He Said,

1. He Said, She Said Anthony Gattone Sarah Wilson E450 Profs. K. Johnson & S. Kahn 06 April 2010

2. Being Single • Dating Pet Peeves • “Just Being Friends” • Flirting • Romance • Intimacy • Commitment • Being in a Relationship • Arguments • Breaking Up

3. Solitary Isle “No man is an island, entire of itself.” – John Donne I am an island, surrounded by the glowing turquoise waters of my solitude. At times, the waters are so deep that they darken to a sapphire black; if you strain your eyes and look into the depths, you can see the shipwrecks and lost loves of the past. Then, there are the ethereal blue sections, glowing with the laughter of my children, whispers with my sister, and giggles with my girlfriends, all of those things that bring light into darkness— but still out there, not here on the island with me. The water that laps at my shores, the clear, bland, sand-stealing water that knows me so intimately, tickles me— torments me—with the foam of failed relationships, lost friends, broken family. The waves whisper their rhythm against my naked shores, but I remain as before, a solitary isle.

4. Taboo Cliché It’s astounding how after three drinks, a few rounds of playful conversation, and two slow-dances, you will still look me in the eye, smile, and say: “You’re just like a brother.” (or) “I hope I find a guy like you, someday.” (or) “(Fill in kick-in-the-balls comment of her choice.)” …as if my response should be: “Why yes, thank you for implying that I am gender-neutral.” …as if I was wearing a sign, stating so diligently: “I have no desire to use my penis, ever.”

5. Because now you and I can tell everyone that I’m your gal pal, your tag-along, your purse-watcher while you go and flirt with a guy whom you’ve determined to be a “non-relation,” due to his physique and hairstyle resembling that of an Abercrombie & Fitch ad. Do yourself a favor: Prick your thumb, and I’ll prick mine, and find out from the blood that I am not now, have never been, AND WILL NEVER BE your brother. And the saddest part of your one-line excuses in cruel place of “Sorry, I’m just not interested”— which would’ve been nice to know two hours and three drinks ago— is that they’re as believable as “I’ve never done this before.”

6. On the Importance of Finding a Good Woman “I like steak,” he said with a scorching look and a hungry smile, his Brooklyn accent strange to her Midwestern ears— smoky, sizzling, spicy, smoldering— “I really like steak. The problem is that I eat it too much. I used to eat it day and night. I'm just sick of it now. I've eaten steak every which way imaginable: Steak Tartare, Swiss steak, stuffed flank steak, Steak à la Bordelaise, steak fajitas, Kona Crusted Steak; I've had them all. I've even tried steak omelettes, but that never seemed to work out either… I always just chew it up and spit it out without really bothering to taste it anymore.” He said all of this with his fire eyes never flickering, trying to convince her of the importance of remaining

7. a vegetarian. He was a meat eater, he should know. She only knew the nodding rows of Indiana corn, and the lush soybean fields. She lifted her eyes to his, her cheeks burning furiously as she measured and tasted the words she had prepared. "Well," she said in her honeywarm voice, "that is your problem. You simply haven't found the right steak. Fancy spices and sauces will lose their flavor with time. Wholesome, corn-fed beef raised on a Midwestern farm may seem simple and plain, but that first bite will melt on your tongue, and you will hunger for more. Your appetite for steak will return. Forget New York strip steak, overflavored and undercooked— enjoy your steak as it was meant to be consumed." She smiled her simmering smile, seasoned with anticipation.

8. The Commitment Any guy who’s met “the one” can tell you that the time will come when dating has you shackle-bound and gasping for air. Everything is going fine, so sign right on the dotted line. Who needs freedom when you’ve found you’re choking on her hair. She moves in lets you know your furniture has got to go. It doesn’t match her pink duvet, Ikea is the plan. You hold her purse as she decides on stem-wear—did you think you’d buy a whole new place because you said you’d be her modern man?

9. She looks at you and what you’re wearing. Brace yourself, ‘cause soon she’s sharing fashion tips through the dress room door at your local “Gap.” Pay no mind to other men who snicker at your cardigan and chinos with a matching belt, it sucks to be a sap. Say goodbye to all your friends, especially the female Jen. Kiss away the ones you held, and hope things don’t get worse. A common tale, but still it’s sad, When you become only half a man. Your Visa’s shot, just like your balls, and you’ve still got her purse.

10. The Art of Letting Go (after David Shumate’s “The Art of Forgetting”) There is no such thing as forgetting. You will never forget. The best you can hope for is to gracefully let go—grace backed with resolve. You will stop thinking about him through the sheer power of determination alone. Never mind that memories of him have permeated every corner of the austere room of your life. He once painted those narrow gray walls a carefree yellow, but he took the early autumn sunshine with him when he left. You collect the belly laughs. The last-minute kisses. The stolen embraces. Rake them into a pile like so many decaying leaves on a brisk autumn day. You return to your lackluster life. It’s stifling in there. You watch impassively from your window. Stare at the pile. Relive every memory just one more time. Smile when a breeze causes the russet, crimson and gold to drift away. They are gone within minutes. You turn away from the window.