The List

One of the most interesting things about writing this blog is that I can use it to reveal secrets about myself to a largely unknown readership. Believe it or not, I actually find this therapeutic. In calling myself out for (and often making light of) past indiscretions I come to terms with them and then I can move forward. Sometimes these things are interesting to you. Sometimes they’re not, but you read them anyways. So to reward you for your loyalty, through the good posts and the not-so-good ones, I’m going to let you in on something that I’m certain you’ll find entertaining or, at the very least, intriguing. Are you ready for my confession? Here goes…

I keep a list.

Perhaps it’s a testament to my latent Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, or maybe I do it because I feel a need to keep track of my numbers. But the truth is, since high school, I’ve kept a list of everyone I’ve ever hooked up with – numbered, named, and coded – briefly detailing each hookup.

Crazy right? Perhaps. Although I’m not the only girl I know who does it. But of those that do, let’s be honest, my list is probably one of the most extensive. I’m certainly not ashamed to admit that. But I’m also not going to give you actual figures, so don’t even ask. That’s on a need-to-know-basis and it’s something I don’t think the blogosphere really needs to know. I will, however, give you an idea of what it entails since I’m aware that some of you who read this are actually on it. Betcha you’d like to see it. Not a chance. I keep that shit well-hidden. I’m promiscuously organized, but I’m not an idiot.

I started it in high school with boys that I did nothing more than kiss. This began when I was fourteen, with an inept exchange of saliva while watching The Lion King in his parents’ basement. Yeah, I know. So innocent and so cheesy. Those were the days.

But kissing doesn’t have a code so on the first page the only symbol that gets utilized is a “!!” That says I told the boy I loved him, and that I really meant it, or at least as much as I could at the time. A single “!” just means I told him I loved him. Oh c’mon, you know you’ve done that, too.

On page two you’ll find some “*'s” which represent a Clintonian interpretation of sex. By then I was sixteen and I happened to find something I was good at, so that kept my virginity in tact. That goes on for another page until we get to my very “first,” which earned him an underline under his name. We’ll call him Skater Boy and he was the polar opposite of the guys I usually dated in high school. He didn’t play football, he didn’t hang out with my friends. He even had a tattoo and pierced tongue, quite taboo for a high school student in 1998. Nobody could understand how we ended up together, but in a way that just made me like him more. Sometimes, opposites really do attract, and I’m still glad we "did it." There’s also a “!!” by his name because we dated for eight wonderful puppy love-filled months.

After that came my first long-term relationship, one that lasted three years, spanning high school and some college. Now that was a boy who earned his “!!” too, as well as his “*’s” and quite a few underlines. He’s married with a kid now, and I’m actually happy for him, but I will never stop loving his memory. Sigh.

When that ended, things got….well……rather punctuated. What follows are pages (and pages, and even more pages) of short-term relationships interspersed with a healthy amount of hookups. No matter how insignificant or brief, they’re on The List, both first and last names, when I can remember them. For some, I had to use a few descriptive words like “Pete (Guy on Cruise)” or "Chris (The Bartender in San Franciso)," to put it in context and help jog my memory. But they’re all on there, every last one, from the first person I kissed to the last guy I slept with. It’s a veritable who’s-who on the red carpet leading to my vagina. Take that, E! News Live.

Now I know this might seem strange to a lot of people, that I would take the time to keep my own sexual census. But it’s something that’s allowed me to remain in control of my hypersexuality because at least I know exactly what I’ve done. I’m sure plenty of people, some with a less varied history than mine, can’t come up with an exact number of how many partners they’ve had. I can. I don’t leave things out, because I don’t feel a need to. I don’t have regrets…well actually, I have one, but that’s fodder for an entire post of it’s own. Besides that, each one of the inventoried situations is something I knowingly entered with the intention of enjoying myself. And, for the most part, I did.

Today, I’m glad I have The List because it’s currently allowing me to look back, reminisce, and realize just where (and with who) I've been. Now that I’m taking time off to decide how I want my dating and sex life to proceed in the future, it is crucial that I recognize just how little curiosity I have left when it comes to these matters. I've conquered quite a bit of terrority. At the same time, in comparing “!’s” to “!!’s” I have learned the “!’s” weren’t really worth the time or effort, and maybe some of the “*’s” and the underlines (while fun) weren’t really, either. Of course, a few of these, no matter how brief and meaningless, will always serve as noteworthy highlights in this tome. I’ll never forget you Oli (The English Guy), Joe (From California) or Mike (the Delta Tau Delta Butterface.) Cheers. This Bud’s for you.

Come July, as I move forward with The List, I hope the chapters start to get a little shorter. I know the first guy I sleep with post-The Celibacy Project probably won’t be the guy I marry, but what if he is? Then I suppose I will just have to make him the conclusion to my story and retire The List to a safety deposit box where he'll never find it. In Fort Knox.

xo