Unless you live under a rock, or perhaps have been fixed to a barstool at Cumpie’s for any… Unless you live under a rock, or perhaps have been fixed to a barstool at Cumpie’s for any length of time, you should be well aware of some grave differences between guys and gals.

For those of you rock dwellers and Cumpie’s frequenters, allow me to clue you in: Men and women are of different breeds entirely — and I’m not talking simply in terms of anatomical design alone.

Chicks get a bad rap. We’re pegged as catty and two-faced — stereotypes that reality shows like “The Bachelor” and “The Real World” don’t do a heck of a whole lot to alter.

I can’t say that these labels are necessarily false, either. Even as a female myself, I’ll be the first to say that my tolerance for chicks is minimal — there is far too much unnecessary drama and far too many petty conflicts for my easily agitated character to handle. I frequently consider the fact that between my mother, my sister and me, dear ol’ Dad deserves a medal. The poor guy has been surrounded by feminine insanity for the past 24 years. Although he’s a seasoned veteran by now, on occasion I can catch him with a look of sheer perplexedness on his face as our house is turned completely upside-down in the catastrophic event that one of us girls can’t find our specific hairbrush or personal eyelash curler.

Or worse yet, he weathers the storms of the blood-curdling screams that emanate from our bathroom when one of us has the audacity to commit the cardinal sin of not replacing an empty bottle of conditioner in the shower.

We gals have our share of problem areas, but guys, putting up with your gender ain’t exactly a day at the beach, either.

I think the most striking dissimilarity between men and women is how they handle conflict with one another. When chicks get pissed off at each other, generally we just make snide comments under our breath or ignore the gal pal in question for a few days, all while keeping our other girlfriends up to date on the dispute at hand. No physical harm done, no hospital visits to report — just good old, healthy silent treatment.

Dudes, on the other hand, are perfectly willing to bash in each other’s faces, and slam each other around, resulting in bruises, scars, or worse. I wouldn’t say this had I not been an eyewitness to such “macho” behavior on multiple occasions. There is a group of guys that I hang out with here and there, and every time I go to their place, without fail, Wrestlemania ensues. If one were to glance around their house, one would think that it was carefully decked out with the requisite collegiate posters of their favorite beer and half-naked chicks. Do not be deceived. Each one of these posters has been strategically hung not only for its aesthetic quality, but to mask all the holes and gashes that have been created by them hurling each other through the walls because, heaven forbid, one called the other a (insert favorite degrading insult to women here) while under the influence of one too many shots of Banker’s Club vodka.

The most fascinating part of such maniac behavior is that five minutes after the noses are broken and jaws have been popped back into place, they’re back to being best friends again, chugging beer and playing darts together. There’s no “pissed-off time” allotment; it’s just a black eye or two, and all is forgotten. While this type of behavior is as foreign of a concept to me as trying to read Arabic, maybe something can be said for this male behavioral pattern.

There are certainly no grudges held, and no bridges are burned. It is a quick and efficient means of letting off steam. The friendships in question are automatically restored.

A suggestion might be that girls try this method of tension relief, but from what I’ve seen, we just pull hair and scratch each other. It’s not half as intense or exciting as a right hook to the kisser, and is typically only seen on classy television shows like “Jerry Springer.” Afterward, there’s still the whole silent-treatment factor.

It’s acceptable that ladies and gents are different. That’s just how it is, and how it’s supposed to be. Chicks may get in petty arguments, but it’s not worth getting a black eye over. After all, it would mess up our make-up routine.

The closest Colleen Bayus ever came to being in a fight was when her sister gave her a black eye the day before she was to be an angel in the church play. Don’t worry, she got her back years later when she returned the favor by breaking her sister’s nose. E-mail her your “Fight Club” tales at [email protected]