Since they’ve been dating for over a year, her boyfriend shrugged dutifully, and they walked out the door. Meanwhile, I went on to prepare for my own boyfriend’s arrival; it had been over a month since our last visit, and I wanted to make sure that I would look good when he saw me for the first time in five weeks. When I mentioned this to him on the phone, he laughed at me.

“Carly,” Ben said. “Have you really forgotten that I saw you when you had mono?” I could hear him grinning over the phone. “Really, I’ll be happy to see you no matter what.”

As reassuring as this was, I flashed back to my relationship before we went long distance. I vividly remember spending whole weekends in my sweatpants, going a couple days without washing my hair and having Ben visit when my room was so messy I had to leap over dirty clothes and notebooks to get into my bed—this was also when I had mono. And now I was touching up my lipgloss in the airport—since when do I do that just for Ben?

Starting a new relationship is one of the most exciting experiences you can have; you’re so into the person that you make sure to come off as extra impressive. When time passes, though, and when a relationship becomes long term, wearing that T-shirt an extra day or putting on eyeliner stops seeming like a big deal. Does this new set of habits mean that a relationship has become too comfortable? Or does this mean that the relationship is secure, and that we can truly be ourselves?

I won’t lie: After the butterflies disappeared from my stomach and Ben had been around for a few hours, I felt far more comfortable about the idea of spending the weekend in jeans and a Hanes T-shirt. But for the initial encounter, I was really happy to know that I looked like the girl he remembered from our first date. And seeing him with a fresh haircut and ironed shirt made me remember the reason we’d ended up talking and getting to know each other in the first place.

There’s nothing wrong with being comfortable; getting to that stage of a relationship is really important. At the same time, it wouldn’t kill us to clean up every once in a while. As much as I’m sure you all have wonderful hearts and huge, sexy brains, odds are that your significant other noticed how good your butt looked in your jeans before they knew all that other stuff. So remind them once in a while just why you caught their attention in the first place, and you’ll keep that eye from wandering anywhere else.

We all wish that there were a universal understanding of what a “hookup” actually means, rather than perpetual mystery surrounding the subject.

For students in the class “Hooking Up: Healthy Exploration or Harmful Exploitation?” the term “hookup” is given a more tangible meaning. Taught by Professor Susan Stiritz, the course examines the contemporary cultural phenomenon of hooking up by looking at the historical and political implications of hooking up as well as personal consequences.

As students, we always hope that the material we are learning in the classroom can be applied to real-life settings and has significance beyond our transcripts.

“I believe that courses like [Stiritz’s] offered in the Sexuality Studies Department are essential since they afford individuals the experience of exploring their own sexuality and help them to become more comfortable with themselves,” junior Daryl Steiger, a student in Stiritz’s class, said.

The focus of the course is each student’s own experiences and how each can better understand his or her own values about hooking up. At its foundation, the class is structured around pre-determined readings; however, the students’ ideas and experiences are the greatest authority in the class. This is what has made their participation in the class so unique and meaningful.

Stiritz inspires her students to interact and engage with the material on a distinctively personal level, thus providing a more in-depth learning experience. She encourages this discussion by promoting collaboration among students and fostering a trusting environment. The unique bond that the students of the class have formed with one another, and with Stiritz, is palpable.

Students expressed genuine appreciation for the course and, most importantly, respect for one another.

“We get together to discuss personal experiences in a trusting environment, learn from one another and apply what we have learned to our day-to-day encounters,” senior Sheyna Ezrapour said.

It is evident that Stiritz has not only created a bond among her students, but also has empowered each individual voice to direct the class discussion. The openness of the class allows for in-depth discussion and real-life application of the material.

Each of us has our own rules and thoughts about what constitutes a hook up. Ranging from kissing to sex, a hookup is a vague description of what actually takes place and doesn’t account for any emotional responses to what can physically transpire between two people.

We have all partaken in that frequent conversation with friends, trying to make sense of recent hook ups and decipher what the other person feels—or if feelings are even involved. All too often, we wish for a universal glossary to make sense of it all.

