.

I have avoided talking about Angus for a long time because of who reads this. But fuck it.

When he calls and leaves a message on my answering machine, I want to pick up right away. Just hearing his voice makes me go giddy. But just as I �m about to answer, I�m overcome with rage. I cannot get out of my mind how he�s treated me. And I am absolute putty in his hands. There are only three men on this planet whose advances I cannot resist and he is one of them.

The fact that he told me he was in love with me, then promptly semi recanted a week later, then told me he couldn�t have a relationship with anyone � not just me, then recanted that statement two weeks later by becoming involved with a 21 year old born again Christian Britney Spears devotee, then came over to my house a few months down the line (still dating the teenybopper) and told me again that he was in love with me and kissed me in a most salacious manner (which I of course did not resist and still feel horribly guilty about.)

I am furious at him. And my heart is still very sore over it. I love him, but I figure the best thing I can do is avoid him indefinitely as he is basically like poison to my system.

Whenever I hear Oingo Boingo though, I inevitably cry. I am such a fucking sucker.

Oh DH. The most talented person I have ever known. Artist, actor, pianist, and farm boy from the great sate of Maine. I look back fondly on the several clandestine kisses we shared seven years ago. He is the second of the three men in the world I cannot resist. I go gooey in his presence, tongue tied and clumsy even still. I run into him every now and then. We always discuss the game of spin the bottle we played and how I would sneak up to his room and under his covers and kiss his chest and ears and he would draw me pictures and play me silly songs on his paino and he would nuzzle my neck and boy oh boy could that boy kiss. Every time it was like an electric bolt shot through my body. When I was homeless he let me stay in his room for weeks on end. He is a dear, kind, wonderful boy. Every now and then I see him and fall madly in love with each time.

Boys Boys Boys Boys. I love them. I just wish it was all a tad less complicated.