August 25, 2005
Spoken like a gentleman
While girl talk is just great, my guy pals shoot me straight.

By Jill Brooks
INtake columnist

I admit it: I'm a guy's girl. I have wonderful women friends, but most of them are married, dating (we all know women aren't free when they're dating) or living in another city.

Typically, this finds me hanging out with "the boys."

With guys, conversations are rarely about Angelina Jolie vs. Jennifer Aniston, skin care products or bodily functions gone awry. I leave those topics for limited engagements in "lady talk."

My girlfriends who are pregnant or already have had children are comfortably heedless in their investigative reporting about their own bodies. They "tell it like it is," covering the realms of vomiting, giving birth and many things having to do with needles or surgery.

I, hypersensitive to all things disgusting, usually sit with a green face and a stomach qualm until someone notices that I'm about to faint.

When this happens, my girlfriends quickly turn the conversation to literature, on my behalf.
My girlfriends and I share gossip with undivided attention, and we tend to gently sugarcoat one another's misfortunes, saying things like, "He didn't deserve you" or "That was a stupid job anyway -- you'll find another."

A girlfriend worth her salt would never blatantly tell me that my butt looked big in jeans, either; instead she'd invite me shopping.

Guy friends shoot it straight; verily, they cast rhetorical stones, telling me what's wrong with my picture. They're not afraid of stepping on my woes or correcting my behavior.

A particular male friend and I went to dinner last weekend at the Jazz Kitchen. We have never dated and have been friends for 15 years.

We generally talk about social issues, politics or the housing market, and he doesn't pout when, eyes wandering around the bar, I say, "Wow, that guy is cute" followed by, "I'm sorry, you were saying . . . ."

I do the same for him when the women folk pass by. We can have non-disgusting, intellectual conversations without constantly needing to look at each other. This is a great trick I've learned from men.

Over jazz music, my guy pal asked me about my latest relationship. Controlling my aspersions, I replied, "Advancing issues led declines."

With stoic retort, he summarized the problem: "You obviously put the toilet paper roll on incorrectly. It should roll out from underneath -- women always get this wrong."

He didn't feel the need to gush, "Oh, sweetie, you'll find someone else soon."

Instead, he blithely asked, "So, you dating yet?"

I affirmed, shrugging casually, like a guy would, "You bet."