Stiritz’s course breaks down this confusion and helps students define their romantic and sexual experiences in a way that is meaningful and logical to them. The course turns this frequent conversation with friends into a subject worthy of stimulating academic debate.

“We hooked up.” Yes, it’s ambiguous, but those three small words do cover some common ground—they have become a trademark phrase of college culture and of daily life. The students in Stiritz’s class are happy to finally open up this conversation because, let’s face it, we’re all having it.

I’d love to shed some light on the situation from the masculine perspective, or at least from my version of the masculine perspective.

Carly brings up a delightfully tricky situation in her description of a romantic endeavor with a young man that started spontaneously and went on briefly without an official label (whether posted on Facebook or verbalized); she says that after the initial hook-up and a few follow-ups, “I thought that simply not returning phone calls would probably get the message across.”

Yikes. Well, let me speak for the gentlemen callers when I say that we’ve all been in the situation and, no, as a matter of fact, not returning phone calls (or text messages, e-mails, Facebook messages, etc.) most likely did not clarify the situation for us.

The best example of this is the ever-ambiguous “I’m busy” from a girl whom I’m interested in. Without any other information, that word “busy” leaves me feeling uncertain. Is she “busy” the way that pre-meds are busy the night before a Chemistry exam, or is she so busy that she might never find time to spend with me? You (the girl) might think it’s obvious you’re not into him, but odds are 10-to-1 that your suitor is instead reading your last text to him and trying to interpret whether or not that abbreviated ellipsis (i.e. dot-dot “..” but not dot-dot-dot “…”) with which you ended the message implies anything. It’s painful and it has been so since the first guy who ever was interested ran into the first girl who ever may or may not have been busy.

I want to avoid drawing a line in the sand between us and the fairer sex, and give due credit to Carly. It’s true that guys pursue girls pretty persistently and it’s a lot to deal with; a lot of guys will pursue girls until they say the word “no.” Sometimes you might want to just ignore that text and you don’t know why “So-and-so” is so freakin’ into you. I’m certainly guilty of this; when my interest has been piqued, at times I have not backed down when there have been a few good reasons to do so. Why didn’t I back down? Because I wasn’t sure!

So what next? Well, let me speak once again for the guys and say that we would appreciate clear communication even if it’s not the best of news. No communication is no information, and, therefore, there is nothing to base decisions off of. When she’s “busy,” I’m in Limbo, checking my phone for texts.

Clear communication is pure relationship gold, whether you’re ready for serious commitment or you’re at the point in life when you still make the distinction between “have gone on dates with So-and-so” and “dating So-and-so.”

Let me suggest that clear communication will get you and your now ‘just-friends’ friend both (individually, in this case) to the place where you want to be faster and with less confusion. When he knows you’re totally not into him, he’ll be that much more motivated to go find his next true love (or next friend with benefits, or whatever) and leave you alone. And you’ll be free to do the same.

Courtesy of Fox Searchlight

All is not as it seems, however, and the hints Romanek drops to the audience are sleek and subtle. A shot lingers for three seconds longer than it would have under an amateur director. This culminates in a fascinating and intelligent twist that isn’t beat into us M. Night Shymalan style; rather, it seems like a confirmation of the insecurity that had been lurking in the background of the movie.

Adam Kimmel’s lensing captures and enhances the muted colors of the English countryside. Rachel Portman’s score is composed of simple piano melodies and a small orchestra and is one of the best scores in recent times. In the crucial final scene, these two elements swell together perfectly, leaving the audience feeling surprisingly whole after being assaulted by such emptiness.

The real highlight of the movie, though, is the acting. Carey Mulligan (“An Education”) is stunning as the protagonist Kathy. Keira Knightley (“Atonement,” “Pride and Prejudice”), in an uncharacteristic supporting role, brilliantly portrays her struggle between confidence and tragedy. And Andrew Garfield is already poised to be the Next Big Thing with “The Social Network” on his resumé and the “Spiderman” reboot on deck. Sally Hawkins (“Happy-Go-Lucky”) is only onscreen for 15 minutes but commands attention as a fragile teacher who cannot hide the terrible secret from the children any longer. My only complaint about the movie was its pacing: The movie felt rushed at some points, and with a short runtime of 103 minutes, it could certainly have been longer. “Never Let Me Go” was a haunting and beautifully bleak movie that I would suggest to anyone who loves good movies.

