By Gina Angostura
Columnist

I would like to tell available men out there that Gina is a very patient woman. It takes a lot to annoy me. But two things really stick in my craw. And while we’re on the subject, can someone please tell me what a craw is and why anyone would want to stick something in there? Sounds unpleasant.

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Annoyance number one is that recorded woman on the 411 information line. I hate her with the heat of a billion suns. It’s a good thing she doesn’t really exist, or I’d have to push her off a cliff in some random city and state.

I dial 411 and from her first simpering syllable, I can feel my blood pressure go up. I know she’s not going to understand what I say, no matter how well I enunciate. And even if I get past the city and state request, she never understands the business or residence I need the number for. Right when I’m ready to throttle her, she gives me that smarmy “I’m sorry, I didn’t get that. I’ll transfer you to an operator.”

That’s right you will, you animatronic moron. Man, I’d love to outsource her.

The only reason I even use 411 is that I can never find my phone book. I just need to get organized.

This leads me to my second object of scorn: women’s magazines. I have 40 magazines in my house right now, all with articles about how to become more organized. Too bad they’re strewn all over the living room, bathroom and bedroom, so they don’t do me much good.

I dislike grocery shopping enough without having to stand in a long checkout line staring at those slick paper paeans to female failure.

If you’ve noticed, these magazines can be organized into three types.

If it has a sultry stick woman dressed in a handkerchief, wearing scary dark eye-shadow, pouting like she’s perenially purturbed about her inability to fit her long legs under the table at a New York restaurant, the magazine will have an article about how to improve your sex life.

You just know these women have no internal organs; there’s simply no room. My theory is that they have a plastic tube running from their mouth to, well, to the other end of their bodies just to make it look like they’re drinking imported bottled water so as not to tip off the general public to their freakishness. They get their nutrients sprayed onto their skin along with their faux tans.

If the magazine has an attractive woman in a turtleneck with a Pepsodent smile, holding either a child, a bunch of flowers, or a puppy, the top story will be how to create more romance in your marriage. Generally speaking, it’s the same article that appears in the sultry periodical, but toned down a bit for the housewife type. Instead of positions, it talks about candlelight.

If the magazine has no woman on the front, but instead a giant, delicious-looking chocolate cake, it’ll have a story listed right next to the frosting about how to lose 10 pounds in 10 days.

These magazines are selfflagellation tools for women.

They tell us we’re not pretty enough, thin enough, organized enough, wife-andmother enough, successful enough. We should all just jump off a cliff with the 411 operator.

I’m going to start my own magazine. Gina! will have a cute guy on the front. I’d much rather look at that than a skeleton woman. And it will be written with real women in mind.

Here’s a list of the stories I’m contemplating:

• Decorating: How to elegantly drape a towel over a sink full of dirty dishes when guests arrive.

• Ten insulting things to say to a mother who thinks her kids are better than yours.

• Let it go! How over-organization causes stress.

• Entertaining: Have a dietbook burning in your neighborhood.

• Fashion: Ways to hide that chocolate ice cream stain on the front of your best blouse.

• Relationships: Why we don’t care what men think. It’s bound to be a success. I’m going to start calling publishing houses right now to pitch the idea. As soon as I do my meditation so I’m calm enough to dial 411 for the numbers.