We tend to avoid labels at all costs—but without labels, how do we know if we are or aren’t together? And without knowing your status as a couple, is it necessary to break up, or can you just stop returning phone calls and move on? Is there a kind of breakup etiquette for label-less couples?

Last week, I received a Facebook invitation to Bauhaus. As I pondered the pros and cons of attending (laughing at bad costumes versus being surrounded by grinding, sweaty underclassmen), I had a flashback to sophomore year and remembered meeting So-and-so, who I may or may not have made out with at my first Bauhaus. Our meeting that night led to a few dates, but nothing beyond that, and I hadn’t seen him around much lately. So naturally, I typed his name into Facebook search, only to find that So-and-so had de-friended me.

The two of us should have called it quits from the start; we literally had nothing in common. But since I was new to campus, I figured why not see what the dating scene had in store and give him a shot. After two intensely painful dates, I thought that simply not returning phone calls would probably get the message across. After two days, I hadn’t heard from him, so I assumed that it was over and I could move on.

So when I got a text saying “Meet me outside your dorm,” I was confused. Out of curiosity, I went downstairs, where I received a 30-second lecture on why we shouldn’t date, was told “It was nice knowing you” and was given a handshake. He promptly sprinted out of the dorm. I barely made it inside the elevator before I burst out laughing.

What confused me (and later my entire suite, as we tried to figure out what exactly had just happened) was that we hadn’t actually been dating—we had just been on dates. I didn’t see why he had to go out of his way to end things that were naturally going to die.

But as my suitemate pointed out, all too often people are upset because they feel that they’ve been led on, and are hurt when they never hear from a prospective partner after a few dates. How do we know when we should actually put a stop to something or just let it die?

While there isn’t any set-in-stone rule, I think that the rule of three is a pretty safe bet. If you’ve been on three or more dates, you’ve spent enough time together to actually have feelings, and if you are at that level, you should try to let someone down easily.

If it’s been less than that (a first date is a trial run, another is a second chance in case you totally screwed up the first), you can probably just let it go; there is no need to cause anyone unnecessary humiliation.

So did So-and-so do the right thing? I was going to give him the benefit of the doubt—that is, until he de-friended me. So the moral of the story? Sometimes it’s best just to not say anything. And do not talk to the vampire at Bauhaus, no matter how much he looks like Edward Cullen.

Our friends are the unsung heroes of our lives. They have this sort of magical knowledge that lets them instantly tell if we’re upset, how upset we are and exactly what to do to make us feel better. And, unlike someone we’re dating, we don’t need to buy them anniversary gifts, pick out nice lingerie or agonize over meeting their parents. They’re just there.

But when we start dating someone, our friends sometimes stop being the most important people in our lives. It’s hard on both parties, but particularly on the friends who are left behind.

So when I found myself listening to angry breakup music while I was doing my homework, I began to wonder why it felt so therapeutic. For some reason I had relationship rage, and I wasn’t sure where to direct it. That was until one of my friends from home called me and screamed “I’m done with Meg! If I see one more picture of her and Dan or get her voicemail one more time when I call her, our friendship is over.”

It turns out that’s where my rage was coming from too. Meg, my best friend from the days of glasses and braces, had stopped returning all of her friends’ calls, texts, emails, etc. And as someone who had always been there for her, it was infuriating and painful to never hear back from her when I needed her.

So what can you do when you’ve lost a friend into the black hole of a significant other?

First, resist the urge to tell them how much you think they suck and you hate their new partner—these feelings happen, but it’s not the best way to approach this conversation. Instead, take a deep breath and remember that, for whatever reason, dating this new person makes your friend happy—and, even if you’re a bit jealous, you should at least be able to appreciate that.

Then, be nice, but honest. You are allowed to say, “I’m angry,” “I miss you” and “I wish we spent more time together.” And maybe this will be well-received, maybe it won’t. Open the door to talk freely about your issues, so your friendship doesn’t slowly drift so much that it becomes unsalvageable.

And if you’re the one in the relationship, be the first to call up your neglected friend, and go out for dinner and a movie. It’s the little things that will keep everyone happy and save you if your love life goes south.

“She’s been going out with Rico every night for two weeks and talks to him on the phone all the time. I can’t remember the last time she showed that kind of interest in Mike…” She shook her head. “I’d rather have my boyfriend make out with someone when he was drunk than him spend hours every evening, spilling his heart out to a girl that wasn’t me.”

Technically, Sarah wasn’t doing anything wrong (or at least that’s what she maintained). She didn’t hook up with Rico, she just confided in him constantly and spent long hours at his place watching TV and drinking wine. But can we define cheating as just the physical stuff? And if not, where do we draw the line?

Can we say that even looking at another person is cheating? As much as we might not want to admit it (and we all hate being the jealous type), everyone has eyes, and even if the person you’re dating is madly in love with you, it’s only natural to notice someone’s alluring smile or ridiculous six-pack. It doesn’t mean they don’t love you and what you’ve got—it’s just the way we’re programmed.

Can we say that making out with someone at a bar is cheating? While I’ve heard debates on this one, I’m going to say that this should pretty solidly be considered cheating.

But what about the gray area that Sarah was playing in?

Putting my general dislike for Sarah aside, I tried to be impartial: How could I judge what was going on between her and “just a friend?” The only fair way that I found to create boundaries was to consider what would make me upset if I knew my boyfriend was doing the same thing. And when I thought of Ben having long, intimate conversations with some sexy coworker, I was far more upset than if he were to confess to drunkenly making out with some random chick at a bar.

Emotional cheating is not a myth. It’s very real, and it tends to be even more damaging to relationships than actual cheating—Sarah dumped Mike after her “non-cheating” one day turned into “cheating.” So where do we draw the line? Use your judgment, and always consider your partner. I’m not sure how Sarah and Rico are doing these days, but something tells me she’s not the only one he’s romancing. But hey, according to Sarah, that’s not cheating.

As the debut for Director Julie Anne Robinson, The Last Song is lacking in both voice and imagination. There is no attention given to the composition of the frame or editing, which are equally rushed and sloppy. I noted several times where different takes of Cyrus were used without any attempt to streamline them. With the exception of Greg Kinnear, the acting is cheap and histrionic. Even Kinnear, a proven actor recognizable from his roles in As Good as It Gets and Little Miss Sunshine, cannot overcome the envelope-thin character development Nicholas Sparks offers. And for one of Cyrus’ largest roles to date, she does not impress. Her acting is showy and inconsistent. One minute she’s reserved, the next snarky, the next, bold and confident.

The film’s Achilles heel is Sparks’s transparent script. All of the characters speaks with Sparks’s voice, that of a Hallmark greeting card. Dialogue telegraphs characters’ thoughts and feelings, as if by self-narration. And for a film meant to focus on music, there is barely any emphasis on it: The soundtrack is decent, including a few songs from Jose Gonzalez, Feist and Iron & Wine, but the indie music choices clash with the melodramatic tone. There are a few scenes involving principal characters playing the piano which are deeply affective, and though I appreciated these scenes, I was not in tears, unlike the teenage girls in my row. The story’s problem was its inability to get to the heart of Ronnie’s resentment of her father as well as her personal insecurities. Had the story focused on Ronnie’s ambivalence toward being a piano prodigy or her inability to fill her father’s shoes, it would have been more interesting. Around the middle of the film, there is an offensively melodramatic turn, which left me groaning for the remainder of the movie.

The Last Song is poorly done, even for Nicholas Sparks. Its poor acting, lazy direction and derivative script make The Notebook look like Citizen Kane. The difference here is that Sparks authored this screenplay himself, whereas screenwriter Jeremy Leven adapted The Notebook to the screen. For all my criticisms of The Notebook (i.e. the misrepresentation of Alzheimer’s Disease), the dialogue and characters were profoundly more realistic than the hollow, clichéd nonsense in The Last Song. I would recommend this film if you hate yourself and don’t value your time.

directed by: Julie Anne Robinson
and starring: Miley Cyrus, Greg Kinnear, Kelly Preston, Liam Hemsworth

At this point, I’d had mononucleosis for two weeks and had been dating my boyfriend for about two months. Before my diagnosis, we were still in the honeymoon stage—always spending time together, gushing over how great the other was, blah blah blah. And then I got a sore throat, which quickly turned into coma-like naps and me sounding like a deaf muppet whenever I tried to speak. As I struggled to make it through my finals without falling asleep, he dutifully drove me to get lung x-rays and brought me soup or ice cream (the only things I could swallow) almost every night.

It was bad enough that I could barely stand up long enough in the shower to shave my legs, but, worse of all, we couldn’t even kiss, something we’d been pretty good about doing every day since we’d started dating. And when I fainted, I half expected him (as any sensible person would do) to cut his losses and stop hanging out with my ridiculously sick self. The self that had blow-dried my hair and spent 40 minutes choosing an outfit for our first date would have been horrified by my makeup-less appearance and constant need to blow my nose.

When the going gets tough, how are we supposed to react? If your relationship is still in its budding stage, the first rough patch is terrifying. You don’t want to seem like a burden, and you’re scared of losing the idealized version of yourself that you’ve cultivated for others to see. No one wants to be seen un-showered and half-articulate, especially by a person one is attracted to. It is terrifying to let someone get that close; no one wants to fall off that pedestal.

As scary as it is though, these inglorious moments are perhaps the most important and defining parts of your relationship. Why? Because if that person is still around at the end of the day, holding a box of Kleenex and a can of chicken noodle soup, it means that they’re in it for more than the put-together you that the rest of the world sees. It means that they’re cool with the totally unglamorous, unembellished and real you.

When I finally came around to full consciousness, my mildly terrified boyfriend spent the rest of the day making sure I drank absurd amounts of water and didn’t get out of bed. And while the fainting incident, as well as my whole mono experience, has now turned into something we joke about, there is a certain comfort behind the laughter in knowing that he was there to catch me. Because when the going gets tough, the tough don’t always get going—sometimes the best ones actually stick around.

But what happens in real life? What happens when saying those three words isn’t the end of something, but the beginning of something—of a real, vulnerable relationship?

What happens is panic.

This phenomenon is everywhere. In a hit show about meeting mothers, a ballsy television reporter runs up to her boyfriend to tell him how she feels, and instead of saying, “I love you,” he exclaims, “Falafel!”

Over Christmas break, my best friend, a beautiful, confident Red Sox fan with a mouth like a trucker, told me about the first time she said those fatal words to her boyfriend: She blurted it out by accident in the middle of a fight, and then ran out of the room, blushing, before he could process what had just happened.

What is it about saying the L-word that makes people so crazy? And why is it such a big deal when we do or don’t say it?

I can’t tell you exactly who is to blame for it. Authors with a romantic streak, overly sentimental songwriters and even our own parents and friends have loaded that one word with so much meaning that it is absolutely terrifying. If you’ve never said it before, it’s scary, because you don’t know how you’re “supposed to feel,” and if you’ve said it before, it’s overwhelming, because it makes you question whether getting this serious is worth the potential heartbreak.

What’s really a shame is that all the hype about saying it has ruined it for the rest of us—all of us normal folk who know what it’s like to care about somebody to the extent that you’ll kiss them even if they have mono, or bring them coffee in the library at 6 a.m. on the day that their thesis is due. All the craziness surrounding it forces us to attempt to quantify our feelings.

While you try to figure that emotional mess out, you don’t have to say, “I love you.” With the weight that it carries, it’s best to wait until you literally cannot hold it in any longer. And it brings with it a kind of vulnerability that can be almost painful to open yourself up to. I won’t deny it. But if that person were to be gone tomorrow, what would be worse: them being gone, or them being gone and not knowing how much you care about them?

If the amount that you care about them is enough to move your relationship from “I really like you” to “I love you,” there’s nothing better than hearing that person say the same thing back to you.

In the meantime, though, you don’t need to give in to the pressure. So just relax. Despite what people may tell you, it’s OK to be completely happy and at peace with the hand that’s rubbing your back at 2 a.m. as you’re trying to finish your next article.